National Library of Scotland
*6000584012*
Em
!
M
  ' '
In Quarto, Cloth, Price 24s.,
ENCYCLOPJIDIA BRITANNICA.
EIGHTH EDITION. VOL. XV.
ILLUSTRATED BY NUMEROUS ENGRAVINOS.
Containing amongst other important articles the following:—
MILAN, MODENA and NAPLES. By the Author of the article “ Italy.”
MILITIA, and MUNICIPAL CORPORATIONS. By J. H. Burton, Esq.
MILTON. By David Masson, M.A., Professor of English Literature, University College, London.
MINERAL WATERS. By R. M. Glover, M.D., Author of the “ Mineral Waters of Great Britain and the
Continent.”
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE—-
Mnieralogy. By James Nicol, Professor of Natural History, Marischal College, Aberdeen. aft
Geology. By J. B. Jukes, Esq., Vice-President of the Geological Society of Dublin. "
MINES and MINING. By John R. Leiechild, A.M., Author of Parliamentary Reports on the Newcastle
Collieries, &c., &c.
MIRACLES. By Rev. James Taylor, D.D.
MISSIONS. By W.luam B*own, M.D., Author of “ History of the Propagation of Christianity among the
Heathen.”
MISSISSIPPI, MISSOURI, and MOBILE. By J. B. D. De Bow, Author of the “ Industrial Resources of
the South and West,” and Superintendent of the United States Census.
MOBIL IE R CREDIT. By Walter Bagehot, Esq., Author of “ Estimates of some Englishmen and
Scotchmen.”
MOHAMMEDANISM. By Rev. J. G. Cazenove, M.A.
MOLLUSC A. By Richard Owen, Esq., F .R.S., Superintendent of the Natural History Department in the
British Museum.
MONACHISM. By John Tulloch, D.D., Principal and Primarius Professor of Divinity, St Mary’s College,
St Andrews.
MONARCHY. By Dr Doran.
MONEY and BANKING. By J. R. M'Culloch, Esq,
' MONTGOMERY (James), and MOORE (Thomas.) By Robert Cabrdthers, Esq.
MONTREAL. By the Hon. John Young, M.P.P.
MOORE (Sir John), MOREAU, MURAT, and NAPOLEON. By James Browne LL D
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. By Rev. W. L. Alexander, D.D. ’ ' '
MOSQUITO SHORE. By E. G. Sooier, formerly Charge d'Affaires of the United States to the Republics
ot Central America.
MOZART, and MUSIC. By George Farquhar Graham, Esq.
NATAL. By Sir Benjamin Pine, late Governor of Natal,
NATIONAL EDUCATION. By J. D. Morell, one of Her Majesty’s Inspectors of Schools.
MNEMONICS. MYSTERIES. MYTHOLOGY.
MOLASSES. MOLDAVIA. MIRABEAU.
MONMOUTHSHIRE. MONTAIGNE. MOLlfCRE.
MONTGOMERYSHIRE. MORMONISM. MONTESQUIEU.
MOSCOW. MOROCCO.
MORTALITY.
EDINBURGH: ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK.
LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO., AND ALL BOOKSELLERS.
AI)AM & CHAELES BLACK’S
LIST OF
NE w w0 RKS AND NEWED I TI 0 NS
I.
Fif<-N SAVIOUR; being Discourses on the Argument 0f St P l •
Lfteonth Chapter of First Corinthian, By B. S. Ck” D D
[Nearly ready
C,J ™ TSSS5 "V”40™101
[In a few days.
III.
A TREATISE ON METALLIC AND PAPER MONEY AND haWt.-c, ■
Encyclopaedia Britannica. By J. R. M'Cuoloch, Esq. 4to. Pric! 5S ’ ^
“ By modern students it will be found most concise and valuable •
latest sta9e, and is characterized by all the vigour and cl ^ ^ SUbjeCt t0 iU
author of the Commercial Dictionary."—Times mrness of expression peculiar to the
“ 0F PE0GEESS of' mathematical and physic V
being one ^ J™ ^ ^ ^
Britannica.” By James D. Forbes D C L F R S° P ' f J '°“'A the “ Eneyclopa.di
the University of Edinburgh, &c. 4to Prife 8s 6d !
V.
1HP STUDENT’S MANUAL OF GEOLOGY.
Director of the Geological Survey of Ireland,
of Irish Industry. Crown 8vo. Price 8s. 6d.
% J. B. Jukes, M.A., F.R.S., Local
and Lecturer on Geology to the Museum
NEW WORKS AND NEW EDITI0NS-<7o^*w.
YI.
ELEMENTS OF MINERALOGY. By James Nicol, F.R.S.E., F.G.S., Professor of
Natural History in Marischal College, Aberdeen. Foolscap 8vo. Price 5s.
YU. •
A NEW EDITION OF BLACK’S GENERAL ATLAS OF THE WORLD, embracing
all the latest Discoveries, with Introductory Chapters on the Geography and Statistics of
the various Countries of the World, and a complete Index of 65,000 Names.- Imperial
Folio, half-bound morocco russia, gilt. Price 56s.
VIII.
A NEW EDITION (the 14th) OF MACAULAY’S DICTIONARY OF DOMESTIC
MEDICINE ; containing an account of Diseases and their Treatment, including those
most frequent in Warm Climates. Greatly enlarged and improved, and in most part
rewritten. Ly Robert Welbank Macadlay, M.D., H.E.I.C.S. Demy 8vo Price
10s. 6d.
IX.
A NEW EDITION OF KITTO’S POPULAR CYCLOPAEDIA. Illustrated by 336
Engravings. Royal 8vo. Price 10s. 6d.
x.
THE TWENTIETH THOUSAND OF THE GOSPEL IN EZEKIEL- a series of
Discourses by Thomas Guthr.e, D.D., Author of “ Pleas for Ragged Schools,” &c.
Crown 8vo. Price 7s. 6d.
THE FIFTEENTH THOUSAND OF THE CITY, ITS SINS AND SORROWS; a
senes of Discourses, by the same Author. Crown 8vo. Price 3s
XL
MADEIRA: ITS CIMATE AND SCENERY. A
Visitors. By Robert White. Second Edition.
Maps of the Island. Crown 8vo. Price 7s. 6d.
Handbook for Invalid and other
Edited by J. Y. Johnson. With
All.
0™ f “EBI<?.A ■ lr® AGRICULTURE AND CLIMATE ; containing Observations
on the Agriculture and Climate of Canada, the United States, and the Island of Cuba.
By Robert Russell, Kilwhiss. With Map and Plans. Demy 8vo Price 14s
THE LIBEABY EDITION
OF. THE
WAYERIEY I0YEIS
In Twenty-Five Vols. Demy 8vo
elegantly bound in extra cloth,
gilt, price £13:2:6.
Illustrated by upwards of TWO HUN-
BKED ENGRAVINGS on STEEL, after
drawings by Turner, Landseer, Stan¬
field, Wilkie, Roberts, Frith, Ward,
Phillips, Elmore, Faed, etc., including
portraits of the historical personages
described in the Novels. These Plates are
engraved in the very first style of art,
and by their characteristic expression,
and spirit of execution, impart an addi¬
tional interest to the text.
“Among the variety of forms in which these
first of modern fictions have appeared
the present is undoubtedly the best 
sufficiently handsome to take a place
in any library, yet not so expensive as to
preclude the series from book shelves of
moderate means.”—Spectator,
A. & C. BLACK, EDINBURGH.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA.
EIGHTH EDITION.
THE
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA,
DICTIONAEY
AETS, SCIENCES, AND GENERAL LITERATURE.
EIGHTH EDITION.
WITH EXTENSIVE IMPROVEMENTS AND ADDITIONS;
AND NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS.
VOLUME XV.
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK, EDINBURGH.
MDCCCLVIII.
[The Proprietors of this Work give notice that they reserve the right of Translating it.]
NEILL AND CO., PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
MILAN.
Milan (the ancient Mediolanum, Italian Milano, and
German Mailand), a city of Austrian Italy, and capital of
the Lombardo-Yenetian kingdom, is situated on the small
river Olona, in N. Lat. 45. 27. 35., and E. Long. 9. 5. 45.
It stands nearly in the centre of the extensive fertile plain
of Northern Italy, at an almost equal distance from the
lower range of the Alps and from the Po, and about midway
between the rivers Ticino (Ticinus) and Adda (Addua),
with the former of which it is connected by means of the
canal called Naviglio Grande, and with the latter by the
canal of the Martesana. (For an account of the foundation
and early history of Milan, see Mediolanum.)
During the Gothic wars, Milan having espoused the Greek
cause, was besieged and taken by the Goths under Uraia,
a nephew of Vitiges, who, according to Procopius, put to
the sword 300,000 of its male inhabitants, and reduced the
women to slavery. From this great blow it did not recover
for centuries. The metropolitan see was the only thing
that it preserved of its former power and splendour. Under
the Longobard kings it was the residence of one of the dukes
appointed by Alboin, but it remained without any impor¬
tance. Towards the end of the ninth century Archbishop
Anspertus partially repaired its ancient walls. As late, how¬
ever, as the tenth century much of the space inclosed with¬
in them was occupied by cultivated fields; the squares were
used as meadows; most of the houses were of thatched
wood ; and, according to the quaint expression of its old his¬
torian, Landulphus senior, there was no good form of go¬
vernment, ob nimiam hominum raritatem.
In the year 924, however, Pavia having been captured
and plundered by the followers of King Berengarius, many
of its inhabitants repaired to Milan, which from that time
began again to rise rapidly to prosperity. In 945 a diet was
held in the city for the first time, by which Lotharius was
elected king of Italy; and in 961 the Emperor Otho the
Great was crowned as king of Italy in its old church of
Santo Ambrogio. At the beginning of the 11th century
(1042) a feud between the lower classes and the nobles,
Midi the archbishop at their head, ended in the expulsion
VOL. XV.
of the latter from the town for two years. In 1066 the
introduction of the celibacy of the clergy by Gregory VII.
(Hildebrand) gave rise to great discords; yet Milan went
on increasing in population and importance. It appointed
Consoli for its government; and in the following century
had so. far asserted its independence, that the Emperor
Frederic Barbarossa determined to reduce it to obedience.
Fie descended into Italy in 1158, and soon obliged the
Milanese to acknowledge his authority, on a stipulation from
him that they should be allowed to elect their own consuls.
Frederic, however, did not keep the terms which had been
agreed to, but claimed by his agents the appointment of a
Podestu, who should govern Milan in his name and under
his authority. As those agents were driven out of the
town, on the 16th April 1159, he passed a sentence by which
the Milanese were condemned to slavery and their property
to plunder. In 1161 he surrounded the town, and after a
seven months’ siege, compelled the inhabitants to surrender,
and razed the city to the ground. Frederic was so proud
of this achievement, that many of his diplomas were dated
“Post destructionem Mediolani”
The fate of Milan awoke the sympathy and excited the
indignation of the Lombard towns. Prompted by Pope
Alexander III., who was at w ar with the Emperor, and aided
by the agency of the friars, who were the unsuspected means
of communication, they resolved to combine together for
mutual protection. Deputies from the principal towns se¬
cretly assembled in the monastery of Pontida, near Ber¬
gamo, on the 7th of April 1167, and laid the foundation of
a celebrated confederation known in the history of Italy as
the Lega Lombarda. By the first article of the league
they bound themselves to the restoration of Milan. Ac¬
cordingly, whilst the Emperor was in the Romagna, the
citizens of Cremona, Brescia, Bergamo, Mantua, and Verona
marched towards Milan, and on the 27th April 1167, headed
by a friar who carried the ensigns, escorted the Milanese
home who had been dispersed among the neighbouring
villages, and aided them in repairing the houses and raising
the walls of their ruined town. On the first news of what
MILA N.
Milan, had happened, the Emperor hastened back to Lombardy,
but the allied forces were so numerous that he found him¬
self obliged to retire to Germany through Savoy, the only
road that remained open to him. At the instigation of the
town of Pavia, the Count of Savoy and the Marquis of
Monserrat,^Frederic again descended into Italy with a large
army in 11; but after a fruitless siege of the new town of
Alexandria, he was met by the army of the League near
Legnano, and completely defeated on the 29th of May 1176.
At length the peace of Constance, June 25, 1183, secured
the liberties of the Lombard towns.
The internal constitution of Milan at this time was framed
of elements so discordant, that they must soon have led to
the gradual centralization of power in a single person. The
nobles were divided into two classes : the upper class had a
council of 300, called Credenza de’ Consoli, for out of them
the consuls were chosen; the lower had their own council
of 100 members, called La Motta. The rest of the people
in 1198 constituted themselves into a body, and appointed a
council of 500, which was called Credenza di Santo Am-
brogio. As the supreme power resided in the union of these
three councils, and their proceedings were not directed by
any settled rules, it was so difficult to carry on the machi¬
nery of government, that they had recourse at length to a
Podestd,, or dictator, generally a native of another town,
whose office was annual, and who had full power over the
life and property of all the inhabitants. The first dictator
was appointed in 1186.
The Emperor Frederic II., following the steps of his
grandfather Frederic I., tried to subdue Milan. In 1237
he defeated the Milanese near Cortenova; and again, in
1239, invaded their territory with a large army, which was
completely routed. In 1245 he renewed his attacks, but
was unsuccessful.
Milan might now have enjoyed freedom and prosperity,
but the civil dissensions between the people and the aris¬
tocracy, which had been kept in check by fear of the com¬
mon enemy, were soon renewed, and led eventually to the
complete extinction of their liberties. Out of gratitude to
Pagano della Torre, Lord of Valsassina, who, after the defeat
of Cortenova, had saved the remains of the army, the people
chose him as Podesta, to protect them against the nobles;
and at his death in 1241 they appointed in his place his
nephew Martino della Torre, to whom they gave the title of
Anziano (elder) della Credenza di Santo Ambrogio, with
power to impose taxes. Martino formed a registry of all the
lands and their owners; and in 1248 for the first time in¬
troduced the land-tax into the Milanese territory. Before
his death he obtained a decree that his brother Philip should
be named Podesta for life ; but as Philip died after a short
time, Napoleone, or Napo della Torre, a son of Pagano,
was appointed Anziano for life. Under this humble name
Napo was the despot of Milan; and in 1273 he obtained
the dignity of Imperial Vicar from the Emperor Rudolph
of Hapsburg, the founder of the House of Austria. Whilst
in the full enjoyment of his power, many nobles whom he
had persecuted and driven from Milan, led by an exile,
Ottone Visconti, the Archbishop of Milan, surprised him,
and made him prisoner at Desio on the 21st January 1277.
Ottone was proclaimed lord of Milan, and with him origin¬
ated the subsequent power of his house. Napo ended his
days in an iron cage on the 16th August 1278.
With the exception of nine years, from 1302 to 1311,
during which Mosca and Guido della Torre succeeded in
restoring their family influence, the Viscontis, without
having the name, were actually the sovereigns of Milan
from 12(7 to 144/, the year of the death of Filippo
Mam, the last of that house. Their power was marked by
tyranny and great cruelties. Azone and Giovanni were the
only members of the house who showed any virtues. Many
of them came to a violent end. Galeazzo I. died of an
illness contracted whilst in prison; Stefano died of poison; Milan,
Mai co was thrown out of a window; Luchino was poisoned i , •
by his own wife ; Matteo II. was murdered by his brothers; '
Barnabo died of poison whilst imprisoned at Trezzo ; and
Giovanni Maria was murdered at the age of twenty-four.
Giovan Galeazzo, called Countof Virtu, from a fiefin France
which bis wife Isabella brought as dower, having obtained in
1395 the creation of his estates into a dukedom by the Em¬
peror Wenzel, was the first of the family who bore the title of
duke. F ilippo Maria having died without legitimate offsprincr,
the Milanese tried to restore the republican form of govern¬
ment ; but after three years they were compelled by
famine to surrender to Francesco Sforza, who had married
Bianca Maria, a natural daughter of Filippo. Sforza entered
Milan on the 26th February 1450, and was proclaimed
duke. He transmitted his power to his descendants, who
held it till lo3o, the year in which the last of them, Fran¬
cesco II., died without issue. At the extinction of this line,
Milan and its duchy were a subject of contention between
King Francis I. and the Emperor Charles V. In 1455
the Emperor agreed to give his daughter Maria in marriage
to the Duke of Orleans, second son of Francis, with the
duchy of Milan as her dower; but the untimely death of
this prince having left the succession again open, Charles
V., on the 5th July 1546, gave the duchy to his son
Philip, afterwards Philip II. of Spain.
Ihe history of Milan and its duchy, after it became a
Spanish province, has already been sketched in this work
under Italy, and more especially under Lombardo-Vene¬
tian Kingdom. An account of the events of which Milan
was the scene in 1847-50 will be given under the head
Sardinia.
Milan was desolated several times by the plague, but
never so severely as in 1630, when it lost 140,000 of its inha¬
bitants. A powerful and heart-rending description of that
fearful visitation may be found in Manzoni’s well-known
novel, The Promessi Sposi.
The modern town is nearly of a circular figure; it is walled
and protected by a citadel built by Francesco Sforza, en¬
larged by Philip II., and much strengthened by the Aus¬
trians since 1849. The whole compass of the wall is nearly
7f English miles ; and just outside of it runs a road called
Strada de Circonvallazione. The town has an area of
8,182,389 square metres, one-half of which isjoccupied by
5114 houses; one-fourth by 348 streets, lanes, &c., and
64 squares; and one-fourth by gardens. Its average
height above the sea is 450 feet. The longest part,
from the Porta Romana to the Porta Sempione, is about
3600 yards; and the broadest part, from the Porta
Ticinese to the Porta Orientale, is 3200 yards. The
wall is furnished with ten gates, some of which are the
most striking objects of the city. The most remarkable
of these is the Porta Ticinese, which resembles the en¬
trance to a Roman temple. It is built of granite, and
consists of colossal columns of the Ionic order, with an
appropriate entablature; and in connection with it is the
fine bridge over the Naviglio Grande. The Arco della
Pace, begun by Eugene Beauharnais in 1807, from a
design of the Marquis Cagnola, was called originally Arco
del Sempione, and was intended to celebrate Napoleon’s
victories in Germany and Italy. At the fall of Napoleon
in 1814 it had scarcely risen to the impost of the smaller
arches. In 1816 the works were resumed by the Austrians,
who gave it its present name to commemorate the return
of the peace, and changed the destination of the sculptures
that ornament it. It was finally completed and inaugurated
in 1838, at the time of the coronation of the Emperor Fer¬
dinand II. The columns, of 6 feet in circumference and
40 feet in height, formed out of a single block of marble,
are its most distinguishing ornaments. The arch resting on
them, of a breadth nearly equal to that of Constantine, is
3
M I L A N.
Milan, ornamented with a car of bronze, to which six horses are
^  > harnessed, and in which the goddess of victory is seated.
The whole building is of white marble, with the figures and
bas-reliefs of bronze. The total cost w^as L.142,840.
There are in Milan few piazzas or squares, and none
either large, fine, or even regular. The Piazza del Duomo
is long, but narrow and disfigured by the booth-like shops
and buildings that surround it. The Piazza de’ Mercanti,
though small, is remarkable as containing some remains of
ancient Milan, and has in its centre a portico where the
traders assemble. The Piazza Fontana has a fine fountain,
with two excellent figures in marble. The Piazza d’Armi,
formerly the Foro Bonaparte, is the best promenade in
Milan. It is planted with trees, and is about 600 yards long
' and 540 broad. The streets of Milan are generally narrow
and crooked, and rather gloomy from the height of the
buildings. The Corso, or High Street, is an exception.
It runs through the whole city, is nearly 2£ miles in
length, is of great breadth, and on both sides has magnifi¬
cent and lofty houses. The streets are kept clean, and the
pavement, which is composed of small pieces of marble or
of granite, is far better than is usually seen in towns on the
Continent.
Amongst the public buildings the Duomo or cathedral
is the most remarkable. Next to St Peter’s at Rome, it is
the largest church in Italy. It is 486 feet in length, 288
feet in breadth between the transepts, and 252 in the body ;
the height of the crown of the vaulting of the nave is 153
feet, and of the highest pinnacle 355 feet. This vast edifice,
dedicated to St Charles, was commenced so long ago as the
year 1386. Under Napoleon large sums were drawn from
the public revenue and applied to this structure ; and since
the restoration of the Austrian government 12,000 francs, or
about L.500, have been paid monthly till the completion of
the edifice. It is now almost completed. The outside of
the church, which is wholly of white marble, and which in
several places had become black from the weather, has been
well rubbed, and now appears quite as white as the newer
parts. There is no place from which a good view of this
cathedral can be obtained. On three sides it is shut in by
narrow streets, and only the majestic front, with its five
colossal entrances, can be seen from the Piazza del Duomo.
The general style of the building is Gothic; but in many of
its details it is mixed with incongruous ornaments that
detract from its beauty. A vast collection of figures from
the hands of the most eminent statuaries, to the number of
more than 5000, are placed upon the walls, Gothic turrets,
and pinnacles. They are images of various saints, all as
large as life. Richly-ornamented galleries, with finely-
carved volutes and roses, extend from the one tower to the
other. The roof, which is a remarkable work of art, is
reached by a winding staircase of two hundred steps, from
which the labyrinth of pillars surrounding the spectator has
a most singular effect. In the centre of the roof rises the
majestic dome, on which is placed a bronze statue of the
Virgin Mary. The church has five entrances, leading to a
like number of divisions, which are formed by fifty-two octa¬
gonal marble pillars 86 feet in height, and bound together
at the top by Gothic arches. The altars are numerous and
richly ornamented, and along the floor a meridian line was
drawn in 1786. The floor is composed of pieces of marble
of different colours formed into various ornamental figures.
The entrance to this edifice is very imposing, and the pano¬
rama from the top is one of the finest in Italy.
The other ecclesiastical edifices are numerous, and most
of them of great interest. The Basilica of St Ambrogio
is the most ancient mediaeval structure in Milan. It was
founded by St Ambrose in the year 387, and dedicated to
SS. Gervasius and Protasius, and afterwards rebuilt in its
present form by Archbishop Anspertus in the ninth century.
Though repaired in 1631, its original features were pre¬
served unaltered. It is a kind of museum for the history
of the arts; and the gold and silver facing of the high altar
is one of the most remarkable monuments of goldsmith’s
art in the ninth century. The church of St Eustorgio,
near the Porta Ticinese, rebuilt in the thirteenth century,
is the most interesting repository of family monuments in
Milan, though many of them were greatly defaced by the
French at the end of the last century. St Lorenzo, rebuilt
in the sixteenth century upon the plan of St Vitale at
Ravenna, contains several fine pictures. Sta. Maria presso
San Celso, or La Madonna, is a magnificent building, and
one of the richest churches in Milan. St Fedele unites
simplicity with great extent. St Carlo Borromeo was built
in 1838 by contribution raised amongst the inhabitants after
the first invasion of the cholera.
The celebrated fresco-painting of the “Last Supper,” by
Leonardo da Vinci, remains in what was formerly the
refectory of the Dominican convent annexed to the church
of Nta. Maria delle Grazie. It has been ruined by neglect
and repainting; while the saline efflorescence which has
extended itself over the wall on which it is painted has
destroyed the glow of the colours, and in many places the
paint has peeled off, whilst in others it is covered with
mould.
Several of the civic buildings are deserving of notice.
The royal palace, though the residence of the viceroy, has
by no means an imposing exterior. It contains the mag-*
nificent throne apartment and the fresco-paintings of
Appiani. The palace of the archbishop is a fine piece of
architecture, with an admirable collection of paintings. The
Broletto, or town-hall, is an extensive building with two
courts and colonnades, erected by Filippo Maria Visconti
for the Count of Carmagnola. Besides these edifices, the
palaces of the families Litta, Melzi, Borromeo, Trivulzi,
Vismara, Pozzi, and numerous others, are of great extent
as well as of various kinds of architecture, and contain
many valuable paintings.
The institutions devoted to science, literature, and the fine
arts are the most distinguishing objects on which the Milanese
can pride themselves. The Ambrosian Library, founded by
Cardinal Borromeo, contains about 100,000 printed books,
great part of which are arranged in a lofty hall, and about
18,000 MSS. bound into 5500 vols. Many of the MSS.
were brought from the suppressed monastery of Bobbio, and
are celebrated for the palimpsests discovered among them
by Angelo Mai. In connection with the library are apart¬
ments containing collections of pictures and of statuary,
both of great merit. The Brera, formerly the college of
the Jesuits, and, still earlier, of a brotherhood called Umi-
liati, is devoted to science, and is connected with the uni¬
versity of Pavia. The interior square of the building is
surrounded with colonnades—on the ground floor composed
of Doric, and on the upper floor with Ionic pillars, forming
open halls. The tower of this edifice is employed as an
astronomical observatory, and the garden is made use of
for the purposes of botany. The ground floor is adapted
for lecture-rooms, and the upper floor contains a library of
more than 125,000 volumes and numerous valuable manu¬
scripts. Adjoining it is the picture gallery, containing
many excellent productions, especially some most valuable
fresco-paintings, which have been preserved and removed
from the churches and monasteries in and around the city.
On the upper storey are apartments containing numerous
casts of ancient and modern sculpture in plaster of Paris, and
also a collection of coins and medals. Besides these public
institutions, there are many collections of old and valuable
works in the libraries Fagnani, Melzi, Reina, Litta, Archinto,
Trivulzi, &c.
In this large city, where the destitute, the aged, and the
infirm are very numerous, the institutions for their relief
are upon a commensurate scale, and possess property to the
Milan.
4 MIL
Milazzo. amount of nearly L.7,000,000. The Ospedale Maggiore,
Vs—^ begun by Francesco Sforza in 1456, is a prodigious range
of building, with a beautiful front of 450 feet in length,
entered by magnificent portals. The usual number of
patients contained in it is about 1600, but it can contain
as many as 2000. The annual average number of patients
admitted is 20,000; of deaths, 2700. With this is con¬
nected the Foundling Hospital, in which nearly 1000 chil¬
dren are maintained within the walls, and about 2000 are
sent to board in the villages around the city. There is also
a large lying-in hospital; a lunatic asylum, in which are
kept generally 420 insane persons ; the lazaretto, containing
many small houses without the gates, as a precaution against
the plague; the Trivulzi, which contains 600 poor of both
sexes, above seventy years of age, who are maintained by
property bequeathed to it by the noble family of that name ;
an orphan-house, which supports 350 young persons; and
several smaller institutions. Besides these, the monks and
the nuns of the order of mercy have each their benevolent
establishments.
The places of amusement are both numerous and exten¬
sive. The opera-house, La Scala, built in 1776 on the
site of an ancient church of that name, is, next to St Carlo
at Naples, the largest theatre in Europe. It contains 240
boxes in six tiers, one above the other, and has seats for
800 persons in the pit, besides standing room in the centre
and both sides of it, so that it is calculated to contain nearly
5000 spectators. There is also the imperial theatre of the
Canobbiana, which can hold 2500 spectators; and three or
four small private theatres.
The city, including the suburbs, contained in 1854
168,596 inhabitants (exclusive of the Austrian garrison), of
whom 84,039 were men and 84,557 were women. They
formed 37,300 families, and were classified as follows:—
Married. Unmarried. Do. under 18. Widowers. Celibacy by vow. Total.
58,161 60,504 32,158 16,112 1661 168,596
There were among them 16,640, or 1 in 10, proprietors;
6934 employes, in actual service or pensioned off; 59,392
tradesmen, merchants, and artists; 4078 who followed
liberal professions; and 10,560, or 1 in 15, were supported
in the charitable institutions. 31,674 inhabitants above
seven years of age, and 2893 under seven, frequented public,
private, or charitable schools; giving 1 student for 5 in¬
habitants. The average mortality was 1 in 35. One-third
of the population died under 19; one-fifth from 19 to 25;
one-fifth from 26 to 40; one-eighth from 40 to 60; one-
tenth from 61 to 89; only 5 died above 90 years of age.
Milan has often been called the Paris of the south. It
has an appearance of wealth and industry not generally met
with in Italian towns. Its chief wholesale trade consists
in silk, either raw or spun, and in cheese ; for the particulars
of which see Lombardt. As Milan is a kind of metropolis
to the north of Italy, and resorted to in the winter by the
rich, the tradesmen are at that time of the year in full occu¬
pation ; but at other seasons they find little employment,
except what arises from the foreign visitors. A railway
connects Milan and Venice, with the exception of a tem¬
porary break of some 15 miles between Treviglio and Ber¬
gamo ; while the Turin railroad extends as far as Novara,
27 miles west of Milan. (* * *)
MILAZZO, or Melazzo (the ancient Mylce), a fortified
seaport-town of Sicily, intendency of Messina, on a narrow
rocky promontory on the northern coast of the island, 15
miles W. of Messina. It consists of an upper and a lower
town, both irregularly built, and containing no public build¬
ings of note. . It is principally distinguished for its fortifi¬
cations, its citadel, and other military works, being so
strong by natuie and art as to be reckoned almost impreg¬
nable. The harbour is good, and a large export trade is
carried on in wine, silk, tunny, fruit, corn, and oil. The
M I L
inhabitants are chiefly employed in the tunny fishery and Milbornc
as sailors. Pop. 8000. Port
MILBORNE PORT, a decayed market-town and bo- il
rough of England, county of Somerset, on the Ivel, 28 (J^letu9-
miles E. by S. of Taunton. It sent two members to Par-
liament in the reign of Edward I.; and from Charles I. till
disfranchised by the Reform Act. An ancient guildhall
stands in the High Street, and the parish church is a large
cruciform edifice, surmounted by a massive square tower.
Leather-dressing and glove-making are the principal trades
carried on. Pop. of parish (1851) 1746.
MILDENHALL, a market-town of England, county of
Suffolk, on the Lark, 70 miles N.N.E. from London. The
town is irregularly laid out, but the houses are generally
well built. I he parish church is a large and handsome
edifice, with a richly carved roof and a lofty tower. The
inhabitants are chiefly engaged in agriculture, and by
means of the Lark, which is here navigable, there is some
trade. Pop. of parish (1851) 4374.
MILETUS, a Greek city of Ionia, in Asia Minor, was
situated on the northern side of the peninsula of Mt. Grion,
at the entrance of the Gulf of Latmus, nearly opposite the
mouth of the Maeander, from which it was 80 stadia, or 10
miles distant. At the time of the Ionian emigration to
Asia Minor, Miletus was a town peopled by Carians, in
whose territory it stood. It is said to have belonged ori¬
ginally to the Leleges, and to have been afterwards occu¬
pied by a band of Cretans, under Sarpedon the brother of
Minos. When the lonians arrived in Asia, Neleus and
a company of his followers seized Miletus, put to death
all the men, and took the women for their wives. Miletus
thus became one of the twelve cities of the Ionian league,
and w'as the farthest S. of their number. The town pos¬
sessed four separate harbours, large and commodious, one
of which was capable of containing a large fleet; and Mi¬
letus was remarkable for naval and commercial activity,
and for the number of its colonies in the most distant parts
of the then known world. These are said to have been in
number between seventy and eighty; and the most im¬
portant of them were—Abydus, Lampsacus, Parium, Pro-
connesus, Cyzicus, Heraclea, Sinope, Amisus, Phasis, Pan-
ticapaeum, on the Cimmerian Bosphorus; Obbia, at the
mouth of the Borysthenes ; Istria, at the mouth of the Da¬
nube ; and Naucratis, in Egypt. And though their atten¬
tion was chiefly turned towards the E. and N., their ships-
also navigated the Mediterranean, and even passed the
Pillars of Hercules. Of the internal history of Miletus in
early times but little is known. According to Herodotus, it
seems to have been much distracted by factions, which rose
to such a height, that after a contest which had lasted for
two generations, the intervention of the Persians was ne¬
cessary to allay the discord. The Milesians were fre¬
quently engaged in wars with other states, both in Greece
and in Asia. They assisted Eretria against Chalcis, in the
contest for the sovereignty of Eubcea; and they engaged
in a war between Chios and Erythrae, on the side of the
former. But their most important war was that against the
Lydians, from 623 to 612 B.C., when Miletus was governed by
Tlirasybulus, a friend of Periandcr of Corinth, and during
the reigns of Sadyattes and Alyattes, two successive kings
of Lydia. A peace was at last concluded, which left Mile¬
tus independent; although in the reign of Croesus, the suc¬
cessor of Alyattes, the Milesians seem to have consented
to pay tribute to Lydia; a concession which they trans¬
ferred to Cyrus wdien he conquered that country. Mile¬
tus was afterwards governed in succession by Histiaeus and
Aristagoras, who contributed greatly to excite the lonians
to cast oft’ the Persian yoke. In this revolt, which be¬
gan in 500 b.c., Miletus took part; but it was taken by
the Persians in 494 b.c., and its inhabitants transported
to the banks of the Tigris. The town was given to the
MIL
%
Milford Carians ; and although it recovered its liberty after the
j| battle of Mycale in 479 B.C., it never regained its former
Military greatness and prosperity. The fall of Miletus gave so much
Frontier. concern to the Greeks, that when the poet Phrynichus made
it the subject of a tragedy, the Athenians were affected to
tears, forbade the piece to be represented, and imposed a
heavy fine on the author. Miletus is celebrated as the
birth-place of Thales, Anaximander, and Anaximenes,
the principal philosophers of the Ionic school; and of
Cadmus and Hecataeus, two of the earliest chroniclers of
Greece.
MILFORD, a seaport and market-town of Wales, county
of Pembroke, on the N. side of Milford Haven, 12 miles
W.N.W. of Pembroke. The town is pleasantly situated,
and well and regularly built of stone ; the principal streets,
three in number, run along the shore from E. to W., and
other shorter ones cross them at right angles. The parish
church, which is remarkable for its high tower and painted
windows, is situated at the E. end of the town. The town
has also a market-house and custom-house. In the neigh¬
bourhood of Milford are to be seen the remains of an old re¬
ligious establishment, known by the name of Pill Priory.
The town of Milford is of very recent origin, having been
founded in 1790 ; but it rose very rapidly to be a large and
prosperous town. It had a royal dockyard for building men-
of-war, and an arsenal; and it was a station in the mail route
to Ireland. But these sources of its prosperity did not
long continue; the dockyard was transferred to the other
side of the Haven, and soon after, the starting-place of the
packets wTas also removed to the S. The town, however,
still shows some activity in ship-building; and the excel¬
lent roadstead contributes much to the prosperity and im¬
portance of the town. The shipping has been largely in¬
creased by the South Wales railway, which connects this
port with the principal towns in the kingdom. Milford has
a considerable trade, chiefly in timber. The oysters got
on this coast are excellent, and they are dredged to a con¬
siderable extent. Pop. (1851) 2837.
Milford Haven, an arm of the sea in the county of
Pembroke, Wales, has its entrance towards the S., but
soon turns, and stretches E. for 12 miles, from Dale near its
mouth to Pembroke Ferry, with a breadth varying from
1 to 3 miles. It is one of the best harbours in Europe,
being sufficiently large to accommodate the whole British
navy in good anchorage, and in a sheltered position. On
account, however, of its distance from the Channel, and the
inconvenience of its position, it is not of so much import¬
ance, either as a harbour for men-of-war or as a commercial
port, as it would otherwise be. It has numerous smaller
creeks running into the land, and the scenery is in some
places very beautiful; the shores being lined with gently
sloping hills. There is a lighthouse at the entrance called
St Anne’s light, near the village of Dale. In the reign of
Henry IV. a French fleet anchored in Milford Haven,
with a body of 1200 men, to assist Owen Glendwr; and
here also Henry VII. landed, shortly before the battle of
of Bosworth Field.
MILH AU, (the ancient JEmilianum), a town of France,
department of Aveyron, and capital of a cognominal ar-
rondissement, is situated on the right bank of the river
Tarn, 30 miles S.E. of Rodez. It is generally well built,
though its streets, with the exception of the principal one,
are narrow. It has tribunals of primary instance and com¬
merce, a communal college, society of agriculture, &c.;
and was one of the strongholds of the Protestants during
the French religious w'ars. The chief manufactures are
silk-tw'ist, woollen cloth, leather, and leather gloves. It
carries on a considerable trade in cheese, cattle, wool,
timber, wine, fruits, &c. Pop. (1851) 9869.
MILITARY FRONTIER (Milittirgrenze), a tract of
country in the Austrian dominions, extending along the
M I L 5.
borders of Turkey from the Adriatic to Transylvania, is Military or
bounded on the N. by Croatia, Sclavonia, Hungary, and Martial
Transylvania, and S. by Bosnia, Servia, and Wallachia, Law'
having a length of nearly 1000 miles, and an area of about
16,000 square miles. This district derives its name from
the military government by which it is ruled, and it serves
to defend the Austrian empire against the sudden inroads of
the Turks. The inhabitants are at once peasants and sol¬
diers, and they compose a force of 45,000 men, constantly
under arms in the time of peace. In 1815 there was a
body of 62,000. They hold their land on condition of
military service, and while at home receive no further re¬
muneration ; but when they are led to other parts they are
entitled to the usual pay of the Austrian army. They are
divided into 17 regiments of infantry and 1 of hussars, be¬
sides a battalion of boatmen, called Tschaikisten, who cruise
on the large rivers of the district in boats armed with guns.
Each regiment consists of two battalions that serve in turn,
and the colonel of the regiment exercises civil as well as
military authority. The supreme government is in the
hands of the Aulic council of war {Hofkriegsrath) at Vienna.
Under this there are four general commandos, which have
their seats at Agram, Temesvar, Peterwardein, and Her-
mannstadt. Every male between the ages of 18 and 60 is
liable to military service, and is occupied with such duties for
about eight months in the year. During the remainder of
their time they are employed in agriculture and pastural
occupations; but, owing to the little time which they can
spare from military duty, the agriculture of the district is in a
very backward state. They live together in families, which
possess land in common ; and all the members are obliged to
perform their share in the cultivation of the soil. The pro¬
duce is divided equally among all the labourers; but the
heads of the family receive a double share. Many of the
families contain as many as eighty members. The people
are for the most part of Sclavonian origin; but there are
also Croatians, Servians, Wallachians, and other tribes.
They are intelligent and clever, patriotic, and strongly
attached to the imperial family. The first establishment of
this military government was in the sixteenth century, in
the reign of Ferdinand I., who settled military colonists in
a part of Croatia. The system was afterwards extended
and perfected, especially by Prince Eugene of Savoy to¬
wards the end of the seventeenth, and by Field Marshal
Lascy in the eighteenth century. The present system of
government was established in 1807. The whole country
is divided into four parts,—the Croatian, Sclavonian, Hun¬
garian, and Transylvanian Military Frontier. Pop. (1851)
1,009,109.
MILITARY or MARTIAL LAW, is that branch of the
laws of war which respects military discipline, or the govern¬
ment and control of persons employed in the operations or
for the purposes of war. Military law is not exclusive of
the common law ; for a man by becoming a soldier does not
cease to be a citizen or a member of the British common¬
wealth. He is a citizen still, capable of performing the
duties of a subject, and answerable in the ordinary course
of law for his conduct in that capacity. Martial law is there¬
fore a system of rule superadded to the common law, for
regulating the citizen in his additional character of soldier;
a temporary character assumed for a special end, and to
be laid aside when that end has been attained, and when
the disturbance which gave occasion to it has subsided.
For, as the law knows nothing of a mere soldier, or one
bred up to no other profession than that of arms, so a per¬
petual standing army is against the principles of the con¬
stitution, and if without consent of parliament, is clearly
against law.
Throughout all Europe, in the feudal times, property was
commonly held upon condition of military service ; and the
possessors of land were, by virtue of their right,’ at once its
Law.
6 MIL
Military or cultivators in peace and its defenders in war. But the
Martial fetters 0f iant] un(]er the feudal system were incompatible
with a state of commerce, and the arbitrary power of lords
over their vassals was adverse to civil liberty; its strictness
declined; the services of tenants were commuted for money,
and with money were purchased the services of mercenaries,
who were ready to make war a trade. The disorders inci¬
dent to the disbanding of these troops, the changes which
had taken place in the mode of warfare, and the necessity
of attending to the balance of power in Europe, all con¬
curred to suggest the idea of a disciplined standing army,
which was formed first in France, and then in the other states
of Europe. The military despotism, however, which ensued
on the continent was in this country happily prevented by
the spirit of a free people; and at the Revolution it was
asserted and declared, that the raising or keeping up a
standing army within the kingdom, in time of peace, with¬
out consent of parliament, is contrary to law. The expe¬
diency of a standing army is admitted, and at the same
time the liberties of the people are maintained. A standing
army therefore exists, but primarily for the benefit, because
only with the consent, of the people.
In early times the king’s justiciar was caput legis et mi¬
litia; at the head not only of the law, but also of the mili¬
tary force of the kingdom. But in England, on the division
of the aula regis, the constable and marischal presided over
a court of chivalry for the determination of matters of
honour and arms. From time to time, however, other
tribunals were subsequently instituted for the administra¬
tion of martial law; and at length, after the Revolution,
w/hen, in addition to the militia and other local troops of the
kingdom, a regular standing army was judged necessary for
the safety of the realm, for the defence of the possessions of
the crown, and for the preservation of the balance of power
in Europe, acts were passed for the maintenance of military
order and discipline. Scotland differed from England in
this respect, that there was here no distribution of the
powers of the lord justiciar, such as took place in England,
nor was there ever any court of chivalry. In other respects
the two countries were, in as far as concerns martial law,
very much alike.
The first of the military acts passed after the Revolu¬
tion was occasioned by a mutiny in a body of English
and Scotch troops (amongst whom were the regiment of
dragoons now called the Scotch Greys, and the Royal Scotch
regiment of foot), on being ordered to Holland to replace
some of the troops of that country which King William
had brought over with him. The circumstance was com¬
municated to parliament, and on the 3d April 1689 an act
was passed for punishing mutiny, desertion, &c., which has
been renewed annually by parliament down to the present
day. It authorized the king to grant commissions to cer¬
tain officers to hold courts-martial for the trial of crimes
committed by officers and soldiers; and this act, which has
been renewed from time to time, has since the Union been
extended to Scotland.
An act of the same nature was passed in the parliament
of England, 13 Cha. II. stat. i. c. 9, authorizing the lord
high admiral to grant commission to inferior vice-admirals,
&c., to assemble courts-martial for the trial of offences com¬
mitted at sea by officers, marines, or others in the king’s
naval service. But this statute was in many points altered
by subsequent enactments, till at last all the laws relating
to courts-martial for the sea service were reduced into one
act, applying equally to the whole United Kingdom, namely,
22 Geo. II. c. 33, explained and amended by 19 Geo. III.
c. 17. :
I he more recent statutes for the government of the
oS "A? and milita,7> are 1 Will. IV. c. 14, 15; 2 and
twV' C; 23’ 28 5 3 and 4 WilL IV- c. 5, 6; 4 and 5
Will. IV. c. 4, 5, &c. During the reign of Victoria they
M I L
have been as follows2 and 3 Viet. c. 5; 3 and 4 Viet
c. 6 and 37; 4 and 5 Viet. c. 2; 5 and 6 Viet. c. 12; 6 and
7 Viet. c. 3 ; 7 and 8 Viet. c. 9; 8 and 9 Viet. c. 8 ; 9 and
10 Viet. c. 11 ; 10 and 11 Viet. c. 12; 11 and 12 Viet. c.
11; 12 and 13 Viet. c. 10; 13 and 14 Viet. c. 5; 14 and 15
Viet. c. 6; 15 and 16 Viet. c. 7; 16 and 17 Viet. c. 9;
17 and 18 Viet. c. 4 ; 19 and 20 Viet. c. 10; 20 Viet. c. 13;
which brings down the statutes respecting military law to
March 21, 1857. The judgments of courts-martial, like
those of other courts, are liable to be taken cognisance of
in the superior courts of common law, and the members
punished for illegal proceedings, and for all wilful and cor¬
rupt abuse of authority against the known, obvious, and
common principles of justice. (See Grose’s Military Anti¬
quities ; Tytler on Courts-Martial; Adye on Courts-Mar¬
tial; M‘Arthur on Courts-Martial; and Napier’s Remarks
on Military Law.
MILITIA, Irom the Latin miles, a soldier, in its origi¬
nal signification, means warfare, the qualification of soldier¬
ship, or the military body. In this last signification it be¬
came incorporated with the English language. It is now
used to distinguish, from the regular forces, the body of
citizens who may be annually called out for a limited time,
and embodied on occasions of emergency. As the system
out of which the present militia has arisen existed previously
to the establishment of a mercenery army, and frequently
constituted the sole military organization of its time, a his¬
torical sketch of the institution will involve to a certain
extent a general view of the military state of Britain dur¬
ing the earlier periods of our history.
Any account of the military system of the Saxons, espe¬
cially when we approach the era of the Norman Conquest,
becomes involved in the great question as to the extent
to which feudal practices had been adopted in England
previous to that event. It has, however, been distinctly
ascertained, that land, amongst the Anglo-Saxons, became
not only the reward of military services performed, but
the stipulated wages of their continuation. Thus there
came to be a connection between the performance of ser¬
vices to a chief and the holding of land under him; the sol¬
dier or thane possessing the land on the condition of per¬
forming military duties, but not, as by the mature usages
of the feudal system, rendering the service as an incident
of the tenure of the land. The grants so made were ge¬
nerally for a contingent period, and were x-evocable from
a vassal unfit to perform his military engagements; and
we find amongst them a species of transaction so compli¬
cated as grants to churchmen, on the condition of their
making provision for the performance of the military duties
they were personally disqualified from undertaking. (Sir
Francis Palgrave’s Rise and Progress of the English Com¬
monwealth ; Proofs and Illustrations, eexx.) The oath
of the vassal was personal and conditional, and had no re¬
ference to the land as a bond of union. (Allen On the
Rise and Growth of the Royal Prerogative, Ap. xxii.) It
was the duty of the superior to protect his follower, and
when he ceased to do so, the vassal was relieved from
obedience; but desertion was viewed as a crime of great
magnitude. Those freemen who had undertaken to per¬
form military service in return for lands were entitled, like
the clients of the Romans, to select their own “ Hlafords”
or patrons ; but this class of followers seems to have gra¬
dually decreased towards the era of the Conquest, when it
would appear from Domesday-book that all land was, or
was presumed to be, held of a superior. It was perhaps
for the furtherance of such a principle, without the invasion
of existing free rights in property, that an exception some¬
times appears in favour of the tenant:—Etpoterat ire cum
ea (terra) ad quern vellet Dominum; intimating that he
might hold his land of whatsoever lord he chose.
Whatever right the patron may have had to the exelu-
Militia.
MILITIA.
Militia, sive military services of his dependent, it undoubtedly yielded
to the claim of the state to the assistance of every freeman
in cases of invasion or rebellion. It is probable that when
the national force, denominated the Fyrd, was brought
into existence, the right of patronage gave the superior no
further power than that of leading his dependents when
they joined the general host. The approach to any deci¬
sion on this point is impeded by many difficulties, arising
from the incongruities in the practice of different periods
and of different parts of the country, and the absence of
any contemporary treatise explanatory of the general rules
and the reason of the apparent exceptions. It is thus that
on some occasions the right of the Hlaford to command
his followers is spoken of without any reference to the para¬
mount claims of the public, whilst elsewhere we find the
community arrayed by command of the sovereign, without
reference to the circumstance that two distinct classes are
to appear in the field, in the respective position of patrons
and vassals. “ From the earliest period,” says Sir Francis
Palgrave, “ to which our documents can reach, we find
the Fyrd appearing as a general armament of the people,
comprehending every rank, though under different obliga¬
tions and penalties. If the Sithcund~man, being a land¬
holder, remained at home, he forfeited all his land; sixty
shillings was his fine ; whilst thirty shillings was the Fyrd-
, wite of the churl, and to the last it continued a levy of all
the population of the country.” {Proofs and Illustrations, ut
supra, ccclxviii.) Sir William Blackstone and others in¬
clude the national militia amongst the improvements attri¬
buted to the inventive genius of the great Alfred. The
Fyrd, however, is of earlier origin. In the laws attributed
to Edward the Confessor, the authenticity of which is justly
doubted, though they are certainly the work of some one
well acquainted with the Anglo-Saxon constitution, there
are regulations for the organization and discipline of the
Fyrd, probably embodying those improvements of Alfred
which procured him the credit of having planned the sys¬
tem. These regulations adapt the arms to be provided by
each freeman to a scale of wealth; forbid their being sold
or pledged under penalties ; provide for their descending to
heirs; and appoint annual exhibitions, which, in order to
baffle attempts to display the same weapons in different
districts, were to take place simultaneously all over the
country. {Leges Edwardi, apud Wilkins, sect. 35.) The
command was given to district leaders called “ Fleretochs,”
who, it is stated, were like the vice-comites or sheriffs, elected
by their respective districts in full folkmote. Sir William
Blackstone observes, that the power thus vested in the
people proved dangerous to the community, by erecting a
rival to the royal prerogative; and he refers to this source
of influence the treachery of Eric Streone, and the usurpa¬
tion of Harold. Whatever the theory of the Anglo-Saxon
constitution may have admitted, however, it does not ap¬
pear, from the history of the period, that the voice of the
people regularly influenced the command of the natural
force; and undoubtedly, in the instances cited, the power
unduly used had been otherwise obtained.
The Norman Conquest did not produce so much effect
by altering the system so established, as by bringing the
new engine of feudalism to act in concert with it. The
king was then the commander of two separate forces. His
feudal army was furnished by the tenants of his knights’
fees, for each of which he could demand the service of one
knight or of two esquires for forty days. These were his
personal followers during their period of service, and were
liable to be employed either at home or abroad. But the
absolute demand on his services was inconvenient to the
vassal, and the limitation of the period was often no less
so to the king. Hence those who were partial to the oc¬
cupation of war frequently remained with the army beyond
their assigned period for a stipulated remuneration, whilst
7
others got their services commuted into a money-payment, Militia,
which afterwards merged into the oppressive exaction of
scutage. Whilst this new species of force came into oper¬
ation, the Fyrd of the Saxons still remained in existence.
It afterwards was the source whence arose two distinct in¬
stitutions ; the posse comitatus, liable to be called out by
the sheriff to keep the king’s peace; and the militia force
of the present day.
In the celebrated “ assize of arms” of 1181, we find the
Fyrd of the Anglo-Saxons in its original purity. All free¬
men are appointed to have arms in their possession, accord¬
ing to a scale of ranks, which consists, first, of the holders
of a knight’s fee ; secondly, of the possessors of chattels or
rents to the extent of sixteen merks ; thirdly, of the holders
of similar property to the value of ten merks ; and, lastly,
of all other burgesses and freemen (Wilkins, 296). The
Fyrd, with its periodical exhibitions of arms, was recog¬
nised as late as the year 1285, when, by the statute of Win¬
chester (13 Ed. I., st. ii., c. 6), the scale of arms assigned
to the respective ranks was revised. The part of the act
which enforces the keeping of arms was adjusted to the
progress of the art of war in 1558 (4th and 5th Ph. and
M. c. 2), and finally abolished in 1604 (1st Jac. I., c. 25,
sect. 46).
Meanwhile practices commenced which gave rise to much
subsequent dispute respecting the question, how far the
right of the monarch to demand the military assistance of
his subjects in such wars as he chose to prosecute was re¬
stricted. Many apparent anomalies in the constitution ot
this early period may be explained by reflecting that the
Anglo-Saxon people continued to cherish certain privileges
and customs which the Norman monarchs were often una¬
ble openly to abolish, whilst they were frequently powerful
enough to infringe them. The annual array was an insti¬
tution with which they naturally tampered, finding it their
interest to amalgamate it with their feudal prerogatives.
On the other hand, there were no definite limits to the
prerogative, which insinuated itself wherever it was not
practically checked. Accordingly we find parliament avoid¬
ing for some time any distinct recognition of the preroga¬
tive of the crown, or the privileges of the subject, and act¬
ing on the defensive against the former. Thus, by statute
1st Ed. III., c. 5, “ The king wills, that no man from
henceforth shall be charged to arm himself, otherwise than
he was wont in the times of his progenitors kings of Eng¬
land ; and that no man be compelled to go out of his shire
but where necessity requireth, and sudden coming of
strange enemies into the realm ; and that it shall be done
as hath been used in times past for the defence of the
realm.” The seventh chapter of the same statute gives
redress on complaints that commissioners appointed to raise
soldiers had been chargeable to the shires ; and by the in¬
structions to the sheriffs in the 10th Ed. HI., stat. ii., money
so exacted is directed to be returned. More decided at¬
tempts to amalgamate the assize of arms with the feudal
force appear to have been opposed in 1351, when by 25th
Ed. HI., stat. v., c. 8, it was enacted that “ no man shall
be constrained to find men of arms, hobelers nor archers,
other than those who shall hold by such services, if it be
not by common assent and grant made in parliament.”
At an early period, the crown gradually enlarged its
military authority by issuing commissions of array. These
writs, which were at first probably mere authorities to in¬
dividuals to use the royal name and influence in collecting
troops, came from practice to be viewed as emanating from
the prerogative. In that anxiety to avoid collision with
the crown which distinguishes many of the old acts of par¬
liament, they are frequently alluded to without being either
sanctioned or condemned. A singular instance of appa¬
rently intentional ambiguity occurs in 1st Ed. III., stat. ii.,
c. 15, which was avowedly passed for the relief of indivi-
8
MIL
Militia. duais wi10; at t]ie suggestion of “ false and evil counsel-
—lors,” had been prevailed on by “ duress” to come under
burdensome obligations to perform military duties. The
contracts are cancelled with a sort of oracular cpialification,
evidently inserted as the nominal price of a real conces-
sion: “ Considering that such writings were made to the
king’s dishonour, sithens that every man is bound to do to
the king as his liege lord all that pertaineth to him, without
any manner of writing.” In the fifth year of Henry IV.
a statute was passed limiting the form and authority of com¬
missions of array. It involves the anticipation of foreign
invasion, empowers the commissioners in such circumstances
to array and train all men-at-arms, to cause all able-bodied
men to arm themselves according to their substance, to
amerce those unable to bear arms in a similarly adjusted
ratio, and to require the services of persons so armed on
the sea-shore, or elsewhere, at the moment of danger. It is
singular that this statute, which forms the only legislative
authority to which Charles I. finally appealed in the cele¬
brated struggle for the command of the militia, has never
been conceived of sufficient importance to be printed in any
collection of the statutes, and seems to have been acciden¬
tally discovered in manuscript by some of the crown offi¬
cers (Rush. Hist. Col., part iii., vol. i. 661-9). It was
indeed, like the last cited statute, an act of grace, havino-
been passed for the protection of the persons nominated as
commissioners, who, according to the preamble, were liable
to many penalties and forfeitures in the performance of their
assigned duties. It is worthy of note, as bearing on the
extent of the authority intended to be conferred by this
act, that during the previous year (by 4th Hen. IV., c. 13)
the enactments above referred to, checking the encroach¬
ments of the royal authority, were all jealously confirmed;
the holders of lands in Wales and of military fiefs, and
persons who had bound themselves by contract to per¬
form military services, being specially excepted. During
the Tudor dynasty, the declaratory limitations attempted
by the old statutes were undoubtedly little respected by
the crown, and forced levies were made on many occasions,
when the necessities contemplated by the acts could be
brought forward as a nominal justification, without being
minutely questioned. A statute of the year 1558 (4th and
5th Phil, and M. c. 3) appears at first sight to give full
sanction to the right of impressment; but an observation
of the circumstances in which the act was to be enforced,
and reference to a previous act which it professed to amend’
show that it was intended for the discipline of those who
had become soldiers, and to prevent their desertion. Dur¬
ing the Long Parliament, by an act granting the temporary
power of impressing as many men as the king and both
houses of parliament might appoint (16th Car. I., c. 28),
the limitations were again confirmed; and it was declared,
that by the law of the realm the subject ought not to be
impressed or compelled to go beyond his county, &c., in
the same terms as the statute of the first of Edward III.
Such was the state of matters when, in the celebrated
dispute between Charles I. and the parliament regarding
the right to command the militia, it was maintained on the
one hand that the preservation of the peace of the country,
and its protection from foreign invaders, were the unalien¬
able privileges of the crown, and involved the right to com¬
mand all armies, and to demand on all occasions the mili¬
tary service of the lieges; and, on the other, that such pri¬
vileges existed in no individual without the consent of both
houses of parliament; whilst it was urged, first in the form
of an ordinance, and next in that of a bill, that the king
should consent to the militia being placed in the hands of
commissioners named by parliament. Although the statutes
above referred to show that in moments of danger the king
was so far the guardian of the peace, that he was entitled to
put himself at the head of the persons bound to keep them-
T I A.
selves in readiness for such occasions, and the practice had Militia,
been undoubtedly still more favourable to the preroga- -Y
tive, neither an act of the legislature, nor any uninterrupted
train of precedents, had given the monarch the unlimited
military command which he arrogated. At an unfortunate
time for the adjustment of such a question, it had to be
settled between the conflicting branches of the legislature;
and V hitelocke at least approached the truth when he
said, he apprehended “ that the power of the militia is
neither in the king only, nor in the parliament; and if the
law hath placed it anywhere, it is both in the king and par¬
liament, when they join together;” though the state of
matters^ equivocally illustrated his remark in continuation,
that “ it is a wise institution of our law not to settle this
power anywhere, but rather to leave it in dubio, or in nu-
bibus, that the people might be kept in ignorance thereof)
as a thing not fit to be known nor to be pried into.” Argu¬
ments founded on precedent and the nature of the constitu¬
tion were at that juncture, however, merely like the diplo¬
matic manoeuvres preceding an international war. Each
party was calculating its strength for the approaching con¬
flict; and if their respective rights were so earnestly in¬
sisted on by either side, with any other view than that of
colouring the real grounds of the rupture, it was that of
securing the wavering by a show of adherence to constitu¬
tional principles. In a short time each party mustered its
own forces in its own way.
In the parliament which was summoned after the Resto¬
ration, effectual means were taken by two statutes (13th
Car. II., c. 6, and 13th and 14th Car. II., c. 3), which pro¬
bably would not have been passed by the convention par¬
liament, to put an end to any doubts as to the prerogative
on this point. It was declared, that “ the sole supreme
government, command, and disposition of the militia, and
of all forces by sea and land, and of all forts and places of
strength, is, and by the laws of England ever was, the un¬
doubted right of his majesty and his royal predecessors ;”
and lieutenants and their deputies were empowered to charge
their counties to provide horse and foot soldiers, according
to a fixed scale of property. The system thus constructed
was slightly amended in the years 1699, 1714, and 1743.
In 1756, when the large standing force, which the posi¬
tion of Britain rendered it expedient to keep up, was made
more unpopular by the introduction of the Hanoverian
mercenaries, a bill to reconstruct the militia passed through
the House of Commons under the auspices of Mr Charles
Lownshend and his friends, but was rejected in the House
of Lords by 59 to 23. With some difficulty the measure
was carried in 1757; but, though approved of by a large
party, its practical enforcement frequently produced dis¬
content and local disturbance. In 1762 the system was
improved, and several acts were afterwards passed amend¬
ing particular departments. In 1802 the militia laws of
England and Scotland were consolidated by 42d Geo. HI.,
c. 90 and 91 ; and these statutes, with that of 49th Geo.
HI., c. 120, applicable to Ireland, and the later acts of 15th
and 16th Viet, c. 50; 17th and 18th Viet., c. 13, 105 and
106; and 18th and 19th Viet., c. 1,57, 100, and 106—con¬
tain the law applicable to the militia of the United King¬
dom. Before giving such a brief selection from the many
minute regulations prescribed by these statutes, as a work
of general reference is expected to contain, we may be
permitted to glance at the origin of the militias of Scotland
and Ireland.
In Scotland there seems never to have been, except in
burghs, a national force for the defence of the citizens, like
the Fyrd of the Saxons. The earliest acts of parliame^,
however, enforce practice in the bow, of which the effi¬
ciency had been so dearly learned in the English wars;
whilst periodical “ wapenshawings” are directed to be held,
in which each individual should be armed upon a scale
MILITIA.
Militia, vaguely proportioned to his property. (Acts, 1424, c. IS
and 44; 1425, c. 60; 1457, c. 64 ; 1491, c.31 ; and 1540,
c. 85-91.) In time of war or rebellion proclamations were
issued, charging all sheriffs and magistrates of burghs, to
direct the attendants of the respective wapenshawings fo
join the king’s host (1482, c. 90); and the criminal records
contain many prosecutions for “abiding from” the various
“ raids,” which are generally settled by composition with
v the lord treasurer. During the civil wars of the seventeenth
century, the army which had been brought into existence
by the enthusiasm of the Covenanters was supported by
levies and assessments apportioned by district committees
of war appointed by parliament, whose duties and powers
were modelled on those of the commissioners of array in
England. In 1662 (1st Car. II. -3, 27), the parliament
made offer of 20,000 foot and 2000 horse to be at his ma¬
jesty’s sole disposal, and to be marched to any part of Scot¬
land, England, or Ireland. This body constituted a regu¬
lar standing army, the organization of which underwent
some alterations in the years 1669, 1672, 1693, and 1695.
From this last period no legislative improvements were
made in the militia of Scotland until the year 1797, when
the system established in England was partially extended
to that part of the empire, though not without considerable
local disturbance.
In Ireland the predatory army of gallowglasses, which,
even in times of comparative tranquillity, it was found ne¬
cessary to keep constantly armed for the preservation or
the enlargement of the pale, was supported to a small ex¬
tent by supplies from England; but it chiefly depended on
exactions from the Anglo-Irish, made by a dexterous appli¬
cation of the many fines and petty tributes originally exigi¬
ble by the native chiefs. To these the English added the
formidable exactions of coign and livery, which embracing
free quarters, and all that is generally taken under the
sanction of that licence, were the frequent subject of bitter
complaint, though not much heeded by a government which
expected that the conquest would at least support itself.
(See Irish State Papers, published by authority of govern¬
ment, ii. 477, &c.) In 1715, on occasion of the rebellion
in Scotland, an act was passed by the Irish parliament
(2d Geo. I., c. 9) for raising a militia to consist of Protes¬
tants. Roman Catholics were subject to double rates ; and
all serviceable horses belonging to them might be seized
and made use of, provided that within ten days the sum of
L.5 (deducting the expense of seizure and keeping) was
tendered to the owner of each as full payment. After
several partial alterations, the militia laws were consolidated
by the Irish parliament in 1793 (33d Geo. III., c. 22), and
1795 (35th Geo. III., c. 8), and accommodated to those of
England in 1809.
By the present constitution of the militia in the United
Kingdom the sovereign appoints lords-lieutenant in Britain,
and governors in Ireland, to each county or province, with
power to call out and train the militia annually, and to ap¬
point deputy-lieutenants or deputy-governors, and'Ajther
officers, subject to the royal approval. The higher officers
in the militia, unless they enjoy an exemption on account
of their rank in the army, require to be qualified by the
possession of property. The amount varied greatly in the
different departments of the United Kingdom, and being
of the character of real or landed estate, was farther compli¬
cated by the different kinds of feudal tenure. From time
to time there were partial legislative innovations on the
purely territorial character of the qualification, and by an
act passed in 1855, a uniform qualification throughout the
empire, which might be in landed estate or any other pro¬
perty, was adopted. The qualification thus fixed is a yearly
rent or value of,—for a colonel, L.600; for a lieutenant-co¬
lonel, L.400 ; for a major, L.300; and for a captain, L.200.
The business of balloting for and calling out the militia,
VOL. xv.
9
commences with the annual general meeting of the lieu- Militia,
tenancy of each county, when the next subdivision meet-
ing is appointed, to which chief constables, or other officers,
are required to direct constables or schoolmasters to return
lists of all males between the ages of eighteen and thirty-
five in their respective parishes. Within fourteen days after
requisition, the constable or schoolmaster leaves a schedule
in each dwelling-house, to be filled up within fourteen days,
with the names and designations of persons within the ages,
and their claims of exemption, if there be any, under a
penalty of L.5. Within a month after serving the notices,
the constables or schoolmasters make up, and affix to the
church doors, lists mentioning exemptions and incapacities,
and notifying the times and places for the discussion of
appeals. These are decided by two or more deputies at
the subdivision meetings, and their decisions are final. The
clerks of general meetings then transmit lists to the privy
council, distinguishing those liable to serve from those ex¬
empt. The men to be enrolled are chosen by ballot from
each parish ; all who are not above four feet and five inches
in height, or are not approved of on examination by a sur¬
geon, being discharged, and others balloted for in their room.
Those who do not personally appear, or send an approved
substitute to take the oath, are liable in a penalty of L.lO.
There are arrangements by which, with the consent of the
inhabitants, volunteers, remunerated by parish assessments,
may be substituted for balloted men.
The persons exempted are,—peers; commissioned officers
of the other forces, whether on full or half-pay ; non-com¬
missioned officers and private men in the other forces ; per¬
sons serving, or who have served for four years, as commis¬
sioned officers in the militia; persons serving in the yeomanry
or volunteers; persons serving, or who have served at any
time within a year past in the local militia; resident members
of the several universities ; clergymen of the establishments,
and registered dissenting clergymen ; parish schoolmasters;
articled clerks; apprentices; seafaring men ; persons em¬
ployed in the royal docks, the Tower, Woolwich Warren,
the gun-wharfs of Portsmouth, and the stores under the di¬
rection of the Board of Ordnance ; persons free of the com¬
pany of watermen of the Thames ; any poor man with more
than one child born in wedlock, in England ; any man with
more than two lawful children, and not possessing property
to the value of L.50, in Scotland; and in Ireland, any poor
man not worth L.lO, or who does not pay L.5 a year of rent,
and has more than three lawful children under the age of
fourteen.
The mutiny act and the articles of war apply to the militia,
when called out, with the ordinary constitutional limitation,
that no punishment can extend to life or limb. There are
separate provisions for recovering deserters, &c. Until lately
the conditions on which the militia could be called into ser¬
vice were, in Britain, invasion, or imminent danger of inva¬
sion, or actual rebellion or insurrection; in Ireland, actual
invasion, rebellion, or insurrection. An act of 1854 so far
altered this constitutional principle as to authorize the sove¬
reign to call out the militia “ whenever a state of war exists
between her majesty and any foreign power.” The old
principle, that the militia cannot be compelled to serve out
of the kingdom is still adhered to ; and it has been thought
necessary to pass special laws to enable them to volunteer
for foreign service. In 1813 (54 Geo. III., c. 1) provision
was made for accepting the service of militiamen and officers,
to be formed into provisional regiments, and to co-operate
with the regular forces. At previous periods, considerable
numbers of militiamen had been drafted into the line, the
losses of the militia regiments being made up by tem¬
porary acts, which slightly increased their original quotas.
In 1855 a special act was passed “ to enable Her Majesty
to accept the services of the militia out of the United King¬
dom, for the vigorous prosecution of the war.”
B
10 M I L
Milizia. By 48 Geo. III., c. Ill and 150, the celebrated'.local
militia was, in 1808, appointed in England and Scotland,
being limited in each county to “six times the original
quota, or proportion of the original quota of militia.” In
1812 two new acts were passed (52 Geo. III., c. 38 and 68),
\\ Inch apportioned the numbers of men to the respective
shires in England and Scotland, but contained regulating
provisions which tended to make the local militia and volun¬
teers together amount to six times the number of the ori¬
ginal militia contingents. When these forces were added
to the 200,000 men allowed to be trained by Mr Windham’s
act (46 Geo. III., c. 90), the citizen army at the disposal of
government in Great Britain amounted, independently of
the militia, &c., of Ireland, and of temporary augmentations,
to very nearly 500,000 men. In 1811 the effective strength
of the regular militia was 77,424 private men, whilst that
of the local militia was 213,609. In 1819 the disembodied
militia of Britain and Ireland, calculated from the estimates
of the year, amounted in round numbers to 71,200; and in
1829 it amounted to 70,082 private men and drummers.
The balloting, enrolling, and exercising of the militia has
of late taken place only at occasional periods, an act being
generally passed during each session suspending their annual
recurrence. The militia were called out during the late war
with Russia; and by a parliamentary return, the numbers in
the three kingdoms on the 14th March were,—England,
44,198; Scotland, 4461; and Ireland, 13,095; making a
total of61,754. W ithin a month the numbers had decreased
to 51,183, but during that period 19,450 had volunteered
from the militia into the line. At the close of the session of
1857, the great Indian mutinies rendered it necessary again
to take measures for calling out the militia. (j. h. b.)
MILIZIA, Francesco, an eminent Italian architect, was
born in 1725. He gives the following account of himself
in his autobiography :—“ My native place is Oria, a small
town in Terra d’Otranto, in the kingdom of Naples. I am
the only son of one of the noblest and richest families in
that small community. At nine years I was taken to Padua,
where one of my uncles on my father’s side had established
himself in the practice of medicine. There I studied rhetoric
with very indifferent success until at the end of seven years I
ran away from Padua, in consequence of having been scolded
by my uncle, and wandered until I found myself at Bobbio,
near Placentia. Thence I sent news of myself to my parents,
and went to Rome, where my father met me, took me to
Naples, and left me there to study. I learned a little logic
and metaphysics under the celebrated Abbe Genovesi, and
studied physical science andgeometry under Father Orlando,
a Celestian monk. From Naples I also ran away, having a
strong desire to see the world, more especially France ; but
having arrived at Feghorn, I was forced to go back from want
of money. I returned to Oria; and after having spent se¬
veral years in idleness, I shut myself up in a country-house,
and studied science. Finally, when I was twenty-five years
old, I married a noble lady from Gallipoli, of amiable dis-
position; and having fixed my abode in her native town,
1 paid some attention to books, but more to amusements.
1 laving obtained from my father a larger provision, I went
with my wife to visit Rome, and after a year and a half
returned to Gallipoli, whence, in 1761, in my thirty-sixth
year, I wrent back again to Rome. There I continued to
study, and took some pleasure in architecture, although I
knew nothing of drawing. Enamoured with this art, which
1 still regard as the noblest and most useful, I wi'ote the
I ite degli Architetti piu celebri, which was well received
by the public, although my criticism was too severe, and
my style but little cultivated.”
1 his extract from Milizia’s autobiography does not extend
faither than the year 1775. About this time he was ap-
pomted superintendent-architect of the royal Farnesian
palaces, which the king of Naples possesses in the Papal
MIL
States, but resigned the office in 1786. He lived in the Milk,
closest intimacy with all the artistic and literary celebrities »
at Rome, especially with Raphael Mengs, whose views he
adopted with such enthusiasm, and diffused with so much
pertinacity, as frequently to be unjust to other artists who
did not share in his opinions. His critical partiality and
bluntness of manner also gained him many personal enemies.
He died at Rome, March 1798, of pulmonic disease.
The first work oi importance published by Milizia was
the I ite de piu celebri Architetti d'ogni Nazione e d’ogni
tempo Antichi e Moderni, preceduti da an saggio sopra
l Architettura (Rome, 1768), which, in the last edition, he
mm e modestly entitled, Alemorie degli Architetti Antichi e
Moderni ; Parma, 1781. He denounces faults in severe and
stiong language, while he praises good qualities with a few
sober words. This work was translated into English by
Edward Cressy, London, 1826. His next work {Del Teatro,
Rome, 1772) is a curious sign of the times. The frivolity,
and even immorality of the drama at Rome, suggested to
Milizia the thought of denouncing the abuses of the stage.
He accordingly wrote a book, in which he insisted on the
reform of the theatre. A storm was raised against him by
the Roman public, headed by the priesthood, who compelled
the master of the sacred palace to withdraw all the copies
of the obnoxious book. More just criticism, however, sub¬
sequently placed the work in its proper light. The best of
Milizia’s works is the Principi di Architettura Civile, pub¬
lished in 1785. He treats, first, of “Beauty;” secondly,
of “ Fitness;” thirdly, of “ Solidity.” This work roused
many antagonists. His language, his principles, and his
judgments were all violently attacked by the older art¬
ists, while the young followed him enthusiastically. His
next work {Arte di Vedere, Venezia, 1781) raised against
him even a fiercer storm, by the free manner in which he
examines the greatest works of the greatest men. In his
Roma delle belle Arti del Disegno, Bassano, 1781, the prin¬
cipal monuments and buildings of Rome were so severely
handled, that the book was proscribed and the author per¬
secuted. This caused him to leave his work unfinished,
and to turn his attention to totally different labours. To the
last part of his life belong the Dizionario delle Arti del
Disegno, Bassano, 1787, which is worth very little; the
Introduzione alia Storia ed alia Geografia jisica della
Spagna, Parma, 1783; the Storia deWAstronomia; the
dementi delle Alatcmatiche Pure; and, finally, his work
on the Economia Politica, which was published after his
death, Rome, 1798. (e. f.)
MILK, a well-known fluid, constituting the sole food of
mammals during a certain period after birth, is an opaque,
white, emulsive liquid, with a bland, sweetish taste, and a
faint peculiar odour. When examined by the microscope
it is found to consist of myriads of remarkably minute glob¬
ular particles suspended in a serous liquid. These par¬
ticles are termed butter, and are readily separated from the
surrounding liquor, on being allowed to stand, owing to
their relative specific lightness. On rising to the surface
they carry with them a portion of caseine, one of the main
constituents of milk, retain some of the serum or whey in
which they float, and thus form cream. The upper stratum
of cream is richer in butter, while the lower abounds more
in the albuminous substance, caseine. The milk from which
the cream has been separated is termed shimmed milk, and
that from which the butter has been extracted is termed
butter-milk. The butter or fatty matter is obtained from
the milk by the process of agitation called churning, and
the curd or cheese, or caseine, as the technical phrase is,
is separated from the milk by the infusion of rennet, a liquid
obtained by macerating the stomach of a sucking animal
(as of the cal^ preserved by means of salt. The whey of
milk from which the curd and butter have been completely
separated, yields on evaporation a colourless, sweet sub-
M I L
Milk, stance, known by the name of sugar of milk, as well as one
or more nitrogenous composition. The relative proportion
of the constituents of milk vary considerably in all animals
with the quality of the food, the age of the animal, and the
period after parturition. Among the most elaborate expe¬
riments on the composition of several kinds of milk are
those of MM. O. Henri and Chevallier, published in the
Journal de Pharmacie, vol. xxv., and which are as fol¬
lows :—
Milk of the
Cow. Ass. Woman. Goat. Ewe.
Caseine  4-48 1-82 1-52 4-02 4'50
Butter  3‘13 0-11 3-55 332 420
Sugar of milk.. 4-77 6'08 6-50 5-28 5-00
Various salts... 0-60 0'34 0-45 0-58 0-68
Water  87-02 91-65 87-98 86-80 85>62
Total  100-00 100-00 100-00 100-00 100-00
Solid substances 12-98 8-35 12-02 13-20 14-38
Of the various saline constituents which enter into the
composition of milk, Schwartz gives the following as the
composition of the ashes of 100 parts of cow’s milk. (See
Gmelin, Handbuch der Theoret. Chemie, vol. ii.)
Soda (in milk combined with lactic acid) 0-0115
Chloride of potassium 0-1350
Phosphate of soda 0-0225
Phosphate of lime 0-1805
Phosphate of magnesia 0-0170
Phosphate of iron 0-0032
0-3697
The quality of the milk is also alfected by the state of
health of the female supplying it. Tubercular disease of
the lungs of an animal has been found to increase the
quantity of phosphate of lime in the milk. Labillardiere
states {Diet. Mat. Med. iv.) that the milk of a cow affected
by a species of tubercular phthisis contained seven times
more phosphate of lime than usual; and Dupuy, according
to Pereira, has also noticed the large quantity of calcareous
matter in the milk of cows, in whose lungs the same sub¬
stance was found in abundance. The morbid changes
produced in the quality of the milk by the disease called
cocote, so prevalent among the cows of Paris some years
ago, attracted considerable attention among scientific men.
The principal morbid changes recognised in the milk were
a want of homogeneousness, imperfect liquidity, a tendency
to become viscid on the addition of ammonia, and on mi¬
croscopic examination the presence of certain globules not
found in healthy milk. And not only is this subject of great
importance in reference to the frequency of disease in cows,
and the consequent morbific character of their milk; it also
requires very special attention in connection with the milk
of the human subject. The deleterious effect to a child of
being suckled by a female labouring under tuberculous
disease must be too obvious to require exemplification.
According to Dr Jon. Pereira {Treatise on Food and Diet),
it is possible by adding certain ingredients to the food to
modify the colour, odour, taste, and medicinal effect of the
milk of a female ; and the influence which medicines taken
by the parent exert over the child is known to every nurse.
As the natural food of the young mammal of every species
is the milk of its mother, we may accordingly regard
milk not only as containing all the elements necessary for
the nutrition and growth of the body during a certain period,
but also as a kind of model food for the species to which
the animal belongs. Milk appears to partake of the nature
of both animal and vegetable food. The large proportion
of caseine and butter which it contains represent the fibrin
and fat of beef, while the equally large proportion of sugar
represents the starch of wheaten bread. The curd of milk
goes to form the albumen and fibrin of the blood. The
MIL 11
butter serves to form fat, and with the sugar contributes, by Mill,
yielding carbon and hydrogen to be burnt in the lungs, to ^
support the animal heat of the body. The salts develop
the osseous system; the iron is required by the blood and
the hair, while its chloride salt goes to form the hydro¬
chloric acid of the gastric juice.
Milk, as an article of food, is of great use and value, as
well for the adult as for the child, and for healthy persons
as well as for invalids. The chief objection often to its em¬
ployment is the difficulty of digestion of its fatty matter.
Whey, as an excellent diluent and nutritive, is often used
in febrile and inflammatory complaints. It owes its slightly
nutritive qualities to the sugar of milk which it contains.
It gently promotes the action of the secreting organs, and
thus proves useful in congestion of the liver. According to
Pereira there are various establishments in Switzerland and
Germany for the cure of chronic disorders by the use of
pure or aromatized whey {Molkencuren; Cures de Petit-
Lait). The whey is obtained from the milk of the cow,
the goat, or the ass; and is used as a drink, as a lavement,
or as a bath, associated often with the employment of
mineral waters. Butter-milk also forms a very agreeable
cooling beverage in febrile and inflammatory diseases; and
its nutritive qualities are owing to the caseine, the sugar,
and the salts of milk which it possesses.
With respect to the distinctive properties of the different
milks in most frequent use, valuable information will be
obtained by referring to the table already given. While
eive’s milk contains the largest proportion of nutritive matter,
it is on that account less easy of digestion, and not suited
for dyspeptics. The same holds of goafs milk, which ranks
next in nutritive power. Ass’s milk is the least nutritive,
but the most easy of digestion. With the exception of
woman’s milk it is the richest in sugar. It is considered a
most valuable aliment in consumptive cases, in chronic
diseases of the digestive organs, and in convalescence from
acute maladies. This seems to depend on the small quan¬
tity of butter and the large quantity of sugar of milk which
it contains. Cow’s milk holds a middle place in nutritive •
and digestible properties between goat’s and ass’s milk.
According to Donne {Comptes Rendus, 1841), it is the only
milk which is either very feebly alkaline, often neutral, or
sometimes slightly acid. The milk of the ass and the
woman are always obviously alkaline. The milk of women
from fifteen to twenty years of age is said to contain more
solid constituents than that of women between thirty and
forty. Women with dark hair also are said to give a richer
milk than women with light hair. (See Pereira’s Treatise
on Food and Diet, also Johnston’s Chemistry of Common
Life). For further information respecting the milk of cows
see Dairy.
MILL, James, was born on the 6th of April 1773, in the
parish of Logie Pert, near Montrose, where his father united
the occupations of shoemaker and small farmer. After
receiving his elementary education at the parochial school
of Logie Pert, and at the grammar-school of Montrose, he
was sent by Sir John Stuart, Bart, of Fettercairn, to the
University of Edinburgh, to study for the church. After
completing his theological course, he received license as
a preacher, but as accident rather than choice had led him
into the profession, he never contracted any particular liking
for it, and was not promoted to a charge. The study which
chiefly delighted him, and exercised his thoughts during
the period of his academical course, was that of metaphy¬
sical and ethical philosophy. The class of moral philo¬
sophy was then taught by Mr Dugald Stewart, to' whose
noble eloquence and animated exhortations to mental
study Mill always listened with profound attention and
enthusiastic admiration. In a letter to a friend in 1821,
Mill, speaking of Stewart, from whose system of specula¬
tion he was then widely separated, remarked, “ The
12 ‘ MI
Mill. taste for the studies which have formed my favourite pur-
V'—V—suits, and which will be so to the end of my life, I owe to
him.”
After having officiated for a considerable time as a
private tutor, Mill removed to London in 1800, where
he became editor of the Literary Journal, which did not,
however, long survive. From the period of his arrival in
the metropolis till the year 1819, when he received a
valuable appointment in the India House, he supported
himself and his increasing family entirely by his pen.
Much of his time was employed in writing for periodical
publications. For several years he was an occasional con¬
tributor to the Edinburgh, Eritish, Eclectic, and Monthly
Reviews. He early made the acquaintance of Jeremy Ben-
tham, and actively co-operated with the supporters of the
Philanthropist in those exertions to which the Lancas-
terian and Infant Schools owed their origin; and at a
later period he was one of the founders of the London
University.
His principal work, the History of British India, had
been commenced as far back as the year 1806, but the
greatness of the work itself, and the variety and weight of
his other avocations, prevented its completion for upwards
of ten years. It was at last published in five volumes, 8vo,
in the winter of 1817-18. It was the smallest merit of
this book, that it was the only single work calculated to con¬
vey to the general reader any intelligible notion whatever
of India, or Indian affairs as a whole, and which rendered
it, therefore, indispensable to all Englishmen who would pos¬
sess even the most general knowledge of one great depart¬
ment of their country’s interest. But it achieved far more.
It gave a new turn to the thoughts of all the most eminent
leading men engaged in the administration of Indian affairs;
and the measures of government in that country for many
years bore testimony to the high merit of this valuable
history.
Although he had very freely censured the conduct of the
East India Company, yet the powers of mind and know¬
ledge of the subject which he displayed induced the Court
of Directors, in the spring of 1819, when they were desi¬
rous of strengthening their home establishment, to intro¬
duce him into it (though personally unknown to most of
them, and having little or no interest), and to intrust to
him the chief conduct of their correspondence with India,
in the revenue branch of administration. He was subse¬
quently made head of the department of correspondence
with India in the India House, or, in other words, chief
minister for Indian affairs to the East India Company; and
he lived to see almost all the great principles which he had
advocated, not merely recognised, but practically employed
in the government of India.
Mill’s official duties might well have furnished him with
an excuse for relinquishing his pen as an author. But his
mind was not of a cast to stop short in the career of in¬
quiry, or to allow the calls of business to suppress the
fruits of his reflections. Fie became a contributor to the
Supplement to the former editions of the present work
about three years before his appointment to the India
House; and his contributions were continued nearly till
the completion of that publication in the year 1824. His
most striking articles were those on Colonies, Education,
Government, Jurisprudence, Law of Nations, Liberty of the
Press, and Prison Discipline. These essays were also
widely disseminated by separate republications of them,
at a very cheap rate, and proved not the least effective of his
writings in stirring the thoughts of his contemporaries.
In 1821—22 he published his Elements of Political Eco¬
nomy, a treatise in which the science, as remodelled by
Ricardo, was for the first time, and without any pretensions
to oiiginality, brought into a systematic form, and arranged
in strict scientific order.
L L.
Mill s originality and acuteness as a metaphysician were Mill,
abundantly displayed in his Analysis of the Phenomena
of the Human Mind, published in'1829. He belongs to
the sensational school ol philosophy, and there is perhaps
no English writer since Locke who has employed so
much energy and acuteness in analyzing our mental phe¬
nomena upon purely sensational principles. As a sensa¬
tionalist he stands midway between Locke and the French
ideologists. 4 he latter held that all mental phenomena
were but different forms of sensation; while the former,
although maintaining that the material of our knowledge
was derivable from sensation, nevertheless asserted the
existence of certain powers of reflection by which this
primitive material is moulded. While differing essentially
from both, Mill resembled Locke in tracing our mental
phenomena to two primitive elements, viz., sensations and
ideas; but under the latter term he included much less
than did the English philosopher under the word reflec¬
tion. By sensations he understands “ that which exists
when the object of sense is present;” and by ideas, “ that
which exists after the object of the sense has ceased to be
present.. (Analysis, Uc., vol. i., p. 41.) Ihese two classes
of “ feelings,” as forming the whole material of our thoughts
and emotions, are the basis of all our mental operations.
But these phenomena do not recur arbitrarily; on the
contrary, they are under the regulation of a law called the
association of ideas, which marshals them in synchronous
or successive order, giving rise to “ complex notions” and
“ trains of thought.” Again, in order to be able to com¬
municate our sensations and ideas to others, we require
to assign to them certain “ names.” These elementary
processes, then, of “ sensation, ideation, association, and
naming,” form the groundwork of Mill’s analysis. The
rest of his work is occupied in showing how, out of these
elements, all the complex phenomena of the mind can be
formed. The subtle ingenuity of the writer is here strikingly
brought out, but no amount of dexterity can make a false
system true. Accordingly, the reader, while continually con¬
strained to admire the manly independence of thought, and
clear forcible style of the author, is nevertheless compelled
to dissent from the most important results of his system.
To take a single specimen of the shifts to which Mill is fre¬
quently and unconsciously driven. Memory and judgment
are not of course with him original faculties; they are
generated according to the fourfold process already indi¬
cated. But how is it possible to derive judgment and
memory from such processes, seeing that these very powers
are involved in the formation of those sensations and ideas
which lie at the basis of the whole system? Mill’s defini¬
tion ol an idea necessarily involves the recognition and
distinction of a present and a past object; but it is the
judgment which distinguishes, and it is the memory which
renders a past possible. Here, then, at the very threshold
of the system, the faculties which he afterwards tries so
ingeniously to account for are found in full operation.
Such specimens of analysis are not peculiar to Mill, how¬
ever ; they belong to the entire sensational school; and it
was the radical vice of the system, rather than an intellec¬
tual defect in the analyst, which led this philosopher astray.
Mills last work was a fragment published anonymously
in 1836, containing a criticism of a very severe kind
upon the Dissertation on the History of Ethical Philoso-
contributed by Sir James Mackintosh to the present
publication. Most even of those who agree in the general
opinions expressed by Mr Mill have admitted that the
degree of bitterness which he manifested towards this
eminent and singularly candid writer was in a great mea¬
sure uncalled for.
Mr Mill wrote several of the principal articles in the
early numbers of the Westminster Review, among which
may be specially mentioned the one on the Formation
M I L
Mill of Opinions, and, after an interval of some years, the
II celebrated article on \\\e Ballot. After the union of the
Millen- Westminster with the London Bcvieic, he wrote, among
j other racy and characteristic articles, one entitled Aristo-
cracy, which was the last of his literary labours.
For some winters previously to his death he had an ob¬
stinate cough, which, by ending in pulmonary consumption,
carried him off' on the 23d of June 1836. His remains
were buried in Kensington church, he having lived at Ken¬
sington during the last five years of his life.
The high reputation of Mill is honourably sustained in
the person of his son, the present John Stuart Mill, author
of the System of Logic, Batiocinative and Inductive, who
is one of the profoundest thinkers of the age.
Mill, John, was the son of Thomas Mill of Bampton,
and was born about the year 164o, at Shapp, in West¬
moreland. He studied at Queen’s College, Oxford, which
he entered as servitor in 1661 ; and took his degree of
M.A. in 1669. Mill was soon after made a fellow of his
college; and having subsequently entered the church, he
obtained great reputation as a preacher. In 1681 he be¬
came rector of Blechingdon in Oxfordshire; and during
the same year lie was made Doctor of Divinity and chap¬
lain to Charles II. The work by which Mill is best known
is his edition of the Greek Testament, a performance of
great labour and erudition, on which he spent the last
thirty years of his life. He had the benefit of the counsel
and encouragement, in this work, of Dr Fell, Bishop of
Oxford, at whose expense the publication of it was begun ;
but this divine having died, Mill not only continued the
work at his own cost, but repaid to the executors the sum
furnished by the bishop. In 1685 he became principal
of St Edmund’s Hall in Oxford; and in 1704 he was ap¬
pointed by Queen Anne a prebend of Canterbury. Mill
died in 1707, just a fortnight after the publication of his
Greek Testament. This edition, which is the best proof
of the industry, learning, and scholarship of its author, is
based on those of Robert Stephens, 1550, and of Bishop
Fell, 1675 ; and contains a collection of more than 30,000
various readings, from MSS., versions, quotations from the
fathers, &c. The number of these variations excited the
alarm of many, and especially of Dr Whitby, who, ima¬
gining that they would destroy the validity of the text,
wrote a work in order to reduce their number and import¬
ance. The same subject was taken up by Antony Collins,
for a different purpose, in his Discourse on Free-Think¬
ing, in which he contends that “ these numerous variations
destroy the authority of the New Testament.” But this
book was answered by Whiston and Bentley with great
ability and success; showing that the variety of readings is
no objection to the authority of the Scriptures, being only
a necessary result of the number and variety of the MSS.
Their arguments are briefly summed up in the irony of
Swift; that the multitude of readings renders the Bible
quite useless ; and of course the works of Livy, Horace, and
other ancient authors, are all likewise worthless, for a simi¬
lar reason.
MILLEDGEVILLE, a town in the United States of
North America, capital of the state of Georgia, is situated
on the W. bank of the Oconee River, 80 miles W.S.W.
of Augusta. It stands in a beautiful and fertile cotton
country, and contains a number of handsome residences.
The river supplies excellent water powrer; and was once
navigated below by small steamers, but these are now
superseded by railroads. A branch railroad, 17 miles long,
extends S. to Gordon on the central railroad, and an¬
other extends in the opposite direction to Eatonton. Pop.
(1850) 3500.
MILLENNIUM, a period of a thousand years, gene¬
rally used with reference to the thousand years during
which, according to the statement of the Apostle John in
M I L 13
the 4th verse of the 20th chapter of the Apocalypse, Christ ilillen-
is to reign with his saints upon earth. mum.
As almost all nations are possessed of some traditionary
information respecting the existence of a happy and a holy
age at the commencement of the world’s history, so among
most of them do we find traces, more or less distinct, of an
expectation that a period of still greater excellence will
immediately precede its close. In several of the oriental
religious systems this expectation occupies a prominent
place 51 nor will the classical reader need to be reminded
of the well-known Eclogue of Virgil, in which he describes
the glories of “ the last age,” and the return of the Saturnian
reign, in strains which so strikingly accord with those of
the Jewish Scriptures, that this poem seems to have been
commonly regarded by the early church as prophetic of the
birth and reign of Christ.2 A still more remarkable, because
more explicit, allusion to a millennium occurs in the writings
of Plato, in the statement which he repeatedly makes, that
a period of a thousand years (xiMer^s Tropeia, ^Xioarov eros,
vepioSos x^tCT7??) must intervene between death and our
“arrival at the inheritance and possession of the second life.”3
Among the Jews this expectation assumed a more definite
form, and was expressed in less hesitating language. Their
prophets distinctly revealed to them the certainty of a period
of future felicity under the reign of the Messiah ;4 and they
had, from a comparatively early age, the tradition, that that
period would extend through a thousand years. This tradi¬
tion seems to have had its rise in the notion, that as the
work of creation was divided among six ordinary days, so
the world would have to pass through six divine days of
toil and suffering (each of which days they imagined to be
a millennium, from a misinterpretation of Ps. xc. 4); and
that as God rested on the seventh day, so should the seventh
millennium be a period of universal rest and quiet under
the reign of the Messiah. In the rabbinical writings fre¬
quent allusions to this opinion are to be found, the most
important of which have been collected by Wetstein in his
notes on Apoc. xx. Of these allusions the following may be
taken as a specimen ; “ There is a tradition in the house of
Elias, that the righteous whom the holy blessed God shall
raise from the dead, shall not return again to the dust, but
for the space of a thousand years, in which the holy blessed
God shall renew the world, they shall have wings like the
w ings of eagles, and shall fly above the waters.”3
From the Jews this notion of a personal reign of the
Messiah with his saints on earth, was adopted by several in
the early church, by whom the passage in the Apocalypse
above referred to was confidently quoted in support of the
opinion. By some of these the blessings anticipated during
the millennium were regarded as entirely of a temporal and
sensual kind, while others looked forward to that period as
a season of spiritual enjoyment and religious harmony. In
neither of these forms, however, does the opinion ever
seem to have become general in the church. Indeed, we
are expressly informed by Origen, that it was confined to
those “ of the simpler sort,” and to such as “ refusing the
labour of intelligence, followed the superficial mode of
literal interpretation.”6 Great obscurity, however, attends
the history of this dogma in the early church, as the docu¬
ments we possess are too few, and too partial in their infor¬
mation, to justify our expressing any definite opinion on
1 See Plutarch De hid. et Osir., c. 47; Hyde he Relig. Vet. Pers.,
р. 832.
* See Augustine, Inchoat. Expos, in Ep. ad Romanos; Lactan-
tius, Instil, vii. 24 ; Eusebius, Constantini Oral, ad Sanctorum Cost.,
с. 19.
3 Timasvs, p,1054,E.; see also Phasd., p. 1223, D.: and he Rep.,
lib. x., p. 761, E.
* See, among other passages, Is. ii. 1-4, ix. xi. xxv.; Zech. xiv.
fi Sanhedrin, fol. 92, quoted in Dr Ad. Clarke’s Comment.in loc.
6 Proleg. in Cant. Cant. 69, B.; he Princip. ii. 11, sect. 2.
14
MILLENNIUM.
Millen- the subject. From the testimony of Eusebius, we learn
nimn. that the first who taught it in the church was Papias, a
^ bishop of Phrygia, in the earlier part of the second century,
who professed to have received a traditional revelation on
the subject from the apostles. Influenced by a regard to
the piety and antiquity of the man {rrjv dp^cuoT^Ta rdvSpos
7rpof3eft\r]pevoi), several ecclesiastics, and among the rest
Irenaeus and Justin Martyr, adopted his opinion. Adher¬
ents were also found in the Latin church, especially from
among the Montanist party. It is justly remarked, how¬
ever, by Professor Neander, that the defensive attitude
which the advocates of the doctrine perpetually assume in
regard to it, affords a strong presumption that it was not
the doctrine of the church in general.1
In the third century it was vehemently assailed by
Origen, and as eagerly defended by Nepos, a bishop of the
district of Arsinoe, in Egypt. The latter, however, was
but a feeble antagonist for so redoubtable a controversialist
as Origen, whom his scholars delighted to style the Ada¬
mantine ; and consequently his interference served only to
quicken the downfall of the cause he had espoused. The
assault of Origen was followed by that of Dionysius, bishop
of Alexandria, and one of Origen’s most able scholars,
which seems, in the Eastern church at least, completely to
have driven the opinion into obscurity.2 From this time
forward we find few traces of it in ecclesiastical history,
until we arrive at the tenth century, when it was revived,
though in a very altered form, and used for the purpose of
terrifying the ignorant populace into larger concessions to
the ambition and avarice of the papal power. They were
taught that the millennium, during which Satan was to be
bound, was to be calculated from the birth of Christ, and
consequently was then rapidly drawing to a close; that at
its termination Satan would be again set free, and the rei<m
of Antichrist would commence; and that, after a short
season of triumph to the enemies of the church, the last
judgment would take place, and the world be consumed by
the final conflagration. So powerful was the effect produced
by the teaching of this doctrine, that multitudes, as the
eventful year that was to close the last century of the mil¬
lennium approached, forsook their homes, “and hastened
to the shores of Palestine, with the pious persuasion that
Mount Zion would be the throne of Christ when he should
descend to judge the world; and these, in order to secure
a more partial sentence from the God of mercy and charity,
usually made over their property, before they departed, to
some adjacent church or monastery.”3 The much-dreaded
year, however, having passed away without any of the
expected convulsions, the minds of the people recovered
their equilibrium. Those who had fled returned to their
homes, and resumed their wonted occupations; and the
only lasting effect of this stupendous panic was the augmen¬
tation of the temporal prosperity of the church.”4
Since the Reformation, the opinion of the early millen-
narians has been revived in the church; and the doctrine
of a personal reign of Christ on earth with his saints has
been maintained by many excellent persons, as one of the
truths clearly revealed in the Scriptures. The tenets of
those who avow this opinion are chiefly the following:—
I hat Jerusalem is to be rebuilt, the temple restored, and
sacrifice again offered on the altar; that this city is to form
e residence of Christ, who is to reign there in glory with
all his saints for a thousand years; that for this purpose
there shall be a resurrection of all the pious dead, that none
of the Saviour’s followers may be absent during his triumph ;
that at the close of the thousand years they shall all return
to heaven, and the world be left to Satan and his followers
for a season ; and that then the general resurrection and last
judgment shall take place, and the history of the world be
brought to a close. In support of these tenets, they appeal
to numerous passages in the prophetical writings of the Old
Testament, to some sayings of Christ himself recorded in
the Evangelists, to one or two detached passages in the
writings of the apostles, and principally to the declarations
of St John in the Apocalypse. The passages in the Pro¬
phecies on which most stress is laid by them are those in
which the latter-day glory seems to be described in connec¬
tion with the return of the Lord of Hosts unto Zion, the
establishment of his sanctuary with men for ever, and the
coming of the nations to Jerusalem to receive instruction,
and offer their homage to Him.1 The declarations of our
Lord referred to are those in which he speaks of the de¬
struction of Jerusalem in connection with his second
advent;2 from which it is inferred that Jerusalem shall
remain in its present state, and that seasons of tribulation
and sorrow shall befall the church, until Christ come to
restore the one to its former glory, and to exalt the other
over all its enemies.3 The passages quoted from the
apostles are chiefly two: the one the address of St Peter
to the Jews,—“Repent and be converted, that your sins
may be blotted out, when the times of refreshing shall come
from the presence of the Lord; when he shall send Jesus
Christ, which before was preached unto you;”4 which is
held to prove that Christ shall come again, and that this
event shall be attended with times of refreshing to the
Jews; the other the declaration of St Paul to the Thessa-
lonians,5 that “ the dead in Christ shall rise first;” from
which it is inferred that there will be a resurrection of the
just antecedent to the general resurrection. The main
prop of the doctrine, however, is the passage in the twentieth
chapter of the Apocalypse, already referred to, and which
is as follows: “ And I saw thrones, and they sat on them,
and judgment was given unto them; and I saw the souls
of them that were beheaded for the witness of Jesus, and
for the word of God, and which had not worshipped the
beast, neither his image, neither had received his mark
upon their foreheads or in their hands; and they lived and
reigned with Christ a thousand years. But the rest of the
dead lived not again till the thousand years were finished.
This is the first resurrection” (verses 4, 5). Here it is
contended that we have a distinct testimony in favour of a
millennial reign of Christ and his people, and of a resurrec¬
tion of those who had been faithful to him, as well as of
those who had suffered for his sake, antecedent to that of
the rest of the dead, and hence called “ the first resurrec¬
tion.”
By those who oppose this system, it is generally admitted
that the expectation of a long season of uninterrupted
triumph to the cause of Christ, is one which is fully
authorized by the declarations of Scripture. It is denied,
however, that these declarations, when properly interpreted,
support the notion of a personal reign, and a twofold re¬
surrection. With regard to the passages from the Old
Testament prophecies, it is maintained, that many of those
adduced by Millennarians, as favouring their system, have
been already fulfilled in the temporal history of the Jewish
nation; and that in others which seem to have a still future
reference, Jerusalem is used as typically representative of
Millen¬
nium.
Chv?rhT,UrrhfHiSt07’-"0l'lb PP- 429-433; see also Waddington's
p»“^S'h7c„t ”,;irT,tbJ’s
“ Euseb. Hist. Heel., vii. 24, 25.
4 Ib'adddinSt°n,S ^urc^' history, chap. xv.
See Begg’s Connected View of some of the Scriptural Evidence of
the Redeemer’s Speedy Personal Return, &c., pp. 85—118.
2 Matt. xxiv.; Mark xiii.; Luke xxi.
3 Begg s Letters on our Saviour’s Predictions. &c., passim.
4 Acts iii. 19, 20.
5 1 Thess. iv. 16.
MIL MIL 15
Millen- the Christian church in its triumphant state; the temple is
mum. spoken of in reference to the ministrations of the gospel;
and the coming of the people to Jerusalem is set forth as
indicative of the universal prevalence of the Christian faith.
The inference deduced by Millennarians from the words of
our Lord above referred to, is regarded by their opponents
as at best very obscure and far-fetched; while, on the other
hand, it is contended, that the obvious comparison which
our Lord draws between the destruction of Jerusalem and
his second coming, as well as the circumstances of appalling
and unexpected suddenness with which his appearance will
be made, seem much better to accord with the notion that
the coming spoken of is his coming to judgment, than with
the opinion that it is an advent for which his church shall
be longing, and the world prepared. In the statement of
St Peter to the Jews, it is admitted that there are some
expressions which would seem at first sight to favour the
Millennarian scheme ; but it is argued that every such in¬
ference is precluded by the words which follow, and in
which the apostle declares, that the heavens must retain
Christ “ until the restitution (or accomplishment) of all
things, which God hath spoken by the mouth of all his
holy prophets since the world began.” As, therefore, by
the showing of Millennarians themselves, the glories of the
millennium form part of the “all things” that are revealed
in inspired propihecy, and which must be fulfilled before
Christ shall re-appear on earth, it is plainly impossible that
he can come to our world in person at the commencement
of that period; and consequently the times of refreshing
spoken of by St Peter must be interpreted of other bless¬
ings than those which would flow from the personal reign
of Christ at Jerusalem. As to the statement of St Paul,
that “ the dead in Christ shall rise first,” it is affirmed that
a single glance at the context is sufficient to convince us
that the apostle is not establishing a difference between the
righteous and the wicked as to the time of their respective
resurrections, but is simply showing that those believers
who are alive at the season of Christ’s second advent shall
not enjoy any advantage over those who are dead, for the
latter shall be raised first, i. e., previous to the common
ascent of the whole to meet the Lord in the air. In refer¬
ence to the passage from the Apocalypse, it is contended,
Irf, That the expression “first resurrection” no more ne¬
cessitates a twofold corporeal resurrection, than the phrases
“ first and second death,” so frequently employed by the
same writer, necessitate the supposition of a twofold corpo¬
real dissolution; but that in both cases we have an instance
of the same intermingling of the spiritual with the material,
as in our Lord’s declaration, “Let the dead bury their
dead,” where, as is generally admitted, the first adjective
is used in a spiritual or metaphorical, the second in a
literal and corporeal sense; 2dly, That the phrase, “ the
rest of the dead,” refers to the “ remnant” spoken of in the
21st verse of the 19th chapter (the words in the original
are the same in both verses, 6i Xolttol), by whose resurrec¬
tion is intended the temporary restoration of the reign of
evil after the millennium; 3dly, That it is not a legitimate
interpretation to regard the expression, “ I saw the souls
of them that were beheaded,” &c., as intimating their cor¬
poreal resuscitation; for though we may properly enough
speak of a soul when we mean a person, yet it would out¬
rage all propriety of language for any one to say that he
saw the souls of certain individuals, when he meant that
he saw these individuals themselves; Athly, That by the
return to the earth of the souls of the martyrs and con¬
fessors, nothing more is intimated than the universal pre¬
valence of that holy and determined spirit by which they
were distinguished; in the same way as the ancient pro¬
phecy, that Elias should return to the earth before the ap¬
pearance of the Messiah, is allowed to have received its ac¬
complishment when John the Baptist came “ in the spirit
and power of Elias 5tidy, That it is as contrary to sound Miller,
principles of interpretation to expound a book professedly Hugh,
symbolical literally, as it would be to expound a professed
narrative symbolically; 6thly, That it is imperative on those
who insist on the literal interpretation of this passage to be
consistent, and interpret literally the whole book, in which
case we should have literal vials, and trumpets, and mill¬
stones, and chains, and burning lakes, &c.; an extent of
literality for which few will be hardy enough to contend;
and, lastly, That by interpreting the whole passage symbo¬
lically, and understanding by it a prediction of a season of
joyful triumph to the church, during which the whole world
shall be under the religion of Christ, and the zeal and piety
of its holiest members in its purest days shall be universally
diffused, no violence is done to any part of it, while a mean¬
ing is elicited in entire accordance with the general tenor
of Scripture.
It is further objected by those who are opposed to Mil-
lennarianism, in the first place, that the hypothesis is in
itself exceedingly improbable; for since Scripture assures us
that the departed saints are already with Christ in heaven,
in the enjoyment of unspeakable felicity, it is hardly con¬
ceivable that they would leave such a state to dwell for a
thousand years on earth, in a state which at best must be
one of imperfect enjoyment, and then return to heaven to
permit their enemies for a season to reign in their stead;
2dly, That the Millennarian notion of a resurrection of the
x-ighteous antecedent to that of the wicked, is directly
opposed to the testimony of Scripture, which represents
the two as simultaneous; see, e.g. John, v. 28-29, &c.;
2>dly, That the idea of a long interval elapsing between the
advent of Christ and the last judgment, is inconsistent with
those passages which represent the one as immediately
consequent upon the other; such as 2 Thess. i. 7-10; 2
Tim. iv. 1, &c.; Athly, That, on the Millennarian hypothesis,
there can be no judgment of the righteous whatever, for
they having been once admitted to reign with Christ, can
never after that be placed for trial at his bar —a hypothesis
clearly at variance with innumerable passages of Scripture;
such, e.g. as Rom. xiv. 10-12, Matt. xxv. 31-46, &c.;
Sthly, That to represent the millennium as a state of im¬
mortality on earth is to confound it with the New Jerusa¬
lem, though the two are distinctly revealed as separate
states, the one previous and the other subsequent to the
final judgment; and, lastly, That the theory of Millenna-
rianism is in two points at least self-contradictory; for it not
only represents Christ as reigning until the last enemy has
been destroyed, and yet supposes the existence of a whole
host of enemies, who, at the close of that reign, are to be
gathered together; but also represents them as contending
with the saints, until they are consumed by fire from God
(Rev. xx. 7-10), though, according to another part of their
hypothesis, the saints shall before this have returned with
Christ to heaven. For these reasons, among others of less
weight, this hypothesis of a personal reign of Christ on earth
has been rejected by the majority of divines, and the period
of the millennium regarded as a season of great spiritual
blessedness, consequent on the complete triumph of Chris¬
tianity throughout the earth. (w. L. A.)
MILLER, Hugh, a popular miscellaneous writer and
geologist, was born in Cromarty on the 10th of October
1802. He may be said emphatically to have sprung from
the bosom of the people, and to have inherited, along with
his higher intellectual qualities, the virtues, habits, and feel¬
ings of the old middle-class country population of Scotland.
His father was a seaman, owner of a small coasting vessel
that plied along the shores of the Moray Firth, and who
unfortunately perished at sea when his son was only about
five years of age. But Hugh had kindly, sagacious rela¬
tives, who attended to his education, and would have
struggled hard to send him to college had he not himself
16
MIL
MIL
Miller,
Hugh.
resolved on being a stone mason. He was proud to appear
as a working man; proud of his rough coat and leather
apron; and resolved to force his way upwards by solitary
study, self-denial, and perseverance. As a boy he was
somewhat intractable—lonely, observant, fond of books,
and delighting in rambles by the sea-side, exploring the
l ocks, caves, and woods of his native shore. He wrought
fifteen years as a mason ; and his early labours in a quarry
gave him his first lessons in geology. Those studies in the
open air he has beautifully described—“ Sweet are the uses
of adversityand along with his love of natural science he
had the feeling and fancy of a poet. His first publication
was Poems Written in the Leisure Hours of a Journeyman
Mason, which appeared in 1829; and the same year he
wrote a series of Letters on the Herring Fishing. These
were recognised as remarkable productions. Their author
had evidently read and studied the best English authors,
and possessed extraordinary powers of description and illus¬
tration. His prose style was succinct, clear, and elegant—-
formed on the model of our best essayists, Cowley, Addison,
and Goldsmith. His verses were less essentially poetical
than his prose; and it was soon obvious to himself, as to
others, that poetry was not to be his peculiar vocation. For
two or three years after his advent as an author Mr Miller
continued to labour as a mason ; but a branch of the Com¬
mercial Bank of Scotland being opened in his native town,
he was appointed accountant of the new establishment.
About the same time he published Scenes and Legends of
the North of Scotland, or the Traditional History of Cro¬
marty, the result of many years’ oral collections among
the old inhabitants of the town and neighbourhood, and of
a wide and curious range of reading and reflection. His
next appearance was as a polemical controversialist. The
Scottish Church question as to the rights of patronage then
agitated the country, and Miller wrote tw'o able pamphlets,
•—a Letter to Lord Brougham, and Whiggism of the Old
School, supporting the principles and opinions afterwards
embodied in vigorous action in the Free Church. These
popular little treatises led to Mr Miller’s appointment as
editor of The Witness, a twice-a-week newspaper established
in Edinburgh in 1840, of which he afterwards became the
principal proprietor. He was now fairly launched into the
world of politics and literature—a stout Presbyterian, deter¬
mined to give no quarter to the opponents of spiritual inde¬
pendence or to the supporters of the Established Church,
which he conceived to be degraded, dismantled, and obso¬
lete. There was much bitterness and personality in this
contest, but Miller gradually emerged from it, and sought
distinction in a wider field. In the sixteen years of his
Edinburgh life he wrote those works which now constitute
his fame :—The Old Red Sandstone, or New Walks in an
Old Field; First Impressions of England and its People;
Footprints of the Creator, or the Asterolepis of Stromness;
and My Schools and Schoolmasters, or the Story of my
Education (the last a delightful and instructive autobio¬
graphy). No geologist had ever before evinced the same
art or talent in popularizing the truths of his science—in
investing it with poetical beauty and interest, and at the
same time extending its facts and principles by close and
accurate research. In the formation known as the Old lied
Sandstone he is entitled to the honours of a discoverer,
having shown that it is not, as was supposed, barren of fossils,
but in reality rich in organic remains. In the Palaeontolo¬
gical history of plants and animals, and in tracing the fossil
floras of Scotland, Mr Miller also did good service to science;
while he laboured with untiring zeal and Christian devoted¬
ness to disprove the development hypothesis and to har¬
monize the phenomena of geology with the text of Scripture.
His latest efforts were directed to the illustration of the first
c lapter of Genesis, to prove that the days of creation were
not natural but prophetic days—unmeasured eras of time.
Passages of great eloquence and of rich and solemn imagi¬
nation abound in these semi-theological disquisitions. The
fossil remains seem, in his glowing pages, to live and flourish,
to fly, swim, or gambol, or to shoot up in vegetative profu¬
sion and splendour, as in the primal dawn of creation. Such
power belongs only to high genius—the power to reanimate
and vivify the past, and to clothe the scattered hints and
discoveries of science with living beauty and radiance.
What Burns did for the old songs of Scotland, Miller did
for the facts of geology. His friends, however, saw with
regret that the indefatigable and inspired student was over¬
taxing his brain and hand. For some years before his death
he suffered from ill-health and hypochondria. Always averse
to general society (for he never conquered his natural shv-
ness and awkwardness of address), his love of solitude be¬
came a disease. He had not attained bv practice to facility
in composition ; and latterly he complained that with double
labour he could only do half work; extraordinary visions
or delusions overmastered at times his clear intellect; his
egotism (al ways his greatest weakness) magnified everythin<>-
affecting his fame or his writings, and he surrounded him¬
self with weapons of defence, sword, dagger, and pistols,
to guard his person and geological museum. Manifestations
of this kind had been long conspicuous; yet wdien he took
up his pen and elaborated his original conceptions and fine
descriptions, no trace of mental disease was apparent. His
last work, The Testimony of the Rocks, is one of the ablest
and most argumentative of his compositions. He had laboured
night and day at this final “ testimony,” and corrected its
last page the day preceding his death. The excessive ap¬
plication, and perhaps a feeling of triumphant exultation at
the successful completion of his task, overturned his already
shattered intellect, and he died by his own hand on the night
of the 23d or morning of the 24th of December 1856. This
melancholy termination to the life of so noble a worker
produced a sensation of grief and astonishment over the
whole kingdom. His indomitable energy and masculine
intellect, his enthusiasm and nationality", his fine English
style and brilliant imagination, the purity of his life and his
devotion to Christian duty and principle—all these w'ere
well-known traits of his character and writings that hallowed
and endeared his name. Scotland had lost one of her
worthiest sons, and geology one of its most eloquent ex¬
pounders and illustrators. (r. c—s.)
Miller, Johann Martin, was born in 1750, at Ulm,
where his father was a preacher and professor. He studied
for the church at Gottingen; where he became one of the
Hainhund, or society of poets, which included among its
members Boie, Burger, Hotly, and others. In 1783 Miller
was appointed preacher in the cathedral of Ulm; and in
1810 he was made dean of Ulm. He wrote poetry, chiefly
lyrical and elegiac ; and many of his pieces have become
extremely popular. He also wrote several novels and
romances, in the sentimental style, of which the principal
Siegwart, a work which excited great interest, and met
with much success. His novels and romances are now for¬
gotten, and little read; but his poems have lost none of
their popularity. He died in 1814.
MILLET. Under this name the fruits of several plants
belonging to the order Graminacece are known in com¬
merce. All of them are used as food, either for domestic
animals or man. That to which the term is most generally
applied is the “common millet,” Panicum miliaceum, Linn.,
originally a native of India, but now naturalized even as
far north as England. It is thought that this and some of
its allied species constituted one of the earliest of the grain
products used in making bread, and that its generic name
is derived frompanis, bread, and not, as has been frequently
assumed, from its panicled inflorescence. It is mentioned
by Pliny as being one of the ordinary cereals of his time.
He says, “ Campania is particularly prolific in millet, and a
Miller
II
Millet.
MIL
MiHin. fine whlte porridge Is made from it; it makes a bread, too,
of remarkable sweetness. The nations of Sarmatia live
principally on this porridge, and even the raw meal.” “ The
Ethiopians know of no other grain but millet and barley.”
This species of millet is still sold in London, shops called
Italian warehouses, for the purpose of being used as a sub¬
stitute for rice or semolina in making puddings, the demand
being confined to professional cooks and others who cater
for the luxurious. Its principal use, however, is in feeding
cage-birds. Occasionally a crop of this very beautiful grain
is seen in Kent, but its culture is almost discontinued, and
the little which is used in this country is imported from
Italy or France.
Another species, Panicum italicum, is also said to have
been used by the ancients ; but there is much confusion re¬
specting the millet plants mentioned by Pliny ; we believe
he usually meant the species of Sorghum, and not those of
Panicum, as he spoke of “white, black, red, and even
purple” millet, and his translators have generally assumed
that he meant P. miliaceum or P. italicum. His descrip¬
tions, however, apply strictly only to the species and varie¬
ties of durra or Turkish millet, the commonest of which,
Sorghum vulgare, is now becoming an article of consider¬
able importance in the commerce of this country. It is
imported in large quantities, particularly into Liverpool,
under the names of “ great millet,” “ durra,” “ darra,” and
“Turkish millet;” and there is no doubt that although
ostensibly imported as food for cattle and poultry, it is
chiefly ground into flour, with wheat, and used for human
food. It is this grain, we believe, of which Pliny says, “there
is no grain known that weighs heavier than millet, and
which swells more in baking.” Sorghum vulgare, Persoon,
is a native of India, but is extensively cultivated through¬
out Asia, Africa, Southern Europe, and the West Indies.
In the last locality it is called negro corn, and is largely
consumed by the coloured population when made into
bread. It is similarly used in other countries, though not
so exclusively; the bread made from it is very white and
agreeable. The two-coloured millet, Sorghum bicolor,
W., is often mixed with it, but the grains are inferior in
size, and being marked with a large black spot, the colour
when ground is not so good. The imports of these grains
have hitherto been very irregular, and owing to the various
names under which they have been offered, the quantity
cannot be correctly ascertained. In 1856, however, it ex¬
ceeded 600 quarters.
Pliny says, “ A kind of millet has been introduced from
India into Italy within the last ten years, of a swarthy colour,
large grain, and a stalk like that of a reed. This stalk
springs up to the height of 7 feet, and has tufts of a remark¬
able size, known by the name of ‘phobe.’ This is the
most prolific of all the cereals ; for from a single grain no
less than 3 sextarii are produced; it requires, however, to
be sown in a humid soil.” Strangely enough, during the
year 1856, this grain, the black millet, Sorghum nigrum, ol
Romer and Schultz, was introduced as a new cereal into the
Liverpool corn market, under the name of “ sorgho,” an evi¬
dent corruption of its generic name ; it came from Italy, and
was very strongly recommended for cattle feeding; for which
purpose, no doubt, it would succeed admirably. The red
millet, Sorghum rubens, W., is also occasionally brought
from Africa and used for poultry feeding. One of the great
millets, Sorghum saccharatum, has lately been proposed as
a substitute for the sugar-cane, but with very little prospect
of success; its hard twiggy panicle has, however, been for
a considerable time extensively employed in the United
States (where it is called broom-corn) in making those
brushes called whisks, and for carpet brooms. Several other
species of millet are used in various parts of the world, but
they are of comparatively little importance. fr. c. A.)
MILLIN be GRAND-MAISON, Aubin-Louis, an
VOL. xv.
MIL 17
eminent antiquary, was born at Paris in 1759. He was Millingen
originally intended for the church, but he afterwards left ||
this sphere, and devoted himself to literary pursuits. In Millot.
1785 he published a collection of translations from foreign 's—
languages; and becoming acquainted with Willemet the
botanist, and having his attention thus directed to natural
science, he published in 1790 a work on the Rise and Pro¬
gress of Natural History in France. On the outbreak of
the French revolution, Millin was favourably disposed to
the first movements of the friends of liberty; but the ex¬
cesses and atrocities of the Reign of Terror seriously dis¬
concerted him; and he did not hesitate to express the
utmost horror and indignation at these actions. He was
in consequence imprisoned, and did not regain his liberty
till the fall of Robespierre, in 1794. In the same year he
succeeded Barthelemy as keeper of the cabinet of medals,
and about the same time he edited, at first along with
other distinguished men, and afterwards alone, the Maga-
sin Encyclopedique. He also lectured on the history of
antiquities ; but finding that his labours were injuring his
health, he travelled to the south of France, examining
the antiquities to be found there. On a second journey
thither, which he carried afterwards into Italy, the effects
of his exertions were such as to cause his death in 1818.
He was a voluminous writer, and his principal works are
as follows :—Dictionnaire des Beaux Arts, 1806; Histoire
Metallique de la Revolution Frangaise 1806; Voyage
dans le Midi de la France, 1807-11; Voyage en Savoie, en
Piemont, <X Nice, et dans VEtat de Genes, 1816; Voyage
dans le Milanais, d Plaisance, Parme, Modene, Mantoue,
et Cremone, 1817 ; and Histoire Metallique de Napoleon,
1819-20.
MILLINGEN, James, an antiquary of considerable
eminence, was born in London in 1774, and educated at
Westminster School, where he became a good classical
scholar, and displayed a great taste for antiquities. He wished
at one time to enter the army, but was prevented by the
state of his health ; and when about to go to one of the
English universities, his future course was entirely changed
by his father’s repairing with his family to France, under
the influence of the bright hopes inspired by the French
revolution. Millingen resided in Paris for some time, where
he was imprisoned as a British subject by order of the
Convention. When released he became partner in a bank¬
ing establishment, and continued his study of numismatics.
Millingen having undertaken a journey to Italy, died at
Florence in 1845. His principal works are :—Recueil
de Medailles Grecques Inedites, Rome, 1812; Peintures
Antiques Inedites de vases Grecques, Rome, 1813 ; An¬
cient Unedited Monuments of Grecian Art, London, 1823 ;
and Ancient Coins of Greek Cities and Kings, London,
1831.
MILLOT, Claude-Frxncois-Xavier, a distinguished
historian, was born in 1726 at Ornans, a small town of
Franche-Comte, and was descended from an old family
connected with the profession of the law. When his
studies were completed he was admitted among the Je¬
suits ; and after having taught classics in several towns, he
was appointed professor of rhetoric in the college of Lyons,
one of the most celebrated institutions of the society in
France. In a discourse, crowned by the Academy of Di¬
jon, he ventured to pronounce a eulogium on Montes¬
quieu, an act of boldness which offended his superiors, and
led to his leaving the society. He next tried the pulpit,
but not meeting with much success in that profession, he
turned his attention to literature, and began by composing
abridgments of the history of France and England, which
met with great success. Having about this time received
the appointment of professor of history at Parma from the
Marquess of Felino, Millot soon found himself highly un¬
popular in his Italian residence, from his stanch adherence
/
18
Milne
II
Milner.
MIL
to the minister his patron, then an object of popular hatred
in that state. On the retirement of the Marquess of Felino,
^ the Abbe Millot returned to France, where his courageous
conduct procured him many friends. The court of "Ver¬
sailles, in the name of that of Parma, granted him a pen¬
sion of 4000 francs; and in 1778 he was appointed precep¬
tor to the Due d’Enghien. He died on the 21st of March
1785, the same day on which, nine years afterwards, his
august pupil was shot in the fosse of Vincennes. The
Abbe Millot had been received into the French Academy
in 1777, in the room of Gresset. He was also a member
of the Academies of Lyons, Nancy, and Chalons-sur-
Marne. D’Alembert used to cite him as the man in whom
he had found the fewest prejudices and the least preten¬
sions. The following are his principal works, viz.:—Deux
Discours, Lyons, 1750, in 8vo ; Essai sur VHomme, trans¬
lated from Pope with notes, and a discourse on English phi¬
losophy, Lyons, 1761 ; Harangues choisies des Historiens
Latins, Lyons, 1764, in two volumes, 12mo ; Elemens de
VHistoire de la France, Paris, 1769, in 3 vols.; Elements
de VHistoire d’Angleterre, Paris, 1769, 3 vols.; Elements
d’Histoire Generale Ancienne et Moderne, Paris, 1783,
9 vols., a work which has been translated into the German,
Danish, Dutch, English, Swedish, Italian, Spanish, and
Portuguese languages; Histoire Litteraire des Trouba¬
dours, Paris, 1774, 3 vols.; Memoires Politiques et Mili-
taires pour servir d VHistoire de Louis XIV. et de Louis
XV, Paris, 1777, in 6 vols. 12mo; and Extraits de VHis¬
toire Ancienne, de VHistoire Romaine, et de VHistoire de
France, Paris, 1796.
MILNE, Joshua, the author of the famous Treatise on
Annuities which goes by his name, was born in 1776, and
pursued the calling of an actuary. His Treatise on Annui¬
ties, which was published in 1815, is still regarded as one
of the standard works on the subject. At his death, in
1851, he left behind him a large library containing a com¬
plete and valuable collection of works on the statistics of
vitality, and on the science of botany.
MILNER, Joseph, a divine and historian, was born in
1744, near Leeds in Yorkshire. He received his elemen¬
tary education at the Leeds grammar school; but having
the misfortune early to lose his father, he was deprived of
the means of prosecuting his studies at a university. Mil¬
ner, however, from his diligence and talent, obtained the
employment of chapel-clerk of Catherine Hall, Cambridge,
which enabled him to study at that university. After gra¬
duating in 1766, he entered the church, and divided his
time between teaching and lecturing in Hull. He was
made vicar of North Ferriby; and although he met with
much neglect and opposition on account of his evangelical
views, which subjected him to the charge of Methodism,
yet his preaching was exceedingly popular. He was ap¬
pointed vicar of Hull in 1797, but only enjoyed the prefer¬
ment a few weeks, when he was removed by death. His
principal works are the History of the Church of Christ,
which was completed by his brother, and two volumes of
posthumous Sermons.
Milner, Isaac, a learned divine, brother of the preced¬
ing, was born at Leeds in 1751. He was educated at the
grammar school of his native town, and subsequently at
Queen’s College, Cambridge, which he entered in 1770
He attained to the honour of a senior wrangler in 1774,
and gained a fellowship the following year. In 1785 he
was appointed Jacksonian professor of experimental phi¬
losophy, received the degree of D.D. in 1788, became
dean of Carlisle in 1791, and in 1798 was made Lucasian
professor of mathematics. Milner wTas an intimate friend of
Wilberforce, and in 1787 he accompanied him and Pitt to
the continent. He died in 1820, after writing a continua¬
tion of his brother s Church History, besides Animadver¬
sions on Dr Harries' History of the Church of Christy
MIL
Milner, John, a Roman Catholic divine, was born at
London in 1752, and educated at the college of Douai.
After being ordained in 1777, he came to Winchester,
where he presided over a Roman Catholic congregation.
He was much attached to the study of ecclesiastical anti¬
quities, on which he published several works, and displayed
so much skill and learning as to be admitted, in 1790, into
the Royal Society of Antiquaries. Milner also engaged in
several religious controversies among the Roman Catholic
clergy; and published several works on such subjects. He
was appointed, in 1803, vicar apostolic of the midland
district, and bishop of Castabala. He died in 1826.
Milner s principal publications are:—A Dissertation on
the Modern Style of Altering Cathedrals; History, Civil
and Ecclesiastical, and Survey of the Antiquities of Win¬
chester ; Treatise on the Ecclesiastical Architecture of
England during the Middle Ages.
MILNTHORPE or Millthorpe, a market-town of
England, county of Westmoreland, near the east bank of
the estuary of the Kent, and on the Preston and Carlisle
railway, 7 miles S.S.W. of Kendal. It has manufactures of
sacking and twine, and some trade by means of small coast¬
ing vessels, which come up, by means of the tide, opposite
the town. Market-day, Friday. Pop. (1851) 1534.
MILO, T. Annius Papianus, son of C. Papius Celsus,
was born at Lanuvium. Little is known of his life till the
year 57 b.c., w’hen he became tribune of the people, and
attached himself to the party of Pompey. The object of
this party, at that time, was to procure the restoration of
Cicero from exile; and this measure did not fail to bring
down upon Milo the hostility of Clodius, who had formerly,
as tribune, been the chief supporter of the law which exiled
Cicero. Both Clodius and Milo surrounded themselves
with bands of armed gladiators, and frequent and bloody
were the conflicts between these two factious demagogues.
These riots were not allayed by the return of Cicero; for
that orator and Pompey were the objects of repeated at¬
tacks from Clodius and his partizans, while Milo and his
followers stood up in their defence. Both thus rendered
themselves liable to prosecution for assault, and each was
ready to accuse the other; but Clodius succeeded in pro¬
tecting himself by obtaining the office of curule sedile for
56 b.c., and Milo was secured from danger by the influence
of Pompey. In the year 53 b.c., when Milo became a can¬
didate for the consulship, and Clodius for the praetorship,
their former animosities were renewed with increasing vio¬
lence ; and Milo, on being attacked by Clodius in the senate
on account of the debts with which he was loaded, was
defended by Cicero in a speech of which some fragments
have been preserved. In the beginning of the next year,
as Milo with his usual escort of armed gladiators was
journeying from Rome to Lanuvium, he was met near
Bovillae by Clodius, attended by a similar body-guard.
After the two leaders had passed each other in quietness, a
dispute arose between some of their followers, and in the
fray which ensued, Clodius, whose party was inferior in
strength, was dragged from a house in which he had taken
refuge, and slain by the followers of Milo. For this act
Milo was brought to trial by the nephews of the deceased;
and, though defended by Cicero, the turbulence of the
crowds who collected to witness the trial, and the soldiers
with whom Pompey had caused the forum to be lined, so
intimidated the orator that he was unable to deliver the
speech he had prepared for the occasion. Milo was accord¬
ingly condemned and sentenced to exile, in terms of the law
passed by Pompey with special reference to this case. He
then retired to Marseilles; and when Cicero sent him an
improved copy of the speech he should have delivered in
his favour, Milo replied that it was well he had not spoken
thus, “For if so,” said be, “I should not now be enjoying
the excellent fish of Marseilles.” He remained at Mar-
Milner
II
Milo.
MIL
Milo seilles till 48 b.c., when he returned to Italy at the invita-
Jl tion of M. Caelius, who, having been expelled from the
Miltiades. senatej was raising a rebellion in the south of Italy. Milo
joined him ; but their enterprise was not successful, and
Milo was slain before a small fort near Thurii.
MILO (the ancient Melos'), an island of the Grecian
Archipelago, one of the larger Cyclades, in Lat. 36. 45.
N., Long. 24. 26. E. It is about 13 miles in length from E.
to W., and where broadest is about 7 miles across. Area
65 square miles. Its N. coast is deeply indented by a
spacious bay stretching S.E. for about 6 miles, and forming
one of the best and safest harbours in the Levant. Milo is
evidently of volcanic origin, and the surface is for the most
part rugged and mountainous. The valleys and low grounds
are of great fertility, and produce abundance of corn, wine,
oil, and fruit. It has hot mineral springs, and mines of
sulphur, vitriol, and alum. The highest summit is Mount
St Elias, 2538 feet high. Milo, the chief town, is situated
near the bottom of the bay, and is now chiefly in ruins. It
is unhealthy by reason of salt marshes in the vicinity. Here
the beautiful antique statue of Venus, now in the French
collection, was discovered during the present century. The
population of the island is said not to exceed 4000.
MILON, a famous wrestler of antiquity, the son of Dio-
timus, was born at Crotona. He is chiefly remarkable for
his bodily strength, by means of which he obtained the
crown for wrestling six times at Olympia, and as many
times at the Pythian games. He flourished towards the
end of the sixth century B.c.; and in 511 B.C. headed his
countrymen in a successful battle against the Sybarites.
Many stories are related of his strength, of which the most
remarkable are, his supporting a falling house till its inhabi¬
tants escaped, and his carrying a heifer on his shoulders
round the Olympic race-course. After he had become
weakened by age, he is said to have seen one day in a forest
a tree half split by wedges, and as he endeavoured to tear
it asunder with his hands, the wedges fell out, and he
being caught by the hands in the tree was devoured by
wild beasts.
MILTIADES, a great Athenian general and statesman,
was the second son of Cimon, and flourished in the fifth
century B.c. He makes his first appearance in history at
the death of his brother Stesagoras, who had succeeded to
the tyranny founded over the Thracian tribe of the Dolon-
cians by his uncle the elder Miltiades. Repairing to the
Chersonese with a small handful of Athenian troops, Mil¬
tiades by a clever stratagem decoyed the Doloncian mag¬
nates into his power, and thus mounted the vacant throne
without opposition. With the same promptitude he forti¬
fied his newly-attained position by enlisting a body-guard
of mercenaries, and espousing Hegesipyla, the daughter of
a Thracian prince, Olorus. He was reigning with great
popularity when he was summoned in 513 B.c. to attend
Darius Hystaspis in his expedition against the Scythians.
The duty allotted to him and the other Greek commanders
was to guard the bridge of boats across the Danube, while
the rest of the army penetrated into the interior of the
enemy’s country. But as Miltiades considered the Persian
monarch to be the natural foe of Greece, he advised his
fellow-soldiers to destroj die bridge, and leave Darius and
his host to perish in the wastes of Scythia. After a debate,
however, his advice was set aside. Some time afterwards
Miltiades was forced to retreat from his kingdom before an
irresistible horde of Scythians, and not until the enemy had
retired was he able to return. About this period also the
islands of Lemnos and Imbros were wrested by him from
the hands of Persia and subjected to the power of the
Athenians. It is probable that this deed, and his well-
known devotion to the Greek cause, drew upon himself the
resentment of Darius. At any rate, Miltiades was com¬
pelled, by the approach of a Phoenician fleet, to abandon
MIL 19
his dominions and betake himself to Athens. No sooner Milton,
had he set foot on his native soil, than he was arraigned by
the Athenian democracy for supporting the cause of ty¬
ranny by his occupation of the Doloncian throne. His
eloquent appeal, however, to his services in behalf of the
Athenians confounded his accusers and secured his ac-
quital. Miltiades now rose to the highest honours and
offices of the state. But not until the approach of the Per¬
sian armament under Datis and Artaphernes, in 490 B.c.,
did his genius and heroism rise to their full development.
Then it was that he incited his fellow-citizens to proclaim
their defiance of the invaders by casting into a pit the in¬
solent Persian legates who had come to’ Athens to demand
earth and water. Appointed one of the ten generals who
led the little Athenian army forth into the plain of Mara¬
thon, he urged his fellow-commanders to meet the im¬
mense host of the enemy on a fair field of battle. His
eloquence prevailed; and when it was his own turn to as¬
sume the supreme command he prepared for the fight.
After selecting a position where his forces could not be
surrounded by the overwhelming numbers of the enemy, he
drew up his line, placing heavy phalanxes on the wings,
and the light troops in the centre. His army was then
ordered to move forward. As it advanced the two wings
fell into double-quick march, and bore down with resistless
force upon the right and left of the enemy. The Athenian
centre then gave way, and suffered part of the Persian
army to pass into the space between the two wings. At
that instant the solid Greek phalanxes, which were by that
time unopposed, wheeled round with vehement celerity and
crushed the remnant of the foe between their two lines.
No sooner had this victory been gained, than Miltiades
posted towards Athens with a part of his army, and arrived
in time to save the city from being attacked and pillaged
by the Persian fugitives. He was now treated with the
highest esteem by his fellow-citizens. In the public pic¬
ture that was painted to commemorate the battle of Mara¬
thon, he was represented standing foremost of the ten
commanders and animating his soldiers for the charge. It
was not the habit, however, of the Athenians to honour a
great man when his services in their behalf ’did not suc¬
ceed. Accordingly, the unsuccessful expedition of Mil¬
tiades against the island of Paros changed his enthusiastic
admirers into his deadly enemies. He was publicly im¬
peached for having misled his country into a disastrous war,
and the mob began to clamour loudly for his life. A wound
which he had received in his late campaign, and which had
turned into a gangrene, prevented him from confronting his
accusers with his ready eloquence, and obliged him to entrust
his cause to his brother Tisagoras. He was found guilty,
and sentenced to pay a fine of fifty talents. As he was un¬
able to meet the sentence, his maimed and shattered body
was cast into prison. There grief and disease terminated
the career of Miltiades in 489 B.c., the year after he had
won the battle of Marathon. But the vengeance of his
enemies was not yet exhausted. His lifeless body was de¬
nied a resting-place, until his son Cimon gave himself into
custody as surety for the fine which had been imposed.
The best authority for the biography of Miltiades is Hero¬
dotus. (See Attica.)
MILTON, or Milton-Royal, a market-town of Eng¬
land, county of Kent, on an inlet of the channel between
the Isle of Sheppy and the mainland, 11 miles N.E. of
Maidstone, and 39 E. by S. from London. The town
stands on the declivity of a hill, and is old and irregularly
built, but it contains many good houses and cottages of re¬
cent erection. The inhabitants are principally engaged in
the oyster fishery,—the “ Milton natives” being in great de¬
mand in the London market. Some trade in corn and
other agricultural produce is also carried on. Market-day,
Saturday. Pop. of parish (1851) 2407.
20
MILTON.
Milton
John Milton was born at his father’s house in Bread
~ 1" t}?e Clty of London, on the 9th of December
1608. Nothing of the material fabric of the street in
winch he was born now remains, the great fire of 1666
having destroyed that with so much of the rest of old Lon¬
don. But the present Bread Street, which is one of the
streets striking off from the great thoroughfare of Cheap-
side towards the river, occupies the exact site of the old
Bread Street; and the spot in which Milton was born may
be yet identified as being that occupied by the third or
fourth house on the left, going from Cheapside. Here, as
one of a line of very respectable shops, and dwelling-houses
over them, inhabited chiefly by merchants, and all, as was
then the custom, distinguished by signs over the doors and
not by numbers as at present, there stood, prior to the
great fire, a house and shop known as the Black-Spread
Eagle. Milton’s father, whose name was also John, had
occupied this house since 1603, and carried on in it the
business of a scrivener or a copying-lawyer. The story is,
that he had betaken himself to that profession some fifteen
or twenty years before, on being disinherited by his
father, a substantial yeoman in Oxfordshire, for havino-
abandoned the Catholic faith. He had prospered well, and
had become possessed of considerable property, includino-
the house in Bread Street; and the sign of the Spread
Jbagle aftixed to the house was no other than the armorial
device of his family. Before removing to this house, and
when verging on forty years of age, he had married a lady
considerably younger than himself, whose name, accordino-
to one account, was Sarah Bradshaw, but according to
another, Sarah Caston. Five children were the issue of the
marriage, of whom only three attained to mature years —a
daughter, Anne, a year or two older than the poet;’the
poet himself; and a son named Christopher, exactly seven
years younger than the poet.
In Milton’s case there is less trace of the effect of that
rude, though powerful kind of education which is afforded
to all children by the mere miscellany of external circum¬
stance amid which they live, than of the effect of the more
express education of orderly domestic training. Here to
use a common phrase, he had every advantage. Peace
piety, and comfort reigned in the home in Bread Street!
Like most of the substantial London citizens of the time
the scrivener was of Puritan leanings in the matter of re¬
ligion, and his household was regulated on Puritan prin¬
ciples. But he was also a man of liberal culture and taste.
He was especially skilled in music; and specimens of his
skill in this art may be seen in various musical publications
of the day. It was from him that Milton derived his musi¬
cal ear and his first tuition in music as an art and a science.
This excellent man discerned the genius of his son from the
first, and found the chief pleasure and pride of his life in
fostering it and watching its growth. Of Milton’s mother
we hear less. She was, according to Milton himself, “a
most amiable woman, particularly noted for her charities
in the neighbourhood;” and Aubrey adds that she had such
weak eyes, that before she was thirty years old she had to
wear spectacles.
It was in his father’s house that Milton received his
earhest literary education. His first teacher was Thomas
oung, a Scotchman, who, after having been educated at
one of the Scottish universities, had migrated into Eng¬
land. His connection with the Milton family may have
begun as early as 1618, when his pupil was ten years of
age; and it must have closed by 1623, when Young went
abroad as chaplain to the British merchants at Hamburg,
from which exile he returned in 1628 to be settled as vicar
of Stowmarket in Suffolk. While still under Young’s care
Milton was sent to St Paul’s School-a public grammar
sciool of as high celebrity as any in London, and conve-
nient as being situated within a minute’s walk of Bread
Street. The head master of the school was Alexander
Hill, a Lincolnshire man, whose reputation as a teacher was
t en great; and the usher, or under-master, was his son,
the Kev Alexander Gill, junior, who had recently left Ox¬
ford with a considerable name as a scholar. With him
Milton contracted an acquaintance, which was continued
afterwards ; and he also formed a friendship with a fellow-
pupil at the school, named Charles Diodati, the son of an
Italian physician settled in London. Diodati left school
foi Oxford m 1621; but Milton remained at school three
or four years longer. At school, according to Aubrey “he
studied very hard and sat up very late, commonly till
twelve or one o’clock, and his father ordered the maid to
sit up for him ; and in these years he composed many verses
winch might well become a riper age.” Of these early
poetical exercises, the only remaining specimens are his
Lnglish 1 araphrases of Psalms cxiv. and cxxxvi., which
bear to have been done in his sixteenth year. Milton him¬
self however, confirms Aubrey’s account of his excessive
studiousness from his earliest boyhood; and he says, that
when he was sent to the university he was already “in¬
structed in various tongues,” and had “ no mean apprehen¬
sion of the sweetness of philosophy.”
Cambridge has the honour of counting Milton among
her many eminent sons. He was entered as a lesser pen¬
sioner at Christ’s College, Cambridge, on the 12th Febru-
ary 1624-5, when he was sixteen years and two months
old; and he continued his studies in the college for the
full academic period of seven years. Concerning his col¬
lege life there has been much difficulty among his biogra¬
phers. Johnson was the first to hint the belief that while
at college he sustained some punishment at the hands of
the college authorities, if not the indignity of corporal chas¬
tisement. The original authority, however, for such a
statement is Aubrey, whose memoir of Milton, accessible
in print since 1813, Johnson had probably seen in MS.
at Oxford. Aubrey says, that Milton having received
some unkindness” from his first tutor at college, left him
for another; and over the words “some • unkindness”
there are inserted in the MS. the words liivhipt him” On
this, taken in connection with Milton’s first Latin elegy, in
which, writing to his friend Diodati, he seems to refer to
some difference with the college authorities which was oc¬
casioning his temporary absence from college, the whole
controversy has been raised. From the investigation we
have been able to bestow on the subject, the facts seem to
be these :—That about the second or third year of his resi¬
dence at college Milton did have some difference with his
first tutor, Mr William Chappell, then one of the most dis-
tingmshed tutors in the university, and afterwards Bishop
o Cork and Ross ; that this difference did involve some
interference on the part of the master of the college, Dr
Bainbndge, in consequence of which Milton left college for
a time; but that eventually the difference was adjusted by
his being transferred from Chappell’s tutorship to that of
the Rev. Nathaniel Tovey, afterwards a parish clergyman
in Leicestershire. It is certain, at least, that any “ rusti¬
cation ” to which Milton was subjected did not involve the
loss of a single term of his academic course. He took both
his degrees exactly at the proper time—his B.A. degree in
January 1628-9, and his M.A. degree in July 1632. Apart,
Milton.
MILTON.
21
Milton, however, from the controversy as to his rustication, it is
certain, from Milton’s own statement;:-, that at first, owing
to a certain haughtiness of manner, and also to a certain
obstinacy in pursuing his own course of study, he was un¬
popular within the walls of the college. His college fel¬
lows, he tells us, used to nickname him “ The Lady,” in
allusion partly to the delicacy of his personal appear¬
ance, and partly to his moral fastidiousness. He informs us
distinctly, however, that this unpopularity was but tempo¬
rary, and that long before he left college he had won the
respect not only of the college, but of the whole university.
He speaks in one place of “ that more than ordinary favour
and respect which he found above any of his equals at the
hands of those courteous and learned men ” who were the
authorities of his college, and who, he says, when he left
them in 1632, “ signified in many ways how much better
it would content them that he would stay.” In short, Mil-
ton left the university with the highest possible reputation.
“ By his indefatigable study,” says Anthony Wood, “he pro¬
fited exceedingly, and was esteemed to be a sober and
virtuous person, yet not to be ignorant of his own parts.”
These last words are worth noting. From the very first
there is discernible in Milton a vein of noble self-respect,
and even self-assertion; a conviction of superior power when
measured with others ; a conscious dedication of his life to
noble ends ; and a resolution to preserve unstained the
purity of his moral being, as essential to the capacity of
truly great work in the world, or truly great endeavour of
whatever kind.
On going to the university Milton had been destined
for the church. For this purpose he had gone through the
usual course of study in rhetoric, logic, and the scholastic
philosophy and theology—studies, however, which even
then he regarded in the main as barren and unprofitable,
and on which, as on the whole system of university train¬
ing, he afterwards looked back with vehement contempt.
There is evidence that during the seven years which he
spent in Christ’s College he led a life of singular intellec¬
tual independence, performing his academic tasks duly,
but occupying himself with much else of his own choosing.
The following is a list of his remaining writings during this
period (1625-1632):—
I. Latin.—(1.) In 'prose, the first four of his Familiar Epistles,
written in 1625 and 1628, and addressed to Thomas Young and
Alexander Gill the younger; and seven college themes or orations
on various subjects written between 1626 and 1632, and first pub¬
lished by him, along with his Familiar Epistles, in 1674, under the
title of Prolusiones qucedam Oratorios. (2.) In verse, thirteen pieces,
chiefly on incidents of his university life ; to wit, the seven pieces
in the elegiac metre which form his Elegiarum Liber, and the first
six pieces of his so-called Sylvarum Liber.
II. English.—Thirteen poems, longer or shorter, as follows :—
On the Death of a fair Infant dying of a cough, 1626—the infant
being the poet’s niece, the daughter of his sister Anne, who in 1624
or 1625 had married Edward Phillips from Shrewsbury, who held
a situation in the Crown Office, London ; part of a Vacation Exer¬
cise at College, 1628 ; The Hymn on the Nativity, 1629 ; On the Pas¬
sion, 1630; On Time, 1630; On the Circumcision, 1630; At a So¬
lemn Musick, 1630 ; On May Morning, 1630; On Shakspeare, 1630 ;
On the University-Carrier (Hobson), “ who sickened in the time of his
vacancy (January 1630-1), being forbid to go to London by reason
of the plague;” another on the same; An Epitaph on the Mar¬
chioness of Winchester, 1631; Sonnet on his twenty-third birthday
1631.
No one can read these juvenile compositions now with¬
out discerning in them ample promise of what Milton be¬
came. The English poems are best known ; and in one or
two of them—as in that on the Fair Infant and that on
Christ’s Nativity—there is evidence of true poetic genius
and of the most exquisite skill in words and verse. But it
is in the less read Latin compositions, perhaps, that the lead¬
ing traits in the character of the young poet are best exhi¬
bited. There, while we admire the strong understanding
and a command of the Latin tongue in comparison with
which the usual classical Latlnity of modern scholars is
forced and feeble, and while also, even in the cumbrous
element of the Latin, we discern the graceful winging of
the poetic muse, we see at the same time, better than we
can see in the English poems, the habitually grave and aus¬
tere tone of Milton’s mind from his earliest youth,—its ten¬
dency, on the one hand, to scorn, and a kind of ferocity of
disgust and reprobation; and on the other, to high ideal
views and contemplations such as enter only the spirits of
the sublime. Nowhere else in the range of juvenile writ¬
ing known to us is there such distinct evidence of what
Horace has called the “ os magna sonilurum,”—the mouth
formed for great utterances. The very heaviness of such
attempts as there are at the facetious and the humorous
proves that it was not in these that Milton was fitted to ex¬
cel. “ Festivitates et sales,” he says himself in one of the
pieces, “ in quibus perexiguam agnosco facultatem meam?
In other words, the basis of his character was a moral aus¬
terity inconsistent with mere frolic or frivolity, though not
inconsistent with the free exercise, on the one hand, of a
powerful and inquisitive intellect, or, on the other, of a
phantasy delighting in the minutest forms of the musical
and the graceful.
It is to be remembered that, though Milton had the com¬
positions above mentioned in manuscript before leaving
Cambridge, none of them was published prior to that time
except the Epitaph on Shakspeare. It appeared anony¬
mously among the laudatory verses prefixed to the second
folio Shakspeare in 1632; and it is interesting to know
that Milton’s first appearance in print was on such an occa¬
sion. He was then in his twenty-fourth year. According
to his original intention, he would about this time have been
passing from college to some country curacy; and one can
hardly help speculating as to what might have been the
result for the Church of England had he done so. A Mil-
ton among the ecclesiastics of the days of Laud would have
been a phenomenon of some interest. Long ere leaving
college, however, he had abandoned the idea of being a
clergyman. The reason was his jealous concern for his in¬
tellectual and religious freedom—a state of mind for which
the condition of the Church of England under the ascen¬
dancy of Laud afforded little chance of satisfaction. Who¬
ever would become a clergyman at that time must, he said,
“ subscribe slave, and take an oath withal, which, unless
he took with a conscience that could not retch, he must
strait perjure himself.” He describes himself, therefore, as
“ church-outed by the prelates,” and as having no other
prospect left to him than that of a life devoted to study and
literature. It says much for the liberality and discretion of
his father, that in these circumstances, instead of urging
him into a profession against his will, he suffered him to
take his own way. Till he was thirty-one years of age
Milton did not earn a penny for himself.
The five years of Milton’s life which followed his leaving
college (1632-1637) were spent by him at Horton in Buck¬
inghamshire, about 20 miles from London, whither his
father had retired in his old age after giving up business.
These five years, according to his own account, were spent
in complete literary leisure and the enjoyment of the quiet
rural beauty of the neighbourhood; not but that sometimes
he “ exchanged the country for the town, either for the
purpose of buying books or for that of taking lessons in
music or mathematics.” During this time, he says, he
turned over the Greek and Latin writers ; doubtless also the
Italian, French, and English; and there is proof also that
he entertained for a time the notion of studying law along
with his younger brother Christopher, who had adopted the
law as his profession. Of his literary assiduity during the
same period there is ample evidence in a long list of sub¬
jects for dramas and other poems, drawn out by him in the
course of his miscellaneous reading, and now preserved, with
Milton.
22
MILTON.
Milton, others of his manuscripts, in the library of Trinity College,
Cambridge. Of his actual and surviving writings during
this period, however, the following is a list:—
I. Three Latin Familiar Epistles,—the first dated 1634, and ad¬
dressed to Alexander Gill the Younger, and the other two dated
September 1637, and addressed to Charles Diodati. Possibly also
a scrap or two of Latin verse.
II. The following well-known English poems:— *
1. The Sonnet to the Nightingale; and possibly one or two other
sonnets.
2. The two exquisite companion poems IS Allegro and II Penseroso.
3. “ Arcades ; part of an entertainment presented to the Countess
Dowager of Derby at Harefield by some noble persons of her family,
who appear on the scene in pastoral habit.” The Dowager Countess
of Derby here alluded to was the same lady who, in her youth forty
years before, had, under the name of Amaryllis, been the theme of
Spenser’s song. After the death of her first husband, Lord Strange,
who succeeded his father as Earl of Derby in 1594, she had married
the lord keeper, afterwards Lord Chancellor Egerton, by whose
death in 1617 she was left a widow for the second time. She lived
at Harefield House, near Uxbridge, where she frequently had her
younger relatives about her, including the Earl of Bridgewater, her
second husband’s eldest son, who had married one of her daughters
by her first husband. It has been supposed that this venerable lady
and her family had discovered the poetic talent of Milton, and had
him frequently with them as a favoured guest; but the more pro¬
bable supposition is, that the young people of her family, having
resolved, according to the custom of the time, to get up a masque or
musical entertainment in her honour, Milton wrote the words of the
Arcades to oblige his intimate friend Henry Lawes the musician,
who had been charged with the arrangements. The date of the en¬
tertainment was 1633 or 1634 j and Arcades was therefore written
when Milton was in his twenty-sixth year.
4. “ Comus; a masque presented at Ludlow Castle 1634, before
John, Earl of Bridgewater, then President of Wales.” Pleased with
the Arcades, the young people of the Bridgewater family had de¬
termined on a longer and more elaborate performance'of the same
kind ; and they found an excellent opportunity for it in the autumn
of 1634, when the earl went to Ludlow Castle in Shropshire to take
up his official residence there as Lord President of Wales. His
children,—Lord Brackley, Mr Thomas Egerton, and Lady Alice, 
went with him; and there was a congress of the neighbouring no^
bility and gentry. The masque for such an occasion required to be
something beyond ordinary • and while Lawes did his best for the
music, it was felt by the family that it would raise the character of
the entertainment if Milton would undertake the poetry. He did so;
and taking a hint, it is said, from an adventure which had be¬
fallen Lady Alice in Haywood Forest, produced the beautiful
masque of the Lady lost in the Enchanted Wood, and beguiled by
Comus and his crew, till her brothers find her. It was by far
the most considerable poem that Milton had yet produced, and
the rumour of it must have carried his name into many circles.
That it did so, we learn from the fact that Lawes published the
poem in 1637, with a dedication to Lord Brackley, in which he
says, that “ although not openly acknowledged by the author, yet
it is a legitimate offspring, so lovely and so much desired, that the
often copying of it hath tired my pen to give my several friends sa¬
tisfaction, and wrought me to a necessity of producing it to the
public view.”
5. Lycidas ; a monody on the death of Mr Edward King, a young
gentleman of great promise, who had been Milton’s college com¬
panion at Cambridge. He was drowned in August 1637 in crossing
from Chester to Ireland, where his friends resided; and the event
seems to have produced a great sensation at Cambridge, where a
volume was published in the following year, containing three Greek,
nineteen Latin, and thirteen English poems to his memory. Mil¬
ton’s Lycidas, which is signed “ J. M.,” closes the volume. He had
most probably written it at Horton and sent it to Cambridge. He
was then in his twenty-ninth year.
. ^uc|1 were Milton’s productions during the five years of
Ins residence under his father’s roof at Horton, or from his
twenty-fourth to his twenty-ninth year. They are small
11i ^f, ’ ^ovv exqoisite in quality ! The minor poems
° i u j ^/r^r6’ an^ ever ke’ the admiration of critics;
and had Milton died at the same time as the friend whom
e celebiates as Lycidas, we should still have had, in virtue
ot those poems, to pronounce his beautiful name among
those of the sons of the English muse.
n/r-F°nS^^re^’ hoiy^ver’ *n station to our knowledge of
Milton as he was all in all through life, there is a peculiarity
in these early poems. They are truly Miltonic; but they
are Miltonic, not in the sense that they represent the whole
of Milton, even as he was when he wrote them, but in the
sense that they represent him in those moments when he
bent his softer genius to the exercise and relaxation of
English verse. The poems belong, on the whole, to the
idyllic, or what may be called the sensuous-ideal class ; that
is to say, they are rather poems of rich and beautiful phan¬
tasy, of quiet thoughts and imaginations sweetly linked, than
of powerful human interest or greatly agitated feeling.
They are in this respect not unlike the poetry of Spenser
and Keats. According to Coleridge’s remark, however,
they prove all the better on this account that Milton was
by nature a poet. The tendency to choose themes lying
remote from ordinary social interests, and the ability, in
treating such themes, to wander on and on in a purely ideal
manner, weaving a tissue of sensuous fancies connected by
occult relations of beauty rather than by the direct associa¬
tions of place and time, are, according to Coleridge, the most
hopeful signs in a youthful poet. These signs were visible
m Milton from the first. With all his moral austerity, all
his learning, all the strength of his understanding, and all
his sterner inclination to the dogmatic, the indignant, and
the polemical, his main delight from the first, when he was
free to choose, was in purely literary and especially poetic
recreation; as if to show how, by reason of very strength, a
soul might come to rest in the sweet and exquisite, and so
make true his own maxim,—
“How charming is divine philosophy!—
Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo’s lute.”
His early preferences in literature, he tells us himself, had
been for the “ smooth elegiac poets,” whom, both for their
matter and “ the pleasing sound of their numerous writing,”
he found “ in imitation most easy, and most agreeable to
nature s part in him. He means here poets of the sensuous
or sensuous-ideal order, and refers chiefly to Ovid and other
classic and Italian poets, though Spenser may be included.
That he was right in saying that, as regards their form, the
imitation of these poets was agreeable to nature’s part in
him, no reader of the minor poems can doubt. One of the
most striking things about them, especially when compared
with the contemporary English poetry produced under Ben
Jonson’s critical supremacy during the last years of his
laureateship, is the perfection of their literary texture,—the
taste and finish of their language and versification. Ben died
in 1637, and they were therefore in existence in time for him
to have seen them, or some of them; and if he had seen them,
he would have found even his own most graceful masques,
and much more the productions of the Randolphs and others
whom he regarded as his literary children, but slovenly
things in comparison. But while the form of the poets
whom he admired presented no difficulty to Milton, was
rivalry with them in matter equally agreeable to nature’s
part in him? On this point there have been varieties in
opinion. That all in all Milton was a poet; that he possessed
the poetic faculty j9ar excellence,—call it imagination, ideality,
or what we will,—no one has yet been bold enough to
deny; and there are perhaps few who would not agree with
Coleridge that the nature of this “ poetic imagination”—this
“vision and faculty divine”—may be better studied in Milton,
by reason of its colossal proportions in him, than in any
other English poet. If imagination in the poet is the power
of thinking in concrete circumstance, of embodying mean¬
ings and states of mind in imaginary scenes, incidents, and
objects of beauty, which remain in the memory as “ a joy for
ever,”—what imagination in the Penseroso and the Allegro,
where the poet has collected and woven together with such
musical art the circumstances of nature and life suggestive
to the recluse of melancholy on the one hand, and of cheer¬
fulness on the other; in the Arcades, where, upon the simple
Milton.
MILTON. 23
Milton, incident of two or three young people advancing on an
English lawn with the homage of a speech and songs to a
venerable lady seated under the trees to receive them, the
poet has framed so complete and so charming a phantasy
for ear and eye ; in the Comus, where, on the suggestion of
a larger incident of the same kind, he has provided for us,
and placed irremovably in our literature, that phantasy of
the enchanted forest, more British than any in Spenser, and
yet wholly air-hung, through which the lost maiden is ever
wandering, and the noble pair of brothers are ever searching
for her, and the magical crew are ever revelling with evil
intent, and the attendant spirit of purity, disguised as a shep¬
herd, is ever walking his watchful round; finally, in the
Lycidas, where, because a hopeful youth has died, we are
back among the streams and dells of Arcadia, and behold a
landscape in tears! And yet here occurs a question. Ima¬
gination or poetry consists in embodying meanings and feel¬
ings in forms, which forms must be sensuous; but can it be
that a mind should have this poetic tendency to sensuous
embodiment of an ideal kind without having a fondness for
what may be called the actual sensuous, or, in other words,
a love of natural beauty and an accurate perception of it?
As regards Milton, this question has been raised incidentally
by Mr Ruskin, who, in a classification he has given of emi¬
nent moderns according to the degree in which they seem
to him to have possessed a constitutional delight in nature,
or the habit of accurately perceiving natural beauty, has
placed Milton, along with such men as Bacon and Johnson,
among those in whom this quality was moderate or defect¬
ive, as distinct from those, such as Shenstone, Keats, and
poets generally, in whom it was evidently great. Now
there is much importance in this separation of the men of
thought and energy on the one hand, who act outwards
upon nature, and whose greatness consists in such action,
from the men of sensibility on the other, who are tremulous
to the sights and sounds of nature, and find their function in
recording and reproducing them ; nor is Mr Ruskin wrong
when he places Milton among the men of thought and dog¬
ma, who had strength within themselves, and whose faculty
did not lie mainly in the tips of their outer senses. He
seems to be unjust to Milton, however, in the negative part
of his criticism, which denies to Milton keenness of exter¬
nal perception and sensibility to natural beauty along with
his moral and speculative strength. His minor poems have
much of their charm in their sensuousness; this is, indeed,
the word that would be used to characterize what is most evi¬
dent in them. By Wordsworth himself,—who recalled our
poetry to truth and nature, and who was at war with almost
all our poets from Dryden downwards, precisely because,
as he said, they had never looked at nature for themselves,
but had spoken of her by rote,—the accuracy of Milton’s
images from nature was never impugned, but was, on the
contrary, asserted and exemplified, and held up by way of
example; and it would take much argument now to prove
that the sensuousness of Milton’s poetry was a simulated or
merely literary sensuousness, and not the real sensuousness
of a man who delighted in the fields, and the flowers, and the
clouds, and whose mind teemed with recollections of them.
We do not find in Milton, indeed, that universal retentive¬
ness of objects and facts of all kinds, from the oddities of
street life, up through the beauties of sylvan scenery, to the
splendours of celestial space, which we find in Shakspeare,
and to which, so far as facts of the lower or more uncouth
order are admitted along with those of the higher, a certain
humorous lightness of disposition, such as Milton did not
possess, seems to be essential. It may be also that, in Mil-
ton as in other men, there had been developed a kind of
secondary love of nature, as already transfused and attenuated
into literature, and seen through the mist of beautiful speech.
All in all, however, as it was certainly the bent of his genius
to express itself in sensuous imaginations, so there seems to
have been no film separating him from the world of actual Milton,
existence whence the materials for these imaginations are
usually drawn; but, on the contrary, such a habitual inti¬
macy of his senses with whatever in nature or life was beau¬
tiful or impressive, that whenever his phantasy began to
work, his memory was ready with authentic forms, sounds,
colours, or whatever else was necessary for any poetic com¬
bination. His woods, his flowers, his atmosphere, are the
woods, the flowers, and the atmosphere of genuine English
nature.
Underneath the grace and the flowers, however, there
are in these minor poems of Milton all the signs of his
manly strength. We have called them sensuous-ideal in
their general character, and have spoken of them as being,
even in virtue of their singular excellence in this kind, essen¬
tially Miltonic; but they are Miltonic also in a higher and
more complete sense, as indicating the massiveness of Mil¬
ton’s moral, and the height of his intellectual, nature. The
purity of tone in all of them is as perfect as the literary
taste ; and every now and then, from amid the softness and
the luxuriance there breaks forth a passage of luminous
speculative meaning or sublime moral maxim. In Comus
the very theme is the inviolability of virtue by all ‘he
powers and wiles of assailing circumstance; and here, as
also in the later poem of Lycidas, there are outbreaks of the
spirit of the future polemic and stern social reformer.
Just before Lycidas was written Milton’s moth r had
died (Aug. 3, 1637) at Horton, where she lies buried.
From his father, now about seventy-four years of age, the
poet not long after obtained leave to make a continental
tour, more expressly for the purpose of visiting Italy. He
set out with one servant towards the end of the year, tak¬
ing with him some letters of introduction, and seme good
advice from Sir Henry Wooton, provost of Eton, who had
been King James’s ambassador at Venice. He was kindly
received at Paris by Lord Scudamore, the English ambas¬
sador, who introduced him to Grotius, then ambassador in
Paris for Queen Christina of Sweden, and also gave him
letters to English merchants in Italy. He went to Genoa
by way of Nice, and from Genoa to Leghorn, Pisa, and
Florence. At Florence he remained two months, frequent¬
ing the society of artists and men of letters. From Florence
he went to Siena, and thence to Rome, where he also
stayed some time and formed some useful acquaintances.
He next visited Naples, where he received much attention
from the aged Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa,
the friend and patron of Tasso. Manso at parting took him
to task in a friendly manner for his imprudence in speaking
too frankly of religious matters. From Naples it was Milton’s
intention to proceed to Sicily and Greece; but the news
which he received of the imminence of a civil war in his
native land determined him to return. “ I thought it dis¬
honourable,” he says, “ that I should be travelling at my
ease for amusement when my fellow-countrymen at home
were fighting for liberty.” Returning northwards, there¬
fore, he reached Rome again, where he was told that the
Jesuits had laid a plot against him; but though he remained
two months more there, and made no concealment of the
strength of his Protestantism, he was not molested. From
Rome he went again for two months to Florence ; thence
to Lucca, and so across the Apennines, through Bologna
and Ferrara, to Venice. Thence, after a month’s stay, and
having shipped for England the books he had bought in
Italy, he travelled, by Verona, Milan, and the Pennine Alps,
to Geneva, where he became acquainted with the theologian
Diodati, the uncle of his friend Charles; and so through
France back again to England, from which he had been
absent in all a year and three months. While still abroad,
Milton had heard of the death of his friend Charles Diodati;
and on his return he wrote his Latin poem entitled Epi-
taphium Damonis in honour of his memory.
24 MIL
Milton. On6 result of the Italian tour, which has not perhaps been
V—sufficiently noted, was its effect in stimulating his literary
ambition. \\ bile in Italy he had shown about, according
to the custom, 01 had recited in literary circles, some of
his juvenile compositions in Latin and English, and had
also written some additional trifles, among which were his
few Italian sonnets, and his three short Latin poems, Ad
Leonoram Rotyke canentem ; and the two longer ones, en¬
titled Mans us and Ad Salsillum poetam Romanum cegro-
tantem. These specimens of his taste and skill had won him,
in return, complimentary letters and copies of verses from the
Italian scholars and wits, some of which he thought worth
preserving, to be shown afterwards to his less appreciating
countrymen. “ Gratifled,” he says, with encomiums of this
kind, “ which the Italian is not forward to bestow on men
of this side the Alps,” he had no sooner returned to Eng¬
land than he felt the desire for literary production more
strongly than ever. “ I began,” he says, “ thus far to assent
both to them and to divers of my friends here at home, and
not less to an inward prompting which now grew daily
upon me, that by labour and intent study (which I take to
be my portion in this life), joined with the strong propensity
of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written to
aftertimes as they should not willingly let it die.” His
aspirations had even taken a certain determinate direction
as regarded the work on which he was to spend his strength.
Knowing that “ it would be hard to arrive even at the second
rank among the Latins,” he had resolved that his literary
labours thenceforth should be chiefly in his mother tongue,
not caring once to be named abroad, though perhaps he
could attain to that, but content with these British islands
as his world.” He had resolved, moreover, that his main
work should be a poem, and a poem of the higher order,
in which <£ what the greatest and choicest wits of Athens,
Rome, or modern Italy, and those Hebrews of old, did for
their country, he £{ in his proportion, with this over and
above of being a Christian,” might do for his. As to the
precise form and subject of such a poem, however, he had
not made up his mind—whether it should be epic, after
the model of Homer, Virgil, and Tasso, and if epic, what
king or knight of British history before the Conquest should
be chosen as the hero; or whether it should be a stately
drama, in which something of the form of Sophocles and
Euripides should be combined with still higher forms, of
which the Bible, and especially the Apocalypse, afforded
examples; or whether, finally, it should be some grand
lyric, such as heathen genius had hardly yet attempted.
Alas! these schemes and ruminations were destined to
a speedy and severe interruption. The civil war, prognos¬
tications of which had reached him in Italy and hastened
his return, was now about to begin in earnest; and for a
period of twenty years Britain was to be the scene of a
social strife such as had been scarce paralleled in the world
before. During these twenty years there was very little
literature produced in England that was not polemical in
its tenor. There were controversial treatises and pamphlets
in abundance; there were also satires and songs for poli¬
tical purposes, and full of political allusions; but of pure
history, pure philosophical writing, or pure poetry, there
was little. The men of talent from whom literature of
such kind was to be expected were either dispersed abroad,
or, if they remained in England, were whirled along in the
common agitation. In the lives of Shirley, Waller, Hobbes,
Davenant, Cleveland, Denham, and Cowley, and even in
those of men like Jeremy Taylor and Fuller, the effects of
the civil wars of Charles’s reign, as bending them some-
what, both in external and in internal respects, out of what
might otherwise have been their course, may be traced
without difficulty. But in the case of Milton the effect is
infinitely more striking. But for the civil wars we should
have known but half the man. In his case there was a
TON.
pre-established harmony of mind with the great national Milton,
revolution through which he had to pass; there were ele-
ments in his moral and intellectual being which actually
xvaited for the convulsion; nay, of him alone, in the midst
of the Davenants, and Cowleys, and Wallers, can it be said
that there was something in his very notions of literature
itself which, corresponding as it did by a profound affinity
to the new Puritan spirit then beating in the heart of the
English people, pointed for that very reason to a literary
evelopment which should be no mere continuation of the
regs of Elizabethan wit, but an outburst as original intel¬
lectually as the Puritan movement was socially, and requir-
mg partizanship with that movement as its explanation and
comment. On the first manifest signs of that movement
he consented, as he says, to lay aside his singing-robes”
for a more convenient season, and “to leave&a calm
and pleasing solitariness, fed with cheerful and confident
thoughts,” in order to “ embark in a troubled sea of noises
and hoarse disputes.” He imagined that a year or two of
such work, to which he felt that he was lending “ only his
left hand,” would be all that would be required of him.
But once engaged in the controversies of the time, he was
led on and on; and for the space of full twenty years we
see him only as a polemical prose writer, giving and takino-
blows in the cause of the Revolution, and producing nothing
at all in verse except an occasional Latin scrap or epigram,
and a few English sonnets suggested by passing occur¬
rences. To attempt here a full and connected narrative of
this period of his life is evidently impossible; it will be
sufficient to present a chronological scheme of the main
facts, including a list of his successive publications.
1640-42 (Milton cetat. 31-33).—The Long Parliament
met November 3, 1640. Milton had by this time changed
his mode of life. The household at Horton having been
broken up, and his father having gone to reside at Reading
with his younger son Christopher, then a barrister-at-law
and of royalist politics, Milton had taken lodgings in the
house of one Russell, a tailor in St Bride’s Churchyard,
Fleet Street. Here he took to lodge and board with him
his two young nephews, Edward and John Phillips, then
about nine or ten years of age, the sons of his sister Anne,
now married for the second time to a Mr Agar of the Crown
Office. The arrangement seems to have been one of mere
kindness at first; but his friends having suggested to him
that he might take a few more boys to educate, he removed
in 1641 to a larger house in Aldersgate Street, situated in
a garden, and out of the bustle of the city. Here he re¬
ceived some additional.pupils, the sons of wealthy friends,
and occupied his time partly in educating them after a
peculiar system of his own, and partly in private studies.
It was in these circumstances that ke wrote his first pamph¬
let. Amid the numerous matters occupying the attention
of Parliament—the trial of Strafford, &c.—that of church
reform was paramount. The root of the evil, it was felt
by the Puritans, was in the prelatical constitution of the
church ; and already there were petitions and bills having
for their object nothing less than an abolition of bishops,
deans, and chapters, and all Episcopal forms, and a recon¬
struction of the Church of England after the Presbyterian
model. Into this controversy Milton threw himself; and,
the press being then free for such opinions, he published
in 1641 a treatise or bulky pamphlet in two books, in the form
of a letter to a friend, entitled' Of Reformation, touching
Church Discipline in England, a?id the Causes that hitherto
have hindered it. The treatise answers to its name, and is
throughout a vehement attack on Prelacy in its forms and
essence. It helped to infuriate the controversy which was
already waging. A defender of Episcopacy appeared in
Hall, Bishop of Norwich. Hall was answered by a coun¬
terblast from five Puritan ministers—Stephen Marshall,
MIL
Milton. Edward Calamy, Thomas Young (Milton’s old tutor),
Matthew Newcomen, and William Spurstow—who clubbed
the initials of their names together so as to form the word
“ Smectymnuus ; and Archbishop Usher came to the rescue
of Hall, and wrote a confutation of Smectymnuus. Milton
feeling that the prelates were likely to have the best of the
debate, both in learning and in literary talent, unless he in¬
terfered, grappled with Usher and his associates in two addi¬
tional pamphlets ; the one, entitled Of Prelaticnl Episco-
pacy, addressed mainly to the question of the apostolical
origin of Episcopacy ; the other, which is much the longer,
entitled 1 he Reason of Church Government urged against
Prelacy. Nor was this all. Bishop Hall having himself
written a reply to Smectymnuus, entitled The Remonstrant! s
Defence, Milton produced a fourth tract, written in the
form of a dialogue, and entitled Animadversions upon the
Remonstrant s Defence, &c.; and, finally, these i( Animad¬
versions” having drawn forth an anonymous reply, supposed
to be by a son ol Bishop Hall, in which Milton’s character
was scurrilously attacked, the controversy was wound up
(1642) by Milton’s Apology against a Pamphlet called “ A
Modest Confutation of the Animadversions upon the Re¬
monstrant against Smectymnuus A
1643-45 (Milton eetat. 34-36).—The civil war had now
fairly begun. The king had his head-quarters at Oxford,
and his troops and those of the Parliament were fighting for
the possession of the country. The Westminster Assembly
had met to help the Parliament in discussing the religious
question. In the midst of this confusion Milton took a
step usually taken in quieter times. “ About Whitsuntide”
(1643), says his nephew Phillips, “he took a journey into
the country, nobody about him certainly knowing the reason,
or that it was more than a journey of recreation. After a
months stay from home, he returns a married man who set
out a bachelor; his wife being Mary, the eldest daughter of
Mr Richard Powell, then a justice of the peace of Forest
Hill, near Shotover in Oxfordshire.” There had been a
previous acquaintance and some money transactions be¬
tween the two families. What occurred after the marriage
is known to every one. Being no Minerva, but a simple
and apparently rather stupid country girl, “ accustomed to
dance with king’s officers at home,” the young wife found
the life she was leading intolerable, and could see nothing
in her husband but a man of harsh and morose ways, whom
she could not understand, and who was always at his books.
She asked leave to return home on a short visit, and, having
gone, she flatly refused to come back. Her parents abetted
her in the refusal, and seem, among other things, to have
alleged their son-in-law’s politics as a reason, they being
royalists. Milton’s conduct on the occasion was most cha¬
racteristic. Where other men would have remained quiet,
or, if so inclined, have consoled themselves in secret, he
made his case the matter of public argument. In a subse¬
quent sketch, indeed, of his own life about this time, he
speaks as if it was less any private reason than the system¬
atic prosecution of a path of activity which he had marked
out for himself that led him to the public discussion in which
he now engaged. While other men were fighting for liberty,
he says, he had resolved to do what he could for the same
great cause by expounding the true theory of liberty; and
having already written on ecclesiastical liberty, and seen that
question brought by events to some sort of settlement, he
now saw remaining the equally important questions of private
liberty and civil liberty. This is no doubt substantially
accurate; and Milton’s views on the marriage question
were no doubt so properly a part of his general philosophy,
that they might have been evolved in the mere course of
speculation, without the stimulus of any private interest in
the matter. On the whole, however, their connection with
his own case is undeniable. It is as if he said,—“ I have
found myself in circumstances in which a fundamental rule
VOL. xv.
T O N.
of society as it exists has come in conflict with my comfort
in such a manner as to lead me to examine its validity by
the higher laws and principles on which it professes to rest;
and as I am not a man to do anything underhand, I here
publish my views in justification of whatever I may see fit
to do.” He published in quick succession four tracts on
this subject,—The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce re¬
stored to the good of both Sexes from the Bondage of Canon
Law, See. (1644, in which year two editions appeared, both
addressed “ to the Parliament of England, with the Assem¬
bly”) ; The Judgment of Martin Bucer touching Divorce
(a translated series of extracts, also published in 1644);
Tetrachordon, or Expositions upon the four chief places in
Scripture which treat of Marriage or Nullities in Mar¬
riage (published in 1645, and addressed to the Parliament)}
and Colasterion ; a Reply to a Nameless Ansiver against
the Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce (1645). The
doctrine in all these tracts is, that moral incompatibility is
as good a ground for divorce as conjugal infidelity, if not a
better—a doctrine leading to numerous applications which
he does not state, and which it is needless to say no civil¬
ized society has yet seen fit to adopt. One notices in the
tracts, too, a singular disposition to treat the question as if
it were entirely a man’s question ; and indeed they are full
of those notions of the inferiority of women which Milton
held all his life, and which are generally repudiated with
indignation by those who now adopt views similar to his as
to the theory of the marriage bond. At the time, the
pamphlets produced some sensation, and the author was
nearly being taken to task for them by Parliament at the
instance of the Presbyterian divines in the Assembly. As
regards Milton himself, his views were never carried out,
the king’s waning fortunes having made it convenient for
his wife’s family to bring about a reconciliation, the effect
of which was, that towards the end of 1645 Mrs Milton
was again domiciled with her husband. It was not to the
house in Aldersgate Street, however, that she returned, but
to a larger house which Milton had taken in Barbican, and
which was then getting ready. Here, besides her husband
and his pupils, she found old Mr Milton the father, who
had been obliged during her absence to leave his younger
son’s house in Reading, in consequence of the surrender of
that town to the Parliament, and to take up his quarters
with his son John. It remains to add, before quitting
Aldersgate Street, that here Milton wrote, besides his
divorce pamphlets, his tract On Education, addressed to
Mr Samuel Hartlib, and his noble Areopagitica, or Speech
for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing. Both were pub¬
lished in 1644, and they contain Milton’s views on ques¬
tions of great public interest at the time—the first, his
views on the state of the universities, and his plan of a
gymnasium which should supersede both them and the
grammar schools, and do the work of both better in a much
shorter time; and the second, his views on the liberty of
the press, in the form of an appeal to Parliament to recon¬
sider an order they had just passed subjecting books to a
censorship. When we add, that about the same time Mil-
ton prepared for the press the first edition of his poems
(published in 1645, in a small volume, by Humphrey
Moseley, the Tonson of his day, and containing, besides
the pieces in English and Latin already named, some son¬
nets written in the meantime), it will be seen that there
was industry enough in the house in Aldersgate Street
during the absence of Mrs Milton.
1646-48 (Milton wtat. 37-39).—Mrs Milton’s return,
indeed, seems rather to have interrupted than to have for¬
warded his literary activity. One reason of this may have
been that she brought her whole family after her. Her
father, mother, biothers, and sisters were in Oxford when
it surrendered to the parliamentary army in June 1646;
and, being thus driven from home, they came up to London
n
25
Milton.
^ v '
26 -MIL
Milton, and were kindly received by Milton into his house till
Vv—fcv-—matters could be better arranged. As old Mr Milton was
still there, and as Milton’s first daughter Anne had just
been born (July 29, 1646), the house seems to have been
inconveniently crowded; at least Phillips hints as much
when he says that after their departure it “looked again
like a house of the muses.” This cannot have taken place
prior to the 1st of January 1646—7, when the father -in-law
died in Milton’s house. Milton’s own father died in the
March following, at the age of eighty-four or upwards.
I hese deaths, the return of the Powells to Oxfordshire, and
probably also a falling-off in the number of Milton’s pupils,
determined him to give up his house in the Barbican, and
to remove (1647) to a smaller one in Holborn, having its
back to Lincoln’s Inn Fields. He does not seem to have
continued to receive pupils long after this time, but to
have been content with his scholarly studies and the quiet
exercise of his pen. It has been remarked by Mr Keightley,
that Milton was fond of the humble literary practice of
compilation when there was nothing better for him to do;
and accordingly it seems to have been during the years
(1646-1648) when he was living in the Barbican and at
Holborn, waiting for the farther issue of events, that he
prepared for his own use, or for that of his pupils, some of
those compilations which he afterwards published. At this
time, at all events, he wrote a portion of his History of
England. In poetry he still did next to nothing.
1648-9 (Milton (Etat.AQi).—On the 30th January 1648-9
Charles was beheaded, and England became a Common¬
wealth, presided over by a council of state, served in the field
by Cromwell and other generals, and assisted in legislation by
the Rump Parliament. The Revolution had thus been borne
on by its bolder spirits to a stage at which, while the out¬
side world stood aghast, multitudes of those in Britain itself
who had followed it so far, including the Scots and the Pres¬
byterians generally, fell off or turned reactionary. At this
crisis Milton came forward to justify what the bolder spirits
had done, and “ to compose the minds of the people,” natu¬
rally unsettled by the charges, flung upon them on all sides,
that they had murdered their sovereign. Within a week or
two after the execution of Charles he published a short
pamphlet, the full title of which it is worth while to quote :—
E/ie Fenure of Kings and Magistrates ; proving that it is
lawful, and hath been held so through all ages, for any
who have the power to call to account a tyrant or wicked
king, and, after due conviction, to depose and put him to
death, if the ordinary magistrate have neglected or denied
to do it; and that they who of late so much blame deposing
[i.e., the Presbyterians] are the men that did it themselves.
So seasonable an interposition could not be overlooked by
the government of the Commonwealth ; and as Milton was
personally known to Bradshaw and others of the council
of state, they were empowered to consult with him as to
his willingness to accept the office of foreign or Latin
secretary to the council. He did accept the office, with a
salary, as it appears, of about L.290 per annum, and his
appointment is dated the 15th of March 1648-9. In order
to be near the scene of his duties, he removed from Holborn
to lodgings at Charing Cross; he was subsequently in the
course of the year accommodated with rooms at White¬
hall, but only till an official residence which had been as¬
signed him in Scotland Yard could be got ready. Prior
to his acceptance of the foreign secretaryship he had pub-
ished a pamphlet entitled Observations on Articles of
l eace between the Earl of Ormond and the Irish Rebels,
in which is discussed the policy of the late king in the
matter of Irish Popery and Presbyterianism.
1649-53 (Milton wtat. 40-44).—Milton’s official duties
consisted in preparing drafts of such letters in Latin as the
council desired from time to time to address to foreign
princes, governments, and ambassadors; and a series of
TON.
forty-six such letters, written by him for the council, and Milton,
the publication of which was prevented during his lifetime,
was edited from his papers after his death. But much
more important work was devolved on Milton by the coun¬
cil. 1 he famous Ikon Basihhe had just appeared, and was
circulating in hundreds of copies through the country,
lepresenting the late king, on the professed authority of
his own private papers, as a saint ever on his knees during
his hours of solitude and misfortune, and doing much,
theiefbre, to win popular acquiescence in the use of the
teim royal martyr,” as already posthumously applied to
him. By way of counteractive, Milton wrote and published
a long pamphlet entitled EiKovoKAourr^s, in which, with¬
out questioning the authenticity of the pretended manifesto
o loyalty, he criticizes it mercilessly. The preparation
of this pamphlet must have occupied him during a consid¬
erable portion of the year 1649; but it was hardly finished
when a still harder piece of work was required of him.
Charles II., then a refugee in Holland, had got the great
scholar Salmasius, alias Claude de Saumaise, of the univer¬
sity of Leyden, to undertake the advocacy of his cause in
a treatise such as might be submitted to the learned through¬
out Europe ; and the Continent was now ringing with the
fame of the Defensio Regia pro Carolo Primo ad Carolum
Secundum which Salmasius had published. Fearful of the
damage that such a work might do abroad, the English
council of state bethought themselves of their secretary as
the man to answer it suitably. On the 8th of January
1649-50 it was ordered by the council “that Mr Milton
do prepare something in answer to the book of Salmasius,
and, when he hath done it, bring it to the council.” In
execution of this commission, Milton prepared his famous
First Defence for the People of England; or, Pro Populo
Anghcano Defensio, contra Claudii anonymi alias Sal-
masii Defensionem Regiam, the order for the publication of
which appears in the council-minutes under date Decem¬
ber 23, 1650. It has been stated that Milton received
L.1000 for the performance; but the minutes of council
exhibit nothing more than a vote of thanks. The success
of the treatise was infinitely beyond what might have been
expected. Salmasius found himself assailed in his philo-
sophy, in his Latinity, and in his powers of opprobrious
rhetoric, by a man who was more than his match in all;
and it is even said that his death, which occurred not long
afterwards, was caused by chagrin at his loss of credit.
Satisfied with his triumph, Milton rested from literary
exertion, except of a private kind, for about two years.
It was during this time that he removed from Scotland
lard to a house “in Petty France, Westminster, opening
into St James’s Park,” which house (afterwards occupied
by Bentham) he continued to live in till the Restoration.
It was about this time also, and apparently in the house
in Petty France, that he was visited by the great calamity
of his life—his blindness. From a letter on the subject
written by him at a later period, it appears that his eyesight
had begun to fail as early as 1644, when he was about
thirty-five years of age, and that the process of obscuration
was so gradual that it was not till about 1650 or 1651
that total blindness was threatened. The preparation of
the treatise against Salmasius was believed by himself to
have hastened the fatal result. At all events, by the end
of the year 1653 Milton was totally blind, and the fact of
his blindness was publicly talked of both by his friends and
his enemies. The fatal affection was of the kind called
gutta serena; and Milton himself tells that it left his eyes
perfectly clear and without any mark, speck, or external
disfigurement whatever. It may have been while the
blindness was not yet total, but only nearly so, that he
sustained what even for him, in such circumstances, must
have been another great loss, and which was certainly a
great loss for his children. This was the death of his
MILTON.
Hilton, wife, the precise date of which has not been discovered,
^ though it was either in 1652 or 1653. She left three
children, all daughters, — the eldest, Anne, about seven
years of age; the second, Mary, about five ; and the third,
Deborah, a mere infant in arms. Although she may not
have been the fit person to be the wife of Milton, one can¬
not but imagine the house in Petty France more desolate
from her absence; the blind and austere widower left in
pne part of it to contemplations in which some thoughts of
Mary Powell, as she was when he first bore her away from
her Oxfordshire home, can hardly have been wanting; and
the poor motherless children, known to him only as tiny
voices of complaint going about in the darkness near,
with none but an alien voice any more to hush or overawe
them!
1653—1658 (Milton cetat. 44—49).—Notwithstanding his
blindness, Milton continued in the active discharge of his
duties as Latin secretary during the whole protectorate of
Cromwell, which began on the 16th of December 1653,
and terminated on Cromwell’s death on the 3d of Septem¬
ber 1658. Between seventy and eighty Latin letters, writ¬
ten by him in Oliver’s name, are included in the collection
of his state letters ; and besides these he wrote a Latin
state paper of some length on the subject of the Protector’s
differences with the Spanish court. He had, however, an
assistant in his office who relieved him of a part of the
work; and there is a council order, dated April 17, 1655,
reducing his salary to L. 150 per annum, with the proviso
that the same should be paid to him during his life. It
seems, however, that both Milton and his friend Andrew
Marvell, who was latterly associated with him in the office,
received an actual salary of L.200 a year. That Milton
was not only an admirer of Cromwell’s genius,—he had al¬
ready celebrated him in a sonnet as “ Cromwell, our chief
of men,”—but also an entire believer in the necessity and
the advantage of his government, is proved by the tenor of
his writings during the Protectorate. These consisted of
three pamphlets growing out of the Defensio pro Populo
Anglicano. As early as 1651, indeed, an anonymous re¬
ply to this treatise had appeared; but Milton, who attributed
it to Bishop Bramhall, left the confutation of it to his ne¬
phew John Phillips, and. only revised what Phillips had
written. Another work having appeared abroad, however,
in 1652, with the title Regii Sanguinis Clamor ad Ccelum
adversus Parricidas Anglicanos, Milton, who was grossly
and calumniously attacked in it, and represented as a blind
monster, thought it fit to reply in person. The real author
of the work was the Frenchman Peter Dumoulin, after¬
wards a prebendary of Canterbury ; but the reputed author
at the time was Alexander More, a Scotchman, settled in
France, who had been concerned in seeing it through the
press ; and against him Milton directed the full force of his
vengeance. In the Defensio Secunda pro Populo Angli¬
cano, which was not published till 1654, Milton meets the
personal accusations of his antagonist, and retaliates with
scurrilities quite as coarse and offensive, though doubtless
better founded; but he also returns to the main question,
in the course of the discussion of which he introduces a
splendid panegyric on Cromwell, and brief eulogistic sketches
of some of the other heroes of the Commonwealth. Not
content with what he had said in his own defence in this
pamphlet, he followed it up by another entitled Authoris
pro se Defensio contra Alexandrum Morum, Ecclesiasten
(1655) ; and More having rejoined, he wound up with Au¬
thoris ad Alexandri Mori Supplementum Pesponsio, pub¬
lished in the same year. These pamphlets must neces¬
sarily have been written by the method of dictation, and in
the first of them there is a passage written with express refer¬
ence to his blindness. During the remaining three years
of the Protectorate, Milton had leisure to fall back upon
the compilations which he had on hand. During the same
27
period he married his second wife, Catherine Woodcock, Milton,
daughter of a Captain Woodcock of Hackney, of whom
little or nothing is known. The marriage took place on
the 12th November 1656 by civil contract; and on Febru¬
ary 1656-57 Milton was again left a widower by the death
of his wife in childbirth. He has testified his affection for
her in a well-known sonnet.
1658—1660 (Milton eetat. 49-51).—The twenty months
which followed the death of Cromwell were a time of vary¬
ing anarchy and uncertainty, in the midst of which events
slowly shaped themselves towards one inevitable issue,
which men began to think of by themselves long before
they dared to speak of it to one another,—the restoration
of Charles II. The state of Milton’s mind and the course
of his life during these perplexing months are to be in¬
ferred from what remains of his writings during them. As
Latin secretary he wrote eleven letters for Richard Crom¬
well, and two letters in the name of the Restored Parlia¬
ment after Richard’s abdication. The last letter is dated
May 15, 1659, after which we hear no more of Milton
officially. But as a citizen he was not idle ; and if the re¬
solution and the reasonings of one man could have main¬
tained republicanism in England, and kept the door fast
against the return of royalty, whether accompanied by
Prelacy or by Presbytery, the work would have been done
by Milton. His revived anxiety on the religious question
was exhibited in two tracts, both written in 1659, and ad¬
dressed to Parliament; the one entitled A Treatise of Civil
Power in Ecclesiastical Causes, showing that it is not law¬
ful for any power on earth to compel in matters of reli-
gion ; and the other, Considerations touching the likeliest
means to remove Hirelings out of the Church ; wherein is
also discoursed of Tithes, Church Fees, and Church Re¬
venues, and whether any maintenance of ministers can he
settled by laiv. As these tracts were intended by their au¬
thor to stem what he considered a return of the national
mind towards intolerance in religion, so his anxiety with re¬
spect to what was more properly the political reaction w’as
shown in A Letter to a Friend concerning the Ruptures of
the Commomvealth (dated October 1659, though not then
published), and in a subsequent more public pamphlet en¬
titled The Ready and Easy Way to establish a Free Com¬
momvealth, and the excellence thereof compared with the
inconveniences and dangers of readmitting Kingship into
this nation. The views addressed in this pamphlet to the
public at large were even recapitulated by him at the last
hour for the private eye of General Monk, in a short letter
headed The Present Means and Brief Delineation of a Free
Commomvealth, easy to be put in practice and ivithout delay.
Monk’s mind, however, was better made up than Milton’s
as to the ease or difficulty of the solution in question; and
the last act of the despairing republican was to publish
Brief Notes upon a Late Sermon titled “ The Fear of God
and the King? preached and since published by Matthew
Griffith, D.D., and Chaplain to the late King. No Blind
Guides was the title as well as the tenor of a short answ’er
to this criticism, written by L’Estrange the essayist; and
in May 1660 Charles II. was on the throne. Milton, as
almost coming within the doomed category of the regicides,
was for some time in danger of being included among those
whom the new government exempted from amnesty. His
more obnoxious writings were called in by proclamation,
and publicly burnt by the hands of the hangman ; he was
actually in custody after the Act of Indemnity had been
passed ; and that he escaped finally without punishment is
said to have been owing chiefly to the intercession of the
poet Davenant.
The period of Milton’s life which we have thus hastily
traversed, extending from his thirty-second to his fifty-
second year, and coinciding, therefore, with what may be
28
MILTON.
Milton, called his middle life or manhood,—was, we would a^ain
—" observe, all but entirely a period of polemical prose-writing.
The four-and-twenty separate pamphlets, treatises, &c.,
which he wrote during these twenty years, make in all,
when collected, three or four goodly volumes; while the
stray sonnets and other metrical scraps, in which during
these years he hinted rather than asserted that he had not
parted with his title as a poet, do not amount to more than
a few pages. 1 he reader will do well to note this inter¬
polation of a middle period of prose polemics between a
poetic youth and an old age dedicated to poetry again, as
a significant fact in the life of Milton. It arose, as we have
seen, from an imperative necessity of the times, which af¬
fected other lives besides his, and the result of which in the
aggregate was an apparent break or variation in our literary
history co-extensive with the entire period of Puritan as¬
cendancy. But that this fact in the general life of the
nation should be illustrated so visibly, and with such me¬
chanical exactness, in the life of Milton, marks him out as
pre-eminently, in literary respects, the representative of his
age. All the other wits and writers of any note were on
the other side, and therefore represent the contemporary
mind of England only negatively; in him alone among the
writers have we a colossus marching by the law of his own
independent constitution in the direction of the movement
and in the midst of it, and capable, therefore, of illustrating
it positively.
Milton was fitted for the part he performed in connection
with the Puritan movement by that very peculiarity of con¬
stitution to which we have already referred as distinguish¬
ing him from most poets. Poets generally, it is supposed,
are and ought to be characterized by an excess of sensibility
over principle,—a certain mobility of the whole mind and
temper rather than the prevalence in the mind of any one
moral mood or gesture. Milton, however, as we have seen,
was one of a class of poets, claiming also such poets as
Dante and Wordsworth, of whom this cannot be said.
Whatever his sensibility, whatever the range and freedom
of his imagination, he was a man at the "basis of whose
nature was a moral austerity compacted of certain definite
and deliberate conclusions as to what was right or wrong,
allowed or forbidden, everlastingly true and expedient, or
everlastingly false and pernicious. Being such, he was ne¬
cessarily, in relation to the society in which he moved, a
man of dogma and asseveration as well as a poet. Possibly
this alone might account for the part he took in the social
controversies of the time, and for the unusual combination
he presents of the reformer with the poet; for generally
such a nature, by reason of its dissatisfaction with much
that exists, will ally itself to what seems the innova¬
tive or progressive tendency ; whereas that absence of opi¬
nion, except on matters of taste, which is believed to cha¬
racterize poets and artists as a class, will in itself usually
function as an opinion in favour of things as they are.
In order to account fully, however, for Milton’s thorough
identification of himself with the most advanced social
tendencies and aspirations of his age, we must think not
only of the strength of the moral or dogmatic element
in him, but also of the peculiar effects of this dogmatic
habit when associated with a most courageous and inquisi¬
tive intellect. No man of the time was more resolute in
asserting that right of free thought, the recognition of
c p’ aS apPliet^ 1:0 he regarded as the essence
o rotestantism ; no man spurned more angrily all tram¬
mels which tradition, authority, and custom would impose
on a mind already sufficiently bound, as he thought, by its
own idea of allegiance to its Maker. Hence, in his conclu¬
sions on social questions, became uniformly to occupy ground
on the farthest verge of the speculation of the time, so far as
it still acknowledged the Christian creed and the code of
Chnstian ethics. Nay, on various questions on which men
who had passed over to Pyrrhonism were practically con- Milton,
servative, he, the English Christian, was practically revolu-
tionary. In the language not only of Johnson, but of
those of our own time to whom his opinions on church
and state are still offensive, Milton was one of the rebel¬
lious or anarchical order of spirits. In the matter of
ecclesiastical polity, for example, he had passed through
Church of England Puritanism and Presbyterianism to
take up a station somewhere among, if not already beyond,
the Independents and other extensive sects of Nonconfor¬
mists. In some of his writings he appears as a pioneer of
the Voluntary Principle. In his opinions on marriage he
was heterodox among the heterodox. He had notions of
education such as would hardly be propounded now by the
most radical of university reformers. He advocated tolera¬
tion of all Protestant sects, and the freedom of the press,
at a time when these ideas were new, in language from
which even those who now profess them as a matter of
course are accustomed sometimes to abate a little. In
statQ politics he was an ultra-republican, with some modify¬
ing reservations. It is, in fact, owing to the peculiar
ensemble which his creed presents of so many extreme
views harmonized in his case unto a kind of unity, but
otherwise only found detached and scattered among the
sects of his time, that it is reckoned impossible to identify
him with any of these sects in particular, or even, as some
think, with the Puritans as a party. Both Coleridge and
Mr Macaulay have noticed this eclectic character of Mil¬
ton’s intellect as shown in his writings. “ From the Parlia¬
ment and from the court,” says Mr Macaulay ; “ from the
conventicle and from the Gothic cloister, from the gloomy
and sepulchral rites of the Roundheads and from the
Christmas revel of the hospitable cavalier, his nature se¬
lected and drew to itself whatever was great and good, while
it rejected all the base and pernicious ingredients by which
these finer elements were defiled.” In the sense in which
it is intended this is true. As a man of scholarship and
academic culture, as a lover of music and of art generally,
and with a fancy accustomed to range in search of beauty
through the whole world of fact and of literature, it was not
to be supposed that the partizanship of Milton, even when
most resolute, would be of a barbarous or meagre kind, con¬
founding principle with forms and minutiae. Like Crom¬
well, who was also exempt from the prejudices of his party
against art and liberal culture, he fought in the struggle
as a general fights, and not as the common soldier. Ne¬
vertheless, it is to be remembered that he did fight; and as
the true spirit of a cause is better and more profoundly
represented in its leaders than in its inferior adherents, so it
would be but pedantry to say, that because Milton wore
his hair long, or because he has spoken reverently of the
richly-stained glass and the pealing organ of a Gothic ca¬
thedral, therefore he was not a Puritan. Let us make what¬
ever we can of the fact, he did belong, with his whole heart
and soul, to the English Puritan and republican move¬
ment of the seventeenth century. He honoured what it
honoured ; he hated what it hated; he shared its detesta¬
tion and intolerant dread of Popery. If he was not a Pu¬
ritan, it was because he was a Puritan and something more ;
that “ something more ” being an expression for much that
Milton’s mind, rolling magnificently within itself, had
thought out as properly belonging to Puritanism, and as
necessary to be worked into it in order to give it its full de¬
velopment. In this sense, because Milton was an ideologist
in the van of the extreme sects, it might perhaps be argued
that he did not properly belong to a sect at all. The ideal¬
ism of Milton’s politics,—the spirit of prophetic enthusiasm
rather than practical tact with which, in his political specu¬
lations, he wraps the facts of his time, and even human
nature in general, round his own inwardly evolved theories
and his schemes of what might be,—must strike every reader
MIL
Milton, of his prose writings. In reading them we at once see
the difference between a Milton theorizing nobly for Puri¬
tanism in his closet, and a Cromwell as the man of
action, with enthusiasms as fervid and an ideal as high,
grappling in the same interest with events and contingen¬
cies. Milton’s plans, for example, submitted to Monk for
averting the Restoration are interesting now chiefly as very
simple-minded proofs of his tenacity as a theorist.
It is not only, however, as illustrating Milton’s charac¬
ter, or the higher tendencies of that historical movement
with which he was associated, that his polemical prose
writings are now of interest. They have an interest other
than historical. It is because the "bulk of polemical writ¬
ing is on points of ephemeral importance, and is therefore
of ephemeral application, that so little of it endures in pro¬
portion to what has been produced, and that ages which
may have teemed with such literature appear often as mere
blanks in the retrospect of the literary historian. The
pamphlets did their work; and when the day for which they
were calculated was over, they disappeared with its buzz¬
ing insects. Their very efficiency sometimes might be
measured by the rapidity with which they were forgotten.
But as there are certain controversies which are not ephe¬
meral, so there is polemical writing, the lease of which, to
borrow Milton’s own figure, may be “ for three lives and
downwards.” To a great extent Milton’s prose writing is
of this class. Two centuries have elapsed since he lived
and wrote, but (and it would have surprised him to learn
that it would be so) the war in which he fought is not yet
over. In Europe,—nay, in Great Britain itself,—some of the
questions which he discussed are not yet settled, or, after
having apparently been settled, are again rising ominously
into sight. Hence, as Milton did not concern himself with
the accidents of these questions, but invariably plunged
into their essentials, there is still, with every allowance for
the change in the intellectual point of view between his
time and this, a permanent interest in most of his argu¬
mentations. Apart, however, from the interest which these
prose writings thus retain as belonging in the main to one
side of a yet unfinished controversy, they have an interest
of a more general kind to which none can be indifferent.
As Burke’s political writings are admired for their eleva¬
tion of sentiment, and the richness of their intellectual
matter, by those who either dissent from their practical
tenor or care little about it, so, and even in a more superb
degree, there is that in Milton’s prose treatises which will
keep them immortal. They are as truly Miltonic as his
poetry. As Milton’s poetry is unique in one section of our
literature, so is his prose in the other. It is prose of that
old English, or as some might say, old Gothic kind, which
was in use among us ere yet men had given their days
and nights to Addison, and when it seemed as lawful that
thought in prose should come in the form of a brimming
flood, or even of a broken cataract, as in that of a trim and
limpid rivulet. But even amid the greatest specimens of
such prose of the pre-Addisonian period Milton’s prose is
peculiar. That of Bacon may roll with it a richer detri¬
tus of speculative hints and propositions; that of Jeremy
Taylor may have a mellower beauty ; but no prose in the
language is grander than Milton’s, or more indicative of
moral greatness. Its characteristic in its best passages is a
kind of sustained and sometimes cumbrous and operose
magniloquence. Milton tells us himself that he wrote
slowly ; and one can see that as he wrote he was abashed
by no weight of thought or sublimity of fancies that could
come to him, but would pile thoughts and fancies together
till no prose sentence could carry the whole burden in its
cadence, and the residue had to be conveyed in a poetic
chaunt. Many passages in his treatises might be read
apart as prose odes; and even where he is roughest and
most controversial, and where his actual reasonings seem,
TON. 2!
as they often do, poor and inconclusive, it is as if, in order Milton,
to bury his adversary anyhow, he were tumbling, in sheer
rage, a temple into ruins. This is true of his Latin prose
writings (of which no fit translation exists) as well as of
his English.
Milton survived the Restoration fourteen years (1660-
1674), and these fourteen years form the third period of
his literary life. To him, if to any man, those days must
have seemed dark and evil. One set of men had gone out
of office, and been thrust down into the obscurer recesses
of the body-politic, there to cherish their principles secretly
until such time as they should reappear in the guise of
modern Whiggism and modern Dissent. The public direc¬
tion of affairs had passed into the hands of men of princi¬
ples directly opposite. Of the state of manners and morals
in the court of the witty and licentious Charles II., and of
the contrast which it presented to the Puritan government
which it had superseded, all have some idea. The super¬
ficial change throughout the nation at large, and especially
in and about the metropolis, corresponded with this change
in the personnel of the government. Execration of Puritan¬
ism, and a reaction in favour of whatever Puritanism had
forbidden or denounced, characterized the popular conduct
and every department of the public procedure. Above
all, the change was visible in the new literature which
began at this time to spring up in consequence of the
social calm, such as it was, that had followed an age of
conflict and turmoil, and especially in those portions of
this new literature which depended on the patronage of
the court, or appealed most directly to popular and metro¬
politan feeling. The literature of the Restoration, as all
know, was marked by a certain combination of qualities
distinguishing it as a whole from the literature of any pre¬
ceding, and from that of most subsequent, eras of our na¬
tional history. It was in the main low in aim, and coarse in
tone, exhibiting a robustness in the organs of appetite, ac¬
companied by some keenness in those of perception, rather
than a predominance of the imaginative or higher intellec¬
tual faculties such as had borne up the Elizabethan liter¬
ature into universal grace and proportion. Above all, it
was pervaded by an anti-Puritan spirit, or spirit of retro¬
spective disgust for the Puritan rule, which showed itself
partly in direct satires and denunciations of Puritanism,
whether in prose or verse ; partly in a predominant tendency
towards the comic and jocose in all forms. The reopen¬
ing of the theatres, and the consequent revival of dramatic
writing, gave an increased stimulus to the anti-Puritan
spirit, and afforded a special outlet for it. Initiated by Da-
venant and other survivors of the literary school of the
reign of Charles I., among whom were Shirley and Cowley,
the drama of the Restoration attained its height in Dryden,
who succeeded Davenant as poef-laureate in 1670, pre¬
cisely because of his dramatic successes during the ten pre¬
ceding years, and who thus became officially, as he was by
right of genius, the chief star of the new literary cluster.
Around Dryden, and belonging to the same literary cluster,
might be seen, earlier or later, between the years 1660 and
1674, such men as Butler, the author of Hudibras, the
Duke of Buckingham, the Earls of Dorset and Ros¬
common, Sir Charles Sedley, Sir George Etherege, Wil¬
liam Wycherley, and Thomas Shadwell. These, and such
as these, were the so-called “ wits of the Restoration
while the honours of philosophic or other graver prose lite¬
rature were supported by the veterans Hobbes and Izaak
Walton, or by Clarendon, Browne, Barrow, and South. It
is worth noting also, that these first fourteen years of the
reign of the second Charles, remembered as they chiefly
are as a period of spiritual degeneracy in our literature, were
the era of the rise among us of mathematical and physical
science. The Royal Society dates its existence almost ex-
30
MILTON.
Milton.
actly from the Restoration; and Boyle, Barrow, Wallis,
Wilkins, W icn, and Hooke, were already busy with their
lesearclies, and waiting for the appearance among them of
young Mr Newton.
It was rather on the border of this, the well-known world
of Pepys and Aubrey, than as actually in it and belong¬
ing to it, that Milton spent his declining years. He still,
indeed, made London his home ; living from 1660 to 1662
in a house in^Holborn, near Red Lion Square ; then from
1662 to 166o, or thereabouts, in a house in Jewin Street,
near his old quarters in Aldersgate Street; then for a short
time in lodgings with Millington, a famous book-auc¬
tioneer of the day ; and finally, from 1665 onwards, in a
small house in Artillery Walk, leading into Bunhill Fields.
Of course there may have been occasional visits to the
country ; and one such visit was in the year 1665-6, when,
on account of the great plague in London, he took a cot¬
tage for some months in the village of St Giles Chalfont,
Buckinghamshire. Two years prior to this—in 1662-3,
when he was living in Jewin Street—he contracted his
third marriage. He was then fifty-four years of age; his
wife, who was about twenty-eight years younger, was
Elizabeth Minshull, daughter of Mr Ralph Minshull, of
a good family in Cheshire. The marriage, which was ar¬
ranged for him by his friend Dr Paget, was one of con¬
venience occasioned, it would appear, chiefly bv the fact
that his daughters, who had grown up without any mater¬
nal care, had become a trouble rather than an assistance to
him in his housekeeping. At the date of the marriage
the eldest of the daughters (who was lame and otherwise
deformed) wras nearly seventeen years of age, the second
nearly fifteen, and the youngest not eleven ; and they ap¬
pear alUo have remained with him for some years after-
w'ards in a state of chronic contention with their step¬
mother. Her temper, it is stated, was none of the best;
but we have it on her husband’s own authority, that “ she
was very kind and careful of him ;” and we have the same
authority for the sad fact that his children were “unkind
and undutiful.” It is on evidence that his brother Chris¬
topher had heard him complain that “ they were careless of
him, being blind, and made nothing of deserting him;” and
also that he complained that “they did combine together with
the maid to cheat him in her marketings,” and that “ they
made away with some of his books, and would have sold the
rest to the dunghill woman.” This, so far as it relates to
their conduct before his third marriage, must apply chiefly
to the two eldest daughters, Anne and Mary. The youngest,
Deborah, probably as being the youngest, and as having
therefore come more within the control of the third wife,
has left a more amiable memory of herself. She is said to
have been her father’s favourite reader and amanuensis so
long as she remained with him ; she, as well as her sister
Mary, having been trained by him to what they thought
the irksome work of writing to his dictation, and reading to
him in several languages without understanding their
meaning. But she too ultimately quarrelled with her step¬
mother; and about the year 1669 all the three sisters, ac¬
cording to Phillips, were “sent out to hyirn some curious
or ingenious sorts of manufacture that are proper for
women to learn, particularly embroidery in gold and silver.”
Accordingly, during the last four or five years of his life
we are to imagine Milton’s household in Artillery Walk as
consisting but of himself, his wife, and one or two servants ;
wuo6 ,g?.ters no l°nger living under the same roof.
Whether they lived with him or not, however, his circum-
s ances were such as to enable them to depend on him as
long as might be necessary. Lie had now, indeed, no offi¬
cial or stated income as formerly ; any casual receipts
i°m his writings can hardly have amounted to much ; his
first wife s marriage portion of L.1000 had never been paid;
and there is proof that the property left him by his father
had been impaired by considerable losses or forfeitures at
the Restoration. Still, enough remained for his moderate
wants as long as he lived, and at his death there was a
residue over.
Shut out from the busy world in some measure by the
unpopular political recollections which attached to his name,
and shut in from it still more by his blindness and by his
undisguised scorn of nearly all that, had the priviWe of
.ight remained to him, there would have been for him
tieie to see, Milton found his solace in his own thoughts,
in the conversation of a few friends who would drop in to
enjoy Ins society and were proud to lead him out in his
daily walks, and also in his books and in continued literary
occupation. He did not yet cease from prose writing, but
finished or prepared for the press various works which he
Hbfegr before the Restoration, and from time to time
undertook new ones. The following is a list of his prose
writings published during this period, and of such works
after Ifisdea^h ^ ^ PreSS’ Were n0t l)ublished tiU
1. Accedence Commenct Grammar, a short skeleton of Latin
fishTtm 1661 ^ Prepared many years before, though not pub-
2. The History of Britain, that part especiallj now called Enqland
from the first Traditional Beginning, continued to the Norman Con-
quest ; collected out of the antientest and best authors thereof. This
■ 3' ^rti3Jf'jkai Pknior Institutio, ad Petri Rami Methodum con-
TnmnT ‘n !US ’I"1 Pjatm.c®mPen^‘um of logic after the method of
.Ramus, in two books, with a brief Life of Ramus appended It
1672' b“‘ n“yh”e b“» “ —pttan1;
4. Of True Religion, Heresie, Schism, Toleration, and what best
means may be used against the growth of Popery. This little tract
was published in 1673, and was doubtless writfen at that time as a
contribution to a controversy again rising into interest. It is
f a. calm .sPlrit’ and with none of the vehemence of his
earlier polemical wntmgs, and is interesting as showing his matured
views on the subject of religious toleration. He is for the absolute
toleration both as regards doctrine and as regards worship of all
Lt ZabeC?7th;ChUrCah 0f EnSland> Presbyterians, iSdepen*
dents. Anabaptists, Arians, Socinians, &c.; but, as regards worship,
he excludes Roman Catholics, partly on the civil ground that they
thSw f a ^reign alleSiance> Partly on the theological ground
that they deny the paramount authority of Scripture, which de-
iner them S ^ iS hereSy- IIe ia not for Punish-
ing them by corporal punishment or fines on their estates,” be¬
cause he supposes this “ stands not with the clemency of the gospel
more than what appertains to the security of the state;” bu/he
is for suppressing their worship and removing its furniture.
5. Pp is tolar u m Fa miliar ium Liber Unus ; quibus acccsserunt Pro-
lusiones quvdam Oratorio,. These are the “ Familiar Epistles” and
the Oratorical Exercises at College,” already alluded to. They
L MiRnn’s^ m \ ’ thtlaSt yeai‘ of Milt°n’s Pfe, apparently not
on Milton s own motion, but as a speculation of the publisher;
t>. A. Brief History of Moscovia and of other less known Countries
inasorT^i ° ^ aS far aS Cathay; ^thered from the writ¬
ings of several eyewitnesses. This short sketch was left in manu¬
script and was published eight years after Milton’s death.
• * Lmr(B' Senatus Anglicani; necnon Cromwellii, Ac., nomine ac
jussu conscnptce. These are the “ Letters of State” already referred
w°"tb ™n.hy f'ST ‘\hiS 0fficial C“P“‘V -"to the’eornmon^
tended" "ho P“bl,sh,id hi» “ Familiar Letters” in-
to dodsot0anP; 1Sh heSe ln the Same volume’ but was warned not
to do so and they were not edited till after Milton’s death.
taint Thhn-ma MlUA0n' An9li de Doctrina Christiana ex Sacris dun-
‘‘ TrLosIonPCh ,^a?nS^l'0nM,?) Ubri Du0' This is the fam°us
been nnpL fCn i-laU Doctrme> the manuscript of which having
plner Office 117 d7°yered by Mr Lemon in 1823 in the Statf
Charlefu5 * and subsequently translated by the Rev.
Charles R. Sumner, afterwards Bishop of Winchester. The history
of the work is as follows In his mature life Milton, dissatisfied
with such systems of theology as he had read, and deeming it to
be every man s right and duty to draw his theology for himself
from the Scriptures alone, had begun to compile a system for
is own use, carefully collecting texts, and aiming at doing little
tnThe hnrf |r°UP1"S and elucidating them. He continued this work
till he had finished it. Considering it of importance enough to be
published, but knowing that it contained some matter which might
Milton.
MILTON.
31
Milton, be thought heterodox in England, he gave the manuscript, along
, J with a transcript of his “ State Letters,” to a Mr Daniel Skinner of
Trinity College, Cambridge (a relative of his friend Cyriack Skin¬
ner), who was going over to Holland, desiring him to arrange for
their publication with some Dutch printer. Elzevir, in whose
hands they were placed, having declined to have anything to do
with them, they were given back to Skinner, who still remained
abroad. Meanwhile the existence of the MSS., and the intention to
publish them, had become known to the English government ; and
letters were sent to Skinner from Barrow, the master of Trinity
College, warning him of the risk he was running, and ordering him
to return to his college under pain of expulsion. This was in 1676,
or two years after Milton’s death ; and Skinner seems to have re¬
turned soon after, and to have delivered the MSS. to Sir Joseph
Williamson, one of the secretaries of state. By him they were
stowed away, with other papers, in the press where Mr Lemon
found them a hundred and fifty years afterwards still in the original
wrapper.
Besides the above, there are some other tilings which are
supposed, on evidence more or less slight, to have come
from Milton’s pen in his later life ; and it is known that in
1661 he edited from a manuscript of Raleigh’s entitled
Aphorisms of State. (He had previously, in 1658, edited
another MS. of Raleigh’s entitled The Cabinet Council.)
In addition to all this, he had collected a considerable quan¬
tity of materials towards a dictionary of the Latin language,
the papers containing which fell into the hands of Edward
Phillips, who is supposed to have used them in compiling
the Cambridge Dictionary of 1693. How he managed in
his blindness to go through so much labour of mere read¬
ing and accumulation, is explained partly by what Phillips
tells us of his methods. The severe use which he made
of his two younger daughters, till at last they would bear
it no longer, and detested the very sight of him and his
books, has already been mentioned. There vrere others,
however, who, both while his daughters lived with him and
after they went away, were but too glad to serve the scho¬
larly and exacting old Lear. “ He had daily about him,”
says Phillips, “ one or other to read—some, persons of
man’s estate, who of their own accord greedily catched at
the opportunity of being his readers, that they might as well
reap the benefit of what they read to him as oblige him by
the benefit of their reading; others, of younger years, who
were sent by their parents to the same end.” One of his
readers, recommended to him by Dr Paget, was a youno-
Quaker named Ellwood.
Milton’s later prose writings, however, derive most of
their interest from the fact that they belong to the same
period as his later poems. It was not to them, nor even to
the much more splendid polemical writings which had pre¬
ceded them, that Milton could point as the fulfilment of his
early pledge, that if God gave him strength, he would leave
behind him some worthy work of Christian genius in which
Britain should exult as a national possession, and which
posterity would not willingly let die. Often as, amid the
turmoil of his middle life, this pledge had recurred to him,
how he must have sighed over the work that was then oc-
cupying him, and felt it all to be very sickening, and longed
for a sabbath at the end of his life when his soul might sail
again into the haven of a majestic calm ! After all, contro¬
versy was but the work of his “ left hand,” and he longed
for the time when his right hand should again have its turn
and he could rejoice in the renewed sensations of its supe¬
rior strength and more natural cunning. His sonnets and
other stray pieces of verse written during the civil wars and
the Commonwealth, and perhaps also those occasional pas¬
sages of lyric grandeur in his prose writings where he
seems to be spurning prose underfoot, and almost rising for
the moment on poetic wings, may be regarded as so many
brief efforts whereby he assured himself, while his higher
and finer faculty was in abeyance, that he had not lost it.
It was not till towards the end of Cromwell’s protectorate,
however, and when already he had for several years been
blind, that he was able to begin an undertaking commen¬
surate with his life-long aspiration. According to Aubrey,
it was then (1658), when it appeared as if, under the settled
rule of Cromw’ell, the nation was entering on a long period
of peace and leisure, that the Paradise Lost was begun.
Whether it was then begun in the actual shape in which
we now have it, or whether Milton was at this time only
turning over the subject in his mind, and ruminating it in
that form of a sacred mystery or drama in which we find
it first rudely sketched in the Cambridge manuscripts, can
hardly be ascertained. Cromwell was not to live long
enough to initiate by his great and peaceful rule that new
literature, signs of the rise of which were not wanting to¬
wards the close of his protectorate. When the new litera¬
ture did arise, it was in the guise of the literature of the
Restoration ; and whatever progress Milton may have made
in his great poem before the accession of Charles II.,
the bulk of it was written after that monarch was on the
throne.
The facts respecting Paradise Lost, and the other later
poems of Milton, will be best presented in a table of his later
poetical publications supplementary to that of his later
prose writings already given :—
1. Paradise Lost. This poem was certainly complete by the 27th
of April 1667 (Milton cetat. 58), on which day it was sold to Samuel
Simmons, bookseller, for L.5 down, with a promise of L.5 more
when 1300 copies of the first edition should have been sold, another
L.5 more when 1300 copies of the second edition should have been
sold, and so on for successive editions,—each edition to consist of
1500 copies. According to Ellwood, however, the poem must have
been ready more than a year before that time; for he says, that on
visiting Milton while he was at Chalfont in Buckinghamshire
(1665-6), he gave him the complete manuscript of the poem to
read. As originally published, the poem consisted of ten books,
and was sold at three shillings per copy. The stipulated 1300 copies
must have been sold before the 26th of April 1669, on which day
Milton signs a receipt for the second L.5. This was a very good
sale in two years; but the remaining copies do not seem to have
gone off so fast, as it was not till 1674, or the year of Milton’s
death, that a second edition was published. In this second edition
the ten books were converted into twelve by a division of the
seventh and tenth; and there were some other alterations. A third
edition was called for in 1678; and in December 1680 Milton’s
widow parted with all her interest in the work for one sum of L.8,
paid to her by Simmons.
2. Paradise Regained. When Ellwood returned the manuscript
of Paradise Lost to Milton, they had some talk, he says, as to th«
merits of the poem, in the course of which Ellwood ventured plea¬
santly to say to him, “ Thou hast said much here of paradise lost,
but what hast thou to say of paradise found ? ” To this, he says,
Milton made no answer, but fell into a muse, and broke off the dis¬
course. When, however, some time after the sickness was over,
Ellwood revisited Milton in London, he showed him Paradise Re¬
gained, saying, “ This is owing to you ; for you put it into my head
by the question you put to me at Chalfont, which before I had not
thought of.” Assuming this to be literally accurate, we should
have to suppose Paradise Regained finished in 1667, if not earlier ;
but it was not published till 1671 (Milton cetat. 62), on which occa¬
sion it was issued, not by Simmons, but by another bookseller, in
the same volume with Samson Agonistes.
3. Samson Agonistes, a Dramatic Poem, published as above, 1671.
4. A second edition of his minor poems was published in 1673, the
year before his death, containing the pieces which had appeared in
the edition of 1644, with some additions.
At this point it is that the fact of the interposition of a
middle period of prose polemics between the earlier and the
later poetry of Milton becomes of importance to the critic
of his w orks. Poetry, as such, is the exercise of imagina¬
tion ; and when a man makes poetry his work, or, after
having been engaged on other kinds of work, returns to
poetry, it is implied that the wdiole strength of his mind
passes for the time being into the imaginative faculty.
But here, as usual, it becomes apparent that our distinc¬
tions of faculties are partly devices for our own convenience
in conceiving of things. Imagination is not, properly speak¬
ing, the imagining part of the mind, but rather the whole
mind in the act of imagining; and hence, though some
Milton.
32
MILTON.
Milton, minds tend more to this act than others, yet the nature and
—* 1 the worth of the imaginations of any particular mind are
determined by the total character and contents of that mind.
On this principle, also, we see how it is that in one and the
same mind there may be poetic development, and how a
poet’s later muse may differ from his earlier, just as a
philosopher’s later may differ from his earlier doctrine.
Imagination is said to be the faculty of youth ; which, how¬
ever, is true to some extent only in this sense, that men as
they advance in life have so many things to do that, even
if they set out with a strong imaginative tendency, they in¬
dulge it less and less. In the cases of professed poets, how¬
ever, who preserve and cherish their imaginative tendency,
and go through the working world laurelled and privileged
to dream, it is not observed that the imagination grows
weaker so long as there is growth in the being at all, but,
on the contrary, that it gains strength. By the mere neces¬
sities of existence, acquisition, and experience, it is a more
rich and powerful imagining mind in the later than it was
in the earlier stages of the progress. And so also if, after
an intermediate period of non-poetical activity, or of ac¬
tivity in the main non-poetical, a mind originally poetical
reverts, before decay has set in, and ere the old habit has
been forgotten by too much disuse, to its first occupations.
In either case there will be differences between the earlier
and the later poetry. The themes in all probability will be
different, and the style and manner of treatment will be
different likewise. So it was with Milton. In his youth his
was the imagination of a mind naturally firm and austere,
it is true, and already cultured and well equipped with learn¬
ing, but still sufficiently untorn and unexercised in the con¬
temporary medley of human things to find its delight in
fancies of the sweet and sensuous order, in themes of idyl¬
lic grace, or of purely ideal beauty. In his old age, or
second poetic period, it was different. Imagination was
again his darling faculty ; but it was now the imagination of
the same mind tried and disciplined in a thousand things by
what it had meanwhile passed through,—heavily freighted,
as it were, with twenty years of griefs, ideas, recollections,
and experiences, which had not at first belonged to it. If,
then, imagination is the whole mind in the act of imagining,
and if, accordingly, the poems which a poet successively
puts forth may be regarded as in a profound sense alle¬
gories, on a larger or smaller scale, of his entire being at
the moments to which they appertain, it was in the nature
of things that Milton’s later poetry, though bearing certain
resemblances to his earlier, should yet differ from it. By
universal admission such is the fact. In Paradise Lost,
Paradise Regained, and Samson Agonistes, we have the
same peculiar Miltonic genius which we discern in Pen-
seroso, Comus, or Lycidas ; but it is as if that genius had
meanwhile absorbed and incorporated into its fibre all that
we know of the intermediate polemic and prose writer.
The themes are of larger dimensions and of more direct
human and historic interest; the filling up is more various,
erudite, and elaborate ; the artistic harmony is more com¬
plex; and while the whole matter is cast in the mould of
the imagination, much of it is of independent and extra-
poetical, not to say controversial, value.
Each of the three later poems of Milton has its separate
merits as a poem, and also its separate interest in connection
with the poet’s biography. In the noble Aeschylean drama
of the blind Samson among the Philistines, one seems to
see a scarcely disguised allegory of the poet himself agon¬
izing in the midst of evil times. There is no need to ask
how that subject occurred to him. As regards the Para¬
dise Regained, though here also we can discover points of
contact between the subject and the author, such as might
have determined him independently towards the choice of
that epic from the first, we yet know that it was composed
mainly as a sequel to the Paradise Lost. It remains, then,
to account for the origin of this greater epic, the crowning
glory of Milton’s life, and to which it is owing that he is
remembered and will be remembered for ever, not only as
a noble Englishman who did his duty manfully in a
tioublous period of his nation’s history, nor even only as
this, with the addition of having been a notable English
poet, but as one of those select few of the children of men
who, having wedded their genius to universal themes, stand
apai t as the great poets of the world, and the authors of the
world s masterpieces. Notwithstanding the tradition, through
Phillips and Ellwood, of Milton’s preference for the Para¬
dise Regained, there can be no doubt that it was to the
Paradise Lost that he himself looked as the fulfilment of
his life-long promise.
The most important act of the artist, and that which in¬
volves the greatest amount of presumptive evidence re¬
specting him, is his choice of a subject. Milton, we have
seen, had wavered long before deciding as to the best
theme for his intended masterpiece. Like Wordsworth
before he determined on his long philosophical poem, he
appears to have ranged through history in search of a sub¬
ject of sufficient interest and capability ; going back through
British history, and there resting fondly for a time on
the subject of King Arthur, then deviating into general
mediaeval history, and finally extending his quest still
backward and backward through ancient to primeval times.
At last in his search he reaches a point beyond which it
was impossible to go—the point where human history itself
began, and where our planet, with life but newly planted
upon it, is seen emerging for its special voyage out of the
obscurities of prior and universal existence. The more he
thinks of this subject, already familiar to him in its biblical
relations, the more sensible he becomes, not only of its in¬
trinsic capabilities, but also of its fitness for himself. The
qualities and endowments for which it affords scope,—an
imagination delighting in conceptions of the physically vast,
as in astronomy, and yet capable of that kind of sensuous¬
ness which consists in love of the physically rich, as in
landscape and vegetation ; great acquired learning, classical
and theological; a moral sublimity of nature almost at war
with human society as seen around it, and driven, therefore,
to communion with objects and intelligences unseen ; an
intellect withal massive and severely logical to exclude in
the process of imagination whatever should be beneath the
philosophy of the time, and to shape all into clear form and
sequence according to high literary rule;—these are the
very qualities and endowments which he is conscious of
possessing. On the other hand, those qualities of the want
of which he was or might have been conscious,—humour,
for example, as in Chaucer and Shakspeare, and the cor¬
responding dramatic faculty of light incident and varied
painting of physiognomies and characters to pass and repass
in quick succession in a story,—were qualities the exercise
of which the theme itself precluded. What room for
humour in the grand story of our earth’s beginning, or for
elaborate portrait-painting in the description of a world
tenanted as yet but by the two first beings of our race ?
In short, by the instinct both of what he could and of what
he could not do, Milton’s choice was made ; and, it having
been also at last decided that the form of the poem should
be the epic and not the dramatic, and moreover (which
was then a great innovation, and was proclaimed by Milton
to be such) that the verse employed should be the heroic
blank and not rhyme, Paradise Lost slowly grew into being.
For seven years or thereby, and mostly amid the streets of
bustling London, where Charles was amusing himself with
his court, and Dryden was seeing his plays acted, and poor
Butler was growing morose from ill usage, and Pepys was
running about and taking notes, the plan was carried in the
blind man’s head, till at last, by dictations of twenty or fifty
lines at a time, the work was completed.
Milton.
M I L
Hilton. “ Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme,”
—-v—is Milton’s description of the matter of his poem. The de¬
scription is just; and it is part of his title to immortality
that he spent his genius on a theme of universal interest,
which, seeing that it had been reserved for him to sing it,
could certainly now, for that very reason, never be sung
a second time even had he sung it worse.
“ Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world and all our woe,”
is his opening more particular definition of the purport of
his song. This definition, however, if taken by itself, is
totally inadequate ; nor, if this were the theme, could it be
said to have been unattempted before. The true theme
of Paradise Lost is the story of the connection of this
world, as a whole, wuth what may be called the larger uni¬
verse of ante-human existence ; and “ man’s first disobe¬
dience” is but the last incident in the story, to which, as to
a narrow point, all the prior incidents tend. The true hero
of the poem,—the being in whose movements and actions
from the beginning to the end the unity of the epic is
maintained,—is the archangel Satan. Adopting the scrip¬
tural account of this great being, as one in whose life the
past and primeval system of things is fatally connected with
ours, and adhering also with theological conscientiousness
to whatever circumstantials Scripture has supplied towards
filling out the story, the poet has passed the whole through
the mould of his imagination in such a manner that now it
is Milton’s story of the origin and first events of the uni¬
verse, rather than the biblical outline w^hich suggested it
to him, that has taken possession of the British mind. As,
however, there is no contradiction of the biblical narrative,
but only an expansion of it, the majority of readers find
in the poem an absolutely unexceptionable rendering of the
theme; while, on the other hand, even those who hold
aloof from theology in such matters, or would treat the
Mosaic account rather as a figure than as a narrative,
admit that, as there must be some conception of the theme
for the mind of man to take hold of, so no more sublime
conception of it than Milton’s has been provided by a
human poet, or could be presented to the Christian world.
To both classes of readers the poem properly shapes it¬
self as in the main a Sataniad, or epic of Satan’s life from
the time of his being an archangel among the hosts of
heaven to the time of the execution of that scheme
whereby, after the fall of himself and his fellow-rebels, he
becomes the lord and minister of evil on our particular earth.
From the very nature of the theme it arises that the ex¬
tent of physical space which the poem fills is larger than
that which any other known poem takes in, or any other
conceivable poem could possibly require. The universe of
Dante’s poem, physically regarded, is but a nutshell to that
of Milton’s, which stretches in its totality beyond all
telescopic bounds, and incloses, as but a drop of central
azure, the whole visible region of the stars and galaxies.
A diagram of the plan of the poem would illustrate this.
It presents to us the first primeval Infinity, not as a universe
of stars at all, but as a sphere, if we may so say, of infinite
radius, divided into two and only two parts—the higher
or upper hemisphere of Heaven, which is a region all of
light, formed forth in some inconceivable way into tracts
of field and continent, and populated in some inconceiv¬
able way by angelic beings, all near to Deity, and doing his
missions, but distributed into hosts and hierarchies, and
leading lives of freedom; and the lower or nether hemi¬
sphere of Chaos, where no such beings habitually are, but
which is a great sea or swelter of darkness and confusion,
—a limitless, fathomless quagmire of elemental pulp. While
W'e are contemplating this eternal Infinity, divided equato-
rially, as it were, into a Heaven above and a Chaos below,—
lo! the event which breaks in on the grand monotony of ante-
VOL. XY.
T O N. 33
human history, and, by means of moral, necessitates physi- Milton,
cal, changes! Satan and his fellow-angels rebel; there
are the wars in Heaven; and when these are over, the
rebels, driven headlong into the yawning gap which opens
to disgorge them into Chaos, are pursued by the Messiah’s
wrath, down and still down through its dark abysses, till
they reach that space or pit of fire wdiich is now prepared
for their reception in nethermost Chaos, under the name of
Hell. This third region, so created for the first time, is, as
it were, the antarctic zone of the universal sphere, separated
from the hemisphere of Heaven by the vast intervening
belt of Chaos as it still remains. Stunned and confounded
by their fall, the rebel spirits lie long inactive in the fiery
lake, till at last, roused by Satan from their stupor, they
realize the past and look forward to the future. Amid a
Babel of counsel it is Satan that devises a plan. The
creation of Hell in the nethermost region of Chaos has not
been the only physical change introduced about this time
into the universal order. Contemporaneously with the fall
of the rebel angels God has executed through his Son the
scheme foreordained from everlasting, of the creation at
this time of a new race of beings differing from the angels,
and of a world fitted to receive them. By the exercise
of the creative energy a great mine or hollow has been
cut or scooped out of upper Chaos at its junction with
Heaven ; into this hollow the light has gushed down from
above, so that it is now no longer a part of Chaos; and
under the influence of the principles of rotation and gravi¬
tation planted in it of express purpose, the matter that ex¬
isted in it chaotically has become coagulated into balls and
planets, moving in regular orbits, and separated by clear in¬
terspaces. This, in short, is our human or telescopic uni¬
verse, with its suns, its stars, its moons, its nebulae ; all in
apparent diurnal rotation round that little earth of ours,
which w^as to be the centre of the whole experiment.
Thereon already walked Adam and Eve, in a paradise of
trees and flowers, the fairest and happiest of God’s creatures.
It was of this new creation, known to him not as yet by
eyesight, but only conceived vaguely from recollection of
the tradition of it as discussed so long in Heaven, that
Satan bethought himself in his fallen estate in Hell. His
plan is to abstain from all mere general endeavour against
the Almighty, and to gain admission, if possible, into this
new creation so as to vitiate and ruin it. His scheme having
been approved by his co-mates, he himself sets forth to exe¬
cute it. Leaving the rest of the fallen host to organize their
new kingdom and build the palace of Pandemonium, he
climbs his arduous way through superincumbent Chaos till
the light of the young creation appears above him, and he
emerges within its transparent bosses. At first amazed
and almost softened by the sight, he at length arouses him¬
self to his task, and having ascertained which of all the
shining orbs was the seat of man, he alights on its surface,
and, despite the vigilance of angels celestially commissioned
to oppose him, completes, in the shape of a serpent, his
fiendish errand. When he returns to Hell in triumph, his
fellows have already bridged the interval between Hell and
Creation so as to make the intercommunication easy; the
two regions are thenceforth associated; and though the
price to the rebel angels themselves of this voluntary con¬
centration of their energies on one poor world is a farther
degeneracy of their form and nature, Humanity is their
prey for the appointed season.
There is no need here to dilate on the consistency with
which Milton has conducted this magnificent story, or on
the power of various invention with which he has filled it
up; nor need we refer to such adverse criticisms as have
been from time to time ventured against portions of the
poem. We refrain also from an inquiry which might more
properly belong to us, as to the influence of Milton’s blind¬
ness, not only in determining him to such a subject, but also
E
34
Milton
MILTON.
as perhaps positively qualifying him for that kind of imagi-
► nation and description of which five-sixths of the poem con¬
sist—the imagination and description of vast physical space,
variously shaded and divided ; of luminous orbs in quiet mo¬
tion through the nocturnal deep; of luminous or else
shadowy beings passing or repassing singly or in battalions ;
of contrasts of light and darkness in all their forms. In
the remaining parts of the poem, where the poet conde¬
scends on our own earth, and describes the beauty of
Paradise, there is certainly no lack of sensuousness, in the
more ordinary sense of the term ; but it may be questioned
whether, with all the richness of those paradisaic descrip¬
tions, there is not evidence that the poet was now but living
fondly on his recollections of a world of colour and vegeta¬
tion from which he had been long shut out. At all events,
much even of the subsidiary and terrestrial imagery of the
poem will be found to consist of light and darkness worked
cunningly into visual contrast; and the florid offering on
the bier of Lycidas is richer in botanical colour and em¬
broidery than the nuptial bower of Eve.
A question as to Milton’s theological belief, which was
suggested to some keen critics by certain passages of his
Paradise Lost, has been answered, in favour of their con¬
jecture, by the discovery of his Treatise on Christian Doc¬
trine. In one chapter of that work he expresses views at
variance with the orirodox notions of the Trinity. Bishop
Sumner gives a sua mary of these views in theological
language. Milton asserts, he says, “ that the Son of God
existed in the beginning, and was the first of the whole
creation ; that “ by his delegated power all things were
made in heaven and in earth that “ he was begotten within
the limits of time,” and “ indued with the Divine nature and
substance, but distinct from and inferior to the Father.” In
other words, Milton in his later life was an Arian, and there
is a trace of at least incipient Arianism in the Paradise Lost.
Milton lived seven years and a half after the publication
of his Paradise Lost, and three years after the publication
of his subsequent volume Paradise Regained
and Samson Agonistes. The personal sketches which we
have of him refer mostly to this time of his life.
Of a stature somewhat below the average, Milton had in
his youth been singularly handsome, with a complexion of
delicate white and red, dark gray eyes, light auburn hair,
parted in the middle, and altogether an appearance of slender
and even feminine grace, which it required his manly bear¬
ing and his confidence as a swordsman to contradict. Even
in later life he was usually mistaken for ten years youno-er
than he really was. In his old age, however, his blindness,
accompanied by the gout and other infirmities, had abated
his activity and vigour. “ An aged clergyman of Dorset¬
shire,” says the painter Richardson, “ found John Milton
in a small chamber hung with rusty green, sitting in an
elbow chair, and dressed neatly in black; pale, but not
cadaverous ; his hands and fingers gouty, and with chalk-
stones. He used also to sit in a gray coarse cloth coat at
the door of his house near Bunhill Fields, in warm sunny
weather, to enjoy the fresh air; and so, as well as in his
room, received the visits of people of distinguished parts as
well as quality.” To this we may add some particulars
jrom other sources. “ He was an early riser,” says Aubrey ;
•at four 0,c^0ck in the morning, yea, after he lost his
sight. In winter his hour of rising was five ; and some¬
times he would lie in bed after he was awake composing
mentally or dictating. He had a man to read to him as soon
as le got up, and also after breakfast, and he always began
the day with a chapter or two of the Hebrew Bible. The
early part of the day was spent by him in reading and
writing; the writing,” says Aubrey, “usually as much
as the reading. He used to dictate, sitting obliquely in
an elbow chair, with his leg thrown over the arm. At one
o clock, after a short walk, he dined, eating well of such
dishes as he liked, but drinking little except water. “ God
have mercy, Betty, he said to his wife one day at dinner
about a yeai before his death, “ I see thou wilt perform
according to thy promise, in providing me such dishes as I
think fit whilst I live, and when I die thou knowest that I
have left thee all. After dinner he used to walk again in
the garden or out in the neighbourhood, with some one
guiding him; or sometimes he would take exercise in a
kind of swinging chair which he had contrived ; generally,
however, in the course of the afternoon, playing for an hour
on the organ or the bass-viol, and either singing himself or
making his wife sing, who, he said, had a good voice, but
no ear. An hour or two towards evening were again given
to his books; about six o’clock visitors would drop in, whom
he would entertain till eight; he then had olives or some¬
thing light by way of supper with them ; and, after a pipe of
tobacco and a glass of water, he went to bed. “Extremely
pleasant in his conversation at dinner, supper, &c., but
satirical,” says Aubrey, who adds, that “ he was visited by
the learned much more than he did desire.” In particular,
foreigners of note, when in London, would seek him out;
and, indeed, before the publication of Paradise Lost he
was liable to the visits of admiring foreigners, some of
whom, according to Aubrey, regarded him as hardly less a
lion than “ O. Protector” himself, and would insist (the
Great Fire not having yet done its work) on seeing the
house and chamber where he was born. “ He was much
more admired abroad,” says Aubrey, “ than at home.” At
home, however, more especially after the publication of
his great epic, he did not lack admirers. Which of the
quality paid him visits we do not know; but among the
“people of distinguished parts” was Dryden, whose admi¬
ration of him was extreme, and who on going to see him was,
it is said, received civilly, though Milton had a low idea of
Dryden’s poetry. Hobbes was not of his acquaintance, nor
had he any liking for Hobbes, but acknowledged him to be
a man of great parts. His familiar friends were men of the
graver sort, among whom were Andrew Marvell, Dr Paget,
and Cyriack Skinner. He attended no church and be¬
longed to no particular communion ; nor had he any rites of
worship in his family—though what were his reasons for this
was not very well known even to his friends. He remained
a theoretical republican to the last. His favourite poets
among the classics are said to have been Homer, Euripides,
and Ovid; and among the English, Spenser, Shakspeare,
and Cowley. Aubrey adds that, in speaking or reading, he
pronounced the letter r very hard ; “ litera canina,” as Dry¬
den said to Aubrey, “a certain sign of a satirical wit.”
Fi'om Ellwood we learn that he could not endure the Eng¬
lish mode of pronouncing Latin, and that his ear was so
quick that he knew at once when his reader had come to a
sentence which he did not understand.
The date of Milton’s death was November 8, 1674. The
cause, according to Aubrey, was “ gout struck in ; ” but his
death was calm and easy. He was then close upon being
sixty-six years old. He was buried beside his father, in the
church of St Giles, Cripplegate. Shortly after his death
there was a lawsuit between his widow and his daughters
as to the inheritance of his remaining property, which
amounted to about L.1500. The widow pleaded a nuncu
pative, or declaratory will, made by the deceased before
witnesses, to the effect that she was to be his sole heir, and
that the daughters, having been “ very undutiful ” to him,
were to receive nothing except their interest in their
mother’s marriage-portion, which, though never paid, was
yet in good hands, and recoverable. The decision, how¬
ever, was so far favourable to the daughters, that each got
something out of the property. The subsequent history of
the family was as follows:—The widow survived her hus¬
band not less than forty-five years, dying, in very old age.
Milton.
MIL
Milwaukee in 1729, at her native place of Nantvvich in Cheshire, where
jl she was a member of the Baptist communion. Of the three
*Pa‘ y daughters, the second, Mary, died unmarried; the eldest,
Anne, married rather late in life a master-builder, and
died in her first childbirth; and the youngest, Deborah,
alone left issue. She had gone over to Ireland as compa¬
nion to a lady before her father’s death; there in 1674
she married a Mr Abraham Clarke, a silk-weaver, with
whom she returned to London in or about 1687, and settled
in Spitalfields, where Addison and others saw her, and
asked her questions about her father; and she died in 1727,
after having had a large family, of whom only one son and
one daughter survived. The son, who was named Caleb,
went to the East Indies, and died at Madras in 1719,
leaving children, whose issue cannot be traced. The
daughter, whose name was Elizabeth, married a Thomas
MIN
35
Foster of Spitalfield, who afterwards kept a small chandler’s
shop in Holloway, and was in very poor circumstances.
Some money was collected for her in 1750 by Dr Birch,
Johnson, and others; and she died at Islington in 1754,
having had seven children, none of whom survived, or at
least left descendants. Thus disappeared all the direct
posterity of the poet. It remains to be added, that his
brother Christopher, having adhered steadily to his royalist
politics, was knighted by James II. in 1686, and became
one of that king’s servile judges, but was set aside at the
Revolution, and died at Ipswich in 1692; that the two
Phillipses, the poet’s nephews, had some reputation as
hack-writers in the reigns of James and his successor; and,
finally, that their mother, the poet’s only sister, had other
children by her second marriage, whose descendants are
still to be traced. (d. m—n.I
Minas
Geraes.
MILWAUKEE, a town andlakeport in the state of Wis¬
consin, North America, is situated at the mouth of a river
of the same name, on the W. shore of Lake Michigan, 90
miles N. of Chicago, and i5 E. of Madison. The town
stands partly on the low banks of the river, and partly on
the high grounds on the borders of the lake; and is well
built of a sort of brick, of very excellent quality, which is
manufactured here. Milwaukee has 30 churches, of which
4 belong to the Roman Catholics; 5 public schools ; seve¬
ral academies; 3 orphan hospitals; besides other educa¬
tional and charitable institutions. Fhe chief manufactures
of the place are,—iron, bricks, flour, and articles of cooper¬
age, besides wood-working, soap, candles, shingles, and
tobacco. In 18oo the total value of the aggregate and
miscellaneous manufactures of this rapidly increasing town
amounted to more than L.l,000,000 sterling. The harbour
of Milwaukee is very good, being formed by the river,
which may be ascended by large vessels for 2 miles above
its mouth. The commerce is very extensive; in 1854
the value of the imports here amounted to L.2,317,726,
while in the following year, it rose to L.3,885,381 ; the
value of the exports in 1855 was L.3,610,327. The former
consist chiefly of salt, coal, lime, plaster, fruits, &c.; and the
latter of wheat, flour, pork, beef, lead, shot, the products of the
manufactures, &c. I he number of vessels that arrived here
in 1855 was 2802, with a total tonnage of 980,700. Mil¬
waukee communicates with the interior by several lines of
railway; and it is thus the principal outlet for the productions
of the country. The town has risen very rapidly to its
present condition, as the place was not settled till 1835.
Pop. (1850), 20,061; (1856), about 45,000.
MINA, Don Francisco Espoz y, a Spanish general,
was born in 1 (81, at Idozin, a small village of Navarre.
When the insurrection against the French broke out in
1808, Mina took part in the guerilla warfare then carried
on, and soon distinguished himself so much by his skill and
courage as to collect a large body of men under his stand¬
ard. He thus rose to be the head of all the troops of Na¬
varre, and urged the war with great vigour, inflicting many
heavy blows on the French. He displayed great activity
and rapidity in his movements, and gained many successes
by falling suddenly and unexpectedly on the French con¬
voys proceeding between Madrid and France; and although
the French organized a large army to secure their possession
of the country infested by him, he always succeeded in
baffling their attempts by dispersing his troops among the
ravines and.mountain passes, and reuniting them ao-ain at
a different place a short time after. During all these ex¬
ploits Mina acted not only as the general directing the
movements of his band, but fought himself as actively as
any soldier in the ranks. On one occasion he was severely
wounded, and on another narrowly escaped with his life, when
having been surprised in a house to which he had betaken
himself, and not having time to seize his arms, he only saved
himself from certain destruction by defending himself with
an iron bar. Mina was raised to the rank of colonel in 1811,
and to that of brigadier-general in 1813. At the close of the
war he was at the head of more than 30,000 men, who had
taken 13 fortified places, and captured upwards of 14,000
prisoners. In 1814 Mina was invited to the court of Ferdi¬
nand VII.; but he did not conceal his disapproval of the
abrogation of the constitution of 1812, and was accordingly
sent back to Navarre, where, shortly after, along with the
other generals and the greater part of the army, he openly
joined the liberal party, and was obliged to save himself
fiom the fate of his companions by taking refuge in France.
(For a full account of the events of this period, and of
Mina s share in them, see Spain.) The Spanish ambassador
in France demanded the delivery of the fugitive ; but Louis
XVIII. not only refused to do so, but insisted on the recall
of the ambassador, and gave Mina a pension. On the
restoration of Napoleon he refused to enter his service, and
retired to Switzerland; but returned to France on the fall
of the emperor. In 1820 Mina returned to the theatre of
his old exploits ; and the remembrance of his former achieve¬
ments soon put him at the head of a large army. When
the constitution was again accepted by the king, Mina was
appointed captain-general of Navarre ; and in 1821 he held
the same office in Galicia; but was soon after deprived
of his command, when he retired to Siguenza. He was
recalled, however, in 1822, and took the command of the
constitutional army in Catalonia, with which he obtained
great successes over the enemy. The invasion of a French
army, however, compelled Mina, after resisting as long
as possible, to give up the contest, and to retire to
England. After the revolution of 1830 he repaired to
Paris, where he and Valdes planned an invasion of Spain.
The latter, more impatient than Mina, entered Spain in
1830; and as his expedition was not successful, Mina
crossed the frontier in order to save his companions, though
with faint hopes of the success of his enterprise. After
displaying great courage and passing through the greatest
dangers, he reached with difficulty the French frontier.
In 1834, on the breaking out of the civil war, Mina was
recalled to take the command of the army of the queen.
But he was now opposed to his old followers the peasants of
the north, who embraced the side of the Carlists, and turned
against Mina those very tactics which he had taught them,
and by which he had gained along with them so many succes¬
ses. His health, too, was injured by the incessant activity,
sufferings, and dangers of his laborious life; and he was
obliged to resign his command in 1835, without having gained
any great success. He died the following year at Barcelona.
MINAS GERAES, a mountainous province of Brazil,
situated between Lat. 14. 30. and 23. S., and Long. 40. and
51. W., is bounded N. by the province of Bahia, W. by
36
Minchin-
hampton
MIN
Goyaz, S. by Sao Paulo, and E. by Rio de Janeiro and
Espirito Santo. It is about 600 miles in length from N. to
Mindanao. ^ ^50 in average breadth, and has an estimated area of
j about 216,000 square miles. This is the most elevated pro¬
vince of Brazil, as well as the richest in minerals, and the
most populous. It occupies an elevated table-land traversed
by detached mountain ranges, separated from each other by
sloping and pastoral but not very deep valleys. The most
elevated summits are Itacolumi, 5750, and Itambi, 5900
feet above the level of sea. Owing to its elevation, the
climate of Minas Geraes is temperate when compared with
that of other countries under the torrid zone. It is abun¬
dantly watered by numerous small streams, which fall into
larger currents. The principal of the latter is the Sao
Francisco, which flows northward through almost the entire
province, and after passing through Bahia and forming the
boundary between that province and Pernambuco, and
between Sergipe del Rei and Alagoas, falls into the Atlantic
Ocean. The Rio Grande and the Rio Parnahiba flow
southward to form the Rio Parana; and the Rio Doce and
the Jequitinhonha flow eastward into the Atlantic. The
soil is in general very fertile, yielding in abundance, and
with little labour, the grains and fruits of Europe, besides
the aromatic plants and other vegetable productions cha¬
racteristic of such regions, as cotton, tobacco, sugar, maize,
manioc, coffee, indigo, ipecacuanha, jalap, liquorice, &c.
The forests abound in valuable timber; and vast herds of
swine and cattle are reared. The great wealth of the pro¬
vince, however, is in its mineral resources. Among the
metals and minerals found here are gold, silver, copper,
platina, iron, lead, mercury, antimony, bismuth, limestone,
millstone, alum, and sulphur. The manufactures are still
very imperfectly developed; but there are some exten¬
sive ironworks in the neighbourhood of the capital, Ouro
Pre^. Pop. (1852) 1,300,000.
M1NCHINHAMPTON, a market-town of England,
county of Gloucester, and 12 miles S. by E. from the town
of that name. It is pleasantly situated on a gentle decli¬
vity of the Cotswold Hills, but is irregularly built. The
parish church is a large cruciform edifice surmounted by
an octagonal tower. 1 here are several dissenting places of
worship, and national and other schools. The inhabitants
are chiefly employed in the cloth manufacture, which forms
the staple of an extensive district. Pop. of parish (1851), 4469.
MINCIO (the ancient Mincim), a river of Northern
Italy, which issues from the S. extremity of the Lago di
Garda, and flowing southward, passes Mantua, and falls into
the Po 12 miles below that town, after a course of about
40 miles. In the neighbourhood of Mantua the waters
stagnate so as to form shallow lakes of considerable extent.
The Mincius is celebrated by Virgil, who dwelt on its banks.
MINDANAO, or Magindanao, the most southerly of
the Philippine Islands, and the second in size of that group,
is situated between 5.32. and 9.50. N. Lat., and 122. and 126.
13. E. Long., having a length of about 300 miles from N.
to S., a breadth somewhat less, and an area estimated at
36,140 square miles. The general form of the island is
that of a triangle having its base towards the E.; but its
outline is very irregular, and in one part it is almost divided
into two by bays running deep into the land. Of these the
southern is called the Bay of Illano, and the northern the
Bay of Siddum. The island is mountainous, containing
several volcanoes; and the hills are covered with dense
forests nearly to their summits. A great part of the
low lands ot the island is also wooded; but there are
P^aces extensive plains covered with fine grass.
Mindanao contains a large number of lakes, and from this
circumstance the island derives its name. The largest
lake is that of Malanao or Lano, near the centre of the
isiand. I here are also many rivers, of which the principal
is the Batuan. 4. he products of Mindanao are similar to
MIN
those of the other islands of the group to which it belongs,
and consist of gold-dust, timber, coffee, cocoa, rice, nutmeg,
cinnamon, pepper, &c. The principal animals found here
are buffaloes, horses, oxen, deer, goats, and wfild hogs.
I he island was visited by Mohammedans from Arabia at
an early period; but the first European who reached it
was Magejhaens, who took possession of the island for Spain
in 1529. The Spaniards, however, have only colonized the
northern part, and have great difficulty in retaining pos¬
session even of that portion. Their territory is divided
into two provinces, Caraga and Misamis, the former of
which is very rich in gold. The chief town in the Spanish
possessions is Samboangan, which is used as a place of
banishment for the Philippines, and is strongly fortified.
Hie inhabitants resemble greatly those of the surrounding
islands; and though some tribes are said to be cruel and
ferocious, others are mild and inoffensive, employing them¬
selves in gathering gold-dust, and bartering it with the
Spaniards. The south-eastern corner of the island belongs
to the sultan of Mindanao, and is inhabited chiefly by-
Malays ; while the S. and S.W. portions are occupied by
the Illanos, a tribe of pirates, who have their chief seat on
the Bay of Illano. These people, who are a mixed race,
partly of Malayan and partly of native extraction, profess
to be subject to the sultan of Mindanao, but are in reality
quite independent. They are Mohammedans in religion,
and live entirely by piracy, scouring the sea with light
vessels of a peculiar construction. Their voyages extend
as far as New Guinea towards the E., and Malacca towards
the W., and they sometimes even enter the Bay of Manilla
in defiance of the Spanish authorities. Pop. of the whole
island probably about 1,000,000; of the Spanish provinces,
^ 6,298.
MINDEN, a strongly fortified town of Prussian West¬
phalia, capital of a government of the same name, on the
left bank of the Weser, here crossed by an old bridge 600
feet long, 37 miles W. from Hanover. This is one of the
oldest towns in Germany. The Emperor Henry IY. resided
here for a long time ; and at the imperial diet held here in
1026 his father Henry III. was chosen emperor. The
town is irregularly built, and contains few good buildings.
It has five churches, the principal of which, the cathedral,
is a handsome edifice 200 feet long by 82 wide. Among
its educational institutions are a gymnasium, a normal
school, and a Lutheran young ladies’ seminary. The ma¬
nufactures are considerable, comprising woollen stuffs, linen,
hosiery, hats, leather, tobacco, soap, beer, brandy, sugar,
&c. Minden also carries on some trade by means of the
river. The French were defeated in the vicinity of this
town on 1st August 1759 by an Anglo-Hanoverian army
under Prince Ferdinand. Pop. (1849) 13,060.
MINDORO, one of the Philippine Islands, is situated
to the S. of Luzon, from which it is separated by the Strait of
Manilla, between 12. lO.and 13.30.N. Lat., and 120. 27. and
121. 43. E. Long. Length about 100 miles; average breadth
between 40 and 50 ; area estimated at 4150 square miles.
Its form is triangular, and the coasts are skirted with a
range of hills; while in the interior the surface gradually
rises to a very great elevation. The surface is well wooded,
and watered by a great number of streams rising in the
centre of the island. There are some Spanish settlements
in Mindoro ; and the aborigines are employed largely in
piratical expeditions. Pop. 28,060.
MINEHEAD, a decayed borough and market-town of
England, county of Somerset, on the Bristol Channel, 22
miles W. by N. from Taunton. Minehead was formerly a
place of some trade, and returned two members to Parlia¬
ment till disfranchised by the Reform Act; but it is now
chiefly known as a watering-place. A small trade is still
carried on with Bristol and Wales; and the herring fishery
is prosecuted to some extent. Pop. of parish (1851), 1542.
Minden
MINERAL
Mineral MINERAL WATERS. Great curative powers have
Waters, always been ascribed to certain natural sources of waters
springing from the ground, and differing for the most part
from ordinary sources, either by the excess or remarkable
character of their constituents, or by their temperature.
The savage of America, the Romans, the inhabitants of
Asia, not to speak of the moderns, have all expressed
in various modes their conviction of the fact. The way
in which some of the more important springs have been
discovered,—either by the congress of animals and their
cure from various diseases (and there are more authentic
narratives of the kind than that of Bladud and his swine),
or by fortuitous cures in man, many of which are well
authenticated,—is in itself a strong presumption in favour of
the actual power of many mineral waters. But when we
add to this the fact, that the chemical composition of many
waters is that of very powerful medicinal agents; when we
consider the effects which, on physiological principles, are
likely to result from the imbibition of quantities of water
well imbued with mineral principles, as well as from bath¬
ing in such waters hot or cold,—little doubt can remain as to
the possession of real power by mineral waters. Add to
this, that the remedy, such as it is, is generally administered
with all the accessories likely to increase its beneficial ac¬
tion. Removal from care, good air and exercise, and im¬
proved hygienic relations, are almost always employed in
conjunction with this cure.
1. The principal difficulty which we encounter at the
outset of any inquiry into the nature of mineral waters is to
determine what a mineral water really is. All waters, ex¬
cept very carefully distilled water, contain salts. Rain
water, river water, and spring water, all contain salts. Mal¬
vern, one of the purest springs in England, contains about
five grains of salts to the gallon. The question is, to what
extent is the solution of foreign substances in a water to
proceed,—or how far can it depart in other respects from
the characters of ordinary water,—to entitle it to be called
mineral ?
Perhaps when the amount of salts and other solids held
in solution in a water exceeds 60 grains in the imperial gal¬
lon it should be entitled to the term mineral. It is to be
observed, that the constituents of a water which may exer¬
cise medicinal effects cannot be restricted now-a-days to
the mineral or gaseous constituents of water only, seeing
that a principle or congeries of substances, which exists in
a great many mineral waters, of an organic vegeto-animal
nature, variously termed zoogine, glairine, baregine, &c.,
is supposed to produce considerable effects. The extractive
matters derived from the earth and from plants also con¬
tribute to the action of waters. The amount of gases, or
the temperature of the water, may be sufficient to give the
characters of mineral waters where the solid constituents
are in very small quantities. Thus in this country the
waters of Moffat and Gilsland are entitled to be called mi¬
neral, although there is nothing in the amount of salts they
contain to give them this character. It is due, however, to
their gaseous constituents, especially their sulphuretted hy¬
drogen, one of the most powerful poisonous and medicinal
agents, and in solution especially calculated to act upon the
skin or the kidneys, and excite their secretions. On the
Continent the waters of Pfeffers and Wildbad have been
found by long experience to be capable of curing disease,
although their mineral constituents are insignificant.
2. The most obvious division of mineral waters is into
thermal and cold. Of the origin of the former many theories
have been given. They probably arise from more than
one source, and from various causes. The origin of ther¬
mal springs may be ascribed to the following causes:—Irf,
To water coming in contact with certain chemical agents
in the interior of the earth; 2c7, The proximity of volca¬
noes ; 3tf, The internal heat of the earth; and, Ath, To
WATERS. 37
electrical changes, in which the very production of these Mineral
mineral springs, and the charging of them with their various Waters,
constituents, are concerned.
None of these explanations, except the last, satisfies all
the conditions of the problem, and the last itself is alto¬
gether hypothetical. Against the second hypothesis it may
be urged, that on the volcanic theory we "cannot account
for the uniform constitution of almost all thermal springs at
different times and at all times ; and that many hot springs
occur which are neither in volcanic regions nor in the
neighbourhood of volcanoes. It is an undoubted fact,
proved by the phenomena observed in regard to Artesian
wells, and by observations in mines, that the temperature of
the earth increases as an approach is made towards the
centre of the planet, in the ratio of 1° 8' of Fahrenheit for
every 101 English feet. This theory of the depth may ac¬
count very well for the heat of many thermal springs, but
not for all; for although most thermal springs continue to
preserve the same temperature, others occasionally vary,
and many have been observed to undergo great changes
during earthquakes. Thus Carlsbad and Aix in Savoy lost
temperature at the time of the earthquake at Lisbon. The
electrical theory would account for almost everything, in¬
cluding the chemical composition of many thermal spas;
since such gases as free carbonic acid and sulphuretted
hydrogen are precisely the gases which we might expect to
have disengaged by the chemical action of electrical cur¬
rents ; and the heat-producing power of electricity admits
of no doubt: but what do we know concerning the cur¬
rents of electricity in the interior of the earth? ^ We must
be content, then, with admitting, that of the causes of the
thermality of many mineral springs we know little with
certainty. In all ages these natural hot baths, some of
which issue at the temperature of boiling water, have
been preferred to artificial baths. The Romans in all
the conquered provinces invariably seized with avidity on
these sources, and erected splendid thermae, with which
nothing in modern times can compare. The admitted
superior efficacy of the natural over the artificial baths
has led to many conjectures as to the cause. The supposi¬
tion that the specific heats of natural and artificial waters
were different was refuted by a series of careful experi¬
ments performed by M. Longchamps and others. There
remains the supposition, thrown out of late years, that the
superior efficacy of natural thermse may be due to their elec¬
tricity ; but at present it is unsupported by direct experi¬
ment. Besides those springs of the temperature of the body
or above it, which deserve to be called hot, as Wildbad, about
98 , Bath, 118°, there are other springs below the tempera¬
ture of the body, yet hotter than ordinary water, as Buxton,
83°, and the misnamed hot wells of Bristol, only 76°.
After thermal springs come the cold, which are va¬
riously classified, according as the writer gives more or less
importance to this or that predominating ingredient. Per¬
haps the best and most natural division is into sulphuretted,
carbonated, saline, and chalybeate. The first contain large
quantities of sulphuretted hydrogen gas, with or without
saline ingredients. Thus Harrowgate and Gilsland contain
about 2 cubic inches of sulphuretted hydrogen to the pint
(imperial); but the former (old well) contains 133*7 6 grains
of salts in that quantity, while the latter has only 2*93.
The carbonated waters are those which are highly charged
with carbonic acid gas, a very valuable property, since it
causes them to sit easy on the stomach. These waters,
besides being grateful to the palate, possess stimulating
and tonic properties. In this class of waters Britain
is unfortunately entirely deficient. It is true the Leam¬
ington waters contain above 2 cubic inches of it to the
pint; but this quantity is not sufficient, as it would be
in the case of sulphuretted hydrogen, to give the charac¬
teristic properties. On the Continent some of the waters,
38 MINERAL WATERS.
Mineral as Pyrmont, are so highly charged that the gas escapes
Waters. aimost with explosive violence. The saline waters admit of
a very important subdivision,—viz., into alkaline, muriated,
and sulphated. The first are characterized by the presence
of such a quantity of the carbonate of soda as to give them
marked alkaline properties; in some cases, as at Vichy,
these waters are thermal. In this valuable class of waters
we are unfortunately deficient in this country. Their alka¬
linity renders them especially useful in gouty and calculous
affections ; and when, besides, they are thermal, they may be
considered invaluable, admitting of the use of hot alkaline
baths and the absorption of the curative agent through the
skin, as well as of its internal administration. We have in
this country waters containing trifling quantities of car¬
bonate of soda, but nothing to give an alkaline character to
the waters. Many of these waters also contain large quan¬
tities of carbonic acid. The muriated waters are those
which contain large quantities of alkaline and earthy mu¬
riates or chlorides. The sulphated waters are those which
contain as their chief ingredients the alkaline and earthy
sulphates. Metallic sulphates, as those of iron and man¬
ganese, do also exist, but the waters then generally belong
to the class of chalybeates. Chalybeate waters are those
which contain iron almost always in the form of the car¬
bonate or sulphate, in such quantity as to cause the effects
of the water to be ascribed chiefly to its iron. The car¬
bonate is generally held in solution by excess of carbonic
acid. This is the reason why, on boiling such waters, a
portion of the iron is precipitated, owing to the carbonic acid
being driven off; and why, also, the stones in the course of
chalybeate waters exhibit a red tinge, as the excess of
carbonic acid with which the water was imbued flies off on
exposure to the air, and the oxide of iron is precipitated.
Most of the carbonated-iron waters are weak; still they pro¬
duce undoubted effects. Tunbridge wells contain a very
little more than the quarter of a grain in the pint. The
sulphated-iron waters, again, are of a very different cha¬
racter, both because the ingredient itself is more powerful,
and because, being exceedingly soluble, much larger quan¬
tities of it are held in solution. Very valuable waters of
this class exist in Great Britain, some of them but little
known. Some of these waters are too strong for use in an
undiluted form, as Sandrock in the Isle of Wight, which
contains no less than 4T4 grains of the sulphate of iron in
the pint.
Besides these classes of bodies, other substances of im¬
portance exist in mineral waters. Iodine and bromine
are found occasionally in saline springs. The former ele¬
ment has been found so useful in scrofula and bronchocele
that its presence has been considered of much consequence.
Woodhall spa, in England, contains rather more than half
a grain of iodine in the gallon. Arsenic of late years has
been discovered in minute quantities in several waters in
France and Germany; and in fact the only limit to the
number of substances found in mineral waters would
appear to be the extent to which the analyses are car¬
ried. Organic acids, as the acetic and formic, as well as
others of a different kind, have lately been found by Scherer
in the waters of Bruckenan. The principle termed zoo-
gine or glairine, already alluded to, deserves consideration ;
and so much weight has been attached to it, that in ar¬
tificial sulphur baths animal gelatine is sometimes substi¬
tuted for it.1
’ everal species of confervas have been found in this substance :
talotlinx nivea in the sulphur springs of Yorkshire, Durham, and
ix-ia-Lhapelle j also in the hot sulphur springs of Greoulx in Pro-
•vence; OsaWana labyrinihiformis, the Tremella thermalis of some,
one of the most common species, in several of the continental ther¬
mal-sulphur and other springs. But these conferva; are not the
so e constituents of this matter. An animal principle also exists in
many cases which some have supposed to be derived from organic
The analysis of mineral waters does not give the prin- Mineral
ciples either as they exist in the waters, or as they are Waters,
generally arranged in the published tables. For instance,
ina a water said to contain so much sulphate of soda and
so much muriate of lime, in reality the sulphuric acid
is obtained by throwing it down by means of muriatic or
nitrate of baryta in the form of sulphate of baryta, from
the weight of which the amount of sulphuric acid in the
water is calculated. The other acids and bases are ob¬
tained by analogous methods,—the bases generally in com¬
bination with an acid, the acids with a base ; and from these
new compounds the amounts of acids and bases in the waters
are calculated. The general rule is to give the strongest
acid to the strongest base. In this way the constitution of
waters is generally arrived at with considerable accuracy.
The most powerful of all mineral waters of the saline
class is the sea itself. It differs somewhat in composition
according to the amount of evaporation. Thus the water
of the Mediterranean is more dense and saline than that of
the ocean. According to the analysis of MM. Mialhe
and Figuier, the water of the British Channel at Havre
contains 280 grains of salts to the pint. The chief
ingredients are chlorides of sodium, magnesium, and potas¬
sium, and sulphates of magnesia and lime; with a proportion
of bromide of sodium. There are also other salts, traces of
iodine, and probably of everything that is found soluble on
the earth’s surface.
3. Of the Applications of Mineral Waters, and their Use
in the Cure of Disease.—Their use is external and internal.
The external use of mineral waters is almost confined to the
thermal waters. Here the alleged superiority of natural
heat over artificial again becomes a question, several of the
thermal springs being nearly pure water. How much of
the superiority of these baths may be ascribed to the same
causes as those which tell in favour of mineral waters gene¬
rally—as change of air and scene, and improved regimen—
it is most difficult to say. In speaking of the waters of
Leuk in the Valais, Sir John Forbes has some excellent
observations on this point in his Physician’s Holiday. The
springs are merely pure water, and if of ordinary tempera¬
ture might be used as good drinking water. They vary in
temperature from 95° to 124°. The baths are employed for
many chronic diseases, but their greatest reputation is in cu¬
taneous diseases, scrofula, chronic rheumatism, and indolent
gout. The effect of such bathing is to stimulate greatly the
powers of the skin, and so to cause free perspiration, thereby
carrying off effete principles from the system, and causing
a derivation from the internal organs, as the liver, lungs,
and kidneys ; increasing also the energy of the heart’s action.
Hence these thermal springs are chiefly employed in gout
and rheumatism of a chronic character, in skin diseases,
diseases of the joints, old wounds, and diseases of the bones,
tumours of all kinds, and sometimes in dyspepsia. By in¬
creasing the energy of the circulation, they tend to pro¬
duce absorption. In kidney diseases and in diabetes, and
in chronic dropsical affections, where there is little or no
disease of the heart, those springs which are sulphur¬
etted possess, in addition to their heat, a principle, sulphur¬
etted hydrogen, which, applied in this way, powerfully ex¬
cites the skin, and is perhaps absorbed into the system.
This class of waters is especially beneficial in skin diseases
and in chronic rheumatism. Of the effect of other gases,
as carburetted hydrogen, azote, and carbonic acid, in ther¬
mal springs, little is known, except that the last produces
a prickling sensation on the surface of the body, which it
greatly stimulates.
Among the number of external applications must be
remains. It is that which gives the odour of chicken broth, or bad
broth much rotted, as one writer calls it, to such waters as the
Kochbrunnen at Wiesbaden.
MINERAL WATERS.
•
39
Mineral mentioned the mud baths much in use lately. The most
Waters, important of these are at Franzensbad in Germany. The
•V‘***/ mineral mud of which they are prepared is found in great
abundance, and is very rich in active substances. Its prin¬
cipal constituent parts are salts of iron, soda, lime, and alu¬
mina ; it also contains ulmic acid in large quantity, and
other vegetable matters of a gummy or resinous character.
The mud is smooth and soft to the touch, and of an ex¬
tremely styptic taste; heated by steam, or diluted with
water, it forms a sort of cataplasm like bread crumb
coloured with ink, and is used for baths or fomentations
locally. From this application the best effects are said to
have been derived in anemia and chlorosis (green sick¬
ness), in old rheumatic and gouty affections, sciatica, para¬
lysis where there is no organic disease of the spinal cord or
brain, in old fractures, and in some diseases of the skin.
After the surface of the body has been washed on leaving
the bath, the skin is unctuous and smooth; and on taking
exercise perspiration is readily induced.
Cold sulphuretted waters are sometimes heated for baths,
as is practised at Harrowgate ; but there is in this case much
escape of the sulphuretted hydrogen. This remedy is
chiefly used in skin diseases, chronic liver diseases, and
chronic rheumatism. Few of the ordinary cold waters are
used externally. The celebrated fountain at Ilkley in York¬
shire is merely pure cold water issuing in a full stream from
the mountain, and which, applied as a douche or used as a
plunge-bath, produces excessive chill, then great reaction
either in the part to which it is applied or the whole sur¬
face of the body, and therefore comes under the category
of simple cold baths. Besides these applications, all waters
may be directed as douches to any particular part; ascending
douches are used in several female complaints, and in this
way carbonic and sulphuretted hydrogen gases from springs
have been applied either by tubes to some particular part
(carbonic acid, for example, to the ear in certain cases of
deafness), or to the whole body inclosed in a suitable ap¬
paratus.
With regard to the action of cold mineral waters, it is
generally either what is termed alterative or tonic. In the
former case the fluids are altered in character, and this is
mostly done by exciting the secretions, especially those of
the skin and kidneys. The effect of this increased secre¬
tion is to remove more quickly from the system the worn-
out constituents of the frame, and with them many morbific
elements, and thus give fair play to the vital forces of the
system, if these still retain sufficient energy to set about
the work of reparation. Many of the saline waters, espe¬
cially those containing alkaline sulphates and muriates, as¬
sociated with sulphuretted hydrogen or without it, act
powerfully on the bowels and promote the action of the
liver. Of this class are Harrowgate and Cheltenham in
this country, and Carlsbad abroad, which is, however, also a
thermal water.1 Cheltenham waters contain various propor¬
tions of salts. The strongest of them, the Old Well and the
Montpellier, have respectively 81’51 and SO’IS of solids to
the imperial pint, being muriates and sulphates of soda, and
muriates of lime and magnesia. Of the efficacy of this
and similar waters in liver affections, the constant resort of
sufferers from the diseases of tropical climates may be sup¬
posed to afford a proof. The saline muriated waters, many
of which contain traces of iodine and bromine, besides their
alterative properties, act as tonics, and are especially suited
1 Carlsbad waters contain a large quantity of carbonic acid, and
are remarkable for the variety of their contents : manganese and
iron, iodine and bromine, arsenic and boracic acid, copper, lead, tin,
and antimony, are among these. Perhaps the variety of the consti¬
tuents has to do with the number of diseases in which these waters
are found beneficial. Two of their best ascertained beneficial
effects are in cases of recently united fractures, in consolidating the
callus, and in reducing enlarged livers.
for scrofulous affections, especially if they contain iron. In Mineral
many of these waters it is possible for a patient to take into Waters,
the system in the course of the day a medicinal dose of the
earthy muriates long ago recommended by Hufeland as
powerful remedies in scrofula; and in addition to these large
quantities of muriate of soda, also a remedy in scrofula,
with small quantities of bromides and iodides, whose effi¬
cacy in this class of diseases is undoubted. And it is a
curious fact, that the springs in Piedmont, in which iodine
was first discovered by M. Cantu, had been long renowned
in scrofula; just as the ashes of burnt sponge were recog¬
nised as a remedy in goitre hundreds of years before iodine
was discovered, or they were known to contain it, or M. Coin-
det of Geneva had demonstrated the efficacy of iodine in this
disease, so common in the valleys of Switzerland and Savoy.
The virtues of chalybeate waters are popularly ap¬
preciated, and the diseases in which they are beneficial
generally known. They act by strengthening the tone of
the stomach, and perhaps by some chemico-vital influence
in increasing the number of red particles in the blood, in
which iron forms an important ingredient, and has been
supposed by Liebig to perform an active part in the pheno¬
mena of respiration. Certain it is, that of all the class of
tonics none equal iron in giving a healthy bloom to the
complexion. The use of chalybeates is apt, however, to
congest the head, and therefore they should be employed
with caution where there is any tendency to such conges¬
tion. The waters containing iron are among the few
requiring often some kind of medicinal preparation for
their use. The bowels should be well opened previously,
if possible, by some mild preparation, as the compound rhu¬
barb pill, and their state should be attended to while the use
of the water is continued. In waters containing the sul¬
phate, alumina is often present, which makes it the more re¬
quisite to observe this caution. The dose of the sulphate
should not exceed one, or at most, two grains twice a day.
In those waters which contain manganese as well, it may
be reckoned as so much iron. Very powerful effects indeed
are often obtained from such waters, in chlorosis, anemia,
general debility, &C.1
Among the prodigious list of diseases which have been
supposed to be benefited by the use of mineral waters
may be enumerated phthisis and chronic bronchitis. Some
of the mild thermal waters, as those of Wiesbaden, taken
internally, have been found beneficial in allaying pul¬
monary irritation in these diseases. Hot bathing in such
cases is a very dangerous remedy. Chalybeate waters in
incipient phthisis have been often found beneficial; but
in this class of diseases, as a general rule, removal to a spa
should only take place when the situation affords a favour¬
able change in hygienic conditions. The same may be said
of asthma and diseases of the heart. In diarrhoea from
debility, the strong astringent ferruginous waters, especially
those which contain sulphate of iron and alumina, have been
found beneficial. In constipation, hypochondriasis, enlarge¬
ment of the liver and spleen, biliary calculi, all the saline
waters, both sulphated and muriated, thermal, or impreg¬
nated with sulphuretted hydrogen and carbonic acid gas, are
useful; and in biliary calculi the alkaline waters, as those of
Carlsbad and Vichy, have been found especially valuable.
In catarrh of the bladder, gravel, and urinary calculi, mild
thermal waters, baths of these, and alkaline saline waters,
especially those of Vichy and Carlsbad, have been attended
with the best results. In amenorrhcea and dysmenorrhcea,
chalybeates; in the latter, thermal waters externally and in-
1 It has been proved by the experiments of Andral, Gavarret,
Becquerel, and others, that of 1000 parts of blood the quantity of
red globules, which was 46-6 before the use of preparations of iron,
was augmented by the use of this agent to 95'7. In some cases
under the use of iron the solids of the blood increased by one-half,
while the water diminished in the proportion of 871 to 806.
40 M I N
Mineral ternally; in the former, and in cases of sterility, sea-bathing,
" aJers especially combined with the use of chalybeates,—a combi-
Mineralo- nation wllich maY be obtained, for example, at Scarborough,
gical ‘—should be employed. The same have been found useful
Science, in certain male affections of a sexual character. In diseases
of the skin especially, the sulphuretted waters should be used
externally and internally. In chronic rheumatism and gout
the thermal waters are the best. In these diseases we have
in this country the well-established renown of Buxton and
Bath. Where gouty deposits are formed there is little
chance of their removal by the use of any mineral water.
In those formidable diseases, diabetes and albuminuria, ther¬
mal waters (in the former especially the waters of Vichy)
should be employed. In old wounds, and the results of
contusions and fractures, the same class of waters have been
found beneficial.
MIN
It has been a question how far artificial waters are able Mineral
to supply the place of the natural springs. In point of fact, Waters
most of the natural waters can be imitated with sufficient II
exactitude. 7 he artificial seltzer water manufactured at ^n.era^°*
Brighton is perhaps even superior to that of the renowned sifCa*
spring itself; but the adjuncts of change of air, freedom ^ ‘,
from the usual sources of anxiety, pleasant scenery, &c.,
are wanting. Bhe same applies to waters sent to a distance
from the springs. It is as in an ordinary prescription,
where the physician to the basis of his prescription adds
what will assist its operation and render it as grateful as
possible. The adjuvantia to the use of mineral waters
are the air and the places, without which the medicine
loses very much of its effect; not but that a vast num¬
ber of mineral waters are real medicines, which may be
taken anywhere with benefit. (r. m. g.)
MINERALOGTCAL SCIENCE.
On account of the sudden death of Professor Edward Forbes, who had engaged to furnish the article Geology for this work
it was found necessary to defer it to the present heading. Under Mineralogical Science, therefore, will be found first
Mineralogy properly so called ; and secondly, Geology. j ’
I—MINERALOGY.
Mineralogy is sometimes understood as comprising the
natural history of every portion of inorganic nature. Here we
consider it as limited to the natural history of simple minerals
or mineral species. In the strictest sense, a mineral species is
a natural inorganic body, possessing a definite chemical com¬
position, and assuming a regular determinate form or series of
forms. This definition excludes many bodies often regarded
as minerals : as, all the artificial salts of the chemists, all the
inorganic secretions of plants and animals, all the remains
of former living beings now imbedded in rocks. Some
substances originally organic products have indeed, by
common consent, found a place in mineral systems, as coal,
amber, and mineral resins; but this is a departure from the
strictness of the definition, and in most cases had perhaps
better have been avoided. So also some amorphous sub¬
stances, with no precise form or chemical composition, as
some kinds of clay, have been introduced into works on
mineralogy, but we believe often improperly, and with no
beneficial result. Aggregates of simple minerals or rocks
are likewise excluded from this science, though the various
associations of minerals, their modes of occurrence, and
their geological position, are important points in the history
of the different species.
One most important object of a treatise on mineralogy
should be to give such descriptions of minerals, their essen¬
tial properties and distinctive characters, as will enable the
student to distinguish the various species, and to recognise
them when they occur in nature. But to accomplish this
he must first become acquainted with the terminology or
nomenclature of the science; that is, with the meaning of
the terms used in describing these properties, and the vari¬
ous modifications they may undergo. With this is neces¬
sarily conjoined an account of the properties themselves,
and of the more general laws by which their various changes
are regulated. A second and closely-related portion of
mineralogy is the system or classification, giving an account
of the order in which the species are arranged, and the
reasons for which it has been adopted. The third and
most important part of mineralogy, to which these two are
properly preparatory, is the physiography of the various
species, giving an account of their characteristic marks, and
a description of their appearance or external aspect and
forms ; their principal physical and chemical properties;
their mode of occurrence, with their geological anjT geo¬
graphical distribution ; and their various^»se§Pwhether in
nature or in the arts. Each of tfie^e -'departments will be
considered in the following treatise in the order just men¬
tioned.
PART I.—TERMINOLOGY.
Chaf. I.—form of minerals.
The physical properties of a mineral comprise all those
properties belonging to it as a body existing in space, and
consisting of matter aggregated in a peculiar way. The
more important of these are,—its form as shown in crystal¬
lization ; its structure as determining its mode of cleavage
and fracture; its hardness and tenacity; its weight or
specific gravity; and its relations to light, heat, electricity,
and magnetism.
. Crystalline and Amorphous.—Mineral substances occur
m ^wo distinct modes of aggregation. Some consist of
minute particles simply collected together, with no regu¬
larity of structure or constancy of external form, and are
named amorphous. All fluid minerals are in this condition,
together with some solid bodies, which appear to have con¬
densed either from a gelatinous condition like opal, when
they are named porodine, or from a state of igneous fluidity
like obsidian and glass, when they are named hyaline.
I he other class have their ultimate atoms evidently arranged
according to definite law, and are named crystalline, when
the regularity of structure appears only in the internal
disposition of the parts; and crystallized, when it also pro¬
duces a determinate external form, or a crystal.
Faces, Edges, Angles, Axes of Crystals.—The word crys- Crystals.
tal in mineralogy designates a solid body exhibiting an
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera¬
logy.
original (not artificial) more or less regular polyhedric form.
It is thus bounded by plane surfaces, named faces, which
J intersect in straight lines or edges, and these again meet in
points and form solid angles, bounded by three or more
faces. The space occupied by a crystal is often named a
rorm of crystallization, which is thus the mathematical
figure regarded as independent of the matter that fills it.
Crystals bounded by equal and similar faces are named
simple forms ; whilst those in which the faces are not equal
and similar are named compound forms, or combinations,
being regarded as produced by the union or combination of
two or more simple forms. The cube or hexahedron (fig. 1),
bounded by six equal and similar squares; the octahedron
(%• 2), by eight equilateral triangles; and the rhombohe-
dron, by six rhombs,—are thus simple forms. An axis of
a crystal is a line passing through its centre and terminating
either in the middle of two faces, or of two edges, or in two
angles; and axes terminating in similar parts of a crystal are
named similar axes. In describing a crystal, one of its axes
is supposed to be vertical or upright, and is then named the
principal axis, and that axis is chosen which is the only one
of its kind in the figure. A few other technical terms used
in describing crystals will be explained as they occur.
Systems of Crystallization.—The forms of crystals that
occur in nature seem almost innumerable. On examining
them, however, more attentively, certain relations are dis¬
covered even between highly complex crystals. When the
axes are properly chosen, and placed in a right position, the
various faces are observed to group themselves in a regular
and beautiful manner around these axes, and to be all so
related as to compose connected series produced according
to definite laws. In every mineral species there is a certain
form of crystal from which, as a primary, every other form
of crystal observed in that mineral species may be deduced.
In each species the axes, bearing to each other definite
numerical proportions, intersect at angles which are constant.
So also the faces of the various forms are related to each
other, and to their primary, according to certain definite
laws. When viewed in this manner, and referred to their
simplest forms, the innumerable variety of crystals occurring
in nature may all be reduced to six distinct groups, or, as
they are named, systems of crystallization. The following
are the names given to these systems of crystallization in
some of the best authors :—
Naumann.
1. Tesseral System.
2. Tetragonal System.
3. Hexagonal System.
4. Rhombic System.
5. Monoclinohedric System.
6. Triclinohedric System.
Mohs.
Tessular.
Pyramidal.
Rhombohedral.
Orthotype.
Hemiorthotype.
Anorthotype.
Weiss and G. Rose.
Regular.
2 and 1 axial.
3 and 1 axial.
1 and 1 axial.
2 and 1 membered.
1 and 1 membered.
In the following treatise the terminology of Naumann is
adopted, his method of classifying and describing crystals
appearing the simplest and best adapted to promote the
progress of the student.
Holohedric and Hemihedric.— Before describing these
systems, it must be observed that certain crystals appear as
the half of others, and are, therefore named hemihedric;
whilst the crystals with the Jull number of faces are named
holohedric. Hemihedric crystals are formed when the alter¬
nate faces or groups of faces of a holohedric crystal increase
symmetrically, so as to obliterate the other faces. Thus,
if four alternate faces of the octohedron increase so as to
obliterate the other four, a tetrahedron with half the number
of faces is formed.
1. Tcsse- fhe first, or Tesseral System, named from tessera, a cube,
al system which is one of the most frequent varieties, is characterized
by three equal axes intersecting each other at right angles.
Properly speaking, this system has no chief axis, as any one
of them may be so named, and placed upright in drawing
and describing the crystals. Of these there are thirteen
VOL. xv.
varieties, which are thus classed and named from the num¬
ber of their faces:—
1. One Tetrahedron, or form with four faces.
2. One Hexahedron, with six faces.
3. One Octahedron, with eight faces.
4. Pour Dodecahedrons, with twelve faces.
5. Five Icositetrahedrons, with twenty-four faces.
6. One Tetracontaoctahedron, with forty-eight faces.
The dodecahedrons are further distinguished, according
to the form of their faces, into rhombic, trigonal, deltoid,
and pentagonal dodecahedrons ; and some of the icositetra¬
hedrons have also received peculiar names.
The following is a description, with figures, of the differ¬
ent forms above mentioned, beginning with
The Holohedric forms.
1. The hexahedron or cube (fig. 1) is bounded by six
equal^ squares, has twelve edges, formed by faces meeting
at 90 , and eight trigonal angles. The principal axes join
the centre points of any two opposite faces.—Examples are
fluor spar, lead-glance, boracite.
Fig. 1. Fig. 2.
2. The octahedron (fig. 2), bounded by eight equilateral
triangles, has twelve equal edges, with planes meeting at
109° 28', and six tetragonal angles. The principal axes
join the opposite angles, two and two.—Example, alum,
spinel, magnetic iron ore.
3. The rhombic-dodecahedron (fig. 3) is bounded by
twelve equal and similar rhombs (diagonals as 1 and V2),
has twenty-four equal edges of 120°, and six tetragonal and
eight trigonal angles. The principal axes join two opposite
tetragonal angles.—Ex., garnet, red copper ore, boracite.
4. The tetrakishexahedrons (variety of icositetrahedron,
fig. 4), are bounded by twenty-four isosceles triangles, ar¬
ranged in six groups of four each. They have twelve longer
edges which correspond to those of the primitive or in¬
scribed cube, and twenty-four shorter edges placed over
each of its faces. The angles are eight hexagonal and six
tetragonal; the latter joined two and two by the three prin¬
cipal axes. This form varies in general aspect, approach¬
ing, on the one hand, to the cube; on the other, to the rhom¬
bic-dodecahedron.—Ex., fluor spar, gold.
5. The triakisoctahedrons (variety of icositetrahedron,
fig. 5), are bounded by twenty-four isosceles triangles, in
eight groups of three, and, like the previous form, vary in
F
41
Miner?.-
iogy-
42
MINERALOGY.
Minera- general aspect from the octahedron on one side, to the
logy* rhombic-dodecahedron on the other. The edges are twelve
V—^ longer, corresponding with those of the inscribed octahe¬
dron, and twenty-four shorter, three and three over each
of the faces. The angles are eight trigonal and six dite-
tragonal (formed by eight faces); the latter angles joined
two and two by the principal axes.—Ex., galena, diamond.
Deriva¬
tion of
crystalline
forms.
6. The icositetrahedrons (most common variety, fig. 6)
are bounded by twenty-four deltoids or figures with four
sides, of which two and two adjacent ones are equal. This
form varies from the octahedron to the cube, sometimes
approaching the former and sometimes the latter in general
aspect. The edges are twenty-four longer and twenty-
four shorter. The angles are six tetragonal joined by the
principal axes, eight trigonal, and twelve rhombic, or tetra¬
gonal with unequal angles.
7. The hexakisoctahedrons (fig. 7), bounded by forty-
eight scalene triangles, vary much in general aspect, ap¬
proaching more or less to all the preceding forms; but
most frequently they have the faces arranged either in six
groups of eight, or eight of six, or twelve of four faces.
There are twenty-four long edges, often corresponding to
those of the rhombic-dodeca¬
hedron ; twenty-four interme¬
diate edges lying in pairs over
each edge of the inscribed
octahedron; and twenty-four
short edges in pairs over the
edges of the inscribed cube.
There are six ditetragonal
angles joined by the principal
axes, eight hexagonal and
twelve rhombic angles.—Ex.,
fluor spar, garnet, diamond.
The seven forms of crystals
now described are related to each other in the most inti¬
mate manner. This will appear more distinctly from the
following account of the derivation of the forms, with which
is conjoined an explanation of the crystallographic signs or
symbols by which they are designated. We have adopted
these symbols throughout this work, in the belief that they
not only mark the forms in a greatly abbreviated manner,
but also exhibit the relations of the forms and combinations
in a way which words could hardly accomplish.
The derivation of forms is that process by which, from
one form chosen for the purpose, and considered as the
type—the fundamental ox primary form—all the other forms
of a system may be produced, according to fixed principles or
general laws. In order to understand this process or method
of derivation, the student should keep in mind that the
position of any plane is fixed when the positions of any
three points in it, not all in one straight line, are known.
To determine the position, therefore, of the face of a crystal,
it is only necessary to know the distance of three points in
it from the centre of the crystal, or the points in which the
face or its supposed extension would intersect the three
axes of the crystal. The portion of the axes between this
point and the centre are named parameters, and the posi¬
tion of the face is sufficiently known when the relative Minera-
length or proportion of these parameters is ascertained. ^°Sy-
When the position of one face of a simple form is thus
fixed or described, all the other faces are in like manner
fixed, since they are all equal and similar, and all intersect
the axes in a uniform manner; and the expression which
marks or describes one face, marks and describes the whole
figure.
The octahedron is generally adopted as the primary or
fundamental form of the tesseral system, and distinguished
by the first letter of the name, O. Its faces cut the half
axes at equal distances from the centre; so that these semi¬
axes, or the parameters of the faces, have to each other the
proportion 1:1:1. In order to derive the other forms
from the octahedron, the following construction is employed.
The numbers refer to the descriptions above.
Suppose a plane so placed in each angle of the octahe¬
dron as to be vertical to the axis passing through that angle,
and consequently parallel to the two other axes (or to cut
them at an infinite distance = oo); then the hexahedron or
cube (1) is produced, designated by the crystallographic
sign go O oo ; expressing the proportion of the parameters
of its faces, or go : go : 1. If a plane is supposed placed in
each edge parallel to one axis, and cutting the two other
axes at equal distances, the resulting figure is the rhombic-
dodecahedron (3), designated by the sign ooO, the propor¬
tion of the parameters of its faces being oo : 1 : 1. The
triakisoctahedron (5) arises when on each edge of the octa¬
hedron planes are placed cutting the axis not belonging to
that edge at a distance from the centre m which is a rational
number greater than 1. The proportion of its parameters
is therefore m: 1 : 1, and its sign mO ; the most common
varieties being fO, 20, and 30. When, on the other
hand, from a similar distance m in each two semiaxes pro¬
longed, a plane is drawn to the other semiaxis, or to each
angle, an ikositetrahedron (6) is formed; the parameters of
its faces have consequently the proportion m: 1 :m, and its
sign is mOm ; the most common varieties being 202 and
303, the former very frequent in leucite, analcime, and
garnet. When, again, planes are drawn from each angle, or
the end of one semiaxis of the octahedron, parallel to a
second axis, and cutting the third at a distance n, greater
than 1, then the tetrakishexahedron (4) is formed, the pa¬
rameter of its faces go : 1 : w; its sign ooOrc; and the most
common varieties in nature ooOf, oo02, and oc03. Finally,
if in each semiaxis of the octahedron two distances, m and
w, be taken, each greater than 1, and m also greater than
n, and planes be drawn from each angle to these points, so
that the two planes lying over each edge cut the second
semiaxis belonging to that edge, at the smaller distance n,
and the third axis at the greater distance m, then the hexa-
kisoctahedron (7) is produced, the parameters, which are
m : n : 1, its sign mOn, and the most common varieties
30§, 402, and 50f.
The next class of crystals are the semi-tesseral forms ; and
first, those with oblique faces, often named tetrahedral, from
their relation to the tetrahedron. (1.) This form (fig. 8)
is bounded by four equilateral triangles, has six equal edges
with faces meeting at 70° 32', and four trigonal angles.
The principal axes join the middle points of each two op-
II in era-
logy.
MINERALO GICAL SCIENCE.
P™te edgeS:-Ex gray-copper ore, boracite, and helvine.
; (2.) The trigonal dodecahedrons (fig. 9) are bounded by
twelve isosceles triangles, and vary in general form from
the tetrahedron to the hexahedron. There are six longer
edges corresponding to those of the inscribed tetrahedron
and twelve shorter, placed three and three over each of its
faces; and four hexagonal and four trigonal angles —Ex
gray-copper ore and bismuth-blende. (3.) The deltoid-
dodecahedrons (fig. 10) are bounded by twelve deltoid*
and vary in general form from the tetrahedron on the one
hand, to the rhombic-dodecahedron on the other They
have twelve longer edges lying in pairs over the edges of
the inscribed tetrahedron; and twelve shorter edges three
and three over each of its faces. The angles are”six tetra-
angles, and twelve of three unequal angles. Each princi¬
pal axis unites two opposite regular r
edges. This form is derived from
the tetrakishexahedron, and its sign
ccOn
18 o > one of the most com-
oo02
43
Minera-
logy-
Pig. 10.
Pig. 11.
gonal (rhombic), four acute trigonal, and four obtuse trigonal
angles. The principal axes join two and two opposite rhom¬
bic angles.—Ex., gray-copper ore. (4.) The hexakistetrahe-
drons (fig. 11) are bounded by twenty-four scalene triangles,
and most commonly have their faces grouped in four sys¬
tems of six each. The edges are twelve shorter and
twelve longer, lying in groups of three over each face of
the inscribed tetrahedron, and twelve intermediate in pairs
over its edges. The angles are six rhombic, joined in
pairs by the principal axes, and four acuter and four ob-
tuser hexagonal angles.—Ex., diamond.
r derivation and signs of these forms are as follows:—
The tetrahedron arises when four alternate faces of the
octahedron are enlarged, so as to obliterate the other four
O ’
and its sign is hence —. But, as either four faces may be
thus enlarged or obliterated, two tetrahedrons can be formed
similar in all respects except in position, and together
making up the octahedron. These are distinguished by
the signs + and —, added to the above symbol, but only the
o J
latter in general expressed thus - —. In all hemihedric
systems two forms similarly related occur, which may thus be
named complementary forms. The trigonal dodecahedron
is derived from the icositetrahedron by the expansion of
the alternate trigonal groups of faces. Its sifm is
the most common variety being—g-, found in gray-copper
ore. The deltoid-dodecahedron is in like manner the result
of the increase of the alternate trigonal groups effaces of the
triakisoctahedron, and its sign is Lastly, the hexakis-
tetrahedron arises in the development of alternate hexa¬
gonal groups of faces in the hexakisoctahedron, and its sign
. mOn °
18 —g-*
The parallel-faced semitesseral forms are two. (1.) The
pentagonal dodecahedrons (fig. 12) are bounded by twelve
symmetrical pentagons, and vary in general aspect be¬
tween the hexahedron and rhombic-dodecahedron. They
have six regular (and in general longer) edges, lying
over the faces of the inscribed hexahedron, and twenty*
lour generally shorter (seldom longer) edges, usually lyino-
in pairs over its edges. The angles are eight of three equal
mon varieties being ~j—, found
frequently in iron pyrites and co-
baltine. (2.) The dyakisdodecahe-
dron (fig. 13), bounded by twenty-
four trapezoids with two sides 12.
equal, has twelve short, twelve long? and twenty-four in¬
termediate edges. The angles are
six equiangular rhombic, united
in pairs by the principal axes,
eight trigonal, and twenty-four
irregular tetragonal angles. It
is derived from the hexakisocta¬
hedron, and its sign is j
the brackets being used to dis¬
tinguish it from the hexakistetra-
hedron, also derived from the
same primary form. It occurs in
iron pyrites and cobaltine. There are two other tetrahe-
chal forms, the pentagonal dodecahedron (fig. 14), and the
Eig. 13.
Fig. 14.
Fig. 15.
pentagonal icositetrahedron (fig. 15), both bounded by irre¬
gular pentagons, but not yet observed in nature.
Combinations. Ihese forms of the tesseral system (and pomv;
this is true also of the five other systems of crystallization), tions. ^
not only occur singly, but often two, three, or more united
in the same crystal, forming what are named combinations.
In this case it is evident that no one of the individual forms
can be completely developed, because the faces of one form
must partially interfere with the faces of the other forms.
A combination therefore implies that the faces of one form
shall appear symmetrically disposed between the faces of
other forms, and consequently in the room of certain of
their edges and angles. These edges and angles are thus,
as it were, cut off, and new ones produced in their place,
which properly belong neither to the one form nor the other,
but are edges or angles of combination. Usually, one form
predominates more than the others, or has more influence on
the general aspect of the crystal, and hence is distinguished as
the predominant form, the others being named subordinate.
The following terms used on this subject require explana¬
tion. A combination is developed when all the forms con-
tnbuting to its formation are pointed out; and its sign con¬
sists of the signs of these forms, written in the order of their
influence on the combination, with a point between. An
angle or edge is said to be replaced when it is cut off by
one oi more secondary planes; it is truncated when cut by
one plane, forming equal angles with the adjacent faces;
and an edge is bevelled when replaced by two planes, which
are equally inclined to the adjacent faces.
It will be readily seen that such combinations may be
exceedingly numerous, or rather infinite; and only a few
44
MINERALOGY.
Minera- of the more common can be noticed, simply as specimens
logy. of the class. Many others more complicated will occur in
the descriptive part of this treatise. Among plenotesseral
combinations, the cube, octahedron, and also the rhombic-
dodecahedron, are the predominant forms. In fig. 16 the
cube has its angles replaced by the faces of the octahedron,
and the sign of this combination is 00O00 . O. In fig. 17
Fig- ia Fig. 19.
this process may be regarded as having proceeded still fur¬
ther, so that the faces of the octahedron now predominate,
and the sign of the same two elements but in reverse order
is O . ccOco. In fig. 18 the cube has its edges replaced
by the faces of the rhombic-dodecahedron, the sign being
co Oco. coO ; whilst in fig. 19 there is the same combina¬
tion, but with the faces of the cube subordinate, and hence
the symbol is coO . ooOx. The former figure, it will be
seen, has more the general aspect of the cube; the latter of
the dodecahedron.
In combinations of semitesseral forms with oblique faces,
the tetrahedron, the rhombic-dodecahedron, or even the
hexahedron, seldomer a trigonal-dodecahedron, are the more
common predominant forms. In fig. 20 two tetrahedrons
in opposite positions,
O
2 '
O
2
are combined. In fig. 21 a
very complex combination of seven forms is represented in
a crystal of grey-copper ore, its full sign being—
2-^(0 • “Oco (/) . ccO(o) . ?<P) . - ~(r) . i°(n) . oo03(,) ;
the letters in brackets connecting them with the respective
faces of the figure. As examples of combinations of semi¬
tesseral forms with parallel faces, we may take fig. 22, in
which each of the angles of the cube is unsymmetrically
replaced by three faces of the
dyakisdodecahedron, and hence
^ r402~l
co Oco . I ; or fig. 23, in
which the pentagonal-dodecahe¬
dron has its trigonal angles re¬
placed by the faces of the octahe¬
dron, consequently with the sign
20 02
—2—• O. Figure 24 represents
Minera-
togy.
the same combination but with greater predominance of
the faces of the octahedron, the crystal being bounded by
eight equilateral and twelve isosceles triangles.
Tetragonal System.—This system has three axes at 2. Tetrago-
right angles, two of them equal and one unequal. The last nal system,
is the principal axis, and when it is brought into a verti¬
cal position the crystal is said to be placed upright. Its
ends are named poles, and the edges connected with them
polar edges. The two other axes are named subordinate
or lateral axes, and a plane passing through them is named
the basis of the crystal. The two planes that pass through
the principal and one of the lateral axes are named normal
chief sections, and a plane through the chief axis interme¬
diate to them a diagonal chief section. The name tetrago¬
nal is derived from the form of the basis, which is usually
quadratic.
There are eight tetragonal forms, of which five are closed,
—that is, bounded on all sides by planes, and of definite
extent; and three open, which in certain directions are not
bounded, and consequently of indefinite extent.
Fig. 25. Fig. 26.
The description of the varieties is as follows, it being
premised that a crystallographic pyramid is equivalent to
two geometrical pyramids joined base to base. Closed
forms.—(1.) Tetragonal pyramids (figs. 25, 26) are inclosed
by eight isosceles triangles, with four middle edges all in
one plane, and eight polar edges. There are three kinds
of this form, distinguished by the position of the lateral
axes. In the first these axes unite the opposite angles;
in the second they intersect the middle edges equally;
and in the third they lie in an intermediate position, or
divide these edges unequally; the latter being hemihe-
dral forms. These pyramids are also distinguished as
obtuse (fig. 25) or acute (fig. 26), according as the ver¬
tical angle is greater or less than in the octahedron, which,
though intermediate, is never a tetragonal form. (2.)
Ditetragonal pyramids (fig. 27) are bounded by sixteen
scalene triangles, whose base lines are all in one plane.
This form rarely occurs except in combinations. (3.) Te¬
tragonal sphenoids (fig. 28), bounded by four isosceles
MINER ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera¬
logy.
triangles, are the hemihedral forms of the first variety of
tetragonal pyramids. (4.) The tetragonal scalenohedron
(fig. 29), bounded by eight scalene triangles, whose bases
rise and fall in a zig-zag line, is the hemihedral form of the
Pig. 29.
Fig. 30.
infinite, the basal pinacoid is formed, consisting merely of
two parallel faces.
The various series of tetragonal crystals are distinguished
from each other only by their relative dimensions. To
determine these, one of the series must be chosen as the
fundamental form, and for this purpose a tetragonal pyramid
of the first variety, designated by P as its sign, is selected.
The angle of one of its edges, especially the middle edge,
found by measurement, determines its angular dimensions;
whilst the proportion of the principal axis (a) to the lateral
axes supposed equal to 1, gives its linear dimensions. The
parameters, therefore, of each face of the fundamental form
are 1 : 1 : a.
Now if m be any (rational) number, either less or greater
than one, and if from any distance ma in the principal axis
planes be drawn to the middle edge of P, then new tetra¬
gonal pyramids of the first kind, but more or less acute or
obtuse than P, are formed. The general sign of these
pyramids is ml?, and the most common varieties |P, 2P,
3P; with the chief axis equal to twice or thrice that of
P. If m becomes infinite, or = oo, then the pyramid passes
into a prism, indefinitely extended along the principal axis,
and with the sign coP; ifm=0, which is the case when
the lateral axes are supposed infinite, then it becomes a
pinacoid, consisting properly of two basal faces, open tow ards
the lateral axes, and designated by the sign OP. The
ditetragonal pyramids are produced by taking in each lateral
axis distances n greater than 1, and drawing two planes to
these points from each of the intermediate polar edges.
1 he parameters of these planes are therefore m : l: n, and
the general sign of the form mVn, the most common values
of n being f, 2, 3, and oe. When w = oo, a tetragonal
pyramid of the second kind arises, designated generally by
mPgo , the most common in the mineral kingdom being P oo
and 2Pco . The relation of these to pyramids of the first
kind is shown in fig. 31, where ABBBX is the first, and
ACCCX the second kind of pyramid. In like manner from
the prism ooP, the ditetragonal prisms ooPrc are derived, and
finally when « = go , the tetragonal prism of the second kind,
whose sign is ooPoo.
•P'g- 27. Fig. 28.
ditetragonal pyramid. The latter two forms are rare.
Open forms.—Tetragonal prisms (fig. 30) bounded by
four planes parallel to the principal axis; ditetragonal
prisms by eight similar planes. In these prisms the prin¬
cipal axis is supposed to be prolonged infinitely, or to be
unbounded. Where it is very short and the lateral axes
Fig. 31.
Fig. 32.
The combinations of the tetragonal system are either
holohedric or hemihedric; but the latter are rare. Prisms
and pinacoids must always be terminated on the open sides
by other forms. Thus in fig. 32 a square prism of the first
kind is terminated by the primary pyramid, and has its
lateral angles again replaced by another more acute pyra¬
mid of the second kind, so that its sign is ooP . P . 2Poo.
In fig. 33 a prism of the second kind is first bounded by
Fig. 33.
Fig. 34.
45
Minera¬
logy.
the fundamental pyramid, and then has its edges of combi¬
nation replaced by a ditetragonal
pyramid, and its sign is here
go Pco. P . 3P3. In fig. 34 the
polar edges of the pyramid are
replaced by another pyramid, its
sign being P. Poo . In fig. 35 a
hemihedric form very character¬
istic of copper pyrites is repre¬
sented, P and P' being the two
sphenoids, a the basal pinacoid,
and b, c, two ditetragonal pyramids. Fig. 35.
The Hexagonal System.—The essential character of this 3. Ilexago-
system is, that it has four axes,—three equal lateral axes in- nal system,
tersecting each other in one plane at 60°, and one principal
axis at right angles to them. The extremities of the prin¬
cipal axis are named poles, and sections through it and one
lateral axis, normal chief sections. The plane through the
lateral axes is the basis, and from its hexagonal form gives
the name to the system. As in the last system, its forms
are either closed or open; and are divided into holohedral,
hemihedral, and tetartohedral,—the last, forms with only a
fourth part of their faces developed. The tetartohedral and
many of the hemihedral forms are of rare occurrence, and
only a few of the more common require to be here described.
The hexagonal pyramids (figs. 36, 37) are bounded by
twelve isosceles triangles, and are of three kinds, according
46
Minera¬
logy.
MINERALOGY.
as the lateral axes fall in the angles, in the middle of the
lateral edges, or in another point of these edges, the latter
being hemihedral forms. They are also classed as acute
or obtuse, but without any very precise limits. The trigo¬
nal pyramid is bounded by six triangles, and may be viewed
as the hemihedral form of the hexagonal. The dihexago-
nal pyramid is bounded by twenty-four scalene triangles,
but has never been observed alone, and rarely even in com¬
binations. The more common prisms are the hexagonal of
six sides, and the dihexagonal of twelve sides.
Rig. 36.
Kg. 37.
As the fundamental form of this system, a particular py¬
ramid P is chosen, and its dimensions determined either
from the proportion of the lateral to the principal axis
(1 : a), or from the measurement of its angles. From this
form (mP) others are derived exactly as in the tetragonal
system. Thus dihexagonal pyramids are produced with
the general sign twPw, the chief peculiarity being that,
whereas in the tetragonal system n might have any rational
value from 1 to oo, in the hexagonal system it can only
vary from 1 to 2, in consequence of the geometric charac¬
ter of the figure. When n-2, the dihexagonal changes
into an hexagonal pyramid of the second kind, whose sign
is mP2. When m is = go various prisms arise from similar
changes in the value of n ; and when m = 0 the basal pina-
coid.
Few hexagonal mineral species form perfect holohedric
combinations. Though quartz and apatite appear as such,
yet properly the former is a tetartohedral, the latter a he¬
mihedral species. In holohedric species the predominant
faces are usually those of the two hexagonal prisms ocP
and ooP2 or of the pinacoid OP; whilst the pyramids P
and 2P2 are the most common subordinate forms. Figure
38 represents the prism, bounded on the extremities by two
pyramids; one, P, forming the point, the other 2P2 the
rhombic faces on the angles, or ocP . P. 2P2. In some
crystals the lateral edges of the prism are replaced by the
of apatite, whose sign with the corresponding letters is
co ¥{M) . ocP2(e) . OP(P) . -JP(Y) . P(a:) . 2P(z) . P2(a) .
2P2(.?) . 4P2(rf). W
Hexagonal minerals more frequently crystallize in those
series of hemihedral forms that are named rhombohedral,
Minera-
logy.
Fig. 38.
Kg. 39.
second prism ccP2, producing an equiangular twelve-sided
prism, which always represents the combination ccP. ocP2,
and cannot occur as a simple form. An example of a more
complicated combination is seen in fig. 39, of a crystal
These
Kg. 40.
from the prevalence in them of rhombohedrons.
are (fig. 40) bounded by six rhombs,
whose lateral edges do not lie in one
plane, but rise and fall in a zig-zag man¬
ner. The principal axis unites the two
trigonal angles, formed by three equal
plane angles, and in the most common
variety the secondary axes join the
middle points of two opposite edges.
When the polar edges form an angle of
more than 90° the rhombohedrons are
named obtuse ; when of less, acute. Hex¬
agonal scalenohedrons (figure 41) are
bounded by twelve scalene triangles,
whose lateral edges do not lie in one
plane. The principal axis joins the two
hexagonal angles, and the secondary axis ^ il-
the middle points of two opposite lateral edges.
The rhombohedron is derived from the first kind of
hexagonal pyramid by the he-
mihedric development of its
alternate faces. Its general
sign should therefore be
but on several grounds it is
found better to designate it by
R or mR, and its complimentary
figure by-wR. When the
prism or pinacoid arise as its
limiting forms, they are desig¬
nated by oo R and OR, though
in no respect changed from the b!
limiting forms coP and OP of
the pyramid. The scalenohe-
dron is properly the hemihedric
form of the dihexagonal pyra¬
mid, but is better derived from
the inscribed rhombohedron
mR. If the halves of the
principal axis of this are mul¬
tiplied by a definite number n,
and then planes drawn from the
extremities of this enlarged
axis to the lateral edges of the rhombohedron, as in figure
42, the scalenohedron is constructed. Hence it is desig¬
nated by mRn, the n being written on the right hand, like
an algebraic exponent: and the dihexagonal prism is in
like manner designated by ocR”.
I he combinations of rhombohedric forms are very nu¬
merous, some hundreds being described in calc-spar alone.
Among the more common is the prism in combination with
a rhombohedron, as in the twin crystal of calc-spar (fig. 43),
with the sign ccR •—^R, the lower half being the same
form with the upper, but turned round 180°. In figure
44, the rhombohedron ;«R has its polar edges replaced by
another rhombohedron— YwR ; and in figure 45 its lateral
edges bevelled by the scalenohedron mRn. A more com-
Kg. 42.
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- plex combination of five forms is represented in the crystal
logy- of calc-spar, fig. 46, its sign with the letters on the fhces
47
,.4
■Fig. 43.
Fig. 14.
> Rhombic Rhombic System.—The rhombic system is characterized
rstem. by three axes, all unequal, but at right angles to each other.
One of these is assumed as the chief axis, when the others
are named subordinate. The plane passing through the
secondary axes or the basis forms a rhomb, and from this
the name is derived. This system comprises only a few
varieties of forms that are essentially distinct, and its rela¬
tions are consequently very simple.
The closed forms are,—(1^.) The rhombic pyramids
Fig. 49.
being E!(y). R>(r) . E(P). 4R(m) . odR(c). Tetartohedric
combinations are seen most distinctly in pure quartz or rock-
Fig.47.
Fig. 48.
l^4V8VOUnded by eisht scalene triangles, whose
lateral edges he in one plane, and form a rhomb. They
have eight polar edges,—four acute and four more obtuse,
and four lateral edges, and six rhombic angles, the most
acute at the extremities of the longest axis. (2d.) The
rhombic sphenoids (fig. 49)
are bounded by four scalene
triangles with their lateral
edges not in one plane ;
and are a hemihedric form
of the rhombic pyramid
of unfrequent occurrence.
The open forms again are,
(3d.) Rhombic prisms
bounded by four planes
parallel to one of the axes
which is indefinitely ex¬
tended. They are divided into upright and horizontal
prisms, according as either the principal or one of the late¬
ral axes is supposed to become infinite. For the latter
foim the name doma or dome has been used; and two
kinds, the macrodome and the brachydome, have been dis¬
tinguished. Rhombic pinacoids also arise when one axis
becomes = 0, and the two others are indefinitely extended.
In deriving these forms from a primary, a particular
rhombic pyramid P is chosen, and its dimensions determined
either from the angular measurement of two of its edges
or by the linear proportion of its axes a:b:c; the greater
lateral axis b being assumed equal to 1. To the greater
lateral axis the name macrodiagonal is frequently given;
to the shorter, that of brachydiagonal; and the two princi¬
pal sections are in like manner named macrodiagonal and
brachydiagonal, according to the axis they intersect. The
same terms are applied throughout all the derived forms
where they consequently mark only the position of the
faces in respect to the axes of the fundamental crystal,
without reference to the relative magnitude of the derived
axes.
By multiplying the principal axis by any rational num¬
ber m, greater or less than 1, a series of pyramids arise,
wFose general sign is wP, and their limits the prism and
pinacoid, the whole series being contained in this formula,
op -. . ... P .. _ _mP . which ig
the fundamental series, the lateral axes always remaining
unchanged. From
each member a new
series may, however,
be developed in two
directions by increas¬
ing one or other
of the lateral axes.
When the macrodia¬
gonal is thus multi¬
plied by any number
n greater than 1, and
planes drawn from
the distance n to the
polar edges, a new
pyramid is produced,
named a macropyra-
mid, with the sign
rnTn, the mark over
the P pointing out
the axis enlarged.
When n = oc a ma¬
crodome results, with
the sign mPoo . If
the shorter axis is
multiplied, then bra-
chypyramidsand brachydomes are produced with the signs
mVn and mV oc. So also from the prism ocP, on the one
side, numerous macroprisms ooPrc, with the limiting ma-
Minera-
logy-
Fi*. 59.
Fig. 51.
48
MINERALOGY.
Minera-
logy-
cropinacoid xPoo; on the other, numerous brachyprisms
oo P«, with the limit form 00P00, or the brachypinacoid.
In figs. 50, 51, the two domes are shown in their relation
to the primitive pyramid.
The pyramids seldom occur independent, or even as the
predominant forms in a combination,—sulphur, however,
being an exception. Prisms or pinacoids usually give the
general character to the crystal, which then appears either
in a columnar or tabular, or even in a rectangular pyramidal
form. The determination of the position of these crystals,
as vertical or horizontal, depends on the choice of the chief
axis of the fundamental form. In the topaz crystal (fig. 52)
the brachyprism and the pyramid are the predominant ele¬
ments, associated with the prism, its sign and letters being
oo P2(/) . P(o) . ooP(m). Fig. 53 of stilbite is another ex¬
ample, the macropinacoid ooPoc or J/, being combined with
the pyramid P(r), the brachypinacoid ocPoo (71), and the
basal pinacoid OP (P).
Another instance is
fig. 54 of a lievrite
crystal, where the bra¬
chyprism and pyramid
combine with the macro¬
dome, or ocP2 . P . Poo .
The following figures are Fig- 55.
very common forms of
barytes; figs. 55 and 56
being both composed of
the pinacoid, a brachy-
dome and macrodome
Pig. 56.
6. Monocli-
nohedric
system.
with sign OP (c) . Poo (/)
^P cc(<i), the variation in
aspect arising from the
predominance of different
faces; and fig. 57 con¬
sisting of the macrodome
|Poo, the prism ccP(^), and the pinacoid OP.
The Monoclinohedric System.—This system is charac¬
terized by three unequal axes, two of which intersect each
other at an oblique angle, and are cut by the third at right
angles. One of the oblique axes is chosen as the chief
axis, and the other axes are then distinguished as the ortho¬
diagonal (right-angled), and clinodiagonal (oblique-angled).
The same terms are applied to the chief sections, and the
7!ame of the system refers to the fact that these two planes
and the base, together with two right angles, form also one
oblique angle C.
The forms of this system approach very near to those of
the rhombic series, but the inclination of the axes, even
when almost a right angle, gives them a peculiar character, by
which they are always readily distinguished. Each pyramid
thus separates into two altogether independent forms or
hemipyramids. Three varieties of prism also occur—verti¬
Fig. 57.
cal, inclined, and horizontal—with faces parallel to the chief
axis, the clinodiagonal or the orthodiagonal. The hori¬
zontal prisms, like the pyramids, separate into two inde¬
pendent partial forms, named hemiprisms or hemidomes.
The inclined prisms are often designated clinodomes, the
term prism being restricted to the vertical forms. Ortho-
pinacoids and clinopinacoids are also distinguished from
their position in relation to the axes.
The monoclinohedric pyramids (fig. 58) are bounded by
eight scalene triangles of two a
kinds, four and four only be¬
ing similar. Their lateral
edges lie all in one plane,
and the similar triangles are
placed in pairs on the clino¬
diagonal polar edges. The ,
two pairs in the acute angle c
between the orthodiagonal
and basal section are desig¬
nated the positive hemipyra-
mid ; whilst the two pairs in
the obtuse angles of the same
sections form together the
negative hemipyramid. But Fig. 53.
as these hemipyramids are wholly independent of each
other, they are rarely observed combined. More frequently
each occurs alone, and then forms a prism-like figure, with
faces parallel to the polar edges, and open at the extremi¬
ties. Hence, like all prisms, they can only appear in com¬
bination with other forms. The vertical prisms are bounded
by four equal faces parallel to the principal axis, and the
cross section is a rhomb; the clinodomes have a similar
form and section; whilst the horizontal prisms or domes
have unequal faces, and their section is a rhomboid.
The mode of derivation of these forms closely resembles
that of the rhombic series. A complete pyramid is as¬
sumed as the fundamental form, and designated =fc: P, in
order to express the two portions of which it consists. Its
dimensions are given when the proportion of its axes a:b:c,
and the angular inclination of the oblique axes Ct which is
also that of the orthodiagonal section to the basis, are
known. The fundamental series of forms is, OP 
 ±P d=mP ooP ; from each of
whose members, by changing the dimensions of the other
axes, new forms may be again derived. Thus from ± mP,
by multiplying the orthodiagonal by any number n, a series
of orthopyramids r±= mPn is produced, with the orthodomes
rtmPoo as limiting forms. The clinodiagonal produces a
similar series, distinguished from the former by the sign be¬
ing put in brackets, thus, ±(mPrc), with the limiting clino-
dome (mPoo) always completely formed, and therefore
without the signs rb attached. From ooP arise ortho¬
prisms ooPrc, and the orthopinacoid ooPoo; and clino-
prisms ( ooPra), and the clinopinacoid ( ooPco).
The combinations of this system may be easily under¬
stood from their resemblance to those of the rhombic; the
chief difficulty being in the occurrence of partial forms,
Minera¬
logy.
«.
hi
*]
Minera¬
logy.
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
cimens, we may notice the albite crystal (fig. 64), in which
which, however, closely resemble the hemihedric forms of
the previous systems. We shall therefore only select a few
examples frequently observed in the mineral kingdom.
Fig. 59 represents a very common form of gypsum crystals
( goPgc ) (P) . ccV(f) . P(£). The most common form of
augite is represented in fig. 60, with the sign ocP(m) .
co Poo (r) . ( ooPcc ) (/) . P(s). Fig. 61 is a crystal of com¬
mon felspar or orthoclase, composed of the clinopinacoid
(coPoo) (M), the prism acP(:T), the basal pinacoid OP
(P), and the hemidomes 2Poo {y): to which, in fig. 62 of
Eig. 61.
Fig. 62.
the same mineral, the hemipyramid P(o), and the clino-
dome (2Poo ) (n), are added.
(5. Triclino- Triclinohedric System.—This is the least regular of all
hedric the systems, and departs the most widely from symmetry of
system. form. The axes are all unequal, and inclined at angles
none of which are right angles, so that to determine any
crystal or series of forms the proportion of the axes aib:c,
and also their angles, or those of the inclination of the chief
sections, must be known. As in the previous system, one
axis is chosen as the principal axis, and the two others dis¬
tinguished as the macrodiagonal and brachydiagonal axes.
In consequence of the oblique position of the principal sec¬
tions, this system consists entirely of partial forms wholly
independent on each other, and each composed only of two
parallel faces. The complete pyramid is thus broken up
into four distinct quarter pyramids, and the prism into two
hemiprisms. Each of these partial forms is thus nothing
more than a pair of parallel planes, and the various forms
consequently mere individual faces. This circumstance
renders many triclinohedric crystals very unsymmetrical in
appearance.
Triclinohedric pyramids (fig. 63) are bounded by eight
triangles, whose lateral edges lie in
one plane. They are equal and
parallel two and two to each other;
each pair forming, as just stated, a
tetartopyramid or open form, only
limited by combination with other
forms, or, as we may suppose, by
the chief sections. The prisms are
again either vertical or inclined;
the latter named domes, and their
section is always rhomboidal. In
deriving the forms, the fundamental
pyramid is placed upright with its
brachydiagonal axis to the spectator, and the partial forms
designated, the two upper by 'P and P', the two lower by
,P and P(, as in the figure. The further derivation now
follows as in the rhombic system, with the modifications al¬
ready mentioned, so that we need not delay on it longer,
especially as the minerals crystallizing in these forms are not
numerous.
Some combinations of this system, as the series exhibited
by most of the felspars, approach very near to the mono-
clinohedric system ; whilst others, as the blue copper, or
vitriol, and axinite, show great incompleteness and want of
symmetry. In the latter case the determination of the
forms is often difficult and requires great attention. As spe-
VOL. XV.
Fig. 63.
former from Dauphine, the latter very common in Corn¬
wall, of whose faces the following is the development,—r the
macropinacoid ooPoo; P the left hemiprism oo'P; u the
left upper quarter pyramid 'P; l the left upper quarter
pyramid 2'P ; s the left upper partial form of the macro¬
pyramid 3'P3, and x the hemidome 2''Pjoo.
Imperfections of Crystals.
In the foregoing description of the forms of crystals the
planes have been supposed smooth and even, the faces
equal and uniform, or at the same distance from the centre
or point of intersection of the axes, and each crystal also
perfect or fully formed and complete on every side. In
nature, however, these conditions are rarely if ever real¬
ized, and the edges of crystals are seldom straight lines, or
the faces mathematical plane surfaces. A very interesting
variety of these irregularities, which pervades all the sys¬
tems except the tesseral, is named hemimoiphism. In this
the crystals are bounded on the opposite ends of their chief
axis by faces belonging to distinct forms, and hence only
the upper or under half of each form is produced, or the
crystal, as the name implies, is half-formed. Figure 67 re¬
presents a common variety of tourmaline, bounded on the
Fig. 67
Fig. 68.
upper end by the planes of the rhombohedrons R and - 2R,
and on the lower end by the basal pinacoid. In fig. 68 of
electric calamine the upper extremity shows the basis k.
49
Minera-
logy.
P is the basal pinacoid OP, M the brachydiagonal pinacoid
oo Poo, s the upper right pyramid P', l the right hemi¬
prism ocP', T the left hemiprism oo'P, and x the hemi¬
dome 'P oo . Figures 65 and 66 are crystals of axinite, the
50
Minera¬
logy.
MINERALOGY.
two brachydomes o and and two macrodomes m and l\
whilst on the lower end it is bounded by the faces P of the
primary form. This appearance becomes more interesting
from the fact, that most hemimorphic crystals acquire polar
electricity from heat,—that is, exhibit opposite kinds of
electricity at opposite ends of the crystal.
The faces of crystals are very frequently rendered im¬
perfect by stria or minute linear and parallel elevations and
depressions.
two crystal forms, alternately prevailing through small
spaces. The striae, therefore, are in reality the edges of
combined forms. They are very common on quartz, shorl,
and some other minerals ; and frequently indicate combina¬
tions where only a simple form would otherwise appear to
exist. The cubes and pentagonal dodecahedrons of iron
pyrites are frequently striated, and in three directions at
right angles to each other. In calc-spar the faces of the
rhombohedron, — {g in fig. 43 above) are almost never
without striae parallel to the oblique diagonal. The stria-
tion is said to be simple when only one series of parallel
lines appears on each face, or feathered when two systems
diverge from a common line. In other crystals the faces,
then said to be drusy, are covered by numerous projecting
angles of smaller crystals; an imperfection often seen in fluor
spar. The faces of crystals occasionally appear curved
either as in tourmaline and beryl from the peculiar oscilla¬
tory combination mentioned, or by the union of several
crystals at obtuse angles, like stones in a vault, as in stilbite
and prehnite. A true curvature of the faces probably oc¬
curs in the saddle-shaped rhombohedrons of brown spar and
iron spar, in the lens-like crystals of gypsum, and in the
curved faces so common on diamond crystals. In chaba-
site similar curved faces occur, but concave. In galena and
augite the crystals are often rounded on the corners as if by
an incipient state of fusion. On other crystals the faces are
rendered uneven from inequalities following no certain rule.
These imperfections furnish valuable assistance in develop¬
ing very complex combinations, all the faces of each indi¬
vidual form being distinguished by the same peculiarity of
surface.
Irregularities in the forms of crystals are produced when
the corresponding faces are placed at unequal distances
from the centre, and consequently differ in form and size.
Thus the cubes and octahedrons of iron pyrites, galena, and
fluor spar, are often lengthened along one axis. Quartz is
subject to many such irregularities, which are seen in a very
remarkable manner on the beautiful transparent and sharply
angular crystals from Dauphine. In such irregular forms,
instead of one line, the axes are then represented by an
infinite number of lines, parallel to the ideal axis of the
figure. The same irregularity carried to a greater extent
frequently causes certain faces required for the symmetry
of the form, altogether to disappear. Again, some crystals
do not fill the space marked out by their outline, holes and
vacancies being left in the faces, occasionally to such an
extent that they seem little more than mere skeletons.
This appearance is very common on crystals produced
artificially, as in common salt, alum, bismuth, silver, &c. A
perfect crystal can only be produced when during its for¬
mation it is completely isolated, so as to have full room to
expand on every side. Hence the most perfect crystals
have been originally imbedded singly in some uniform rock f can be turned without
mass. Next to them in perfection are forms that grow moving the circle wm. The
singly on the surface of some mass of similar or distinct
composition, especially when the point of adherence is
small. An incompleteness of form, or at Iqast a difficulty
in determining it, arises from the minuteness of some crys¬
tals, or from their contracted dimensions in certain direc¬
tions. Thus some appear mere tabular, or lamellar planes,
whilst others run out into acicular, needle-shaped, or capil¬
lary crystals. Amid all these modifications of the general
form of the crystal, of the condition and aspect of its indi- Minera-
vidual faces, or of its linear dimensions, one important ele- loSy'
ment, the angular measurement, remains constant. In some
monoaxial crystals, indeed, increase of temperature produces
an unequal expansion in different directions, slightly chang¬
ing the relative inclination of the faces, but so small as to
be scarcely perceptible in common measurements, and
hence producing no ambiguity. More important are the
These arise in the oscillatory combination of angular changes which in many species accompany slight
jrms. alternatolv nrevailinj? through small changes in chemical composition, particularly in the relative
proportions of certain isomorphous elements. But not¬
withstanding these limitations of the great truth of the per¬
manence of the angular dimensions of crystals, announced
by Rome de ITsle, remains unaffected; only, as Mohs well
states, it must not be interpreted with a rigid immutability,
inconsistent with the whole analogy of other parts of
nature.
The Goniometer and Measurement of Crystals.
The fact just stated of the permanence of the angular di¬
mensions of crystals shows the importance of some accu¬
rate method of measuring their angles ; that is, the inclina¬
tion of two faces to each other. Two instruments have
been specially used for this purpose,—the common or con¬
tact goniometer, invented by Caringeau, and the reflecting
goniometer of Wollaston. The former is simply two brass
rulers turning on a common centre, between which the
crystal is so placed that its faces coincide with the edges of
the rulers, and the angle is then measured on a graduated
arc. This instrument is sufficiently accurate for many pur¬
poses and for large crystals ; but for precise determination
is far inferior to the reflecting goniometer. This requires
smooth and even faces, but these may be very small, even
the hundredth of an inch, in skilful hands; and as small
crystals are generally most perfect, far greater accuracy
can be attained, and the measurement depended on to one
minute (1').
The reflecting goniometer is represented in the annexed
figure. It consists essen¬
tially of a graduated circle
mm, divided on its edge
into twice 180°, or more
often into half degrees,
the minutes being read off
by the vernier hh. This
circle turns on an axis con¬
nected with tt, so that by
turning this the circle is
moved round, but is stopped
at 180°, when moving in
one direction, by a spring j.
at k. The other part or ~
the instrument is intended
to attach and adjust the
crystal to be measured.
The first axis of mm is
hollow, and a second axis,
aa, passes through it from
ss, so that this and all the
connected parts from b to
axis d passes through a
hole in be, so that it can
turn the arm de into any Fig. 69.
required position ; is a similar axis turning the arm og ;
and pq a fourth axis, in like manner moveable in g, and
with a small knob at q, to which the crystal to be measured
is attached.
When about to use the instrument it should be placed
MINEK ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
51
Minera- 0n a table, with its base horizontal, which is readily done
Jogy- by the screws in it, and opposite to a window at about 12
or 15 feet distance, so that its axis shall be parallel to
the horizontal bars of the window. One of the upper bars
of the window, and also the lower bar, or, instead of the
latter, a white line on the floor or table parallel to the window,
should then be chosen in order to adjust the crystal. The
observer places himself behind the instrument with the
side a at his right hand. The crystal is then attached to q
by a piece of wax with the two faces to be measured up¬
wards. The axis fo is made parallel to aa, and the eye
being brought near to the first face of the crystal, the axes
aa and/> are turned till the image of the window is seen
reflected in the face with the horizontal and vertical bars in
their position. The axis d is then turned through a con¬
siderable angle (say 60°), and the image of the window again
sought and brought into its proper place by turning the
axis/, without moving When this is done that face is
brought into its true position, normal to d, so that no motion
of d can disarrange it. Hence the image of the window
may now be sought in the second face and brought into its
true position, with the horizontal bars seen horizontal, by
moving the axes d and a. When this is done the crystal is
properly adjusted, and the angle is thus measured. First
bring the zero of the circle and vernier to coincide, and then
turn the inner axis a or ss, and move the eye till the image
of the upper bar of the window reflected from the more
distant face of the crystal coincides with the lower bar or
horizontal line seen directly. Keeping the eye in its place,
turn the outer axis tt till the reflected image of the upper
bar in the other face in like manner coincides with the lower
line, and the angle of the two faces is then read off on the
divided circle. As the angle measured is not directly that
of the faces, but of the rays of light reflected from them,
or the difference of the angle wanted from 180°, the circle
has the degrees numbered in the reverse direction, so as
to give the angle without the trouble of subtracting the one
from the other.
The above apparatus for adjusting the crystal is an im¬
provement suggested by Naumann. In the original instru¬
ment the axis fo was made to push in or out in a sheath,
and had a small brass plate, bent at right angles, inserted
in a cleft at o, to which the crystal was attached. The crys¬
tal was adjusted, as formerly, by moving the plate, or the
axisjfo, and by slight motion of the arm de, which should
be at right angles nearly to Z»cwhen used. A considerable
improvement is, to have a small mirror fixed on the stand
below the crystal, with its'face parallel to the axis ««, and in¬
clined at 45° to the window, when the lower line can be dis¬
pensed with, and the instrument used for various other pur¬
poses of angular measurement. Many alterations have been
suggested for the purpose of insuring greater accuracy; but
the simple instrument is sufficient for all purposes of deter¬
minative mineralogy, and the error from the instrument
will in most cases be less than the actual variations in
the dimensions of the crystals. Greater simplicity is indeed
rather desirable, and the student will often find it sufficient
to attach the crystal by a piece of wax to the axis a directly,
and give it the further adjustment by the hand. The
only use of the parts from 5 to ^ is to enable the observer
to place the crystal properly; that is, with the edge to be
measured parallel to the axis of the instrument, and as
nearly as possible coinciding with its centre. This is
effected when the reflection of the horizontal bar in the two
faces appears parallel to that edge.
Macles or Twin Crystals.
When two similar crystals of a mineral species are united
with their similar faces and axes parallel, the one forms
merely a continuation or enlargement of the other, and
every crystal may be regarded as thus built up of a num- Minera-
ber of smaller crystals. Frequently, however, crystals are logy,
united according to precise laws, though all their similar
faces and axes are not parallel, and then are named
macles or twin crystals. In one class of macles the axes
of the two crystals are parallel, and in another they are
inclined. The former only occur among hemihedric forms,
and the two crystals are then combined in the exact posi¬
tion in which they would be derived from or reproduce the
primary holohedric form. The second class, with oblique
axes, occur both in holohedric and hemihedric forms, and
the two individuals are placed in perfect symmetry to each
other, in reference to a particular face of the crystal which
forms the plane of union or the equator of the made. We
may also suppose the two crystals originally parallel, and the
one turned round the normal of the united faces by 180°
(often 90° or 60°), whilst the other is stationary. Or we
may suppose a crystal cut into halves in a particular direc¬
tion, and one-half turned 180° on the other; and hence
the name of hemitrope given to them by Hauy. The posi¬
tion of the two individuals in this case corresponds with that
of an object and its image in a mirror, whose surface then
represents the plane of union.
The manner in which the crystals unite also differs.
Some are merely opposed or in simple contact; others are,
as it were, grown together, and mutually interpenetrate, oc¬
casionally so completely as to appear like one individual,
The twin edges and angles in which the two unite are often
re-entering; or they may coincide in one plane, wThen the
line of union is either imperceptible, or is only marked by
the meeting of two systems of striae, or other diversity in the
physical characters of the two faces.
The formation of twin crystals may be again repeated,
forming groups of three, four, or more. When the faces of
union are parallel to each other, the crystals form rows of
indeterminate extent; where they are not parallel, they may
return into each other in circles, or form bouquet-like or other
groups. Where crystals are merely in juxtaposition, they
are sometimes much shortened in the direction of the twin
axis ; and where many occur in a series with parallel posi¬
tion, are often compressed into very thin plates, frequently
not thicker than paper, giving to the surface of the aggre¬
gate a peculiar striated aspect.
Only a few twin crystals in the different systems can be
Fig. 70.
Fig. 71.
noticed, chiefly as examples of this mode of formation.
In
the tesseral system forms that unite with parallel axes pro^
MINERALOGY.
Minera- duce intersecting macles like the pentagonal dodecahedrons
Ioo.y- of iron pyrites in fig. 70, and the tetrahedrons of grey-cop-
per or faldore in fig. 71, a similar formation also occurring
in the diamond. In macles with inclined axes the two forms
almost always unite by a face of the octahedron, and the two
individuals are then generally apposed and shortened in the
direction of the twin axis by one-half, so that they appear
like a crystal that has been divided by a plane parallel to
one of its faces, and the two halves turned round on each
other by an angle of 180°. In this manner two octahedrons
of the spinel, magnetic iron ore, or automolite (fig. 72), are
frequently united. The same law prevails in the intersect¬
ing cubes of fluor spar, iron pyrites, and galena, represented
in fig. 73. In fig. 74 of zinc-
blende two rhombic dodecahe¬
drons are united by a face of the
octahedron.
In the tetragonal system twin
crystals with parallel axes rarely
occur, but are seen in copper py¬
rites, and one or two other miner¬
als. Where the axes are inclined
the plane of union is very often
one of the faces of the pyramid
Poo, or one of those faces that Fig. 74.
would regularly replace the polar edges of the fundamental
form P. The crystals of tin ore obey this law, as seen in
fig. 7o, where the individuals are pyramidal, and in the
knee-shaped crystal (fig. 76), where they are more pris-
Fig. 75.
Fig. 76.
matic. Hausmanite appears like fig. 77, in which the
fundamental pyramid P prevails,
on whose polar edges other crys¬
tals are often very symmetri¬
cally repeated, a central indivi¬
dual appearing like the support
of all the others. Almost iden¬
tical forms occur in copper py¬
rites.
In the hexagonal system twin
crystals with parallel axes are
common, as in calc-spar, chaba-
site, haematite, and other rhom-
bohedric minerals. In calc-spar Fig. 77.
they often form very regular crystals, the two individuals
uniting by a plane parallel to the base, so as to appear like
a single crystal, as in fig. 78, where each end shows the
forms oclt. — £R5but in a complementary position; or in
fig. /9 of two scalenohedrons R3 from Derbyshire. The
rhombohedric crystals of chabasite often appear intersect¬
ing each other, like those of fluor spar in fig 73 above. The
purer varieties of quartz or rock-crystal, in consequence of
the tetartohedric character of its crystallization, often ex¬
hibit twins. In these the pyramid P separates into two
rhombohedrons P and r, which though geometrically simi¬
lar, are yet physically distinct. In fig. 80 the two indivi¬
duals are on y grown together, but more commonly they
penetrate each other in an irregular manner, forming appa-
icntly a single crystal. I wins with oblique axes are also
common, the plane of union being usually one face of the
rhombohedron. Thus in calc-spar two rhombohedrons
are often joined by a face of-£R, the two axes forming an
angle of 127 34 ; occasionally a third individual is inter¬
posed in a lamellar form, as in fig. 81, when the two
outer crystals become parallel. This latter arrangement
is very common in the highly cleavable varieties of Ice¬
land spar. When the crystals unite in a face of the rhom¬
bohedron R, fig. 82, they form an angle of 89° 8', differing
Fig. 81. Fig. 82.
little from a right angle, by which the occurrence of this law
is very easily recognised, especially in prismatic varieties.
In the rhombic system twin crystals with parallel axes
are vei y rare, but those with oblique axes common, the
plane of union being one of the faces of the prism 00P.
I wins of this kind are very distinctly seen in arragonite,
carbonate of lead, marcasite, stephanite, mispicket, and
other minerals. In arragonite the crystals partly interpe¬
netrate, partly are in mere juxtaposition, as in fig. 83, where
the^ individuals are formed by the combination ooP(m) .
00 Pgo (h), Poo (^), and in figure 84 where several crystals
of the same combination form a series with parallel planes
of union ; the inner members being so shortened that they
appear like mereJamellar plates producing striae on the
faces Poo and 00P00 of the made. In fig. 85 four crys-
Fi^83- Fig. 84. Fig. 85.
tals, each of the combination ocP . 2Poo, having united in
inclined planes, form a circular group, returning into itself.
I he carbonate of lead often occurs in macles in all respects
similar. In staurolite, individuals of the prismatic combi¬
nation ccP . ccPjo . OP, combine either, as in fig. 86, by a
face of the brachydome |Poo, with their chief axes almost
at right angles; or, as in fig 87, by a face of the brachypy-
Mifcera-
logy-
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera-
logy.
ramid g Pf, the chief axes and the brachypinacoids (o) of
tlie two single crystals meeting at an angle of about 60°.
Fig. 86. Fig. 87.
Finally, in fig. 88 two harmotome crystals of the most com¬
mon combination ooPoo . ooPco.P.Poo, intersect each
other so nearly at right angles, that their principal axes
seem to coincide, and the brachypinacoid (q) of the one
crystal (with rhombic striae) is parallel to the macropina-
coid (o) of the other.
In the monoclinohedric system the most common macles
are those in which the principal axes and the chief sections
of the two crystals are parallel to each other, and conse¬
quently the principal axis is also the twin axis. Usually
the two individuals are united by a face parallel to the or¬
thodiagonal chief section, as in figure 89 of gypsum,
where two crystals of the combination ( ooPoo ) . goP . — P,
shown in fig. 59, unite so regularly that the faces of the
pinacoids (P and P') form only one plane. In a simi¬
lar manner the augite crystals of the combination ooP .
coPco .(GoPao).P, represented singly in fig. 60, are in
fig. 90 united in a made so very symmetrical and re¬
gular that the line of junction cannot be observed on the
face of the clinopinacoid. The two hemipyramids P(s)
(like —P(/) in the gypsum crystal above) form on one
side a re-entering, on the other a sali¬
ent angle. Hornblende, wolfram, and
other minerals exhibit a similar ap¬
pearance. In other cases the indi¬
viduals partially penetrate each other,
being, as it were, crushed together in
the direction of the orthodiagonal.
This mode of union is not uncom¬
mon in gypsum, and very frequent
in orthoclase felspar. Two crystals
of the latter, of the combination
( gcPoo ) . ocP . OP . 2Poo , as in fig.
61 above, are often pushed sidewise
into each other as shown in fig. 91. Fig. 9i.
In the triclinohedric system some twin formations are of
great importance as a means of distinguishing the triclino¬
hedric from the monoclinohedric species of felspar. In one
variety the twin axis is the normal to the brachydiagonal
chief section. But in the triclinohedric felspars this sec¬
tion is not, as it is in the monoclinohedric species, perpen¬
dicular to the basis, and consequently the two bases form
on one side a re-entering, on the other a salient angle;
whereas in the monoclinohedric felspars (where the brachy¬
diagonal chief section corresponds to the clinodiagonal), no
twin crystals can
beproduced in con¬
formity to this law,
and the two bases
fall in one plane.
The albite andoli-
goclase very often
exhibit such twins,
as in figure 92,
where the very ob¬
tuse angles formed
by the faces of OP,
or P and P (as
well as those of Flg- 92,
'P'go , or ar and x) are a very characteristic appearance,
marking out this mineral at once as a triclinohedric spe¬
cies. Usually the twin formation is repeated, three or
more crystals being combined, when those in the centre
are reduced to mere plates. When very numerous, the
surfaces P and x are covered with fine striae, often only
perceptible with a microscope. A second law observed in
triclinohedric felspars, particularly the albite and labrado-
rite, is that the twin axis corresponds with that normal of
the brachydiagonal, which is situated in the plane of the
base. In pericline, a variety of albite,
these twins appear as in fig. 93, where
the two crystals are united by a face
of the basal pinacoid P, whilst the
faces of the two brachypinacoids (M
and Af') form edges with very obtuse
angles (173° 22'), re-entering on the
one side and salient on the other.
These edges, or the line of junction
between Jf and Jf', are also parallel
to the edges formed by these faces and
the base, or those between and P. Fig. as.
In this case also the macles are occasionally several times
repeated when the faces appear covered with fine striae.
Irregular Aggregation of Crystals.
Besides the regular unions now described crystals are
often aggregated in peculiar ways, to which no fixed law
can be assigned. Thus some crystals, apparently simple,
are composed of concentric crusts or shells, which may be
removed one after the other, always leaving a smaller crys¬
tal like a kernel, with smooth distinct faces. Some speci¬
mens of quartz from Beeralston in Devonshire consist ap¬
parently of hollow hexagonal pyramids placed one within
another. Other minerals, as fluorspar, apatite, heavy spar,
and calc-spar, exhibited a similar structure by bands of dif¬
ferent colours.
Many large crystals, again, appear like an aggregate of
numerous small crystals, partly of the same, partly of dif¬
ferent forms. Thus some octahedrons of fluor spar from
Schlaggenwald are made up of small dark violet-blue cubes,
whose projecting angles give a drusy character to the faces
of the larger form. Such polysynthetic crystals, as they
may be called, are very common in calc-spar.
A similar, but still more remarkable formation, is where
two crystals of distinct species are conjoined. Such unions
of cyanite and staurolite have been long well known, and
the graphic-granite exhibits a similar union between large
felspar crystals and many smaller ones of mica and quartz.
Forms of Crystalline Aggregates.—Crystals have often
53
Minera¬
logy-
54 MINERALOGY.
Minera- been produced under conditions preventing the free devel-
logy* opment of their forms. They then compose crystalline
aggregates, of which the following maybe distinguished :—
Granular, formed of grains, generally angular, but rarely
rounded or flattened. Lamellar consist of broad plates,
which are tabular when of uniform thickness, lenticular
* when becoming thinner on the edges, wedge-shaped when
sharpened towards one edge, and scaly when the plates are
very small. Columnar, in which the individuals are drawn
out in one direction more than in the others; bacillary or
rod-like, in which the columns are of uniform thickness ;
acicular or needle-shaped, in which they are pointed ; and
fibrous, in which they are very fine. In the broad-colum¬
nar the columns are, as it were, compressed, or broader in
one direction than the other. The distinctions of large,
coarse, small, or fine-granular ; thick or thin scaly; straight,
curved, or twisted-columnar; parallel, diverging, or con¬
fused-fibrous ; and such like, are easily understood.
Aggregates which have been able to crystallize, at least,
with a certain degree of freedom, have been distinguished
by Mohs into crystal groups and druses; the former includ¬
ing all unions of several imbedded crystals; the latter those
of crystals that have grown together on a common support.
In the groups crystals with their faces otherwise perfect
are conjoined in various ways. Sometimes they radiate, as
it were, from a common ce'tre, and produce spheroidal, el¬
lipsoidal, or other forms, frequent in gypsum, iron pyrites,
and other minerals imbedded in clay. Where many such
masses are united, they are named botryoidal when like
bunches of grapes, mammellated where the spheres are
larger and less distinct, and reniform or kidney-shaped
where the masses are still larger. Some groups are par-
I tially attached by a small point; but the mass is generally
free.
Crystals are often grouped in rows or in one direction,
forming, when they are very small, capillary or hair-like,
and filiform, thread, or wire-like forms, which are common
among native metals, as gold, silver, copper, and bismuth,
in silver glance and a few other minerals. Sometimes the
masses are dentiform, consisting of portions resembling
teeth ; as is very common in silver. Often these groups
expand in several directions, and produce arborescent,
dendritic, foliated, feathered, or other forms, very common
in copper. In these groups, however, a certain dependence
on the crystallographic character of the species may be ob¬
served. The lamellar minerals often form fan-shaped, wheel¬
like, almond-shaped, comb-like, or other groups. The
fibrous types, again, are disposed in parallel or diverging
bundles, or in radiating, stellar, and other masses. Coral-
loidal (like coral), fruticose (like cauliflower), and other
forms, have also been observed.
In druses, many crystals rise side by side from a common
support; sometimes only the granular mass composed of
their united bases, at other times some distinct body. The
form of a druse is determined by that of the surface on
which it grows, and consequently is often very irregular or
wholly accidental. Where completely inclosed they have
been named drusy cavities, and when of a spheroidal form,
geodes. A drusy crust, again, consists of a thin layer of
small crystals investing the surface of a large crystal or of
some other body.
The minute or cryptocrystalline minerals form similar
aggregates. In the globular or the oolitic the minute crys¬
tals often appear to radiate from a centre, or form concen¬
tric crusts. Somewhat similar are the stalactites and sta¬
lagmites, in which the mineral, especially rock-salt, lime¬
stone, chalcedony, opal, limonite, has been deposited from a
fluid dropping slowly from some overhanging body. In
this case the principal axis of the figure, generally a hollow
tube, is vertical, whilst the individual parts are arranged at
right angles to this direction. In other cases the mineral
has apparently been deposited from a fluid mass moving
slowly in a particular direction, which may be regarded as
the chief axis of the figure, whilst the axes of the indivi¬
dual crystals may assume a different position.
By far the largest masses of the mineral kingdom have,
however, been produced under conditions in which a free
development of their forms was excluded. This has been
the case with the greater portion of the minerals composing
rocks or filling veins and dykes. The structure of these
masses on the large scale belongs to geology, but some va¬
rieties of the texture visible even in hand specimens may
be noticed. The individual grains or masses have seldom
any regular form, but appear round, long, or flat, according
to circumstances, and as each has been more or less checked
in the process of formation. Even then, however, a certain
regularity in the position of the parts is often observable, as
in granite, in which the cleavage planes, and consequently
the axes of the felspar crystals, are parallel. Where these
grains are all pretty similar in size and shape, the rock is
named massive when they are small, or granular when they
are larger and more distinct. Sometimes the rock becomes
slaty, dividing into thin plates; or concretionary, forming
roundish masses ; at other times the interposition of some
foreign substance (gas or vapour) has rendered it porous,
cellular or vesicular, giving rise to drusy cavities. These
cavities are often empty, but have occasionally been filled
by other minerals, when the rock is named amygdaloidal,
from the almond-like shape of the inclosed masses.
Many of the above external forms appear also in the
amorphous solid minerals, in which no trace of individual
parts, and consequently of internal structui’e, is observable.
They are not unfrequently disposed in parallel or concen¬
tric layers, of uniform or distinct colours ; and may assume
spherical, cylindrical, stalactitic, and other appearances.
Pseudomorphism.—When the substance of one mineral
assumes the external form of some other mineral it is named
a pseudomorph. In some named incrusting pseudomorphs
the original crystal is covered by a rough or drusy surface
of the second mineral, frequently not thicker than paper.
Occasionally the first crystal has been removed, and no¬
thing but the shell remains; or the cavity has been filled
by a distinct mineral species, or a crystalloid, as it may be
named, forming an exact representation of the original, but
of a different substance.
More commonly the new mineral substance has gradu¬
ally expelled the old, and replacing it, as it were, atom by
atom, has assumed its exact form. In other cases not the
whole substance of the original crystal, but only one or
more of its elements, has been changed, or the whole mat¬
ter has remained, but in a new condition. Thus arragonite
crystals have been converted into calc-spar, the chemical
composition of both being identical; or gaylussite has been
changed into calc-spar, andalusite into cyanite, by the loss
of certain elements. On the other hand, anhydrite be¬
comes gypsum, red-copper ore malachite, by addition of
new matter. Or the elements are partially changed, as
felspar into kaolin, quartz or pearl spar into talc, iron pyrites
or iron glance into brown-iron ore, azurite into malachite,
augite into green earth. The true nature of such bodies
is shown by the internal structure, having no relation to the
external form or apparent system of crystallization.
The process of petrifaction of organic bodies is in reality
a species of pseudomorphic formation, and has been pro¬
duced in all the above modes. External and internal casts
of organic bodies are not uncommon. In other cases the
original substance has been replaced by some mineral which
has preserved not merely the external form, but even the
minutest detail of internal structure ; so that the different
kinds of wood have been distinguished in their silicified
trunks. The most common petrifying substances are silica
and carbonate of lime. In encrynites, echinites, belem-
Minera-
logy-
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- nites, and other fossils, the crystals of calc-spar often occur
logy- in very regular positions. In some varieties of petrified
wood both the ligneous structure and the cleavage of the
calc-spar are observable.
Different from the above are mineralized bodies, in which
the original structure is still retained, but their chemical
nature partially changed. In these a complete series may
be often traced, as from wood or peat, through the varieties
of brown coal, common coal, anthracite, and graphite, per¬
haps even to the diamond.
Chap. II.—PHYSICAL PROPERTIES OF MINERALS.
The physical characters of minerals comprehend,—1^.
Those properties derived from the nature of the substance
itself, as coherence, mode of fracture, elasticity, and density
or specific gravity. 2d. Those phenomena called forth in
minerals by the influence of some external power or agent,
as their optical, electric, or thermal relations; and, 3d.
Other characters depending on the personal sensation of
the observer, on his taste, smell, and touch. All these pro¬
perties furnish useful characters in distinguishing and de¬
scribing mineral species.
Cleavage and Fracture.
In many species there are certain planes at right angles
to which cohesion seems to be at a minimum, so that the
mineral separates along or parallel to these planes far more
readily than in any other direction. This property is named
cleavage, and these planes cleavage-planes. They have a
strictly definite position, and do not show any transition or
gradual passage into the greater coherence in other direc¬
tions. The number of these parallel cleavage-planes is al¬
together indefinite; so that the only limit that can be as¬
signed to the divisibility of some minerals, as gypsum and
mica, arises from the coarseness of our instruments.
These minima of coherence or cleavage-planes are always
parallel to some face of the crystal, and similar equal mini¬
ma occur parallel to every other face of the same form.
Hence they are always equal in number to the faces of the
form, and the figures produced by cleavage agree in every
point with true crystals, except that they are artificial.
They are thus most simply and conveniently described by
the same terms and signs as the faces of crystals. Some
minerals cleave in several directions parallel to the faces of
different forms, but the cleavage is generally more easily
obtained and more perfect in one direction than in the
others. This complex cleavage is well seen in calc-spar,
and fluor spar, and very remarkably in zinc-blende, where
it takes place in no less than six directions. As in each of
these the division may be indefinitely continued, it is clear
that no lamellar structure in any proper sense can be as¬
signed to the mineral. All that can be affirmed is, that
contiguous atoms have less coherence in the normal of these
planes than in other directions. When the cleavage takes
place in three directions, it of course produces a perfect
crystal form, from which the system of crystallization and
angular dimensions of the species may be discovered, and
is thus often of very great importance.
The common cleavage in the different systems is as fol¬
lows, those of most frequent occurrence being put in italics :
—(1.) In the tessera!, Octahedric, O, along the faces of the
octahedron; Hexahedric, oo O oo , along those of the cube ;
and Dodecahedric, ooO. (2.) In the tetragonal system,
Pyramidal, P or2Poo ; Prismatic, ooPor ocPco ; ovBa¬
sal, OP. (3.) In the hexagonal system with holohedric
forms, Pyramidal, P or P2; Prismatic, ocP or ocP2 ; or
Basal, OP ; with rhombohedral forms, Rhombohedric, R;
Prismatic, ooR ; or Basal, OR. (4.) In the rhombic sys¬
tem, Pyramidal, P; Prismatic, ooP ; Makro or Brachy- Minera-
domatic, Poo or Poo ; Basal, OP ; Macrodiagonal, ooPoo ; v
m Brachy diagonal, coPco. (5.) In the monoclinohedrie
system, Hemipyramidal, Por-P; Prismatic, ooP ; Clin-
odomatic, (Pco ) ; Hemidomatic, Poo or - Poo ; Basal, OP ;
Orthodiagonal, ooPoo ; or Clinodiagonal, ( ooPoo ). (6.)
In the triclinohedric system, Hemiprismatic, ocP' or oo'P ;
Hemidomatic either along the macrodome or brachydome;
Basal, OP ; Macrodiagonal, coPoo ; or Brachy diagonal,
oo Poo.
In some minerals the cleavage is readily procured; in
others only with extreme difficulty. The planes produced
also vary much in their degree of perfection, being highly
perfect in some, as mica and gypsum ; imperfect in others,
as garnet and quartz. In a very few crystalline minerals
cleavage-planes can hardly be said to exist. Cleavage
must be carefully distinguished from the planes of union
in twin crystals, and the division-planes in the laminar
minerals.
Fracture surfaces are formed when a mineral breaks in
a direction difterent from the cleavage-planes. They are
consequently most readily observed when the cleavage is
least perfect. The form of the fracture is named conchoidal
when composed of concave and convex surfaces like shells,
even when nearly free from inequalities. The character of
the surface is smooth ; or splintery when covered by small
wedge-shaped splinters adhering by the thicker end; or
hackly when covered by small slightly-bent inequalities,
as in iron and other malleable bodies; or earthy when it
shows only fine dust.
Hardness and Tenacity.
The hardness of minerals, or their power of resisting any
attempt to separate their parts, is also an important charac¬
ter. As it differs considerably in the same species, accord¬
ing to the direction and the surface on which the trial is
made, its accurate determination is difficult, and the utmost
that can usually be obtained is a mere approximation found
by comparing different minerals one with another. For
this purpose Mohs has given the following scale :—
1. Talc, of a white or greenish colour.
2. Rock-salt, a pure cleavable variety, or semitransparent «n-
crystallized gypsum, the transparent and crystallized varieties being
generally too soft.
3. Calcareous spar, a cleavable variety.
4. Fluor spar, in which the cleavage is distinct.
5. Apatite, the asparagus-stone, or phosphate of lime, from Saltz-
burg.
6. Adularia felspar, any cleavable variety.
7. Rock-crystal, a transparent variety.
8. Prismatic topaz, any simple variety.
9. Corundum from India, which affords smooth cleavage surfaces.
10. The Diamond.
Two other degrees are obtained by interposing foliated
mica between 2 and 3, and scapolite, a crystalline variety,
between 5 and 6. The former is numbered 2,5, the lat¬
ter 5*5.
To ascertain the hardness of a mineral, first try which of
the members of the scale is scratched by it, and in order to
save the specimens, begin with the highest numbers, and
proceed downwards, until reaching one which is scratched.
Then take a fine hard file, and draw along its surface, with
the least possible force, the specimen to be examined, and
also that mineral in the scale whose hardness is immediately
above the one which has been scratched. From the resist¬
ance they offer to the file, from the noise occasioned by
their passing along it, and from the quantity of powder left
on its surface, their relative hardness is deduced. When,
after repeated trials, we are satisfied to which member of
the scale of hardness the mineral is most nearly allied, we
56
Minera- say its hardness (suppose it to be felspar) is equal to 6, and
logy- write after it H. = 6*0. If the mineral do not exactly cor-
~ ^ respond with any degree of the scale, but is found to be
between two of them, it is marked by the lower with a de-
cimal figure added. Thus, if more than 6 but less than 7,
it is expressed H. = 6*5. In these experiments we must
be careful to employ specimens which nearly agree in form
and size, and also as much as possible in the shape of their
angles.
Where the scale of hardness is wanting, or for a first
rough determination, the following experiments may serve:—
Every mineral that is scratched by the finger-nail has H. = 2 5
or less.
Minerals that scratch copper have II. = 3 or more.
Polished white iron has II. = 4-5.
Window-glass has H.— 5 to 5'5.
Steel point or file has 11. = 6 to 7.
Hence every mineral that will cut or scratch with a good pen¬
knife has II. less than 6.
Flint has H.=7 and only about a dozen minerals, including the
precious stones or gems, are harder.
Closely allied to hardness is the tenacity of minerals, of
which the following varieties have been distinguished: A
mineral is said to be brittle when, as in quartz, on attempt¬
ing to cut it with a knife, it emits a grating noise, and the
particles fly away in the form of dust. It is sectile or mild
when, as in galena and some varieties of mica, on cutting,
the particles lose their connection in a considerable degree5;
but this takes place without noise, and they do not fly oft;
but remain on the knife. And a mineral is said to be soft
or ductile when, like native gold or lead, it can be cut into
slices with a knife, extended under the hammer, and drawn
into wire. From tenacity it is usual to distinguish/rara^'-
bility, or the resistance which minerals oppose when we at¬
tempt to break them into pieces or fragments. This pro¬
perty must not be confounded with hardness. Quartz is
hard, and hornblende comparatively soft; yet the latter is
more difficultly frangible than the former. Flexibility, again
expresses the property possessed by some minerals of bend¬
ing without breaking. They are elastic, like mica, if, when
bent, they spring back again into their former direction ; or
merely flexible, when they can be bent in different direc¬
tions without breaking, but remain in their new position as
gypsum, talc, asbestus, and all malleable minerals.
MINERALOGY.
Specific Gravity.
The density or the relative weight of a mineral, compared
with an equal volume of pure distilled water, is named its
specific gravity. This is a most important character for dis¬
tinguishing minerals, as it varies
considerably in different species,
and can be readily ascertained
with much accuracy, and in
many cases without at all injur¬
ing the specimen. The whole
process consists in weighing the
body, first in air, and then im¬
mersed in water, the difference
in the weight being that of an   
equal bulk of the latter fluid.
Hence, assuming, as is com¬
monly done, the specific gravity
of pure distilled water to be equal
to 1 or unity, the specific gra-
vity (G) of the other body is
equal to its weight in air (70),
divided by the loss or difference
(d) of weight in water (or G =
A simple and portable instru- Fig. 94.
ment for finding the specific gravity is the areometer of
Nicholson, fig. 94. A delicate hydrostatic balance gives
the gravity with far more accuracy ; and even a good com¬
mon balance is often preferable. The mineral mty be sus¬
pended from one arm or scale by a fine silk thread or
lair, and its weight ascertained, first in the air, and then in
water.
There are a few precautions necessary to insure accuracy.
ms, a pure specimen must be selected which is not inter-
mixe with other substances, and when weighed in air it
s iou e quite dry. It must also be free from cavities,
an care must be taken that when weighed in water no
globules of air adhere to its surface, which render it lighter.
It the body imbibes moisture, it should be allowed to re¬
main till fully saturated before determining its weight when
immersed, and it is sometimes even necessary to boil the
specimen in order to expel the air from its pores. Small
crystals or fragments, whose freedom from mixture can be
seen, aie best adapted for this purpose. The specimen
experimented on should not be too heavy; thirty grains
being enough where the gravity is low, and even less where
it is high. It is also of importance to repeat the trial, if
possible with different specimens, which will show whether
any cause of error exists, and to take the mean of the whole.
A correction should be made for the variation of the tem¬
perature of the water from 60° Fahr., which is that usually
chosen as the standard in mineralogical works. Where
the difference, however, does not exceed ten or fifteen
degrees this correction may be neglected, as it only affects
the third or second decimal figure of the result.
Optical Properties of Minerals.
There are few more interesting departments of science
than the relations of mineral bodies to light, and the modi¬
fications which it undergoes either when passing through
them or when reflected from their surface. In this place
however, we can only notice these phenomena so far a<
they point out distinctions in the internal constitution of
minerals, or furnish characters for distinguishing one species
from another. 0
Minerals, and even different specimens of the same species
vary much in pellucidity or in the quantity of light which
can pass through them. Some transmit so much light
that small objects can be clearly seen, or letters read when
placed behind them, and are named transparent. They
are semitransparent when the object is only seen dimly,
as through a cloud; and translucent when the Ihdit that
passes through it is so obscured that the objects'5 can be
no longer discerned. Some minerals are only thus trans¬
lucent on the thinnest edges, and in others even these
transmit no light, and the body is named opaque or un¬
transparent. These degrees pass gradually into each other,
and cannot be separated by any precise line; and this is
also the case in nature, where some minerals pass through
the whole scale, as quartz, from the fine transparent rock-
crystal to opaque dark-black varieties. Such minerals may
be described generally as pellucid. This change often arises
from some mixture in their composition, especially of metallic
substances. Perfect opacity is chiefly found in the metals
or their compounds with sulphur, though even these seem
to transmit light when reduced to laminae of sufficient
thinness.
Double Refraction.—When a ray oflight passes obliquely
from one medium into another of different density, it is
bent or refracted from its former course. The line which
it then follows forms an angle with the perpendicular,
which in each body bears a certain proportion to that at
which the ray fell upon it, or, as definitely stated, the sine
of the angle of refraction has a fixed ratio to the sine of
the angle of incidence, this ratio being named the index of
refraction. This simple refraction is common to all trans-
Minera-
logy.
MINER
Minera- parent bodies, whether crystalline, amorphous, or fluid ; but
l°ey- some crystals produce a still more remarkable result. The
—v—ray of light which entered them as one is divided into two
rays, each following different angles, or is doubly refracted.
In minerals of the tesseral system this property does not
exist, but it has been always observed in minerals be¬
longing to the other systems, though in many only after
they have been cut in a particular manner, or have been
otherwise properly prepared. It is most distinctly seen in
crystals of calc-spar, especially in the beautiful transparent
variety from Iceland, in which it was first observed and
described by Erasmus Bartholin in a work published at
Copenhagen in 1669.
The subjoined figure will illustrate this singular property.
It represents a
rhomb of Iceland
spar, on the sur¬
face of which a
ray of light 7?r
falls. As seen
in the figure, this
ray divides into
two, one of which
roo follows the
ordinary law of
refraction, or the
sines of the an¬
gles of incidence
and refraction maintain a constant ratio. This is named
the ordinary ray O. The other, hence named the extra¬
ordinary ray E, does not obey the usual law of the sines,
and has no general index of refraction. In the plane per¬
pendicular to the axis it is most widely separated from the
ordinary ray, but in others oblique to it approaches nearer to
O, and in one at right angles coincides, or there is no double
refraction. This plane, or rather direction, in which there
is no double refraction, is named the optical axis of the
crystal, or the axis of double refraction. Now, in certain
minerals it is found that there is only one plane with this
property, whereas in others there are two such planes, and
they have in consequence been divided into monoaxial and
binaxial. To the former (monoaxial) belong all crystals of
the tetragonal and hexagonal systems; to the latter (binaxial)
all those of the three other systems. In the former the optic
axis coincides with, or is parallel to, the crystallographic chief
axis. In some crystals the index of refraction for the ex¬
traordinary ray E is greater than for the ordinary ray O ;
and in others it is smaller. The former are said to have
positive (or attractive), the latter negative (or repulsive)
double refraction. Quartz is an example of the former,
the index of refraction, according to Malus, being for O =
T54S4, for E= 1*5582; and calc-spar of the latter, the
index of O being = 1*6543, of E = 1*4833. The index of
E is in both cases taken as its maximum.
It should be observed that the optic axes are not single
lines, but directions, parallel to a line, or innumerable pa¬
rallel lines, passing through every atom of the crystal. It
is also important to remark that this property divides the
systems of crystallization into three precise groups,—the
tesseral, with single refraction; the tetragonal and hexa¬
gonal, with double refraction, and monoaxial; the other three
systems also double, but binaxial. It is therefore of use to
determine the system to which a mineral belongs, but is not
of great value as a character for distinguishing species.
Polarization of Light.—Intimately connected with this
property is that of the polarization of light, w hich being more
easily and precisely observable than double refraction, is
in many cases of higher value as a mineralogical character.
By this term is meant a peculiar modification which a ray
of light undergoes, in consequence of which its capability of
being transmitted or reflected towards particular sides is
VOL. xv.
A L 0 G Y.
either wholly or partially destroyed. Thus, if from a trans¬
parent prism of tourmaline two thin plates are cut parallel
to its axis, they will transmit light, as well as the prism '
itself, w'hen they are placed above each other with the chief
axis of both in the same direction. But when the one slip
of tourmaline is turned at right angles to the other, either
no light at all or very little is transmitted, and the plates
consequently appear black. Hence, in passing through the
first slip the rays of light have acquired a peculiar property,
which renders them incapable of being transmitted through
the second, except in a parallel position, and they are then
said to be polarized. The same property is acquired by a
ray of light when reflected, at an angle of 351° (or angle of
incidence 54£°), from a plate of glass, one side of which is
blackened, or from some other non-metallic body. When
such a ray falls on a second similar mirror at an equal angle,
but so that the plane of reflection in the second is at right
angles to that in the first, it is no longer reflected, but wholly
absorbed. When, on the other hand, the planes of reflec¬
tion are parallel, the ray is wholly and at any intermediate
angle partially reflected. A ray of light polarized by re¬
flection is also incapable of transmission through a tour¬
maline slip in one position, which, however, is at right
angles to that in which a ray polarized by passing through
another slip is not transmitted.
In order to observe the polarization of light, a very sim¬
ple instrument
will be found
useful (fig. 96).
At one end of a
horizontal board
B a black mirror
a is fixed. In
tbe middle is a
pillar to which a
tube cd is fast¬
ened, with its
axis directed to
the mirror at
an angle of 35£°.
On the lower end is a cover c, with a small hole in the
centre, and at the upper end another cover with a small
black mirror m attached to it by two arms, as in the figure,
and also at an angle of 35^°. With this instrument the
mirror m can be so placed in relation to a that the planes
of reflection shall have any desirable inclination to exhibit
the simple polarization of light.
This instrument furnishes a simple test whether mine¬
rals that cleave readily into thin lamellae are optically
monoaxial or binaxial. Place the two mirrors with their
polarization-planes at right angles, and fix a plate of the
mineral with a little wax over the hole c, and then observe
what takes place in the second mirror during the time that
the cover c is turned round. If the mineral belongs to the
binaxial system, the light from the first mirror a, in passing
through it, is doubly refracted and lias its polarization
changed, and consequently can be again reflected from the
second mirror »?, and in each revolution of c will show four
maxima and four minima of intensity. Ifj on the contrary,
the mineral is monoaxial, the ray will pass through the
lamina unaltered, and will not be reflected from the second
mirror in any position of c.
Another beautiful phenomenon of polarized light, in like
manner connected with the crystalline structure of minerals,
is the coloured rings which laminae of the doubly-refracting
species, when of a proper thickness, exhibit in certain posi¬
tions. Ihese rings are easily seen in the above apparatus
by interposing a thin plate of gypsum or mica between the
two mirrors. VUien the interposed plate belongs to a
monoaxial mineral, there is seen in the second mirror
a system of circular concentric coloured
U
57
Minera-
iogy.
Fig. 96.
rings in-
58
MINEKALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera-
logy-
tersected by a black cross
binaxial, one or two sys¬
tems of elliptical coloured
rings appear, each inter¬
sected by a black stripe
(fig. 98). In certain cases
this stripe is curved, or the
two systems of rings unite
in a lemniscoidal form
(fig. 99). When the planes
of polarization are parallel,
the black cross and stripe
appear white (fig. 100),
showing that in this direc¬
tion the crystals act like
singly-refracting minerals.
(fig. 97). If the mineral is
Quartz, again, in close rela-
Eig. 98.
Fig.99.
Fig. 100.
tion to its system of crystallization,
exhibits a circular polarization of
splendid prismatic colours, which
on turning the plate change in each
point in the order of the spectrum,
from red to yellow, green, and blue.
In order to produce these changes,
however, in some specimens the
plate must be turned to the right,
in others to the left, showing a dif¬
ference in the crystalline structure.
Pleocliroism.—Closely connected with double refraction
is that property of transparent minerals named pleochroism
(many-coloured), in consequence of which they exhibit
distinct colours when viewed by transmitted light in dif¬
ferent directions. Crystals of the tesseral system do not
show this property; whilst in those of the other systems it
appears in more or less perfection; and in the tetragonal
and hexagonal minerals as dichroism (two colours), in the
rhombic and clinohedric systems as trichroism (three
colours). In most cases these changes of colour are not
very decided, and appear rather as different tints or shades
than as distinct colours. The most remarkable of dichro¬
matic minerals are the magnesian mica from Vesuvius, the
tourmaline and ripidolite; of trichromatic, the iolite, the
andalusite from Brazil, the diaspore from Schemnitz, and
the axinite.
borne crystalline minerals exhibit a very lively play or
change of colours from reflected light in certain directions.
It is well seen in many various hues on the cleavage-planes
of Labrador felspar, and seems produced by a multitude of
very thin quadrangular pores, interposed in the mineral¬
like minute parallel lammse. On the cleavage-planes of the
hvpersthene it appears copper-red, and is occasioned by
numerous small brown or black laminee of some f oreign sub¬
stance interposed in a parallel position between the planes of
the hypersthene. The chatoyant, or changing colours of the
sun-stone, arise from scales of iron glance similarly inter¬
posed. I he play of colour in the noble opal seems to be
produced very nearly in the same manner with that in the
labradorite. A similar opalescence is seen in certain
minerals when cut in particular forms. In the sapphire,
cut hemispherically over the chief axis, it appears like a
star with six rays; in certain varieties of chrysoberl and
adularia it has a bluish tint; and is also very remarkable
in the cat’s-eye variety of quartz. Iridescence often
arises from very fine fissures, producing semicircular arches
of prismatic- tints, which, like the colours of thin plates in
general, are referred to the interference of light.
Minera-
logy-
Lustre and Colour.
Though these properties admit of no precise or mathe¬
matical determination, they are of considerable value in
mineralogy. One higlily important distinction founded on
them is that of minerals of metallic and non-metallic aspect
or character. This distinction can hardly be described in
words, and the student will best learn to distinguish me¬
tallic colours and lustre from non-metallic by observing
them in nature. Transparency and opacity nearly coin¬
cide with this division, the metallic minerals being almost
constantly opaque; the non-metallic more or less trans¬
parent. Minerals which are perfectly opaque, and show
metallic colour and lustre, are named metallic; those with
only two of these three properties, semi-metallic or metal¬
loid ; and those with the opposite properties non-metallic.
Lustre has reference to the intensity and quality of the
reflected light, considered as distinct from colour. Several
degrees in intensity have been named. (1.) Splendent,
when a mineral reflects light so perfectly as to be visible at
a great distance, and lively, well-defined images are formed
in its faces, as galena, rock-crystal, or calc-spar. (2.)
Shining, when the reflected light is weak, and only forms
indistinct and cloudy images, as heavy spar. (3.) Glisten¬
ing, when the reflected light is so feeble as not to be ob¬
servable at a greater distance than arm’s length, and the
surface can no longer form an image. (4.) Glimmering,
when the mineral held near the eye in full clear daylight
presents only a number of small shining points, as red
haematite and granular limestone. When, as in chalk, the
lustre is so feeble as to be indiscernible, it is said to be dull.
In regard to the kind or quality of the lustre, the follow¬
ing varieties are distinguished :—(1.) The metallic, seen in
much perfection in native metals and their compounds
with sulphur, and imperfectly in glance coal. (2.) Ada¬
mantine, found in beautiful perfection in the diamond, and
in some varieties of blende and carbonate of lead. (3.)
Vitreous or glassy, seen in rock-crystal or common glass,
or inclining to adamantine in flint-glass. (4.) Resinous,
when the body appears as if smeared with oil, as in pitch-
stone and garnet. (5.) Pearly, like mother-of-pearl, seen
in stilbite, gypsum, mica. (6.) Silky, the glimmering
lustre seen on fine fibrous aggregates like amianthus.
Colour.—This property is not in all cases of equal value
as a character. Thus some minerals are naturally coloured,
showing in all modes of their occurrence one deter¬
minate colour, which is therefore essential, and forms a
characteristic of the species. This class includes the metals,
pyrites, blendes, with many metallic oxides and salts. A
second class of minerals are colourless, their purest forms
being white, or clear like water, as ice, calc-spar, quartz,
adularia, and many silicates. But these minerals are occa¬
sionally coloured,—that is, accidentally tinged, sometimes
from the chemical or mechanical admixture of some colour¬
ing substance, as a metallic oxide, carbon, or particles of
coloured minerals; at other times from the substitution of
M X N E R
3Hnera- a coloured for an uncoloured isomorphpus element. The
colours of these minerals therefore vary indefinitely, and
can never characterize the species, but only its varieties,
i hus, quaitz, calc-spar, fluor spar, gypsum, and felspar are
often coloured accidentally by pigments mechanically mixed;
and hornblende, augite, garnet, and other colourless sili¬
cates acquire green, brown, red, or black tints from the in¬
troduction of the isomorphic colouring elements.
Wernei, who bestowed much attention on this portion of
mineralogy, distinguished eight principal colours,—white,
gray, black, blue, green, yellow, red, and brown,—each
with several varieties or shades arising from intermixture
with the other colours. He also divided them into metallic
and non-metallic as follows :—
MUTALLIC COLOURS.
1. White. (T.) Silver-white, as ifi leucopyrite and native silver.
(2.) Tin-white ; native antimony.
2. Gray. (1.) Lead-gray; galena or lead glance (2.) Steel-
gray ; native platina.
3. Black.—(1.) Iron-black; magnetite.
4. Yellow. (1.) Brass-yellow; chalcopyrite. (2.) Bronze-yellow;
iron pyrites. (3.) Gold yellow ; native gold.
5. Red.—(1.) Copper-red ; native copper and nickeline.
NON-METALLIC COLOURS.
1. Yhite. (1.) Snow-white; new fallen snow, Carrara marble, and
common quartz. (2.) Reddish-white ; heavy spar. (3.) Yellowish-
white ; chalk. (4.) Greyish-white ; quartz. (5.) Greenish-white ;
amianthus. (6.) Milk-white ; skimmed milk, chalcedony.
2. Gray. (1.) Bluish-gray; limestone. (2.') Pearl-gray; porcelain
jasper, and rarely quartz. (3.) Smoke-gray or brownish-gray;
dense smoke, dark varieties of flint. (4.) Greenish-gray; clay-slate
and whet-slate. (5.) Yellowish-gray ; chalcedony. (6.) Ash-gray;
wood-ashes, zoisite, zircon, and slate-clay.
3. Black.—(1.) Grayish-black; basalt, Lydian stone, and lucullite.
(2.) Velvet-black ; obsidian and schorl. (3.) Pitch-black or brownish-
black ; cobalt ochre, bituminous coal, and some varieties of mica.
(4.) Greenish-black or raven-black; hornblende. (5.) Bluish-black;
fluor spar.
4. Blue.—(1.) Blackish-blue; dark varieties of azurite. (2.) Azure-
blue ; bright varieties of azurite and Lapis lazuli. (3.) Violet-blue;
amethyst and fluor spar. (4.) Lavender-blue ; lithomarge and por¬
celain jasper. (5.) Plum-blue; spinel and fluor spar. (6.) Berlin-
blue; sapphire, rock-salt, cyanite. (7.) Smalt-blue ; pale-coloured
smalt, gypsum. (8.) Duck-blue ; talc and corundum. (9.) Indigo-
blue ; earthy-blue iron or vivianite. (10.) Skye-blue; liroconite,
some varieties of fluor spar and of blue spar,
•5. Green.—(1.) Verdigris-green ; amazon stone and liroconite.
(2.) Celandine-green; green earth, Siberian and Brazilian beryl.
(3.) Mountain-green; beryl, aqua-marine topaz. (4.) Leek-green ;
common actynolite and prase. (5.) Emerald-green ; emerald, and
some varieties of green malachite. (6.) Apple-green ; chrysoprase.
(7.) Grass-green; uranite, smaragdite. (8.) Blackish-green ; augite
and precious serpentine. (9.) Pistachio-green ; chrysolite and epi-
dote. (10.) Asparagus-green ; the apatite or asparagus-stone from
Spain and Salzburg. (11.) Olive-green; garnet, pitch-stone, and
olivine. (12.) Oil-green ; olive-oil, blende, beryl. (13.) Siskin-green ;
aranite, and some varieties of pyromorphite.
6. Yellow.—(1.) Sulphur-yellow; native sulphur. (2.) Straw-
yellow; pycnite and karpholite. (3.) Wax-yellow; opal and
wulfenite. (4.) Honey-yellow; dark honey, fluor spar, and beryl.
(5.) Lemon-yellow; rind of ripe lemons, orpiment. (6.) Ochre-
yellow; yellow-earth and jasper. (7.) Wine-yellow; Saxon and
Brazilian topaz and fluor spar. (8.) Cream-yellow or Isabella-
yellow ; bole from Strigau, and compact limestone. (9.) Orange-
yellow, rind of the ripe orange, uran-ochre, and some varieties of
wulfenite.
7. Red.—(\.) Aurora, or morning-red; zealgar. (2.) Hyacinth-
red; hyacinth or zircon, and garnet. (3.) Tile-red; fresh-burned
bricks, porcelain-jasper, and heulandite. (4.) Scarlet-red; light-
red cinnabar. (5.) Blood-red; blood, pyrope. (6.) Flesh-red;
felspar and barytes. (7.) Carmine-red ; carmine, spinel, particu¬
larly in thin splinters. (8.) Cochineal-red; cinnabar and certain
garnets. (9.) Crimson-red; oriental ruby and erythrine. (10.)
Columbine-red; precious garnet. (11.) Rose-red; diallogite and
rose-quartz. (12.) Peach-blossom red; blossoms of the peach, red
cobalt-ochre. (13.) Cherry-red; spinel, kermes, and precious garnet.
(14.) Brownish-red ; reddle and columnar-clay ironstone.
8. Brown. (1.) Reddish-brown ; brown blende from the Hartz,
and zircon. (2.) Clove-brown ; the clove, rock-crystal, and axinite.
A L 0 G Y.
(3.) Hair-brown ; wood-opal and limonite. (4.) Broccoli-brown ;
zircon. (5.) Chesnut-brown ; Egyptian jasper. (6.) Yellowish-
brov, n; iron-flint and jasper. (7.) Pinchbeck-brown ; tarnished
pinchbeck, mica. (8.) Wood-brown; mountain wood and old rotten
wood. (9.) Liver-brown; boiled liver, common jasper. (10.)
Blackish-brown ; mineral pitch and brown coal.
1 he accidentally coloured minerals sometimes present two
or more colours or tints, even on a single erv tal; very re¬
markable examples occurring in fluor spar, apatite, -apphire,
amethyst, tourmaline, and cyanite. This is still more com¬
mon in compound minerals, on which the colours are
variously arranged in points, streaks, clouds, veins, stripes,
bands, or in brecciated and ruin-like forms. Some miner¬
als again change their colour from exposure to the light,
the air, or damp. Sometimes merely the surface is affected
or tarnished, and then appears covered as with a thin film,
producing in some minerals, as silver, arsenic, bismuth, only
one colour; in others, as copper pyrites, haematite, stibine,
and common coal, various or iridescent hues. Occasionally
the change pervades the whole mineral, the colour sometimes
becoming paler, or disappearing as in chrysoprase and rose-
quartz ; at other times darker, as in brown spar, siderite,
and rhodonite. In a few minerals a complete change of
colour takes place, as in the chlorophaeite of the Western
Isles, which, on exposure for a few hours, passes from a
transparent yellow-green to black. These mutations seem
generally connected with some chemical change. The tar¬
nished colours sometimes only appear on certain faces of a
crystal belonging to a peculiar form. Thus a crystal of
copper pyrites (like fig. 35) has one face P’ free from tar¬
nish ; the faces h and c, close to P', are dark blue; the
remainder of c, first violet, and then, close to P, gold-yellow.
The colour of the powder formed when a mineral is scratched
by a hard body is often different from that of the solid
mass. I his is named the streak, and is very characteristic
of many minerals. It also often shows a peculiar lustre
where the mineral is soft, as in talc and steatite.
Phosphorescence, Electricity, Magnetism.
Phosphorescence is the property possessed by particular
minerals of producing light in certain circumstances with¬
out combustion or ignition. Thus some minerals appear
luminous when taken into the dark after being for a time
exposed to the sun’s rays, or even to the ordinary daylight.
Many diamonds and calcined barytes exhibit this property
in a remarkable degree; less so, arragonite, calc-spar, anil
chalk; and in a still inferior degree, rock-salt, fibrous gyp¬
sum, and fluor spar. Many minerals, including the greater
part of those thus rendered phosphorescent by the influence
of the sun, also become so through heat. Thus some to¬
pazes, diamonds, and varieties of fluor spar become luminous
by the heat of the hand; other varieties of fluor spar and
the phosphorite require a temperature near that of boiling
water; whilst calc-spar and many silicates are only phos¬
phorescent at from 400° to 700° Fahr. Electricity pro¬
duces it in some minerals, as in green fluor spar and cal¬
cined barytes. In others it is excited when they are struck,
rubbed, split, or broken ; as many varieties of zinc-blende
and dolomite when scratched with a quill, pieces of quartz
when rubbed on each other, and plates of mica when sud¬
denly separated.
Friction, pressure, and heat also excite electricity in
minerals. To observe this property delicate electroscopes
are required, formed of a light needle, terminating at both
ends in small balls, and suspended horizontally on a steel
pivot by an agate cup. Such an instrument can be nega¬
tively electrified by touching it with a stick of sealing-wax,
excited by rubbing, or positively when the wax is only
brought so near as to attract the needle. When the in¬
strument is in this state the mineral, if also rendered elec-
59
Minera¬
logy.
60
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- trie by heat or friction, will attract or repel the needle ac-
l°gy- cording as it has acquired electricity of an opposite or
‘V—,/ similar kind; but if the mineral is not electric, it will at¬
tract the needle in both conditions alike. Most precious
stones become electrical from friction, and are either posi¬
tive or negative according as their surface is smooth or
rough. Pressure even between the fingers will excite dis¬
tinct positive electricity in pieces of transparent double-
refracting calc-spar. Topaz, arragonite, fluor spar, car¬
bonate of lead, quartz, and other minerals show this pro¬
perty, but in a much smaller degree.
Heat or change of temperature excites electricity in many
crystals, as in tourmaline, calamine, topaz, calc-spar, beryl,
barytes, fluor spar, diamond, garnet, and others, which are
hence said to be thermo- or pyro-electric. Some acquire
polar pyro-electricity, or the two electricities appear in op¬
posite parts of the crystal, which are named its electric
poles. Each pole is alternately positive and negative,—the
one when the mineral is heating, the other when it is cool¬
ing. The poles that become positive during an increase of
temperature are named analogue ; those that become nega¬
tive in the same condition, antilogue poles, as shown in this
table:—
Temperature.
+ or rising I
— or falling J
+ or rising )
— or falling j
Produces
in analogue
poles
in antilogue
poles
Electricity.
+ or vitreous.
— or resinous.
— or resinous.
+ or vitreous.
As already noticed, many polar electric minerals are also
remarkable for their hemimorphic crystal forms. The num¬
ber and distribution of the poles likewise vary. In many
monoaxial minerals, as tourmaline and calamine, there are
only two poles, one at each end of the chief axis; whereas
boracite has eight poles corresponding to the angles of the
cube. In prehnite and topaz, again, two antilogue poles
occur on the obtuse lateral edges of the prism ccP, and one
analogue pole corresponding to the macrodiagonal chief sec¬
tion, or in the middle of the diagonal joining the obtuse edges.
Magnetism, or the power to act on the magnetic needle,
is very characteristic of the few minerals in which it occurs,
chiefly ores of iron or nickel. It is either simple, attracting
both poles of the needle ; or polar, when one part attracts,
and another repels the same pole. Some magnetic iron ores,
or natural magnets, possess polar magnetism; whilst the
common varieties, meteoric iron, magnetic pyrites, precious
garnet, and other minerals, are simply magnetic. Most mi¬
nerals are only attracted by the magnet, but do not them¬
selves attract iron.
Smell, taste, and touch furnish a few characters of mine¬
rals. Most have no smell, but some give out a peculiar odour
when rubbed: as quartz an empyreumatic odour, or smell
of burning; fluor spar of chlorine ; clay of clay ; some lime¬
stones and marls of bitumen, or a feetid odour. Alumin¬
ous minerals acquire a smell when breathed on. Other
odours caused by heat, and often highly characteristic, are
noticed under tests by the blow-pipe.
Taste is produced by all the salts soluble in water. Some
are saline, like common salt; sweetish astringent, like alum;
astringent, like blue vitriol; bitter, like epsom salt; cooling,
like saltpetre; pungent, like sal-ammoniac; alkaline, like
soda ; acid or sour, like sassoline, &c.
Touch.—Some minerals are distinguished by a greasy
feeling, like talc ; others feel meagre, like clay ; others cold.
The last character readily distinguishes true gems from their
imitations in glass.
Chap. III.—CHEMICAL PROPERTIES OF
MINERALS.
The consideration of the chemical nature of minerals,—
that is, of the elements that enter into their composition,—of
the manner in which these elements combine, and the vari- llincra-
ations in proportion which they may undergo without de- logy,
stroying the identity of the species, forms an important
branch of mineralogical science. The methods of detecting
the different elements, and the characters which are thus
furnished for the discrimination of minerals, are also of
much value. This is especially true of the metallic ores
and other substances, sought not as objects of curiosity, but
for their economic qualities.
Composition of Minerals.
At present about sixty elements, or substances which
have not been decomposed, are known. These are divided
into metallic and non-metallic, a distinction of import¬
ance in mineralogy, though not always to be carried out
with precision. The non-metallic elements are rarely of
semimetallic aspect, and are bad conductors of heat and
electricity. Some are commonly gaseous—oxygen, hydro¬
gen, nitrogen, chlorine, and fluorine; one fluid—bromine;
the others solid—carbon, phosphorus, sulphur, boron, sile-
nium, and iodine. The metallic elements are, except mer¬
cury, solid at usual temperatures, have generally a metallic
aspect, and are good conductors of heat and electricity.
They are divided into light and heavy metals, the former
with a specific gravity under 5, and a great affinity for oxy¬
gen, and again distinguished as either alkali-metals, potassium
(orkalium), sodium (or natrium), lithium, barium, strontium,
and calcium;—or earth-metals, magnesium, lanthanium,
yttrium, glucinum, aluminium, zirconium, silicium. The
heavy metals, with a specific gravity above 5, are divided
into noble, which can be reduced, or separated from oxygen,
by heat alone; and ignoble, whose affinity for oxygen renders
them irreducible without other agents. Some of the latter
are brittle and difficultly fusible,—thorium, titanium, tan-
talium (columbium), tungsten (wolframium), molybdenum,
vanadium, chromium, uranium, manganese, and cerium;
others are brittle and easily fusible or volatile—arsenic,
antimony, tellurium, and bismuth ; and others malleable—
zinc, cadmium, tin, lead, iron, cobalt, nickel, and copper.
The noble metals are,—quicksilver, silver, gold, platinum,
palladium, rhodium, iridium, and osmium.
All the chemical combinations observed in the mineral
kingdom follow the law of definite proportions; that is, two
elements always combine either in the same proportion, or
so that the quantity of the one is multiplied by two, three,
four, or some other definite number seldom very large. As
the same law prevails throughout the whole range of ele¬
ments, by assuming any one, usually hydrogen or oxygen,
as unity or 1, and determining from experiment the simple
proportion in which the others combine with it, a series of
numbers is obtained which also expresses the proportions
in which all these elements combine with each other.
These numbers, therefore, mark the combining proportions
or equivalents, as they are named, of the elements. They
are also named atomic weights, on the supposition that
matter consists of definite atoms, and that its combinations
consist of one atom (or sometimes two atoms) of one sub¬
stance, w'ith one, two, three, or more atoms of another.
This theory is not free from difficulties, but the language is
often convenient. To designate the elements chemists
generally employ the first letter or letters of their Latin
names. rI hese signs also indicate one atom or equivalent
of the element. Thus, O means oxygen in the proportion
of one atom ; H, hydrogen in the same proportion ; N, an
atom of nitrogen ; Na, an equivalent proportion of natrium
or sodium. These signs and the equivalent w eights are
given in the following table, in one column of which hy¬
drogen is taken as unity, in the other oxygen. The ele¬
ments are arranged according to Berzelius, beginning with
the most electro-positive, and ending with the most electro¬
negative.
MINERALOGY.
61
Minera- Table Elements arranqed in Electro-Chemical order.
logy- 
Name.
Sign.
K
Na
Li
NIP
Ba
Sr
Ca,
Mg
Y
G
A1
Zr
Th
Potassium....
Sodium 
Lithium 
Ammonium
Barium 
Strontium...
Calcium 
Magnesium..
Yttrium 
Glucinum....
Aluminium
Zirconium...
Thorium  
Cerium [Ce
Lanthanium jLa
Didymium... D
Uranium ....!u
Manganese..JMn
Iron Fe
Nickel Ni
Cobalt Co
Zinc Zn
Cadmium Cd
Sn
Pb
Bi
Cu
Hg
Ag
Pd
Rh
Tin 
Lead 
Bismuth 
Copper  
Mercury 
Silver 
Palladium...
Rhodium 
Atomic Weight.
H=1 0=100.
39-2
23-2
7
17
68 6
44.
20
12-5
32
4'7
137
22-5
59-6
46
36?
60
28
28
29
30
32-2
56
59
104
208
31-7
100
108
53-3
52
488,85
290-9
86-9
856-88
547-28
251-5
154-5
402-51
58-08 ?
*342-33
*840-4
744-90
575
746-36
345-89
350-53
362-8
375
406-59
696-76
735-29
1294-5
*2600
395-69
1250
1349-66
665-84
651-4
Name.
Ruthenium...
Iridium  
Platinum ....
Osmium 
Gold 
Hydrogen ...
Silicium 
Carbon 
Boron 
Titanium ....
Tantalium...
Niobium 
Pelopium ?. .
Wolframium
Molybdenum
Vanadium...
Chromium ...
Tellurium....
Antimony ...
Arsenic 
Phosphorus..
Nitrogen 
Selenium 
Sulphur 
Oxygen  
Iodine 
Bromine 
Chlorine 
Fluorine 
Sign
Ru
Ir
Pt
Os
Au
H
Sij
c
B
Ti
Ta
Nb
Pp
W
Mo
V
Cr
Te
Sb
As
P
N
Se
S
0
I
Br
Cl
F
Atomic Weight
H=1 0=100.
99
99
99
168
1
15
22-2
6
11
25
185
92
46
66-6
263
64
122
75
31
14
40
16
8
126
78-4
36
18-7
1233-26
1233-26
1244-21
*2458-83
*12-48
187-5 f
277-31J
75-415
136-2
303-68
1153-715
1150 78
575-83
855-84
328-59
802-12
1529-2
*940-08
*392-28
*175-06
494-58
200-75
100
*1586
*999-62
*443-28
*233-80
* Double atoms.
f L. Gmelin, who considers silica as composed of one atom base and two
oxygen.
1 Berzelius.
The above list includes ammonium, usually considered a
compound body, and omits the two new metals, erbium and
terbium.
All these elements occur in minerals, but not more than
twenty are common, and only about twelve abundant.
They are also very rare in their simple or uncombined state ;
only carbon in the diamond and graphite, sulphur, and about
a dozen of the native metals, being thus known. More
frequently minerals consist of two or more elements com¬
bined in accordance with those laws which prevail in inor- Minera-
ganic compounds. The most important of these laws is logy-
that the combinations are binary; that is, that the elements
unite in pairs, which may again unite either with another
compound of two, or with a single element. Inorganic
compounds also are generally distinguished from organic by
their greater simplicity.
The following principles are observed in designating the
combinations of these elementary substances :—For those of
the first order the signs of the two components are con¬
joined, and the number of atoms or equivalents of each ex¬
pressed by a number following the sign like an algebraic
exponent. Thus, SO, SO2, SO3, are the combinations of
one atom sulphur with one, two, and three atoms of oxygen ;
FeS, FeS2, of one atom of iron with one or two of sulphur.
But as combinations with oxygen and sulphur are very
numerous in the mineral kingdom, Berzelius, to whom
science is indebted for this system of signs, marks the atoms
of oxygen by dots over the sign of the other element, and
those of sulphur by an accent; the above compounds being
then designated thus—S, S, S, and Fe', Fe ". In some cases
two atoms of a base combine with three or five of oxygen
or sulphur, as A1203, Fe2S3. In such cases Berzelius marks
the double atom by a line drawn through the sign of the
single atom; thus, A1 is two atoms aluminium with three
of oxygen or alumina; 4hi, two of copper with one of oxy¬
gen or oxide of copper. Where a number is prefixed to the
sign like a coefficient in algebra it includes both elements of
the combination; thus H is one atom water, 2 H two ; CaC
is one atom carbonate of lime, 2 CaC two atoms, including
of course two of calcium, two of carbon, and six of oxygen.
The most common and important binary compounds are
those with oxygen, contained in the following table, with
their signs, atomic numbers, and amount of oxygen in 100
parts. The more electro-negative are named acids, which
are often soluble in water, and then render blue vegetable
colours red. The more electro-positive are named oxides or
bases, and show great affinity or attractive power for the
former. The most powerful are the alkaline bases, which
are colourless and soluble in water; less powerful are the
earths, also colourless, but insoluble in water:—
Table II.—Binary Compounds with Oxygen.
Name.
Alumina 
Antimony oxide 
Antimonious acid....
Antimonic acid 
Arsenious acid 
Arsenic acid 
Baryta 
Bismuth peroxide 
Boracic acid 
Carbonic acid 
Cerium protoxide 
... peroxide  
Chromium oxide 
Chromic acid 
Cobalt protoxide 
Copper suboxide (red) 
... protoxide (black)...
Glucina 
Iron protoxide 
... peroxide (red)  
... proto-peroxide (black)
Lead protoxide 
Lime or Calcia 
Lithia 
Magnesia 
Sign.
Al
Sb
Sb
Sb
As
As
Ba
Bi
B
U
Ce
Ce
Cr
Cr
Co
Cu
Cii
u
i"e
re
Fe + re
Pb
Ca
Li
Mg
Atomic Weight.
H=l. 0=100.
51-4
146
154
162
99
115
76-6
232
34-8
22
54
116
76-6
50-3
38
71-4
39-7
38
36
80
116
112
28
15
21
642-33
1829-2
1929-2
2029-2
1240-08
1440-08
956-88
2900-00
436-20
275-0
674-72
1449-39
956-78
628-39
475
891-39
495-69
490-05
450-527
1001-054
1451-581
1394-50
351-489
186-9
254-50
Oxvg.
in 100
parts.
46- 70
16-40
20-73
24-64
34-72
10-45
10- 34
68-78
72-73
14-82
20- 70
31-35
47- 74
21- 05
11- 12
20-17
63-26
22- 19
29-97
26-08
7-17
28-45
53-50
39 30
Manganese protoxide 
... peroxide 
proto-perox. (red)
Molybdic acid 
Nickel protoxide  
Nitric acid  
Phosphoric acid 
Potassa 
Silica (Gmelin) 
... (Berzelius) ...
Soda 
Strontia  
Sulphuric acid 
Tantalic acid 
Thorina 
Tin peroxide 
Titanic acid 
Tungstic acid 
Uranium protoxide.
... peroxide .
Vanadic acid 
W ater 
Yttria 
Zinc oxide  
Zirconia 
Sign.
Mn
lUn
Wn + IVXn
Mo
Ni
N"
P‘ or r
K
si
Si
Na
Sr
S
Ta
Th
Sn
Ti
\V
u
u
V
H
Y
Zn
Zr — Zr
Atomic Weight.
H=l,
36
80
116
70
37
54
71
47-2
31
46-2
31-2
52
40
209
67-6
75
41
116
68
144
92
9
40
40-2
30-4
O = 100.
445-89
991-77
1437-66
875-83
462-8
675-06
892-28
588-856
387-5
577-31
390-90
647-29
500-75
2607-43
844-90
935-29
503 68
1450-78
842-84
179272
1155-84
112-48
502-51
506-59
114-2
Oxyg.
in 100
parts.
22-43
30-25
26-34
34-28
21-60
74-07
56 04
16-98
51-61
51-96
25- 58
15-45
59-91
11-51
13 34
21-38
39-71
20-67
13-33
10-13
26- 19
88-89
19-90
19-74
26-37
Note.—In this table double atoms are indicated by the black letters, or Al* Al, Fe = ^e, &c.
62
MINER A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera-
logy.
Similar to the compounds of oxygen are those with sul-
phur, usually named sulphurets, and considered analogous
to the oxidized bases. A few of more electro-negative cha¬
racter, resembling acids, have been distinguished as sul¬
phides. Some other compounds have been named haloid
salts, and consist of certain electro-negative elements, com¬
bined with electro-positive ones, as bases.
Many of these combinations occur as independent species
in the mineral kingdom, especially those with oxygen and
sulphur. Thus the most abundant of all minerals, quartz,
is an oxide, and corundum is of similar nature. Many
oxides of the heavy metals, as of iron, tin, copper, and anti¬
mony ; and some super-oxides, as of lead and manganese
(pyrolusite),—are very common. Compounds with sulphur
also abound, and either as sulphides, with the character of
acids, like realgar, orpiment, and stibine; or as sulphurets, re¬
sembling bases, like galena, argentite, and pyrite. Less fre¬
quent are haloid salts, with chlorine and fluorine, as common
salt and fluor spar ; and still rarer those with iodine and bro¬
mine. On the other hand, metallic alloys, or combinations of
electro-negative with electro-positive metals, are far from un¬
common, especially those with arsenic, tellurium, or antimony.
Combinations of these binary compounds.^with each other
are still more common, the greater number of minerals
being composed of an acid and base. By far the greater
number are oxygen-salts, distinguished by giving to the acid
the termination ate ; thus sulphate of lead, silicate of lime,
and in like manner numerous carbonates, phosphates, arse-
niates, aluminates. The sulphur-salts (two metals combined
with sulphur, and again combined with each other) are next
in number, and perform a most important part in the
mineral kingdom. The hydrates, or combinations of an
oxide with water, are also common, and much resemble the
oxygen salts, the water sometimes acting as an electro¬
positive, at other times as an electro-negative element.
Combinations of a higher order are likewise common, espe¬
cially the double salts, or the union of two salts into a new
body; and even these again with water, as alum and many
hydrous silicates. The chemical formula for these com¬
pound salts are formed by writing the signs of the simple
salts, with the sign of addition between them : thus
CaC + Mg C, lc, carbonate of lime and carbonate of
magnesia, or brown spar; -A1 Si3 + K Si3, or orthoclase;
3 Na F + AP F3, or cryolite, composed of three compound
atoms of fluorine and sodium united to one compound atom,
consisting of three of fluorine and two of aluminium.
Influence of the Chemical Composition on the External
Characters of Minerals.
That the characters of the compound must in some way
or other depend on those of its component elements, seems,
as a general proposition, to admit of no doubt. Hence it
might be supposed possible, from a knowledge of the com¬
position of a mineral, to draw conclusions in reference to
its form and other properties; but practically this has not
yet been effected. The distinction between the mineral¬
izing and mineralizable, or the forming and formed, ele¬
ments, lies at the foundation of all such inquiries. Certain
elements in a compound apparently exert more than an
equal share of influence in determining its physical pro¬
perties. Thus the more important non-metallic elements,
as oxygen, sulphur, chlorine, fluorine, are remarkable for the
influence they exert on the character of the compound.
I he sulphurets, for example, have more similarity among
themselves than the various compounds of one and the
same metal with the non-metallic bodies. Still more ge¬
nerally it would appear that the electro-negative element in
the compound is the most influential, or exerts the greatest
degree of active forming power. After the non-metallic
elements the brittle, easily fusible metals rank next in
power; then the ductile ignoble metals; then the noble
metals ; then the brittle, difficultly fusible ; and last of all,
the metals of the earths and alkalies.
„ It is sometimes stated that each particular substance can
crystallize only in one particular form or series of forms.
I his is, however, only partially true; and sulphur, for in¬
stance, which usually crystallizes in the rhombic system,
when melted may form monoclinohedric crystals. This
property is named dimorphism ; and hence the same che¬
mical substance may form two, or even more, distinct bodies
or mineral species. Thus carbon in one form is the diamond,
in another graphite ; carbonate of lime appears as calc-spar
or arragonite; the bisulphuret of iron as pyrite and marca-
site. An example of trimorphism occurs in the titanic
acid, forming the three distinct species, anatase, rutile, and
brookite. Even the temperature at which a substance
crystallizes influences its forms, and so far its composition,
as seen in arragonite, Glauber salt, natron, and borax.
Still more important is the doctrine of isomorphism, de¬
signating the fact that two or more simple or compound
substances crystallize in one and the same form; or often
in forms which, though not identical, yet approximate very
closely. This similarity of form is generally combined with
a similarity in other physical properties. Among minerals
that crystallize in the tesseral form, isomorphism is of course
common and perfect, there being no diversity in the dimen¬
sions of the primary form ; but for this very reason it is of
less interest. It is of more importance among mono-axial
crystals, the various series of which are separated from each
other by differences in the proportion of the primary form.
In these perfect identity is seldom observed, but only very
great similarity.
The more important isomorphic substances are the fol¬
lowing :—
I. Simple substances:—
(I.) Fluorine and chlorine.
(2.) Sulphur and selenium.
(3.) Arsenic, antimony, tellurium.
(4.) Cobalt, iron, nickel.
(5.) Copper, silver, quicksilver, gold (?)
II. Combinations with oxygen :—
(1.) Of the formula R.
(a.) Lime, magnesia, protoxide of iron, protoxide
of manganese, oxide of zinc, oxide of nickel,
oxide of cobalt, potassa, soda.
(5.) Lime, baryta, strontia, lead-oxide.
(2.) Of the formula ii.
(a.) Alumina, peroxide of iron, peroxide of man¬
ganese, oxide of chromium.
(Z>.) Antimony oxide, arsenious acid.
(3.) Formula R. Tin-oxide, titanium-oxide.
(4.) Formula -14-. Phosphoric acid, arsenic acid.
(5.) Formula R.
(«.) Sulphuric acid, selenic acid, chromic acid
manganese acid.
(A) Tungstic acid, molybdic acid.
III. Combinations with sulphur:—
(1.) Formula R'. Sulphuret of iron Fe', and sul-
phuret of zinc Zn'.
(2.) Formula -R-"'. Sulphuret of antimony Sb'", and
sulphuret of arsenic As"'.
(3.) Formula R'. Sulphuret of copper .Qu, and sul¬
phuret of silver Ag'.
These substances are named vicarious, from the singular
property that in chemical compounds they can mutually
replace each other in indefinite proportions, and very often
without producing any important change in the form or
other physical properties. But there are numerous instances
among the silicates, where the mutual replacement of the
Minera*
logy.
MINERALOGY.
Jinera- isomorphic bodies, especially when the oxides of the
I logy- heavy metals come in the room of the earths and alkalies,
exerts a most essential influence on the external aspect of
the species, particularly in regard to colour, specific gravity,
and transparency. The varieties of hornblende, augite,
garnet, epidote, and many other minerals, are remarkable
proofs of this influence. This intermixture of isomorphic
elements confers many valuable properties on minerals, and
to it this department of nature owes much of its variety and
beauty. Without the occasional presence of the colouring
substances, especially the oxides of iron and manganese, the
non-metallic combinations would have exhibited a very
monotonous aspect. It is also remarkable that in some
silicates the substitution of a certain portion of the metallic
oxides for the earthy bases seems to be almost a regular
occurrence; whilst in others, as the felspars and zeolites,
this rarely happens. This fact is often of great economic
importance, as drawing attention to important elements
often combined with others of less value. Thus iron oxide
and chrome oxide, sulphuret of copper and sulphuret of
silver, nickel and cobalt, may be looked for in connection.
The general chemical formula for such compounds is formed
by writing R ( = radicle or basis) for the whole isomorphic
elements; and in special instances to place their signs
either one below the other, connected by a bracket, or, as
is more convenient, to inclose them in brackets one after
the other, separated by a comma. Thus the general
sign for the garnet is R3 Si2 -f it Si, which, when fully
expressed, becomes (Ca3, Fe3, Mn3) Si2 + (A1, £e) Si.
Chemical Reaction of 31inerals.
The object of the chemical examination of minerals is
the discovery of those elementary substances of which they
consist. This examination is named qualitative when the
nature of the elements alone, quantitative wdien also their
relative amount, is sought to be determined. Mineralogists
are in general content with such an examination as will
discover the more important elements, and which can be
carried on with a simple apparatus, and small quantities of
the substance investigated. The indications thus furnished
of the true character of the mineral are, however, frequently
of high importance. Two methods of testing minerals are
employed, the one by heat chiefly applied through the blow¬
pipe, the second by acids and other reagents in solution.
Use of the Blowpipe.
T he blowpipe in its simplest form is merely a conical
tube of brass or other metal, curved round at the smaller
extremity, and terminating in a minute circular aperture
not larger than a fine needle. Other forms have been
proposed, one of the most useful being a cone of tin open
for the application of the mouth at the smaller end, and
with a brass or platina beak projecting from the side near
the other or broad end. With this instrument a stream of
air is conveyed from the mouth to the flame of a lamp or
candle, so that this can be turned aside, concentrated, and
directed upon any small object. The flame thus acted on
consists of two parts,—the one nearest the beak of the blow¬
pipe forming a blue obscure cone, the other external to this
being of a shining yellow or reddish-yellow colour. The
blue cone consists of the inflammable* gases not yet fully
incandescent, and the greatest heat is just beyond its point,
where this is fully effected. The blue flame still needs
oxygen for its support, and consequently tends to withdraw
it from any body placed within its influence, and is named
the reducing flame. At the extremity of the yellow cone,
on the other hand, the whole gases being consumed, and
the external air having free access, bodies are combined with
oxygen, and this part is named the oxidating flame. Their
action being so distinct, it is of great importance for the
student to learn to distinguish accurately these two portions Minera-
of the flame. This is best done by experimenting on a logy-
piece of metallic tin, which can only be kept pure in a good
reducing flame, and acquires a white crust when acted on
by the oxidating flame.
The portion of the mineral to be examined should not
be larger than a peppercorn, or a fine splinter a line or two
long. It is supported in the flame either by a pair of fine
pincers pointed with platinum, or on slips of platinum-foil,
or on charcoal. Platinum is best for the siliceous minerals^
whereas for metallic substances charcoal must be employed!
For this purpose solid uniform pieces are chosen, and a
small cavity formed in the surface in which the mineral to
be tested can be deposited.
In examining a mineral by heat, it should be first tested
alone, and then with various reagents. When placed alone
in a matrass or tube of glass closed at one end, and heated
over a spirit lamp, water or other volatile ingredients, mer¬
cury, arsenic, tellurium, often sulphur, may readily be
detected, being deposited in the cooler part of the tube, or,
like fluorine, acting on the glass. It may next be tried in
an open tube of glass, through which a more or less strong
current of air passes according to the inclination at which
the tube is held, so that volatile oxides or acids may be
formed ; and in this way the chief combinations of sulphur,
selenium, tellurium, and arsenic are detected. On char¬
coal, in the reducing flame, arsenic, and in the oxidating
flame, selenium or sulphur, are shown by their peculiar
odour; antimony, zinc, lead, and bismuth leave a mark or
coloured ring on the charcoal; and other oxides and sul-
phurets are reduced to the pure metal. On charcoal or in
the platinum pincers the fusibility of minerals is tested, and
some other phenomena should be observed—as whether they
intumesce (bubble up), effervesce, give out fumes, become
shining, or impart a colour to the flame. The colour is
seen when the assay is heated at the point of the inner
flame, and is—
Reddish-yellow, from soda and its salts;
Violet, from potash and most of its salts;
Red, from lithia, strontia, and lime;
Green, from baryta, phosphoric acid, horacic acid, molybdic
acid, copper oxide, and tellurium oxide;
Blue, from chloride of copper, bromide of copper, selenium,
arsenic, antimony, and lead.
T he fusibility, or ease with which a mineral is melted, should
also be observed; and to render this character more pre¬
cise, von Kobell has proposed this scale:—(1.) Antimony
glance, which melts readily in the mere candle flame; (2.)
Natrolite, which in fine needles also melts in the candle
flame, and in large pieces readily before the blowpipe ; (3.)
Almandine (garnet from Zillerthal), which does not melt
in the candle flame even in fine splinters, but in large pieces
before the blowpipe; (4.) Strahlstein (hornblende from
Zillerthal) melts with some difficulty, but still more readily
than (o.) Orthoclase (or adularia felspar); and (6.) Bron-
zite or diallage, of which only the finest fibres can be rounded
by the blowpipe. In employing this scale, fine fragments
of the test minerals and of that to be tried, and nearly of
equal size, should be exposed at the same time to the flame.
A more common mode of expressing fusibility is to state
whether it is observable in large or small grains, in fine
splinters, or only on sharp angles. The result or product
of fusion also yields important characters, being sometimes
a glass, clear, opaque, or coloured; at other times an enamel,
or a mere slag.
The most important reagents for testing minerals with
the blowpipe are the following:—(1.) Soda (the carbonate),
acting as a flux for quartz and many silicates, and especially
for reducing the metallic oxides. For the latter purpose,
the assay (or mineral to be tried) is reduced to powder,
kneaded up with moist soda into a small ball, and placed in
04
MINER ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- a cavity of the charcoal. Very often both the soda and
logy- assay sink into the charcoal, but by continuing the opera-
tion they either again appear on the surface, or, when it is
completed, the charcoal containing the mass is finely pounded
and washed away with water, when the reduced metal is
found in the bottom of the vessel. (2.) Borax (biborate of
soda) serves as a flux for many minerals, which are best
fused in small splinters on platina wire. The borax when
first exposed to the flame swells up or intumesces greatly,
and it should therefore be first melted into a small bead, in
which the assay is placed. During the process the student
should observe whether the assay melts easily or difficultly,
with or without effervescence, what colour it imparts to the
product both when warm and when cold, and also the effect
both of the oxidating and reducing flames. (3.) Micro-
cosmic salt, or salt of phosphorus (phosphate of soda and
ammonia) is specially important as a test for metallic oxides,
which exhibit far more decided colours with it than with
borax. It is also a useful reagent for many silicates, whose
silica is separated from the base and remains undissolved
in the melted salt. (4.) Solution of cobalt (nitrate of co¬
balt dissolved in water), or dry oxalate of cobalt, serve as
tests of alumina, magnesia, and zinc oxide.
In examining minerals in the moist way, the first point
to be considered is their solubility, of which three degrees
may be noted: (l) minerals soluble in water; (2) minerals
soluble in hydrochloric or nitric acid; and (3) those un¬
affected by any of these fluids. The minerals soluble in
water are either acids (almost only the boracic acid or
sassolin and the arsenious acid), or oxygen or haloid salts.
These are easily tested, one part of the solution being em¬
ployed to find the electro-positive element or basis, the other
the electro-negative or acid.
Minerals insoluble in water may next be tested with the
above acids; the nitric acid being preferable when it is
probable, from the aspect of the mineral or its conduct
before the blowpipe, that it contains an alloy, a sulphuret,
or arseniate of some metal. In this manner the carbonic,
phosphoric, arsenic, and chromic acid salts, many hydrous
and anhydrous silicates, many sulphurets, arseniates, and
other metallic compounds, are dissolved, so that further
tests may be employed.
The minerals insoluble either in water or these acids are
sulphur, graphite, cinnabar, some metallic oxides, some
sulphates, and compounds with chlorine and fluorine, and
especially quartz, and various silicates. For many of these
no test is required, or those furnished by the blowpipe are
sufficient. The silicates and others may be fused with four
times their weight of anhydrous carbonate of soda when
they are rendered soluble, so that further tests may be ap¬
plied.
Chemical Reaction of the more Important Elements.
It is not intended in this place to describe the chemical
nature of the elementary substances, and still less to enu¬
merate the whole of those marks by which the chemist can
detect their presence. Our object is limited principally to
the conduct of minerals before the blowpipe, and to a few
simple tests by which their more important constituents
may be discovered by the student.
I.—NOX-METALLIC ELEMENTS, AND THEIR COMBINATIONS
WITH OXYGEN.
Nitric Acid.—Most of its salts detonate when heated on
charcoal. In the closed tube they form nitrous acid, easily
known by its orange colour and smell; a test more clearly
exhibited when the salt is mixed with copper filings and
treated with concentrated sulphuric acid. When to the
solution of a nitrate, a fourth part of sulphuric acid is added,
and a fragment of green vitriol placed in it, the surrounding Alinera-
fluid becomes of a dark brown colour. logy-
Sulphur and its compounds, in the glass tube or on char-
coal, form sulphurous acid, easily known by its smell. The
minutest amount of sulphur or sulphuric acid may be
detected by melting the pulverized assay with two parts
soda and one part borax, and placing the bead moistened
with water on a plate of clean silver, which is then stained
brown or black. Solutions of sulphuric acid give with
chloride of barium a heavy white precipitate, insoluble in
acids.
Phosphoric Acid.—Most combinations with this acid
tinge the blowpipe flame green, especially if previously
moistened with sulphuric acid. The experiment must be
performed in the dark, when even three per cent, of the
acid may be detected. If the assay is melted with six parts
of soda, digested in water, filtered, and neutralized with
acetic acid, the solution forms an orange-yellow layer round
a crystal of nitrate of silver. This solution, with muriate
of magnesia, forms a white crystalline precipitate.
Selenium and Selenic Acid are readily detected by the
strong smell of decayed horse-radish, and leave a gray
deposit with a metallic lustre on the charcoal.
Chlorine and its salts. When oxide of copper is melted
with salt of phosphorus into a very dark-green bead, and
an assay containing chlorine fused with this, the flame is
tinged of a beautiful reddish blue colour, till all the chlorine
is driven off. If very little chlorine is present, the assay is
dissolved in nitric acid (if not soluble it must first be melted
with soda on platinum wire), and the diluted solution gives,
with nitrate of silver, a precipitate of chloride of silver,
which is first white, but on exposure to the light becomes
gradually brown, and at length black.
Iodine and its salts, treated like chlorine, impart a very
beautifid bright-green colour to the flame; and heated in
the closed tube with sulphate of potash, yield violet-coloured
vapours. In solution it gives, with nitrate of silver, a preci¬
pitate similar to chlorine, but which is very difficultly solu¬
ble in ammonia. Its surest test is the blue colour it imparts
to starch, best seen by pouring concentrated sulphuric acid
over the mineral in a test tube which has a piece of paper
or cotton covered with moist starch over its mouth.
Bromine and its salts, treated in the same manner with
salt of phosphorus and oxide of copper, colour the blowpipe
flame greenish blue. In the closed tube with nitrate of
potassa they yield bromine vapours, known by their yellow
colour and peculiar disagreeable smell. Treated with sul¬
phuric acid, bromine in a few hours colours starch pome¬
granate-yellow.
Fluorine is shown by heating the assay with sulphate of
potassa, in a closed tube with a strip of logwood paper in
the open end. The paper becomes straw-yellow, and the
glass is corroded. Another test is to heat the pulverized
mineral with concentrated sulphuric acid in a shallow dish
of platinum (or lead), over which a plate of glass covered
with a coat of wax, through which lines have been drawn
with a piece of sharp-pointed wood, is placed. If fluorine
is present the glass is etched where exposed.
Boracic Acid.—The mineral alone, or moistened with
sulphuric acid when melting, colours the flame moment¬
arily green. If the assay be heated with sulphuric acid,
and alcohol added, and set on fire, the flame is coloured
green from the vapours of the boracic acid.
Carbon, pulverized and heated with saltpetre, detonates,
leaving carbonate of potassa. Carbonic acid is not easily
discovered with the blowpipe, but the minerals containing
it effervesce in hydrochloric acid, and the colourless gas
that escapes renders litmus paper red. In solution it forms
a precipitate with lime-water, with is again dissolved with
effervescence in acids.
Silica, before the blowpipe, alone is unchanged ; is very
MINER
ilinera- slowly acted on by borax, very little by salt of phosphorus,
lo£y- but with soda melts entirely with a brisk effervescence into
a clear glass. The silicates are decomposed by salt of
phosphorus, the silica being left in the bead as a powder
or a skeleton. Most of them melt with soda to a trans¬
parent glass. Some silicates are dissolved in hydrochloric
acid, and this the more readily the more powerful the
basis, the less proportion of silica, and the greater the
amount of water they contain. Sometimes the acid only
extracts the basis, leaving the silica as a powder or jelly; or
the silica too is dissolved, and only gelatinizes on evapo¬
ration. The insoluble silicates may be first melted with
some carbonate of an alkali, when the solution gelatinizes,
and finally leaves a dry residuum of which the part insolu¬
ble in warm hydrochloric acid has all the properties of
silica.
II-—THE ALKALIES AKD EARTHS.
Ammonia, heated with soda in a closed tube, is readily
known by its smell. Its salts, heated with solution of
potassa, also yield the vapour, known from its smell, its
action on turmeric paper, and the white fumes that rise
from a glass tube tipped in hydrochloric acid held over it.
Soda imparts a reddish-yellow colour to the external
flame when the assay is fused or kept at a strong red heat.
In solution it yields no precipitate with chloride of platinum
or sulphate of alumina.
Lithia is best recognised by the beautiful carmine-red
colour it imparts to the flame during the fusion of a mineral
containing it in considerable amount. Where the propor¬
tion is small, the colour appears if the assay be mixed with
1 part fluor spar and 1^- parts sulphate of potassa. In
concentrated solutions it forms a precipitate with the phos¬
phate and carbonate of soda, but none with bichloride of
platinum, sulphate of alumina, or acetic acid.
Potassa gives a violet colour to the external cone, when
the assay is heated at the extremity of the oxidating flame.
The presence of lithia or soda, however, disturbs this re¬
action. It may still be discovered by melting the assay in
borax glass coloured brown by nickel oxide, which is
changed to blue by the potassa. In concentrated solutions
of potassa the bichloride of platinum gives a citron-yellow
precipitate ; acetic acid a white, granular precipitate ; and
sulphate of alumina, after some time, a deposit of alum-
crystals.
Baryta.—The carbonate of this earth melts easily to a
clear glass, milk-white when cold; the sulphate is verv
difficultly fusible. Both strongly heated at the point of
the blue flame impart a green tinge to the outer flame.
When combined with silica it cannot be well discovered by
the blowpipe. In solution, salts of baryta yield, with sul¬
phuric acid or solution of sulphate of lime, immediately a
fine white precipitate insoluble in acids or alkalies.
Strontia, the carbonate, even in thin plates, only melts
on the edges, and forms cauliflower-like projections of
dazzling brightness; the sulphate melts easily in the oxi¬
dating flame, and in the reducing flame is changed into
sulphuret of strontium, which, dissolved in hydrochloric
acid, and evaporated to dryness, gives a fine carmine-red
colour to the flame of alcohol. Strontia in solution gives
a precipitate with sulphuric acid, or with sulphate of lime,
but not immediately.
Lime.—The carbonate is rendered caustic by heat, when
it has alkaline properties, and readily absorbs water. The
sulphate in the reducing flame changes to the sulphuret
of calcium, which is also alkaline. Sulphuric acid preci¬
pitates lime only from very concentrated solutions; oxalic
acid even from very weak ones; and silico-hydrofluoric acid
not at all. As baryta and strontia also form precipitates
with the first two reagents, they must previously be sepa-
VOL. XT.
A L O G Y. 65
rated by sulphate of potassa. Chloride of calcium tinges Minera-
the flame of alcohol yellowish-red. logy.
Magnesia, alone, or as a hydrate, a carbonate, and in some
other combinations, when ignited with solution of cobalt,
or the oxalate of cobalt, assumes a light-red tint. It is not
precipitated from a solution either by sulphuric acid, oxalic
acid, or silico-hydrofluoric acid ; but phosphoric acid, with
ammonia, throws down a white crystalline precipitate of
phosphate of ammonia and magnesia.
Alumina alone is infusible. In many combinations, when
ignited with solution of cobalt, it assumes a fine blue colour.
It is thrown down by potassa or soda as a white voluminous
precipitate, which in excess of the alkali is easily and com¬
pletely soluble, but is again precipitated by muriate of
ammonia. Carbonate of ammonia also produces a precipi¬
tate which is not soluble in excess.
Glucina, Yttria, Zirconia, and Thorina are not pro¬
perly distinguished by blowpipe tests, though the minerals
in which they occur are well marked in this way. In
solution glucina acts with potassa like alumina; but the
precipitate with carbonate of ammonia is again soluble,
with excess of the alkali, and the two earths may thus be
separated. Yttria is precipitated by potassa, but is not
again dissolved by excess of the alkali. With carbonate
of ammonia it acts like glucina. It must be observed,
however, that the substance formerly named yttria is now
considered a mixture of this earth with the oxides of erbium,
terbium, and lanthanium. Zirconia acts with potassa like
yttria, and with carbonate of ammonia like glucina. Con¬
centrated sulphate of potassa throws down a double salt
of zirconia and potassa, which is very little soluble in pure
water.
III.—THE METALS.
Arsenic and its sulphuret on charcoal yield fumes, with
a smell like garlic, and sublime in the closed tube. The
greater number of alloys of arsenic in the reducing flame
leave a white deposit on the charcoal ; or where it is in
larger proportion, give out grayish-white fumes with a smell
of garlic. Some alloys also yield metallic arsenic in the
closed tube. In the open tube all of them yield arsenious
acid, and those containing sulphur also sulphurous fumes.
Many arsenic acid salts emit evident odours of arsenic when
heated on charcoal with soda; and some sublime metallic
arsenic when heated with pulverized charcoal in the closed
tube.
Antimony melts easily on charcoal, emiting dense white
fumes, and leaving a ring of white crystalline oxide on the
support. In the closed tube it does not sublime, but burns
in the open tube with white smoke, leaving a sublimate on
the glass, which is easily driven from place to place by heat.
Most of its compounds, with sulphur or with the other
metals, show similar reaction. Antimony oxide on char¬
coal melts easily, fumes, and is reduced, colouring the flame
pale greenish-blue.
Bismuth melts easily, fumes, and leaves a yellow oxide
on the charcoal. In the closed tube it does not sublime,
and in the open tube scarcely fumes, but is surrounded by
the fused oxide, dark-brown when warm, and bright-yellow
when cold. Its oxides are easily reduced. A great addi¬
tion of water produces a white precipitate from its solution
in nitric acid.
Tellurium fumes on charcoal, and becomes surrounded
by a white mark with a reddish border, which, when the
reducing flame is turned on it, disappears with a bluish-
green light. In the closed tube tellurium gives a subli¬
mate of the gray metal; and in the open tube produces
copious fumes, and a white powder which can be melted
into small clear drops.
Mercury in all its combinations is volatile, and yields a
T
66 MINER ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- metallic sublimate when heated alone, or with tin or soda
logy- in the closed tube.
” Zinc, when heated with soda on charcoal, forms a deposit,
which, when warm, is yellow ; when cold, white ; is tinged
of a fine green by solution of cobalt, and is not further
volatile in the oxidating flame. In solution zinc is preci¬
pitated by potassa as a white gelatinous hydrate, easily
redissolved in the excess of the alkali.
Fin forms a white deposit on the charcoal behind the
assay, which takes a bluish-green colour with the solution
of cobalt. The oxide is easily reduced by soda.
Lead forms a sulphur-yellow deposit with a white
border on the charcoal when heated in the oxidating flame,
and with soda is easily reduced. The solutions of its salts
are colourless, but give a black precipitate with sulphuretted
hydrogen; with sulphuric acid a white, and with chromate
of potassa a yellow, precipitate.
Cadmium produces, with soda, a reddish-brown or
orange-yellow ring, with iridescent border on the charcoal,
and also on platinum-foil.
Manganese alone, melted with borax or salt of phos¬
phorus on the platinum wire in the oxidating flame, forms a
fine amethystine glass, which becomes colourless in the
reducing flame. In combination with other metals, the
pulverized assay mixed with two or three times as much soda,
and melted in the oxidating flame on platinum-foil, forms
a bluish-green glass. Potassa or ammonia throws down
from solutions of its salts a white hydrate, which in the
air becomes gradually dark-brown.
Cobalt, melted with borax in the oxidating flame, gives
a beautiful blue glass. Minerals of metallic aspect must
be first roasted on charcoal. The salts of protoxide of co¬
balt form bright-red solutions, from which potassa throws
down a blue flaky hydrate, which becomes olive-green in
the air.
Nickel, the assay, first roasted in the open tube and on
charcoal, produces in the oxidating flame, with borax, a
glass, which hot, is reddish or violet-brown; when cold,
yellowish or dark red; and by the addition of saltpetre
changes to blue. In the reducing flame the glass appears
gray. With salt of phosphorus the reaction is similar, but
the glass is almost colourless when cold. The salts in so¬
lution have a bright-green colour, and with potassa form a
green precipitate of hydrated nickel-oxide, which is un¬
changed in the air.
Copper may in most cases be discovered by melting
the assay (if apparently metallic, first roasted) with borax or
salt of phosphorus in the oxidating flame, when an opaque
reddish-brown glass is produced, a small addition of tin
aiding in the result. In the reducing flame the glass, when
warm, is green ; when cold, blue. With soda metallic copper
is produced. A small proportion of copper may often be
detected by heating the assay, moistened with hydrochloric
acid, in the oxidating flame, which is then tinged of a beau¬
tiful green colour. Solutions of its salts are blue or green,
and produce a brownish-black precipitate, with sulphuretted
hydrogen. Ammonia at first throws down a pale-green or
blue precipitate, but in excess produces a very fine blue
colour.
Silver in the metallic state is at once known, and from
many combinations can be readily extracted on charcoal
with soda. From its solution in nitric acid silver is thrown
down by hydrochloric acid as a white chloride, which in
the light soon becomes black, is soluble in ammonia, and
can again be precipitated from this solution by nitric acid
as chloride of silver.
Gold, when pure, is readily known, and is easily separated
from its combinations with tellurium on charcoal. If the
giain is white, it contains more silver than gold, and must
then be heated in a porcelain capsule with nitric acid, which
gives it a black colour, and gradually removes the silver, if
the gold is only a fourth part or less. If the proportion of
gold is greater, the nitro-chloric acid must be used, which
then removes the gold. From its solution in this acid the
protochloride of tin throws down a purple precipitate (pur¬
ple of Cassius), and the sulphate of iron, metallic gold.
Platinum, and the metals usually found with it, cannot be
separated from each other by heat. Only the Osmium-
indium strongly heated in the closed tube with saltpetre
is decomposed, forming osmium acid, known from its pecu¬
liar pungent odour. The usual mixture of platinum grains
is soluble in nitro-chloric acid, leaving osmium-iridium.
From this solution the platinum is thrown down by sal-
ammonia as a double chloride of platinum and ammonium.
From the solution evaporated, and again diluted, with
cyanide of mercury, the palladium separates as cyanide of
palladium. The rhodium may be separated by its property
of combining with fused bisulphate of potassa, which is not
the case with platinum or iridium.
Cerium, when no iron-oxide is present, produces, with
borax and salt of phosphorus, in the oxidating flame, a red
or dark-yellow glass, which becomes very pale when cold,
and colourless in the reducing flame. Lanthanium oxide
forms a white colourless glass; didgmium a dark amethyst¬
ine glass.
Iron, the peroxide and hydrated peroxide, become black
and magnetic before the blowpipe, and form, with borax or
salt of phosphorus, in the oxidating flame, a dark-red glass,
becoming bright-yellow when cold; and in the reducing
flame, especially on adding tin, an olive-green or mountain-
green glass. The peroxide colours a bead of borax con¬
taining copper oxide bluish-green ; the protoxide produces
red spots. Salts of protoxide of iron form a green solution,
from which potassa or ammonia throws down the protoxide
as a hydrate, which is first white, then dirty-green, and
finally yellowish-brown. Carbonate of lime produces no
precipitate. The salts of the peroxide, on the other hand,
form yellow solutions from which the peroxide is thrown
down by potassa or ammonia as a flaky-brown hydrate.
Carbonate of lime also causes a precipitate.
Chromium forms, with borax or salt of phosphorus, a glass,
fine emerald-green when cold, though when hot often
yellowish or reddish. Its solutions are usually green, and
the metal is thrown down by potassa as a bluish-green
hydrate, again dissolved in excess of the alkali. The chrome
in many minerals is very certainly discovered by melting
the assay with three times its bulk of saltpetre, which,
dissolved in water, gives with acetate of lead a yellow pre¬
cipitate.
Vanadium, melted on platinum wire with borax or salt
of phosphorus, gives a fine green glass in the reducing
flame, which becomes yellowor brown in the oxidating flame,
distinguishing it from chrome.
Uranium, with salt of phosphorus, forms in the oxidating
flame a clear yellow; in the reducing flame a fine green
glass. 'W ith borax its reaction is similar to that of iron.
Molybdenum forms in the reducing flame, with salt of
phosphorus, a green ; with borax, a brown glass.
Tungsten or Wolfram forms, with salt of phosphorus, in the
oxidating flame, a colourless or yellow, in the reducing flame,
a very beautiful blue glass, which appears green when warm.
When accompanied by iron the glass is blood-red, not
blue. Or melt the assay with five times as much soda in
a platinum spoon, dissolve it in water, filter, and decompose
the result with hydrochloric acid, which throws down the
tungstic acid, which is white when cold, but citron-yellow
when heated.
Tantalium, as tantalic acid, is readily dissolved by salt
of phosphorus, and in large quantity into a colourless glass,
which does not become opaque in cooling, and does not
acquire a blue colour from solution of cobalt. Or fuse the
assay with two times as much saltpetre, and three times as
Minera¬
logy-
MINERALOGY.
Minera- much soda, in a platinum spoon; dissolve this, filter, and
l0Sy- decompose the fluid by hydrochloric acid: the tantalic acid
separates as a white powder, which does not become yellow
when heated.
Titanium in anatase, rutile, brookite, and titanite,is shown
by the assay forming, with salt of phosphorus, in the oxi¬
dating flame, a glass which is and remains colourless; in
the reducing flame, a glass which appears yellow when
hot, and whilst cooling passes through red into a beautiful
violet. When iron is present, however, the glass is blood-
red, but is changed to violet by adding tin. When titanate
of iron is dissolved in hydrochloric acid, and the solution
boiled with a little tin, it acquires a violet colour from the
oxide of titanium. ■ Heated with concentrated sulphuric
acid, the titanate of iron produces a blue colour.
Chap. IV.—CLASSIFICATION OF MINERALS.
A mineral species was formerly defined as a natural in¬
organic body, possessing a definite chemical composition
and peculiar external form. The account given of these
properties shows that the form of a mineral species com¬
prehends not only the primary or fundamental figure, but
all those that may be derived from it by the laws of crys¬
tallography. Irregularities of form arising from accidental
causes, or that absence of form which results from the
limited space in which the mineral has been produced, do
not destroy the identity of the species. Even amorphous
masses, when the chemical composition remains unaltered,
are properly classed under the same species, as the perfect
crystal.
The definite chemical composition of mineral species
must be taken with equal latitude. Pure substances, such
as they are described in works on chemistry, are very rare
in the mineral kingdom. In the most transparent quartz
crystals traces of alumina and iron oxide can be detected;
the purest spinel contains a small amount of silica, and the
most brilliant diamond, consumed by the solar rays, leaves
some ash behind. Such non-essential mixtures must be
neglected, or each individual crystal would form a distinct
mineral species. The isomorphous elements introduce a
wider range of varieties, and render the limitation of species
more difficult. Carbonate of lime, for instance, becomes
mixed with carbonate of magnesia or of iron in almost
innumerable proportions; and the latter substances also with
the former. Where these mixtures are small in amount,
variable in different specimens, and do not greatly affect
the form or physical characters of the predominant element,
they may safely be neglected, and the mineral reckoned to
that species with which it most closely agrees. Where,
however, the mixture is greater, and the two substances
are frequently found in definite chemical proportions, these
compounds must be considered as distinct species, espe¬
cially should they also show differences in form and other
external characters.
Amorphous minerals with definite composition must also
be considered as true species. But when they show no
definite composition, as in many substances classed as clays
and ochi es, they cannot be accounted true mineral species,
and properly ought not to be included in a treatise on
mineralogy. Some of them, however, from their import¬
ance in the arts, others from other circumstances, have re¬
ceived distinct names and a kind of prescriptive right to a
place in mineralogical works, from which they can now
scarcely be banished. Many of them are properly rocks,
or indefinite combinations of two or more minerals • others
are the mere products of the decomposition of such bodies.
Their number is of course indefinite, and their introduction
tends much to render mineralogy more complex and diffi¬
cult, and to destroy its scientific character.
In collecting the species into higher groups, and arrang¬
ing them in a system, several methods have been pursued.
Some, like Mohs, have looked only at the external charac-
teis, and asserted that they alone were sufficient for all the
purposes of arranging and classifying minerals. Others,
led by Berzelius, have, on the contrary, taken chemistry as
the foundation of mineralogy, and classed the species by
their composition, without reference to form or physical
characters.
Neither system can be exclusively adopted, and a na¬
tural classification of minerals should take into account all
their characters, and that in proportion to their relative
importance. Among these the chemical composition un¬
doubtedly holds a high rank, as being that on which the
other properties will probably be ultimately found to de¬
pend. Next in order is their crystalline form, especially
as exhibited in cleavage; and then their other characters
of gravity, hardness, and tenacity. But the properties of
minerals are as yet far from showing that subordination
and co-relation which has been observed in the organic
world, where the external forms and structures have a direct
reference to the functions of the living being. Hence even
when all the characters are taken into account, there is not
that facility in classifying the mineral that is presented by
the other kingdoms of nature. Many, or rather most, of
the species stand so isolated that it is scarcely possible to
find any general principle on which to collect them into
larger groups, especially such groups as, like the natural
families of plants and animals, present important features
of general resemblance, and admit of being described by
common characteristics. Certain groups "of species are
indeed united by such evident characters, that they are
found together in almost every method; but other species
are not thus united, and the general order of arrangement
is very uncertain. Hence, though some classifications of
very considerable merit have been proposed, no natural
system of minerals commanding general assent has yet
appeared.
The arrangement followed in this treatise is chiefly
founded on that proposed by Professor Weiss of Berlin.
We have, however, made considerable changes, which the
progress of the science and the more accurate knowledge
of many species require. This classification appears to
us to come nearer than any other we have seen to a
natural system, which in arranging and combining objects
takes account of all their characters, and assigns them their
place, from a due consideration of their whole nature, and
is thus distinguished from artificial systems, which classify
objects with reference only to one character.
Besides species, two higher grades in classification seem
sufficient at once to exhibit the natural relations, and to
facilitate an easy and complete review of the species com¬
posing the mineral kingdom. These are families and orders.
In forming the families those minerals are first selected
which occupy the more important place in the composition
of rocks, and consequently in the crust of the globe. Thus
quartz, felspar, mica, hornblende, garnet, among siliceous
minerals; calc-spar, gypsum, rock-salt, less so fluor spar
and heavy spar, among those of saline composition, stand
out prominently as the natural centres or representatives of
so many distinct families. To these certain metallic mine¬
rals, as iron pyrites, lead-glance or galena, blende, magnetic
iron ore, the sparry iron ore, and a few more, are readily
associated as important families. But the minerals thus
geologically distinguished are not sufficient to divide the
whole mineral kingdom into convenient sections, and addi¬
tional groups must be selected from the peculiarity of their
natural-historical or chemical properties. Thus the zeo¬
lites are easily seen to form such a natural group. The
precious stones or gems also, notwithstanding their diverse
chemical composition, must ever appear a highly natural
67
Mincra-
68
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Min era- family, when regarded as individual objects. Their great
v Iogy' , hardness, tenacity, high specific gravity without the me-
^ v tallic aspect, their brilliant lustre, transparent purity, and
vivid colours, all mark them out as a peculiar group.
Only the diamond, which might naturally seem to take the
chief place in this class, differs so much, not only in ele¬
mentary composition, but in physical properties, that it
must be assigned to a diverse place.
Hound these species thus selected the other less im¬
portant minerals are arranged in groups or families. It is
evident that no precise definition of these families can be
given, as the connection is one of resemblance in many
points, not of identity in any single character. In other
words, it is a classification rather according to types than
from definitions, as every true natural classification must
be. The same cause, however, leaves the extent of the
families somewhat undefined, and also permits considerable
license in the arrangement of species. But both circum¬
stances are rather of advantage in the present state of the
science, as allowing more freedom in the grouping of spe¬
cies than could be obtained in a more rigid system of clas¬
sification.
In collecting the families into orders, the guidance of
chemistry is followed rather than of natural history, though
the latter is also taken into consideration. Chemical names
are assigned to the orders, but still regarded as names
derived from the prevailing chemical characters, and not as
definitions. Hence it must not be considered an error
should two or three mineral species be found in an order
with whose name, viewed as a definition, they may not
agree.
Guided by these, and similar considerations, minerals
may be divided into the following orders and families :—
Order. I.—The Oxidized Stones.
Families:—1. Quartz.
2. Felspar.
3. Scapolite.
4. Haloid stones,
o. Leucite.
6. Zeolite.
7. Mica.
8. Serpentine,
9. Hornblende.
10. Clays.
11. Garnet.
12. Gems.
13. Metallic stones.
Order II.—Saline Stones.
Families :—1. Calc spar. 4. Gypsum.
2. Fluor spar. 5. Rock salt.
3. Heavy spar.
Order III.—Saline Ores.
Families .-
-1. Sparry iron ores.
2. Iron salts.
3. Copper salts.
4. Lead salts.
Order IV.—Oxidized Ores.
Families: 1. Iron ores. 4. Red cojiper ores.
2. Tinstone. 5. White antimony ores.
3. Manganese ores.
Order V.—Native Metals.
Form only one family.
Order VI.—Sulphuretted Metals.
Families:—1. Iron pyrites. 4. Gray copper ore.
2. Galena. 5. Blende.
3. Gray antimony ore. 6. Ruby-blende.
Order VII.—The Inflammables.
Families:—1. Sulphur. 4. Mineral resins.
2. Diamond. 5. Combustible salts.
3. Coal.
In describing the species we have followed this general
plan, hirst, that name which it seems most expedient to
adopt is given, with the principal synonyms, followed in the
same line by the probable chemical formula. In these, silica
is commonly assumed as Si; but we have given also the
formula with Si for the more important species. In the
descriptions the system of crystallization is noted, and the
mineral more precisely characterized, by enumerating some
of its more common forms and combinations with their
characteristic angles. The physical characters of the spe¬
cies, its state of aggregation, cleavage, fracture, hardness
(H.), and specific gravity (G.), follow; then its lustre,
pellucidity, colour, and any other marked peculiarities.
Next come its chemical characters, or its conduct before
the blowpipe (B.B.), and the effect of acids, specially the
hydrochloric (//.), nitric (?*.), and sulphuric (a.). The che¬
mical composition, or the amount of the different elements
in 100 parts, generally deduced from the formula, but with
notices of the more important variations indicated by the
best analyses either from the substitution of isomorphous
elements or other substances, are then noted. The prin¬
cipal localities where each species occurs, especially in our
own country, with certain miscellaneous particulars, con¬
clude the description.
We have also given similar characters of the orders and
families, so far as this was possible. These, of course, apply
chiefly to the more important and better marked or typ¬
ical species (indicated by one or two asterisks [* or * *]
prefixed to the name), but in many points are also descrip¬
tive of the others. The possibility of forming such general
characters is the best proof that the groups are so far natural,
and that the object of a scientific classification has been par¬
tially at least attained.
Miners
logy.
PART II.—DESCRIPTION OF MINERAL SPECIES.
Order L—THE OXIDIZED STONES.
The minerals contained in this order are either simple
oxides, or compounds of oxides. Oxides of the true metals
are not abundant, and occur generally as isomorphous with, or
replacing, the earths and alkalies which compose the greater
number. They have all a stony character, non-metallic
lustre and colours, and are often white and more or less
translucent, except the family of the Metallic Stones, which
forms a transition group to the following order.
** Family I.—Quartz.
Contains, only one true species, and hence no general
characteristic. Quartz is the true type or representative of
the mineral kingdom.
**1.—Quartz—Si’, or Si’.
_ Hexagonal; the purest varieties tetartohedrai. The
primary pyramid P has the middle edge
= 103° 34', and the polar edges =133°
44, and is often perfect. Very frequently
it appears as a rhombohedron R (or
£P), with polar edges = 94° 15'. Crys¬
tals often of ocP.P; ccP . P . 4 P, the
forms ccP and 4P being combined in
an oscillatory manner, producing striae
on the face of the prism; ocP . P .
1(2 P 2) (fig. 101), the last face appear¬
ing as a rhomb replacing the angles
between the two other forms. They
are prismatic, or pyramidal, or rhom-
bohedric when P is divided into R
and — R; the latter very often want¬
ing.
MINERALOGY.
69
Minera- Twins or macles common, with parallel axes, and either
logy. merely in juxtaposition (see fig. 80), or interpenetrating.
' The crystals occur either single, attached, or imbedded, or
in groups and druses. Most frequently granular, massive,
fibrous, or columnar; also in pseudomorphs, petrifactions,
and other forms. Cleavage, rhombohedric along R very
imperfect; prismatic along coP still more imperfect. Frac¬
ture conchoidal, uneven, or splintery. H = 7; G = 2,o...2*8,
or 2-65 in the purest varieties. Colourless, but more often
white, gray, yellow, brown, red, blue, green, or even black.
Lustre vitreous, inclining to resinous ; transparent or trans¬
lucent, sometimes almost opaque. B.B. infusible alone;
with soda effervesces and melts into a clear glass ; insolu¬
ble in acids, except the fluoric; when pulverized, slightly
soluble in solution of potash. Chem. com. 48-04 silicium
and 51-96 oxygen, but frequently a small amount of the
oxides of iron or titanium, of lime, alumina, and other sub¬
stances.
Varieties are,—Rock-crystal, highly transparent and
colourless; Dauphine, Switzerland, Tyrol, Hungary, Mada¬
gascar, and Ceylon. Amethyst, violet-blue (from iron per¬
oxide or manganese), and often marked by zig-zag or undu¬
lating lines, and the colour disposed in clouds; Siberia,
Persia, India, Ceylon, Brazil (white or yellow named topaz),
Hungary, Siebenburg, Ireland, near Cork, and Aberdeen¬
shire. Wine yellow, or citrin and gold topaz ; the brown
or smoky quartz; and the black or morion; Siberia, Bohe¬
mia, Pennsylvania, and other places. Cairngorm stone,
brown or yellow; Aberdeenshire mountains. The above
are valued as ornamental stones ; less so :—
Rose-quartz, red inclining to violet-blue; Ben Mac-
dhui, and Ilabenstein in Bavaria. Milk-quartz, milk-
white and slightly opalescent; Greenland. Prase, leek,
and other shades of green; Saxony and Cedar Mountain
in South Africa. CaCs-eye, greenish-white or gray, olive-
green, red, brown, or yellow; Ceylon and Malabar. Avan-
turine, yellow, red, or brown; India, Spain, and Scotland.
Siderite, indigo or Berlin blue ; Gelling in Salzburg.
Common quartz, crystallized or massive, white or gray,
also red, brown, &c., is a frequent constituent in many rocks.
Some varieties are so impure as to be properly rocks, as—
(1.) Ferruginous quartz, or iron-flint, red, yellow, or
brown, often associated with iron ores.
(2.) Jasper, red, yellow, or brown, but also green, gray,
white, and black alone, or in spots, veins, and hands {Ribbon
or Egyptian jasper)-, the Ural, Tuscan Apennines, the
Harz, and many parts of Scotland.
(3.) Lydian stone, ox flinty slate, black, gray, or white ;
has a splintery or conchoidal fracture, breaks into irregular
fragments, and passes by many transitions into clay slate,
of which it is often merely an altered portion, as in Scot¬
land ; used as a touchstone for gold, and at Elfdal manu¬
factured into ornaments.
(4.) Hornstone or chert, compact, conchoidal splintery
fracture; translucent on the edges, and dirty gray, red,
yellow, green, or brown; passes into flint, flinty slate, or
common quartz ; common in the mountain limestone, oolite,
and greensand formations ; and often contains petrifactions,
as shells, madrepores, and wood.
Other siliceous minerals seem intermediate between
quartz and opal, as,—Flint, grayish-white, gray, or grayish-
black, also yellow, red, or brown; sometimes in clouds, spots,
or stripes; semitransparent; lustre dull; fracture flat conchoi¬
dal ; occurs chiefly in the chalk formation of England,
North Ireland, Aberdeenshire, France, Germany, and other
countries; sometimes in beds or vertical veins, oftener
in irregular lumps or concretions, inclosing petrifactions, as
sponges, echinites, shells, or siliceous infusoria. The colour
is partly derived from carbon or organic matter. It is used
for gun-flints, and for the manufacture of glass and pottery,
and cut into cameos or other ornaments.
Calcedony, semitransparent or translucent; white, gray,
blue, green, yellow, or brown; stalactitic, reniform, or
botryoidal, and in pseudomorphs or petrifactions ; Trevas-
cus mine in Cornwall, Scotland, Hungary, Tyrol, Bohemia,
Oberstein. Carnelian, chiefly blood-red, but also yellow,
brown, or almost black; India, Arabia, Surinam, and Siberia;
also Bohemia, Saxony, and Scotland (Perthshire). Plasma,
leek or grass-green, and waxy lustre; Olympus, Schwarz-
wald, India, and China. Chrysoprase, apple-green ; Silesia,
and Vermont in North America. Heliotrope or bloodstone,
dark-green, sprinkled with deep-red spots; Siberia, Bohe¬
mia, the Fassa Valley, the Island of Rum and other parts
of Scotland. Agates, mixtures chiefly of calcedony in
layers, with jasper, amethyst, or common quartz, abound
in the amygdaloids of our own and other countries. Onyx,
alternate layers of white, brown, or black, was much used
in ancient times for cameos.
Some crystals are remarkable for their great size, as one
in the Museum at Paris, measuring 3 feet in diameter, and
weighing nearly 8 cwt. Other specimens contain cavi¬
ties inclosing various substances, more than 24 known, as
silver, iron pyrites, rutile, magnetite, tremolite, amianthus,
mica, tourmaline, topaz; also air, water, naphtha, or other
fluids.
*2. Opal.—Si, H.
Amorphous ; fracture conchoidal; very brittle. H.
— 5'5...6-o; G. = 2...2‘2. Transparent toopaque; vitreous,
inclining to resinous. Colourless, but often white, yellow,
red, brown, green, or gray, with a beautiful play of colours.
B.B. decrepitates and becomes opaque, but is infusible;
in the closed tube yields water; almost wholly soluble in
solution of potash. Chem. com., silica, with 5 to 13 per
cent, water ; or probably a mere hardened natural gelatine
of silica with water as an accidental mixture.
Varieties are,—(1.) Hyalite, glassy-opal, or Muller’s
glass, transparent, colourless, very glassy; small botryoidal
or incrusting; Frankfort on the Maine, Kaiserstuhl in the
Breisgau, Schemnitz in Hungary, in Silesia, Moravia,
Mexico, and other places. (2.) Fire-opal or girasol, trans¬
parent, brilliant vitreous lustre; bright hyacinth red or
yellow; Zimapan in Mexico, and the Faroe Islands. (3.)
Noble opal, semitransparent or translucent; resinous inclin¬
ing to vitreous; bluish or yellowish-white, with brilliant
prismatic colours; in irregular masses or veins at Czernewitza
near Eperies in Hungary, Frankfort, and Gracios a Dios in
Honduras. (4.) Common opal, semitransparent, vitreous ;
white, yellow, green, red, or brown; Hungary, also Faroe,
Iceland, the Giant’s Causeway, and the Western Isles of
Scotland. (5.) Semi-opal, duller and less pellucid. Wood-
opal or lithoxylon, with the form and texture of wood
distinctly seen ; Hungary, also Bohemia, and near Hobart’s
Town in Tasmania. (6.) Menilite, compact, reniform;
opaque and brown or bluish-gray ; Mont Menil near Paris.
(7.) Opal jaspar, blood-red, brown, or yellow. (8.) Cacho-
long, opaque, dull, glimmering, or pearly, and yellowish or
rarely reddish-white ; in veins or reniform and incrusting;
Faroe, Iceland, the Giant’s Causeway, and in Bucharia.
One variety is named Hydrophone, from imbibing water
and becoming translucent. (9.) Siliceous sinter, deposited
from the Geyser and other hot springs near volcanoes ; and
Pearl sinter, incrusting volcanic tufa at Santa Fiora in Tus¬
cany {Fiorite), in Italy, und in Auvergne. That from the
Geyser contains 84*4 silica, 3T alumina, P9 peroxide of iron,
IT magnesia, 07 lime, 09 potash and soda, and 7-9 water.
2 b. Earthy Silica.—(a.) Spongiform quartz, coarse
earthy, soft and often friable, and yellow or grayish-white;
porous, and swims on water till saturated; St Ouennear Paris.
(6.) Tripoli, coarse or fine earthy; white, gray, or yellow;
near Tripoli in Africa, Corfu, Bohemia, Saxony, and Bava¬
ria. (c.) Polishing slate {Polirschiefer), white or yellow;
slaty texture, opaque, brittle, and swims on water; at Bilin
Minera-
logy.
70
Minera-
logy.
MINER ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
in Bohemia ; consists of the siliceous remains of animals or
plants (Diatomaceai). (d.) Adhesive slate, from Montmartre
near Paris; and (c.) Mountain meal, snow-white, pearly,
gray, or greenish; have a similar origin; Santa Fiora in
Tuscany, Oberohe in Hanover, Kymmenegard in Sweden
(where used as food), in Bohemia, and the Isle of France.
** Family II.—Felspar.
Crystallization monoclinohedric or triclinohedric, both very
similar in aspect and angles. Cleavage very distinct, espe¬
cially the basal P; less so the clino- or brachy-diagonal M.
G. = 2*4...3'2, but mostly 2,5...2’8; H. = 6, or a little
more. Slightly or not at all soluble in acids. B.B. fusible,
but often with difficulty. Translucent, pure varieties highly
transparent. Colourless, white, or shades of red; less com¬
mon, green or yellow. Chem. com. anhydrous silicates of
alumina, and of an alkali or lime.
The felspars are very important constituents of the earth’s
crust, occurring in nearly all the igneous rocks, and in many
of the stratified crystalline schists. In true strata, they are
found chiefly as fragments or decomposed, and in the latter
state form a large part of most soils and clays. In the older
mineralogists and popular language many species are con¬
joined under the common name of felspar, which are now
considered as distinct, each of them having not only its
peculiar physical and chemical characters, but also geog¬
nostic position and associated group of minerals. Thus
orthoclase, and the other more siliceous felspars with potash,
abound in granite and the plutonic rocks; the less siliceous,
with soda and lime, characterize the volcanic rocks—as
labradorite the basaltic group, glassy felspar the trachytic.
Orthoclase occurs with quartz, hornblende, and mica;
glassy felspar only with hornblende and mica, or only with
augite; labradorite only with augite, rarely if ever with
quartz or hornblende.
The felspars are best known from similar minerals by
their hardness (scarce scratch with a good knife), difficult
fusibility, and unequal cleavages. The following marks
may aid the student in distinguishing the more common
species. If the basal cleavage plane is turned to the spec¬
tator, then in orthoclase it forms a right angle with the
clinodiagonal cleavage planes M on both hands; in albite,
oligoclase, and petalite it forms an obtuse angle with M
on his right hand; and in labradorite and anorthite on his
left hand. Orthoclase, albite, andesin, and oligoclase are in¬
soluble in acids; ryacolite, labradorite, and anorthite more
or less soluble.
S. von Waltershausen states that the felspars form a series
with the oxygen of the silica, alumina, and 11 = ^: 3: 1, in
■which x ranges from 24 to 4. Baulite (with 80 silica),
albite (69 silica), and anorthite (44 silica), being the three
true species, of which the others are mixtures, according to
a peculiar law (isomorphism of groups).
** 3. Orthoclase.—jy Si3 + K Si3, or -A1 Si3 + K S.
Monoclinohedric; C = 65° 47', ooP 118° 50', Poo 63° 53',
(2Poo ) 90, 2Pco 35° 12'. Crystals often of ocP . OP
. Pcc ; or ( ooPoo ) (M) . ooP (T, l)
. OP (P) . 2 Poo (y), (fig. 102), are
short rhombic prisms, when ooP pre¬
dominates ; or tabular when ( ocPoo ) •
or short hexagonal prismatic when ocP
and ( goPoo ); or rectangular prismatic
when OP and (ccPoo) predominate;
and occur single, attached, or in druses.
Macles are frequent, especially with
t le tu in axis parallel to the chief axis,
and often partially interpenetrating as
in fig. 103; also massive and coarse
or fine granular. Cleavage, basal (P)
Eig. 103.
and hemiprismatic ccP in traces. Fracture conchoidal or
uneven and splintery. H. = 6 ; G. =
2'53...2'58. Transparent to trans¬
lucent on the edges; vitreous, but
often pearly on the more perfect
cleavage; and also opalescent, with
bluish or changing colours. Colour¬
less, but generally red, yellow, gray,
or green. B.B. fuses with difficulty
to an opaque vesicular glass; not
affected by acids. Chem. com. 65'4
silica, 18 alumina, and 16'6 potash, but
generally 10 to 14 potash, 1 to 4 soda,
0 to 1*3 lime, 0 to 2 iron peroxide.
Varieties are, (1.) Adularm and Ice-spar, transparent
oi translucent, splendent, and almost or wholly colourless.
Some with a bluish opalescence are vvxmzd Moonstone;
St Gotthardtj Mont Blanc, Dauphine, Arendal, Southern
Norway, Greenland, and Ceylon.
(2.) Common felspar, less splendent and transparent, and
generally white or red, especially flesh-red, is a very com¬
mon constituent of many rocks. Crystals at Baveno on
Lago Maggiore, Lomnitz in Silesia, Mourne Mountains
and Wicklow in Ireland, Aberdeenshire (at Rubislaw, 4
or 5 inches long) in Scotland, and at Carlsbad and Eln-
bogen in Bohemia. Amazon stone, verdigris-green, from
Lake Ilmen; and Murchisonite, golden or grayish-yellow,
from Arran and Dawlish, seem varieties.
(30 The Glassy felspar or sanadine (C= 63° 55', oo P
119 13 ), contains 3to 12 potash, 3 to 10 soda, 0 to 3 lime,and
0 to2 magnesia. Crystals imbedded, yellowish-white or gray;
vitreous; transparent or translucent, and often much cracked;
Macles of common Felspar.
TtTGHT.
Fig. 101.
Fig. 102.
very perfect; clinodiagonal {M) perfect (P to M = 90°);
Drachenfels on the Rhine, Mont d’Or and other parts of
Auvergne, Hungary, Italy, Iceland, Mexico, Chili, and
other countries; also in Arran, Rum, and other parts of
Scotland. Ryacolite, from Vesuvius and Lake Laach, is
only a variety—the specimen analysed, having been im¬
pure. Loxoclase, from Hammond, New York, also a variety
with much soda. Baulite and Krahlite from Iceland,
probably mixtures with quartz.
Orthoclase occurs in granite, gneiss, and porphyry in
many countries. It is commonly associated with quartz,
sometimes, as in the graphic granite of Portsoy and Aber¬
deenshire, in regular combinations. It is very liable to de¬
composition, when it is converted especially into kaolin, used
for manufacturing porcelain and stoneware. The adularia
or moonstone, and the green amazon stone are cut as orna¬
mental stones.
Compact felspar, or feldstein, a mixture of orthoclase
and quartz, often harder than the pure mineral. G. = 2’59
...3. White, gray, red, or yellow, sometimes in spots or
bands. The softer varieties, or claystones, often bluish or
purplish. G. = 2‘21. B.B. most melt with difficulty to a
white enamel (hornstone is infusible). Common in the
porphyry rocks of many countries, as in Scotland (Cheviots,
Minera-
logy.
MINERALOGY.
Minera- Pentland, and Ochil Hills), and Sweden {leelite from Gry-
l°gy- thyttan).
** 4. Albite.—A1 Si3 + Na Si3, or A1 ’Si3 + Na*Si.
Triclinohedric; OP (P) to coPoo (Af) = 86° 24', ooP'
(/) to oo 'P (T) = 122° 15'. Crystals, generally like those of
orthoclase, are tabular or prismatic (fig. 105). Macles very
common, especially united by a face of cc Poo (fig. 106),
the re-entering angle between the faces of OP (P and P'
= 172° 48') being very characteristic. Fig. 107 is another
made common in pericline. Also massive and foliated or
radiating. Cleavage, basal and bracbydiagonal almost
equally perfect, prismatic along ccP imperfect; fracture
conchoidal or uneven. H. = 6...6‘5; G. = 2,6...2,67. Rarely
transparent, usually translucent or only on the edges; vi¬
treous, inclining to pearly on the cleavage. Colourless,
but generally white, gray, green, red, or yellow-; streak
white. B.B. difficultly fusible, tinging the flame yellow, to
a white semi-opaque glass ; not affected by acids'. Chem.
com. 69‘3 silica, 19*1 alumina with O’l to 1 iron peroxide
and 11-6 soda with 0-3 to 4 lime, 0 to 2,o potash, and 0 to 0-5
magnesia. Hence albite and orthoclase both contain soda and
potash, only in different proportions. Albite is best marked
by the frequent re-entering angles, its more easy fusibility,
and the obliquity (93° 36') of its cleavage planes. Pericline,
with G. = 2,54...2,6, and slight diversity in angles, is only
a variety.
Albite is a constituent of many greenstones (Edinburgh),
of granite (Aberdeenshire), syenite, gneiss, porphyry, and
trachyte ; also in beds and veins ; crystals at Bareges in the
Pyrenees, Bourg d’Oisans in Dauphine, St Gotthardt, the
Tyrol, Salzburg, and Arendal. Adinole is a compact gray
or red mixture of albite and quartz.
5. Andesin.—Al Si2 + (Na, Ca) Si.
Triclinohedric ; crystals and physical properties similar to
albite, but the cleavage less distinct. G. = 2-67...2,73. B.B.
more easily fusible (like oligoclase) to a milky somewhat po¬
rous "lass. Chem. com. 60 silica, 25 alumina, 7 soda, 6 lime,
1 potash, and I magnesia. Cordilleras, in andesite or diorite
porphyry; Vosges Mountains, near Dresden, and Iceland.
Saccharite, compact, or fine granular; white or apple-
green ; Frankenstein, Silesia, and Canada ; seems a variety,
(-Ai Si' + (Ca, Na) Si, or
1 Al Si + R Si.
Triclinohedric; OP : ocPoo =86° 25', OP : ooP' = 114°
26'. Crystals rare; mostly massive and granular; macles like
6. Labradoeite.-
those of pericline (fig. 107). Cleavage basal, very perfect,
brachydiagonal less so ; both usually striated. H. = 6; G.
2‘68...2'74. Translucent, or only on the edges ; vitreous,
on the cleavage pearly or resinous. Gray, passing into
white, green, yellow, or red. The faces of oo Poo often
exhibit very beautiful changing colours,—blue, green, yel¬
low, red, or brown,—sometimes in bands intersecting at
certain angles. B.B. fuses more readily than orthoclase
to a compact colourless glass; soluble when pulverized
in n. acid. Chem. com. 53-7 silica, 29-7 alumina with
1 to 2 iron peroxide, 12T lime, and 4-5 soda with 0-3 to 2
potash, 0*1 to 2 magnesia, and 1 to 3 water—the latter pro¬
bably not essential.
Common constituent of dolerite, greenstone, the gabbro,
and hypersthene rocks. Labrador, Finland, Harz, Meissner,
Tyrol, Mourne Mountains, Campsie and Milngavie near
Glasgow, and Skye; also Etna and Vesuvius, and in me¬
teoric stones.
Scolexerose, from Pargas, is a pure lime-labradorite.
Glaucolite, from Lake Baikal, pale blue or greenish, with
traces of cleavage in two directions, and G. = 2*72...3,2, is
not distinct. Saussurite, compact, dull, subtranslucent;
gray, inclining to blue, green, or red; B.B. fuses to a gray
or greenish-white enamel, and is not acted on by acids; is
merely an impure labradorite. Alps near Geneva, Harz,
Styria, Apennines, and Corsica.
7. Couzeranite.—2 -A-l Si2 + 3 (Ca, K, Na, Mg) Si.
Monoclinohedric; C = 87°, oo P = 96°. Cleavage clinodia-
gonal. H. = 6; G. = 2*69. Opaque, vitreous, or resinous.
Pitch-black, blackish-blue, or gray. B.B. melts to a white
enamel; not affected by acids. Cliem. com. by Dufresnoy’s
analysis, 52-37 silica, 24-02 alumina, 11-85 lime, 1*40 mag¬
nesia, 5-52 potash, and 3-96 soda. Couzerans in the Py¬
renees.
8. Anorthite, Christianite.-
A1 Si + Ca Si, or
3 -Al Si + ll3 Si*.
Triclinohedric; OP : ooPoo =85° 48'; ooP': oo'P=:
120° 30'. Crystals and macles like albite, with angle be¬
tween P and 188° 24'. Cleavage, basal and brachy-
diagonal perfect. H. = 6; G.=2-7...2-76. Transparent
or translucent; vitreous. Colourless or white. B.B. fuses
to a clear glass; soluble without gelatinizing in con. h.
acid. Chem. com. 43"9 silica, 36’3 alumina, and 19’8
lime with 1 to 5 magnesia, 0-3 to 8 soda, 0-2 to 1 potash, and
0-1 to 2 iron peroxide. Monte Somma, Iceland, Java.
Amphodelite has the same composition and a close re¬
semblance in crystalline forms, cleavage, and macles; is
reddish-gray, or dirty peach-blossom red. Lojo in Fin¬
land, and Tunaberg in Sweden. Indianite from the Car¬
natic ; gelatinizes with acids; and B.B. is infusible.
*9. Oeigoclase.—2 Al Si3 + Na2 Si3, or Al Si2 + Na Si.
Triclinohedric; OP: coPco =86° 45'; ccP': co'P about
120°. Crystals rather rare, and macles resemble albite.
Cleavage, basal perfect ; brachydiagonal less perfect;
ooP' imperfect. H. = 6; G. = 2-64...2"68. More or less
translucent; vitreous, pearly or resinous on the cleavage.
White, with a tinge of green, gray, or red. B.B. melts
easier than orthoclase or albite to a clear glass; not af¬
fected by acids. Chem. com. 63 silica, 23 alumina, and
14 soda; but 20 to 24 alumina, 7 to 12 soda, 1 to 4 po¬
tash, 5 to 4 lime, 0 to 1 magnesia, and 0 to 4 iron peroxide.
Scotland, Scandinavia, Ural, Harz, and Morea. The Sun-
stone or Aventurine felspar from Tvedestrand, Norway,
Lake Baikal, and Ceylon, with a fine play of colour, be¬
longs to this species. Hafnefiordite, in lava, Hafnefiord,
Iceland; G. = 2*729 ; is a lime-oligoclase.
10. Latrobite,
Diploite.—
Triclinohedric;
} 4 Al (Mn) Si + 3 (Ca, Mg, K) Si2 (?).
crystals indistinct, prismatic; mostly
71
Minera-
logy.
72
MINERALOGI
Minera-
logy.
massive. Cleavage in three directions, intersecting at 91°,
93^ 30,and 98° 30'; fracture uneven. H. = 5to6; G =
2 /. Translucent; vitreous. Ifose-red to reddish-white.
B.B. becomes white, intumesces, and melts on the edges
to a porous mass. Amitok Island in Labrador, and Bolton
in Massachusetts.
11 • Petalite.—4 -Al Si4 + 3 (Li, Na) Si4. '
Probably mono- or triclinohedric, but only coarse granu¬
lar. Cleavage in one direction distinct, in a second less
so, and mere traces of a third. H. = 6*o; G. = 2*4...2,o.
Greenish, grayish, or reddish white, to pale red. Translu¬
cent ; vitreous or pearly. B.B. melts easily into an obscure
porous glass, colouring the flame red ; not affected by
acids. Chem. com. 77'1 silica, 18‘4 alumina, 3‘3 lithia, and
3'1 soda. Utoe, Bolton in Massachusetts, and York in
Canada.
t *12. Sfoduaieke, Triphane. I4^!' + 3(Li,Na, K)Si,or
U-AlSi2+Li3ST.
Monoclinohedric; C. = 69° 40 cxP= 870 ; isomorphous.
with augite (diopside). Cleavage, prismatic ocP perfect-
orthodiagonal more perfect, chiefly massive or foliated!
H. = 6-5...7; G. = 3-1...3-2. Translucent; vitreous or
peany. Pale greenish-gray or white to apple-green ; streak
white. B.B intumesces slightly, tinging the flame momen¬
tarily purplish-red and fuses easily to a colourless glass;
not affected by acids. Chem. com. 65-0 silica, 28-7 alumina,
and 6-3 hthia, with 0'1 to 2*5 soda, 0 to 4-5 potash, and 0 to 1
Ut°e 1^SLVIeC Sterzing and Lisens in the Tyrol,
Kilhney near Dublin Peterhead in Scotland, and crystals
at JMorwich in Massachusetts.
-Crystalline foliated. Cleavage along aprism'of
. , ' ~ 4 ; G— 2-e5. Greenish-gray, yellow or brown-
is i-gieen. B.B. melts difficultly to a white porous enamel.
Chem. com. 2 Al Si2 + il Si2 + 3 H - R, being potash, lime,
magnesia, iron protoxide, and lithia. Killiney near Dub¬
lin, with spodumene.
13. Kastor.—2 Al Si° + Li Si2.
Monoclinohedric. Cleavage distinct in two directions
meeting at Hlf. H. = 6...6*5 ; G. = 2-38...2'40. Trans¬
parent ; splendent vitreous. Colourless. B.B. melts diffi¬
cultly to a transparent colourless bead, tinging the flame
deep carmine-red; not soluble in n. acid. Chem. com.
78-7 silica, 18*6 alumina, and 2’7 lithia. Elba. Probably
a variety of petalite. J
14. Pollux.—Al Si’3 + K Si + Na Si + H (?).
IMassiye. Traces of cleavage ; fracture conchoidal. H.
= 6...6-o; G. - 2,87...2*89. Transparent; splendent vi¬
treous. Colourless ; optically binaxiah B.B. melts on thin
edges to an enamel-like porous glass, colouring the flame red¬
dish-yellow. Elba, with castor. Both much resemble quartz.
lo. Zygadite. — Si, Al, Li.
Triclinohedric, in macles like albite. H. = 5-5; G. = 2-5I.
Subtranslucent; vitreous. Reddish or yellowish white. An-
dreasberg.
16. Amorphous Felspar.
Mineral substances, with no regular structure, and rather
rocks than minerals.
*(«.) Obsidian.—Compact in globular grains or masses.
Fracture conchoidal; brittle. H. = 6...7; G. = 2-2...2-4.
Semitransparent to translucent on the edges ; vitreous.
Black, gray, green, red, and brown, or striped and spotted.
B.B. melts to a foamy mass, a glass or enamel. Chem.
com. indeterminate, but 70 to 80 silica, 6 to 12 alumina, 3
to 10 soda, 3 to 6 potash, 1 to 7 lime, 1 to 2 magnesia, and
- to 6 iron peroxide. Streams or detached masses near
aS ^ce^an(^5 Li pari Islands, Milo, Santorin, Tene-
rifta, Mexico, and Hungary.
*(£'). *>1IJMISIE‘ Borous, vesicular, or fibrous. Fracture
conchoidal or flat; very brittle. White, gray, yellow, brown,
CAL SCIENCE.
or black. H. = 5; G. in powder-2T9...2-2; in masses Minera-
swims on water. B.B. melts more or less easily to a white logy,
enamel. Chem. com. like obsidian, of which it seems a ^ t Y ■_
peculiai state. Andernach on the Rhine, Lipari, and
Ponza Islands. Used as a polishing material.
(c.) Pearlstone.—Roundish concentric globules imbed¬
ded in a vesicular basis. Fracture conchoidal; very brittle.
H. = 6; G. = 2-2...2-4. Pearly. Reddish, bluish, or ash-
gray ; also yellow, red, or brown in stripes or spots. B.B.
melts to a white fungus-like mass. Chem. com. indefinite,
or a mixture of felspar and opal, with 2 to 4 per cent, water.
Hungary, Siberia, Mexico. Sphcerulite, small spherical
concretions in pearlstone in Hungary and Mexico, and in
pitchstone in Arran and Meissen.
*(rf.) PiTCiiSTONE.—Compact, slaty, or in concentric scaly
concretions. Fracture conchoidal; splintery. H. = .5’5...6;
G. = 2-2...2-3. Subtranslucent to opaque ; resinous. Gray,
gieen, yellow, red, brown, black. B.B. melts to a porous
glass or gray enamel. Chem. com. indefinite ; but 64 to 76
silica, 11 to 14 alumina, 1 to 3 lime, 1 to 6 soda, 0 to 6 potash,
0 to 7 magnesia,^ 1 to 4 iron peroxide, and 5 to 9 water. Beds
or veins at Tokai, Kremnitz, Schemnitz in Hungary,
Meissen, Saxony, Newry in Ireland, and Arran in Scotland
(the latter said to contain 2 per cent, of bitumen).
Family III.—Scapolite.
Crystallization tetragonal or hexagonal (prehnite rhom¬
bic). Cleavage more or less perfect. H. = 5...6, or a little
more in prehnite; G. 2-6...3. All fusible and soluble in
acids, and gelatinize. Chem. com. anhydrous silicates of
alkalies or lime, and of alumina. They are generally trans¬
parent oi translucent. Colourless, but often with green or
yellow tinge and resinous lustre. They occur chiefly in
volcanic or in plutonic rocks.
*17. Scapolite, Wernerite. ( ..^* -^a) Si> or
U AlSi + R3 Si2.)
Tetragonal ; P 63° 32. Crystals ooP . ooPoo.P, often
long prismatic; also massive and granular or columnar.
Cleavage, ccPco rather perfect, ocP less perfect. H. = o
...5'5 ; G. = 2-6...2-8. Transparent or translucent; vitreous,
pearly, or resinous. Colourless, but pale gray, green, yel¬
low, or red. B.B. melts with effervescence to a vesicular
glass; in the closed tube many show traces of fluorine ;
with solution of cobalt become blue ; soluble in h. acid.
Chem. com. 49'9 silica, 27‘6 alumina (with 0 to 3-8 iron
peroxide), 22*5 lime and soda (but 12 to 21 lime, 1 to 7
soda, 0 to 2 magnesia, and 1 to 3 potash). Analyses differ
widely, and some resemble the anarthite, others the labra-
dorite felspars. Arendal, Tunaberg, Pargas, Bolton in Mas¬
sachusetts, and Governeur in New York. Easily known by
its indistinct rectangular cleavage, the resinous lustre on
fracture surfaces, and its action before blowpipe.
18. Meionite.—Al2 Si:i + 3 Ca3 Si.
I etragonal; P 63° 48'. Crystals, ocPoo . P . co P, pris¬
matic. Cleavage, ocP go perfect, go P imperfect. Fracture
conchoidal, H. = 5-5...6 ; G.= 2-6...2-7. Translucent and
transparent; vitreous. Colourless or white. B.B. fuses with
much intumescence to a vesicular glass ; soluble in h. acid
without gelatinizing. Chem. com. 42*5 silica, 31*5 alumina,
and 26 lime (but 21 to 24 lime, 0-5 to 2 soda, 0'3 to 1 potash,
and 0 to 1 magnesia.) Somma, Vesuvius.
19. Ihe following are varieties of, or closely related to
scapolite:—
JSuttahte.—Tetragonal; P 64° 40'; forms and cleavage
like scapolite. H.=o-5; G. = 2-74...2-75. Vitreous; on
fracture resinous. Ash or greenish gray. B.B. like sca¬
polite. Bolton in Massachusetts.
Barsoivite.—Granular or compact, with one distinct cleav¬
age. Translucent on the edges; pearly. Snow-white.
M I N E R A L 0 G Y.
Minera- Gelatinizes in warm h. acid. Chem. com. about 49 silica
logy- 34 alumina, 5'6 lime, and 1*5 magnesia. Barsowskoi in Ural!
' Bytownite, translucent; vitreous; light greenish-blue
Bytown in Upper Canada; is similar.
20. Palagonite. ((^vPe2) Si3 + 3 (Ca, Mg, Na) Si3
1 +9H.
Amorphous ; fracture conchoidal. H. nearly 5 ; G. = 2*4.
Transparent or translucent; resinous to vitreous. Wine-yel¬
low to yellowish-brown. B.B. fuses readily to a shinino-
magnetic bead. Easily soluble in acid. Palagonia in Sicily,
Iceland, Galapagos^ Nassau, and Cassel. Rather a rock.
21. Dipyr.—3 -A1 Si + 4 (Ca, Na) Si2.
Tetragonal, in rounded eight-sided prisms. Cleavage,
od P and goPgo. Scratches glass. G = 2-646. Vitreous.
Whitish or reddish. B.B. becomes opaque, and melts readily
to a white vesicular glass. Slightly affected by acids.
Chem. com. 5o‘7 silica, 25T alumina, 9-1 lime, and 10T
soda. Mauleon, and Castillon in the Pyrenees.
, *22. Nepheline, Elaeolite. (+ 4 (Na, K) Si, or
12-A1 Si + R2 Si.
Hexagonal; P 88° 6. Crystals, ocP . OP and 00P . OP . P,
imbedded, or in druses; also massive granular. Cleavao-e5
basal and coP imperfect. Fracture conchoidal or uneven!
H. =5-5...6; G. = 2*58...2*64. Transparent or translu¬
cent ; vitreous. Colourless or white (nepheline) ; or more
opaque, dull resinous, and green, red, or brown (elmolite.)
B.B. melts difficultly (nepheline), or easily with slight effer¬
vescence (elaeolite), into a vesicular glass. Soluble and
gelatinizes in h. acid. Chem. com. 44'84 silica, 33-04 alu¬
mina, 16-05 soda, 6-07 potash, with 0-2 to 2 lime, and 0-5
to 1-5 iron peroxide. Nepheline at Monte Somma, Capo
di Bove, Katzenbuckel in the Odenwald, Aussig, and the
Lausitz. Elaeolite in the zircon syenite at Laurvig, Fred-
riksvarn, Brevig, and Miask.
Davine, £ P 51° 46'; long prismatic. G. = 2*43. Contains
a little chlorine and carbonic acid. Vesuvius and Somma.
23. Cancrinite.—AT Si3 + 4 Na Si + 2 Ca C.
Hexagonal; massive and columnar. Cleavage, prismatic
co P perfect. H. = 5...5-5; G. = 2A2...2’46. Translucent
or transparent; resinous, vitreous, or pearly on cleavage.
Green, yellow, and rose-red. B.B. melts to a white vesicdar
glass. Soluble with effervescence in h. acid. Chem. com.
one atom of a nepheline silicate with two atoms carbonate
of lime =39-3 silica, 29 alumina, 17-6 soda, and 14-1 car¬
bonate of lime. Miask, and Litchfield in Maine; but in
the latter the carbonate is Na C + Ca C. Stroganowite has
the soda chiefly replaced by lime. Sliidanka River in
Dauria.
24. Gehlenite.—(Al, -Le) Si +(Ca, Mg, Fe) Si.
Tetragonal. Crystals, OP. ocP, thick tabular or short pris¬
matic. Cleavage, basal rather perfect, 00P traces. H. = 5-5
...6; G. = 2-9...3T. Translucent on the edges; dull resi¬
nous. Mountain, leek, or olive green, to liver-brown. B.B.
melts difficultly in thin fragments. Gelatinizes with h. acid.
Chem.com. 3 P4 silica, 20 to 24 alumina, 3 to 6 iron peroxide,
35 to 38 lime, 0to4 magnesia, 0 to P7 iron protoxide, and
1 to 3 w-ater. Mount Monzoni in the Fassa Valley.
25. Humboldtilite.—(Al, -Ue) Si + 2 (Ca, Mg, Na, K) Si2.
Tetragonal; P 66° 24'; OP . 00P, tabular or short prisma¬
tic. Cleavage, basal perfect. H. = 5...5-5 ; G.=2-91...2-95.
Translucent on the edges; vitreous or resinous. Yellowish-
white, honey-yellow, and yellowish-brown. B.B. melts
easily to a light or blackish coloured glass. Gelatinizes with
h. acid. Chem. com. about 40 silica, 32 lime, 6 to 7 mag
nesia, 2 to 4 soda, 0*3 to 1-5 potash, 6 to 11 alumina, and 4
to 10 iron peroxide. Vesuvius and Capo di Bove. Meli-
lite, Somervillite, and Zurlite are identical. Sarkolite, from
Vesuvius, is similar.
VOL. XY.
73
*26. Pbeenite, Koupholite.
Fig. 10s.
Al Si+ 2 Ca Si + H, or
Al Si+Ca2 si+ii.
Rhombic, ccP 99° 56', 3Poo 33° O', fPoc 126° 40'. Crys¬
tals OP . P, or ccP (m) . OP (P) . ocPoo (/) . 3Poo (o)
(fig. 108), tabular or short prismatic, in druses, fan-shaped
or cock’s-comb groups. Also granular or spherical, reni-
form and fibrous. Cleavage, basal rather perfect, 00P im-
peifect. H. = 6...,' ; G. —2"8...3. Semi-transparent or
translucent on the edges ; vitreous, on OP pearly. Colour¬
less, but mostly greenish-white, olive, p
apple, or leek-green. When heated be¬
comes polar-electric. B.B. melts easily,
with much intumescence, to a porous
enamel. Soluble in con. h. acid, but
only gelatinizes perfectly when previously
ignited or fused. Chem. com. 44*4 silica,
24-6 alumina, 26-7 lime, and 4-3 water
(but with 0-1 to 7 peroxide of iron and
manganese). Cape of Good Hope; Bourg
d Oisans in Dauphine; Ratschinges and
Fassa in Tyrol; Friskie Hall and Camp-
sie, Dumbartonshire ; Hartfield Moss,
Renfrewshire; Corstorphine Hill, the
Castle Rock, and Salisbury Craigs, near Edinburgh ; Mull;
Skye ; and Dalnabo, near Glengairn, Aberdeenshire.
Pre/mitoid, like prehnite, but scarce affected by h. acid.
Wexio in Sweden.
27. Karpholite,—Al Si + Mn Si + 2 H.
Rhombic; radiating or stellated and acicular. H = 5...
5 5 ; G. = 2"9...3. 1 ranslucent; silky. Straw to wax yellow.
B.B. intumesces and forms an opaque brown glass, scarcely
affected by acids. Chem. com. 37 silica, 30*6 alumina, 21‘6
manganese protoxide, 10"8 water, with iron protoxide and
fluoric acid. Schlakenwald and Wippra in the Harz.
28. The following minerals may follow prehnite :—
(a.) Kinvamte.—Spheroidal; radiating fibrous. H. = 2;
G. = 2"9. Opaque; dark olive-green. B.B. becomes black,
and partially fuses. Chem. com. 40*5 silica, 11-4 alumina,
23"9 iron protoxide, 19*8 lime, and 4’4 water. Mourne
Mountains, Ireland.
(b.) Huronite.—Granular or foliated. H. = 3*25; G.=
2"86. I ranslucent; pearly or resinous. Pale yellowish-
green. B.B. infusible, but grayish-white. Not affected by
acids. Chem. com. 45'8 silica, 33"9 alumina, 4'3 iron pro¬
toxide, 8-1 lime, 1*7 magnesia, and 4-2 water. Lake Huron.
(«?.) ]\eurolite.—Fine columnar. H. = 4-25; G. = 2-47.
1 ranslucent or opaque. Greenish-yellow. B.B. infusible,
but becomes snow-white and pulverulent. Chem. com. 73
silica, 17*4 alumina, 3"3 lime, 1"5 magnesia, and 4-3 water.
Stamstead in Lower Canada.
Minera-
lobry-
Family" IV.—Haloid Stones.
These minerals are so named from their resemblance to
salts. Their crystallization is rhombic or monoclinohedric.
H. = 4...6; G. = 2-3...3-l. Soluble in acids. Generally
infusible, or with difficulty. Most colour the B.B. flame
bluish-green from phosphoric acid, being compounds of this
acid with alumina, in some also with magnesia or iron pro¬
toxide. Are brightly-coloured minerals, of blue, green, or
yellow tints. Most contain water, and do not form con¬
stituents of rocks.
29. Lazulite, Azurite.—Al2 P + (Mg, Fe)3 P* + 2 H.
Monoclinohedric. C. = 88° 2', 00P 91° 30', P 99° 40'
— P 100 20, Poo 30 2; crystals pyramidal, tabular or
prismatic, but rare ; usually massive or granular. Cleavage,
prismatic ccP imperfect; fracture uneven, splintery. H.
= 5...6; G. = 3...3"L I ranslucent on the edges; vitreous.
K
74
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- Indigo, smalt, or other shades of blue inclining to green or
logy* white; streak white. In closed tube yields water and
loses its colour. B.B. intumesces, but does not melt. With
cobalt solution assumes a fine blue colour. Scarcely affected
by acids till after ignition, when almost wholly soluble.
Chem. com. 44,1 phosphoric acid, 31*7 alumina, 9 to 12 mag¬
nesia, 2 to 10 iron protoxide, 1 to 4 lime, and 5‘7 water.
Werfen in Salzburg, Vorau (Voraulite) and Krieglaeh in
Styria, Tijuco in Brazil, and Lincoln county in North Ca¬
rolina.
30. Calaite, Turquois.—Al2 P + 5 H.
Reniform ; stalactitic or incrusting. Fracture conchoidal.
H. = 6 ; G. = 2’6...2-8. Opaque or translucent on the
edges; dull or waxy. Sky-blue, greenish-blue, rarely green;
streak greenish-white. In the closed tube yields water,
decrepitates violently, and becomes black. B.B. infusible,
but colours the flame green. Soluble in acids. Chem.
com. 46*89 alumina, 32*57 phosphoric acid, and 20*54 water,
but mixed with phosphate of iron and copper. Silesia,
Lausitz, and Voigtland. Oriental turquoise, in veins, at
Meschid near Herat; in pebbles in Khorazan, Bucharia,
and Syrian desert. Takes a fine polish, and is valued as an
ornamental stone.
31. Fischepate.—Ai P + 8 H.
Rhombic; ccP 118° 32', mostly in crusts or indistinct
six-sided prisms. H. = 5; G. = 2*46. Transparent; vitreous;
green. Slightly soluble in h. or n., wholly in s. acid, and on
heating becomes white or partly black. Chem. com. 42
alumina, 29 phosphoric acid, 29 water, with a little lime
and copper oxide. Nischnei Tagilsk.
Peganite.—Probably rhombic, coP 127° nearly; in very
small prismatic crystals or thin crusts. Emerald, grass-
green, or white. H. = 3...4; G. = 2*49...2*54. Chem.com.
like Fischerite, but 6 H. Strigis in Saxony.
Variscite.—Reniform ; incrusting; weak resinous ; greasy
feel; green. G. = 2*34...2*38; H. = 5. In the closed tube it
yields much water, and assumes a rose-red colour. Chem.
com. chiefly phosphate of alumina, with water, magnesia,
protoxide of iron, and chrome-oxide. Plauen in the Voigt-
land.
*32. Waveixite, Lasionite.—AFP2 + 12H.
Rhombic, ccP 126° 25', Pgo 106° 46'; crystals ooPoo
(P). ccP (e?) . Pgo (o) (fig. 109) ; but generally small, acicu-
lar, and in hemispherical radiated fibrous masses. Cleavage,
along ooPand Pgo rather perfect. H. = 3*5...4; G. = 2*3...
2*5. Translucent; vitreous. Colourless, but gene¬
rally yellowish or grayish, sometimes green or blue.
In closed tube yields water. B.B. in the forceps
colours the flame weak bluish-green; on charcoal
intumesces, and becomes snow-white. Soluble in
acids. Chem. com. 38*0 alumina, 35*3 phosphoric ^'S-109-
acid, and 26*7 water; but generally traces of fluoric acid
(2 per cent.). Beraun in Bohemia, Amberg in Bavaria,
Frankenberg in Saxony, Tanne in the Harz, Barnstaple in
Devonshire, St Austle in Cornwall, near Clonmel, Cork, and
Portrush, Ireland, and in the Shiant IslesJn Scotland; also
in New Hampshire and Tennessee.
33. Wagnerite.—Mg3 P +Mg F.
Monoclinohedric ; C = 63° 25', ocP 57° 35', Poo 71° 53'.
Cleavage, prismatic and orthodiagonal imperfect. Fracture
conchoidal or splintery. H. = 5...5*5 ; G = 3*0...3*l. Trans¬
lucent or transparent; resinous. Wine-yellow, honey-yellow,
and white. B.B. fuses with great difficulty in thin splinters
to a dark greenish-gray glass. Chem. com. 43*32 phospho¬
ric acid, 11*35 fluorine, 37*64 magnesia, and 7*69 magne¬
sium ; but with 3 to 4*5 iron protoxide, and 1 to 4 lime. Very
rare ; Werfen in Salzburg.
34. Awblvgonite. ( + (L+ Na)J P + Al F3
1 +(Li, Na) F.
Rhombic; coarse granular. Cleavage, ccP 106° 10', to¬
lerably perfect. Fracture uneven and splintery. H. = 6 ;
G. = 3...3T. Translucent; vitreous; pearly on goP. Grayish
or greenish-white to pale mountain-green. In closed tube
yields water, sometimes corroding the glass. B.B. fuses
very readily to a transparent glass, opaque when cold.
Finely pulverized it is slowly soluble in acids. Chem.
com. 47*9 phosphoric acid, 34*5 alumina, 6*9 lithia, 6 soda,
and 8*3 fluorine. Penig in Saxony.
Family V.—Leucite.
Tesseral. H. = 5...6; G. = 2*2...2*5. All fusible except
leucite, and all soluble and mostly gelatinize in hydrochloric
acid. They are mostly silicates of alumina and of alkalies
(or lime), often with chlorine, sulphur, or sulphuric acid.
Their colours are white, gray, or often blue. They are
mostly found imbedded in volcanic rocks.
35. Leucite.—(Al Si3+ K Si, or 3 Al Si2 + K3 Si2.)
Tesseral; only 202 (fig. 6). The crystals generally
single.. Cleavage, hexahedral very imperfect. Fracture
conchoidal. H. = o*5...6; G. = 2*4...2*5. Transparent to
translucent on the edges; vitreous, inclining to resinous.
Colourless, but grayish, yellowish, or reddish-white, or gray;
streak white. B.B. infusible ; with cobalt solution becomes
blue. Soluble in h. acid, without gelatinizing. Chem. com.
55*7 silica, 23*1 alumina, and 21*2 potash. Abundant in
the lavas of Vesuvius, the tufas near Rome, and the pepe-
rino of Albano; also at the Kaiserstuhl, and near Lake
Laach. Readily distinguished from Analcime by its infusi¬
bility and by never showing faces of the cube.
36. Porcelain Spar.—3-Al Si2 + (CaNa)i Si3 + £K Cl.
Rhombic; coP 92° nearly. Massive and coarse granu¬
lar. Fracture uneven. H. = o*5 ; G. = 2*67...2*68. Trans¬
lucent, or only on the edges ; vitreous or pearly. Yellowish
or bluish-white, or pale gray. B.B. fuses easily with in¬
tumescence to a colourless vesicular glass. Soluble with¬
out gelatinizing in con. h. acid. Chem. com. 49*55 silica,
27*40 alumina, 15*62 lime, 4*75 soda, 1*39 potassium, and
1*29 chlorine. Obernzell near Passau (Passauite), form¬
ing porcelain earth when decomposed.
37. Sodalite—3 (Al S’i + Na Si) + Na Cl.
Tesseral; go O (fig. 3) ; massive and granular. Cleavage,
co O more or less perfect. Fracture conchoidal or uneven.
H. = 5*5 ; G. = 2*28...2*29. Translucent; vitreous, inclin¬
ing to resinous. White, gray, green, and rarely blue. B.B.
becomes white and fuses easily alone, sometimes intu-
mescing to a clear glass; with difficulty in borax. Gela¬
tinizes with acids. Chem. com. 37*8 silica, 31*3 alumina,
25*3 soda, and 5*6 chlorine. Greenland, Vesuvius, Valle
di Noto in Sicily, Lake Laach, Ilmen Hills, Fredriksvarn
in Norway, and Litchfield in Maine.
*38. Hauyne.—3 (AlSi+Na Si) +2 Ca *S.
Tesseral chiefly goO, but more common in grains. Cleav¬
age ooO more or less perfect. H. = 5...5*5 ; G. = 2*4...2*5.
Semi-transparent or translucent; vitreous or resinous. Azure
or sky blue; streak bluish-white. B.B. decrepitates violently,
and melts to a bluish-green vesicular glass. Soluble, and
gelatinizes in h. acid. Chem. com. 32*5 silica, 27*1 alumina,
16*4 soda, 9*9 lime, and 14*1 sulphuric acid. Vesuvius,
Mount Vultur near Melfi, the Campagna of Rome, and
Niedermendig near Andernach.
39. Nosean.—3 (Al Si + Na Si) + Na s!
Tesseral, like Hauyne, but oftener granular. H. = 5*5;
G. = 2*25...2*27. Translucent; vitreous to resinous. Ash
or yellowish gray, sometimes blue, brown, or black. B.B.
becomes paler, and melts to a vesicular glass. Soluble in
acids. Chem. com. 36*65 silica, 30*59 alumina, 24*82 soda,
Minera-
MINEEALOGY.
Minera- and 7*94 sulphuric acid; but with 1 to l*o lime and 0'6
logy. chlorine. Lake Laach and Rieden, near Andernach, on the
Rhine. Skolopsite, granular, smoke-gray and reddish-white;
G. = 2*53 ; is very similar. Kaiserstuhl in the Breisgau.
40. Ittnerite.—-A1 Si + (Na, Ca) Si + 2 H.
Tesseral, but only coarse granular. Cleavage, dodecahedral
distinct; fracture imperfect conchoidal. H. ~5%5 ; G. = 2‘37
...2'40. Translucent; resinous. Smoke, ash or dark bluish-
gray. In the closed tube yields much water. B.B. fuses,
with much effervescence and sulphureous smell, to a vesi¬
cular opaque glass. Soluble, and gelatinizes in con. h. acid.
Chem. com. by Whitney’s analysis, 35-69 silica, 29-14 alumi¬
na, 5-64 lime, 12"57 soda, 1"20 potash, 4"62 sulphuric acid,
1-25 chlorine, 9-83 water and loss. Kaiserstuhl near Freiburg.
*41. Lapis-Lazuli, Lasurstein.
Tesseral; ooO, but rarely distinct; generally massive
and fine granular. Imperfect dodecahedral cleavage. H.
= 5'5; G. = 2*38...2-42. Translucent on the edges; dull
resinous or vitreous. Ultra-marine or azure blue; streak light-
blue. B.B. fuses readily to a white porous glass. In h.
acid the powder is dissolved and gelatinizes, evolving sul¬
phuretted hydrogen. Chem. com. by Varrentrapp’s ana¬
lysis, 45-50 silica, 5*89 sulphuric acid, 31-76 alumina, 9-09
soda, 3"52 lime, 0‘86 iron, 0*42 chlorine, 0-95 sulphur, 0-12
water. Near Lake Baikal, China, Thibet, and Tartary. It
is used for ornamental purposes, and the preparation of
ultramarine-blue. The colour both in it and the Hauyne
seems caused by some compound of sulphur, probably with
iron. A mode of preparing the artificial colour was disco¬
vered by Chr. Gmelin.
42. Eudialite.—[Zr Si + 2(Na, Ca, Fe) Si], Na Cl.
Rhombohedric; R 73° 30'; also massive and granular.
Cleavage, basal distinct. H. = 5...5-5 ; G. = 2"84...2-95.
Semitranslucent or opaque ; vitreous. Peach-blossom to
brownish-red; streak white. B.B. fuses easily to a light-
green opaque glass. Gelatinizes in hydrochloric acid. Chem.
com. by Rammelsberg’s analysis, 49"92 silica, 16"88 zir-
conia, 11T1 lime, 12-28 soda, 6'97 iron protoxide, 1"15
manganese protoxide, 1-19 chlorine, with 0*65 potash, and
0-3 water. Greenland.
lyrol, Dumbarton in Scotland, and in Siebenburg; Cy¬
clopean Islands, Sicily; the Vicentine, Norway, Faroe,
Iceland, Nova Scotia; also Giant’s Causeway ; and the
Hebiides, Glenfarg, Salisbury Crags, and other parts of
Scotland. Sarcolite, (Juboit, and the Cluthalite, from near
Dumbarton, are varieties.
*44. Natrolite, Mesotype. ( A f.r + 3 + 2 H, or
l-Al Si + Na Si + 2 H.
Rhombic; co P 91°, P polar edges 143° 20', and 142° 40',
middle edges 53° 20'; crystals, ooP.P (fig. Ill), sT\
fine prismatic, acicular or fibrous, and radiating.
Cleavage, ooP perfect. H. = 5...5-5 ; G. = 2T7...
2-26. Pellucid; vitreous. Colourless or grayish-
white, but sometimes bluish or yellow, seldom
red or brown. Is not pyroelectric. B.B. becomes
obscure and melts quietly to a clear glass. Gela- m.
tinizes in h. acid. Chem. com. 48 silica, 26"6 alumina, 16-1
soda, and 9"3 water, with a little lime and iron oxides.
Clermont in Auvergne, Alpstein in Hessia, Hohentwiel in
Swabia, Norway; in Scotland, as in Mull, Canna, and near
Tantallan Castle; and in Ireland, Nova Scotia, and other
countries. Bergmannite and Radiolite are varieties. Ga-
lactite, H. = 4'5, with 4 lime and 10*5 water. Glenfarg,
Kilpatrick, and Bishopstown, probably distinct.
75
Eig. 112.
**Family VI.—Zeolites.
Crystallization chiefly rhombic and monoclinohedric; also
tetragonal and tesseral. H. = 3-5...6, or mostly scratched
by steel; G. = 2...3. Mostly hyaline, and white or red, gray
or yellow coloured. Cleavage generally distinct. All yield
water in closed tube ; all fusible B.B.; all soluble in acids,
and mostly gelatinize or deposit silica. They are hydrated
silicates of alkalies, or alkaline earths, mostly with silicates
of alumina, but rarely contain magnesia. They are gene¬
rally found in amygdaloidal cavities or fissures of trap or
plutonic rocks, apparently as deposits from water perco¬
lating through them. Also in veins, but rare.
*43. Analcime.
AlSi3 + Na Si + 2 H, or
3 A1 Si"+ Na3 SF + 6 H.
Tesseral; crystals 202, seldomer    ^
coOoo.202 (fig. 115), in druses;
' ' 2- jl/ f
also granular. Cleavage hexahe-
dral, very imperfect; fracture un¬
even. H. = 5-5 ; G. = 2-1...2-25.
Transparent to translucent on the ^
edges; vitreous. White, grayish, l /V\ A
greenish, yellowish, or reddish white;
also flesh-red, and very rarely leek- ^ 7—
green. B.B. melts quietly to a ilE‘110,
clear glass. ^Completely soluble and gelatinizes in h. acid.
Chem. com. 55-2 silica, 22-9 alumina, 13-9 soda, and 8 water,
with occasionally a little potash or lime. Seisser Alp in
*45. Scolezite, Needlestone. (Si + 3H, or
l At Si + Ca Si+ 3 H.
Monoclinohedric; C = 89°6', ooP 91°35', P 144° 20'; crys¬
tals, ccP . P . -P, prismatic or acicular. Twin crystals
very common, united by a face of coPoo, and one
face with feathery striae (fig. 112); also massive
and radiating. Cleavage, ccP rather perfect. H.
= 5...5-5; G. = 2"2...2"3. Pellucid; vitreous,
fibrous varieties silky. Snow-white, grayish, yel¬
lowish, and reddish white. Distinctly pyro-elec-
tric. B.B. bends and twists in a vermicular manner, and
melts easily to a porous glass. In h. acid dissolves and
gelatinizes. Chem. com. 46-6 silica, 25-8 alumina, 14 lime,
and 13-6 water. Very fine on Staffa; at Berufiord in Ice¬
land; in Faroe, Greenland; and the Vendyah Mountains
in India; also in Tyrol, Ireland, &c.
The following are either varieties of, or closely allied to,
Scolezite or Natrolite :—
Mesolite, with 4 to 5 soda; Staffa, Antrim, and Iceland.
Caporcianite, reddish-gray, radiating fibrous ; Caporciano,
Tuscany. Lehuntite, fine scaly, flesh-red. G. = 1-953;
H. = 3-75. Glenarm, Ireland. PoonaMite, rhombic prisms
of 92° 20', otherwise like Scolezite, from Poonah in Hindu¬
stan. Brevicite, radiated, massive, white, reddish-gray, or
dark-red ; Brevig. Harringtonite, compact, earthy, snow-
white; Portrush in Ireland. Antrimolite, white, fibrous
and opaque. G. = 2-096; H. = 3-75. Antrim. Stellite, fine
rhombic prisms grouped in concentric stars. White, trans¬
lucent, silky. H. = 3...3-5; G. = 2-612. Kilsyth, Scotland.
Mesole or Faroelite, radiating, fibrous; transparent, pearly;
white, yellow, or gray. H. 3*5. Chem. com. 4P3 silica,
28"4 alumina, 11"5 lime, 5*7 soda, and 13*2 water. Faroe,
Schonen; Storr, Uig, and Portree, in Skye. The last is
perhaps a distinct species.
*46. Thomsonite, Comp- f 3 A1 Si + 3 Ca Si + 7 H, or
tomte. | 3 ^ g: + g- + 7 jj.
Rhombic; ccP 90° 40', usually like fig. 113, ^.
terminating in an extremely obtuse dome of
177° 35', like the basis with the plane broken.
In druses, fan-shaped or radiated. Cleavage, ma¬
crodiagonal and brachydiagonal equally perfect, rig. 113.
H. = 5...5"5; G.=2"3...2-4. Translucent, but often ob¬
scure; vitreous, sometimes pearly. White. B.B. intumesces,
becomes opaque, and fuses with difficulty to a white enamel.
Minera-
logy-
76
Minera-
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
M
Fig. 114.
Soluble, and gelatinizes in h. acid. Chem. com. 38‘2 silica,
31*6 alumina, 17'2 lime, with 1 to 8 soda, and 13 water.
' Vesuvius, Sicily, Bohemia, Tyrol, Iceland, Faroe, Scotland
( Lochwinnoch, Kilpatrick Hills), and Nova Scotia. Cka-
lilite, a compact variety ; Antrim.
*47. Stilbite, Desmine. (+ 9a..^3 + ^ or
v A-l Sr1 + t a Si + 6 H.
Rhombic; P polar edges, 119° 16', and 114°; crystals,
oo Poo {M). ooPoo (Z) . P (r) . OP (P),
(fig. 114), broad pyramidal, very often
lascicular or diverging ; also radiating or
broad columnar, or macled. Cleavage,
macrodiagonal very perfect. H. = 3‘5 ..A;
G. = 2T...2’2. Translucent, or only on
the edges; vitreous; pearly on ocP oc.
White, red, gray, yellow, and brown. B.B.
intumesces greatly, and melts with dif¬
ficulty to a white enamel. Decomposed
by c. h. acid, leaving slimy silica. Chem.
com. 58*2 silica, 16 alumina, 8‘8 lime, wfith
1 to 3 soda or potash, and 17 water.
Andreasberg in the Harz, Kongsberg
and Arendal, Iceland, Faroe, and the Ven-
dayah Mountains in Hindostan ; in Scotland, in Sk}Te, Kilpa¬
trick, Kilmalcolm, and Arran. Sphcerostilbite and Hypostil-
bite are related species. AEdelforsite ; fibrous or columnar ;
H. = 6; G. = 2-6; is a stilbite with two atoms less water,
or a laumonite mixed with quartz. /Edelfors in Sweden.
*,Q tj CAl Si;i+Ca Si3 + 5H, or
*48. Heulandite. 4 ••• ••• • ... „ •
i Al Si -j- Ca Si + 5 H.
Monoclinohedric; C = 63° 40', Pco 50° 20';
( ooPco ) . ooPoo . Poo. OP (fig. 115); mostly
tabular, rarely prismatic in druses or ra¬
diated lamellar. Cleavage, clinodiagonal very
perfect; brittle. H. = 3'5...4; G. = 2-l..-2‘2.
Transparent to translucent on the edges ; vi¬
treous or pearly. White, but often flesh or brick-
red, and yellowish or hair-brown. B.B. exfo¬
liates, intumesces, and melts to a white enamel.
Soluble in h. acid, leaving slimy silica. Chem.
com. 59-9 silica, 16‘7 alumina, 9 lime, and 14-5 water.
Arendal, Kongsberg, Andreasberg, Fassa Valley, Ice¬
land, Faroe, Nova Scotia, New Jersey, and the Vendayah
Mountains, Hindostan; at Campsie, in Skye, and other
parts of Scotland. Beaumontite is the same ; Baltimore.
49. Brewsterite.—-A1 Si3 + (§ Sr + £Ba)Si3 + 5 H.
Monoclinohedric; C. = 86° 20'; crystals short prismatic, of
several vertical prisms, bounded by an extremely
obtuse clinodome (172°) (fig. 116), are mostly
small. Cleavage, clinodiagonal very perfect.
H. = 5...5‘5; G. = 2’12 ..2-2. Pellucid; vitreous
or pearly. White, gray, yellow, brown, or green.
B.B.froths, intumesces, and fuses to a porous glass.
Soluble in h. acid, and gelatinizes. Chem. com.
54-3 silica, 15-0 alumina, 10*1 strontia, 7*4 baryta Flg- 11G‘
with P3 lime, and 13T water; and thus with all the three
alkaline earths. Strontian in Scotland, Giants’ Causeway,
Freiburg in the Breisgau, and the Pyrenees.
50. Epistilbite.—A1 Si3+Ca Si3+ 5 H.
Rhombic; ocP 135° 10’, Poo 109° 46', Poo 147°40'; in long
prismatic crystals (fig. 117). Macles united by a
Jace of ooP are more common ; also massive and
granular. Cleavage, brachydiagonal very per-
feet. H.=3-5...4;G. = 2-3...2-4. Pellucid; vi¬
treous or pearly. Colourless or white. B.B.
melts with intumescence to a porous enamel.
Soluble without gelatinizing, but after ignition is ^—>'
insoluble. Chem. com. 59 silica, 17-5 alumina, Fis-m-
Fig. 118.
9 lime, with P5 soda, and 14‘5 water, or like Heulandite.
Iceland and Faroe; also, it is said, in Skye, and at Port-
rush in Ireland.
*51. Apophyllite.—4 Ca2 Si3 + K Si3+16H.
Tetragonal; P 121° 4' ; crystals, P. ccPx
(m) (fig. 118) and OP, are pyramidal, or
short prismatic, or tabular; usually in druses
or lamellar. Cleavage, basal perfect; ccPco im¬
perfect; brittle. H. = 4\5...5; G. = 2*3...2-4.
1 ellucid ; vitreous ; on OP pearly (ichthyoph-
thalm ). Colourless, but yellowish, grayish, or
reddish white, to rose or flesh red. B’.B. ex¬
foliates, intumesces, and melts easily to a white
enamel. Powder readily soluble in h. acid,
leaving slimy silica. Cliem. com. 52*8 silica,
25'4 lime, 5*3 potasb, and water; in
some with 0’24 to l-54 fluorine. Occurs at
Utoe in Sweden, Aussig in Bohemia, the Seis-
ser Alp in Tyrol, St Andreasberg in the Harz,
Nertschinsk in Siberia, in Greenland, Ice¬
land, Faroe, and Raith in Fife.
Gyrolite, spherical radiated concretions, with 50-7
silica, 1-48 alumina, 33-24 lime, 0-18 magnesia, and 14-18
water, seems a variety; Storr in Skye. Also Xylochor,
from Iceland.
52. Okenite, Dysclasite.—Ca Si3+ 2 H.
Rhombic; ocP 122 19 ; usually fine columnar or fibrous.
H. = 5; G. = 2-28...2-36. Pellucid; slightly pearly. Yellow¬
ish to bluish-white. B.B. froths up and melts to an enamel.
In powder easily soluble in h. acid, leaving gelatinous flakes ;
after ignition insoluble. Chem. com. 57 silica, 26 lime,’
crystals and 1 7 water. On Disco Island, Greenland, Faroe, and
Iceland.
53. Pectolite.—8 Ca Si + Na2 Si3 + 3 H, or 6 R Si + H.
Monoclinohedric (?), but only spheroidal, radiating, and
columnar. H. = 5; G. = 2-69...2-74. Translucent on the
edges ; slightly pearly. Grayish-white or yellowish. B.B.
melts easily to a white enamel-like glass. Soluble in h.
acid, leaving flaky silica; after ignition gelatinizes perfectly.
Chem. com. 52-1 silica, 34"2 lime, 9*5 soda, with 06 to 1"6
potash and 4'2 water. Monte Baldo, Monte Monzoni in
Tyrol, Kilsyth {\Vollcistonite)^ Ratho, Corstorphine near
Edinburgh, and Storr in Skye.
54. Levyne.—Ai Si2 + Ca (K, Na) Si+ 4 H.
Rhombohedric; R 79° 29'; crystals, OR. R. - £R, thick ta¬
bular, in perfect intersecting macles (fig. 119).
H. = 4 ; G = 2T.. .2-2. Chem. com. 44-5 silica,
23-8 alumina, 10*7 lime, 1-6 potash, P4 soda,
and 17*4 w-ater. Otherwise like chabasite. Fig. no.
Taroe, Glenarm, Skye, and Hartfield Moss in Renfrewshire.
55. Chabasite, Lime-Ch.—Al Si3+ Ca (Na, K) Si + 6H.
Rhombohedric; R 94° 46'; R mostly alone, but
also with —-JR and —211. Intersecting macles very
common; crystals in druses and striated. Cleavage, R
rather perfect. H. = 4...4"5 ; G. = 2...2"2. Transparent
to translucent; vitreous. Colourless, grayish, yellowish,
reddish to flesh-red. B.B. fuses to a finely porous enamel.
Soluble in h. acid, leaving slimy silica. Chem. com. 48-2
silica, 20 alumina, 10"8 lime, with 0 to 2-5 soda, and 0"2 to 3
potash, and 21 water. Taroe, Iceland, Greenland, Aussig
in Bohemia, Giants’ Causeway, Kilmacolm in Renfrewshire,
in Skye, and other places in Scotland. Phacolite, with
rather less silica and more alumina, is a variety ; Leipa
in Bohemia.
56. Gmelinite, Soda-) A, a-.3 , ,T* ^ „ T-r
Chabasite. } M +Na <Ca> K> bl + 6H-
Hexagonal; P 80° 8'; crystals P.OP. ccP (fig. 120).
The faces of P striated parallel to their polar edge;
Fig. 115.
Minera-
logy-
MINERALOGY.
those of the prism horizontally. Cleavage, ocP distinct.
Gelatinizes with h. acid; otherwise like
chabasite. Chem. com. 47*6 silica, 19-7
alumina, 12 soda, with 3 to 5 lime, and
0-4 to 2 potash, and 20*7 water. Glenarm
in Antrim, Vicenza (Sarcolite). Lederite,
with only 9 per cent, water, seems a
Blomidon, Nova Scotia.
77
Fig. 120.
variety; Cape
fig. 121.
Kil-
1'ig. 122.
57. Faujasite.—2 A\ Si3 + (Ca, Na)2 Si3+18 H
Tetragonal ; P 105° 30'. Fracture uneven ; brittle.
..cratches glass. G. = 1*923. Transparent; vitreous or ada¬
mantine. W hite or brown. B.B. intumesces and fuses to a
white enamel. Soluble in h. acid. Chem. com. 46 silica,
11 alumina, 5 lime, 5 soda, and 27 water. Kaiserstuhl.
58. Edixgtonite.—4 M Si*2+ 3 Ba Si+12H
Tetragonal, hemihedric ; P 87° 9'; formed as a sphenoid
(P), with polar edges 92° 51'; also £P (n),
polar edges 129° 8', and ooP(m) (fig. 12]).
Cleavage, coP,perfect. H. = 4...4*5; G.=
2*7...2*75. Translucent; vitreous. Gray¬
ish-white. B.B. fuses difficultly to a co¬
lourless glass. Chem. com. 37*3 silica,
23*7 alumina, 26*5 baryta, and 12*5 water (a?ial//sis)
patrick Hills, Dumbartonshire.
*59. Harmotome, Cross-stone.—-A-l Si3 + Ba Si2 + 5 IT
Rhombic; Ppolar edges 119° 4', and
121° G^andcoP 88° 14'; crystals, ooPc»
(q) . ooPco (o) . P . Pgo , short prismatic.
Generally in perfectly intersecting ma-
cles (fig. 122). Cleavage, brachydiago-
nal imperfect, macrodiagonal less dis¬
tinct; brittle; fracture uneven. H.=
4*5; G. = 2*3...2*5. Translucent; vitreous.
Colourless, but white, gray, yellow, brown,
or red. B.B. fuses rather difficultly but
quietly to a clear glass. Soluble, but
not readily, in h. acid, with deposition of
silica. Chem. com. 47‘25 silica, 15*67 alumina, 23*39
baryta (with 1 to 3 lime and 1 to 2*5 potash), and 13*76
water. Andreasberg, Kongsberg, Oberstein ; Dumbarton¬
shire and Strontian (Morvenite), Scotland.
60. Phillipsite.—A\ Si3 + (Ca, K.) Si+ 5 IT.
Rhombic; P polar edges 119° 18' and 120° 42'. Forms,
macles, and other characters like harmotome. G. = 2’15...,
2'20. B.B. fuses easily with slight intumescence ; gelat¬
inizes in h. acid. Chem. com. 48*6 silica, 20*2 alumina, 7*3
lime, 6*2 potash, and 17*7 water. Giessen, Marburg, Cas-
sel, Iceland, and the Giants’ Causeway.
61. Herschelite.—-Al Si’3 + (Na, K, Ca) Si + 3 H.
Hexagonal; P polar edges, 124° 45'; crystals ooP . OP.
IT. = 4*5; G. = 2*06. Translucent; pearly; white. B.B.fuses
readily to a wTiite enamel. Chem. com. 48*5 silica, 20*1
alumina, 9*2 soda, 4*6 potash (with 0*2 to 5 lime), ami 17*6
water. Aci Reale and Palagonia in Sicily.
62. Zeagonite.—2 -Al Si2 + 2 (Ca, K) Si + 7 H.
Rhombic ; P polar edges 120° 37' and 121° 44'; crystals
single or in groups. IT. = 5, on angles and edges = 7 or more;
G. = 2*213. T ransparent; vitreous. Colourless, white, or bluish!
B.B. becomes white, falls down, shines, and melts to a
clear glass. Capo di Bove. Variety of Phillipsite (?).
63. Gismondine, Abrazite.—AlSi2+Ca(K) Si+ 4 IT.
Tetragonal (or rhombic ?); P 92° 30'; crystals, P or with
gcPx, in groups. Cleavage, P imperfect. H. = 5, on
edges and angles =6; G. = 2*265. Semitransparent to
translucent; vitreous. Grayish-white to pale-red. B.B. in¬
tumesces, shines, and melts to a white enamel. Chem.
com. 35 silica, 29 alumina, 15*7 lime (with 2*8 potash), and
20*3 water. Vesuvius, Aci Gastello, and Capo di Bove.
64. Laumonite.—Al Si3 + Ca Si+ 4 H.
Monoclinohedric ; C = 6S° 40', ooP 86° 15', ocP : 2 Poo
113 30 ; crystals prismatic, also columnar. Cleavage,
prismatic perfect; clinodiagonal in traces; rather brittle.
H. = 3...3*5 (when fresh = 5...6 ?); G. = 2*2...2*3. Pellu¬
cid ; vitreous ; on cleavage pearly. White, grayish, yellowish,
and reddish. In the air soon decomposed. B.B. intumesces
and melts easily to a white enamel, which becomes clear in a
stronger heat. Soluble and gelatinizes in h. acid. Chem.
com. 51*8 silica, 21*5 alumina, 11*3 lime, and 15*4 water.
Huelgoet in Brittany, Eule near Prague, Fahlun, Iceland,
Faroe, Snizort and Storr in Skye, Dumbarton, and other
parts of Scotland, and in North America.
65. Leonhardite.—4 -Al Si3 + 3 Ca Si + 12H.
Monoclinohedric; ooP83°30', ooP ; OP 114°; crystals,
co P . OP, prismatic, and grouped in bundles ; also granular
or columnar. Cleavage, ocP very perfect, basal imperfect.
Very friable. H. = 3...3*5 ; G. = 2*25. Translucent on the
edges ; pearly; yellowish-white. B.B. exfoliates, froths, and
melts easily to a white enamel. Becomes opaque, and de¬
composes quickly in the air. Chem. com. 53*9 silica, 23*8
alumina, 9*8 lime, and 12*5 water. Schemnitz.
66. Glottalite—Al Si + 3 CaSi + 8 H.
Tessera!; OandcoOco; in druses. H. = 3...4; G.=
p if" HiShIy to'pnslucent; vitreous. Colourless or white.
L.B. melts with intumescence to a white enamel. Chem.
com. 37'4 silica, 15*6 alumina, 25*3 lime, and 21*7 water.
Near Port-Glasgow. Probably chabasite.
Family VII.—Mica.
Ci ystallization monoclinohedric or rhombic, and hexa¬
gonal or rhombohedric. Cleavage mostly very perfect in
one direction (basal), and thin laminae flexible. Pellucid,
with a strong, often semimetallic lustre. H. = 2...3, more
larely 1...6 ; G. = 2*5...3. B.B. mostly fusible. Are sili¬
cates of alumina, with silicates of potash, magnesia, lithia,
and protoxides of iron and manganese, with or without
water. They are mostly constituents of the plutonic or
volcanic rocks.1
**67. Potash-mica, Muscovite, f 3 Al Si + K Si3, or
Phengite, Binaxial-Mica. ( 3 + ^ y”
Monoclinohedric, or probably rhombic. Crystals chiefly
rhombic or six-sided tables, with 00P 120° and 60°
nearly. Imbedded, or in druses; also scaly, foliated,
or lamellar. Macles rather rare. Cleavage, basal highly
perfect; sectile, and in thin laminae elastic. H. = 2..,3;
G. = 2*8...3*l. Pellucid in various degrees; optically
binaxial; metallic-pearly, on some faces vitreous. Colour¬
less, but white, gray, green, red, brown, black, and rarely
yellow. In closed tube usually yields water, with traces
of fluorine. B.B. loses its transparency, and fuses to an
obscure glass or white enamel. Not affected by h. or s.
acids. Chem. com. very variable, but nearly 48 silica,
39*8 alumina, and 12*2 potash ; but analyses give 40 to 48
silica, 32 to 37 (rarely 9 to 10) alumina, 3 to 9 (or 36) per¬
oxide of iron, 1 to 2 peroxide of manganese, 5 to 10 potash,
1 to 3 protoxide of iron (with traces of lime, magnesia, and
soda), and most 1 to 4 water and 1 to 3 fluorine. The green
micas (Fuchsite) also 4 to 6 chrome oxide. Abundant
as a constituent of granite, gneiss, mica-slate, and other
rocks. Large plates in Norway, Sweden, and especially in
1 Neither the optical nor crystallographical characters of the
micas, Nos. 67 to 71, are well determined. The magnesia micas
w ei e formerly regarded as monoaxial and hexagonal, but now appear
to be binaxial, with the angle between the axes small; in biotite
under 5°, often 0° to 1° or 2°; in phlogopite, 5° to 20°. The crystal¬
lization of the potash mica and lepidolite is more probably rhom¬
bic. The chem. com. also cannot be represented by any general
formula.
Minera-
logy.
78
MINERA LOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera¬
logy-
Siberia, often a yard in diameter, and used for windows,
but become white on exposure. Fine crystals, Vesuvius,
St Gotthardt, Pargas, Arendal, Utoe, Fahlun, Kimito,
Cornwall, and Aberdeenshire.
68. Damourite.—3-A1 Si + K Si3+ 2 H.
Fine foliated. H. = P5 ; G = 2'7...28. Translucent on the
edges ; pearly; yellowish-white. B.B. yields water, intu-
mesces, becomes milk-white, and melts with difficulty to a
white enamel. Soluble in sulphuric (not in h.) acid, leaving
silica. Chem. com. 45-7 silica, 38*1 alumina, 11*7 potash,
and 4*5 water. Pontivy in Brittany. The mica slate of St
Gotthardt {Paragonite) is similar externally, but contains
50*20 silica, 35*90 alumina, 2*36 iron peroxide, 8*4£ soda,
and 2*45 water; and is infusible B.B. Didrimite from
Zillerthal, and Margarodite from Connecticut, are similar
hydrous micas.
*69. Lithia-mica, 1 „ •• „ •.....
Lepidolite. } 3 A1 Sr + 2 L. Si + (KF, Si F!).
Crystallization and physical characters like potash-
mica, but colour often rose or peach-blossom red. In the
closed tube shows evident fluorine reaction. B.B. melts
very easily with effervescence to a colourless, brown, or
rarely black magnetic glass, colouring the flame red. Im¬
perfectly soluble in acids, wholly so after fusion. Chem.
com. 51*6 silica, 28*5 alumina, 8*7 potash, 5*3 lithia, and
5*9 fluoric acid; analyses give 46 to 52 silica, 20 to 29 alumina,
0 to 18 iron peroxide, 0 to 5 manganese peroxide, 5 to 10
potash, 2 to 6 lithia, 4 to 6 fluorine, and 0 to 15 soda. Corn¬
wall, Bohemia, Saxony; and also at Portsoy (serpentine),
Loch Fine, and Ballahulish (limestone), in Scotland. It is
sometimes used as an ornamental stone.
**70. Biotite, Magnesia- (M Si + (Mg, K, Fe)3Si,07*
Mica. VAlSi + R3Si.
Rhombohedric; R 7lu 4' to about 73° (but perhaps
rhombic); crystals mostly tabular, rarely short prisms.
Cleavage, basal very perfect; sectile; in thin plates
elastic. H. = 2*5...3; G. = 2*85...2*9. Transparent, but
often only in very thin plates (and generally mono-
axial?); metallic pearly. Usually dark-green, brown, or
black; streak greenish-gray or white. B.B. difficultly fusible
to a gray or black glass. Completely soluble in con. s.
acid, leaving white pearly plates of silica. Chem. com. very
variable, but analyses give 40 to 42 silica, 13 to 16 alumina,
0 to 20 iron peroxide, 0 to 20 iron protoxide, 10 to 25 mao--
nesia, 4 to 10 potash, 0 to 2 fluorine, and 1 to 3 water. Par-
gas, Bodenmais, Monroe in New York, Greenland, near
Aberdeen, and in other parts of Scotland. Rubellan,
brownish-red, Bohemia and Saxony, seems a variety.
71. Phlogopite.—A*1 Si + (Mg, K, Na)5 Si2.
Rhombic (or rhombohedric ?), in rhombic or hexagonal
prisms. Cleavage, basal. Yellow or copper-red; also colour¬
less, white, and brown. B.B. fuses to a white enamel.
Chem. com. 38 to 42 silica, 13 to 20alumina,2 to 7iron oxides,
25 to 30 magnesia, 6 to 10 potash, 1 to 5 soda, and 0*2 to 4
fluorine. In limestones, New York, Vosges Mountains, Sala.
72. Lepidomelane.—(Al, £e) Si + (Fe, K) Si.
Hexagonal, small six-sided tables. Cleavage, basal perfect;
rather bi’ittle. H. = 3; G. = 3*0. Highly vitreous ; opaque
an raven-black; or translucent and leek-green; streak
mountain-green. B.B. becomes brown, and fuses to a black
magnetic bead. Soluble in h. acid, leaving pearly scales of
o.1,61?1* coiri* 37*4 silica, 11*6 alumina, 27*7 ironper-
silica.
. • i I O /I * a a w aiuiiillJd, A i ( HUH HUT-
X\ “ iron protoxide, 9*2 potash, with 0*6 magnesia
and lime. Persberg, Sweden.
73. Chloritotd—Al2 Si + (Fe, Mg) Si.
Lrinlamiit’ (V?ed- Cleavage, in one direction perfect;
Bwl L 5-6i G==3,55- °Paque; weak pearly!
Blackish-gieen ; streak greenish-white. B.B. infusible, but
becomes darker and magnetic. Not affected by acids.
Chem. com. 26*2 silica, 43*4 alumina, and 30*4 iron pro¬
toxide, with 0 to 4 magnesia, and mostly 6 to 7 water. Kosoi-
brod in the Ural, Tyrol. Sismondine, St Marcel in Pied¬
mont, is similar; and Masonite, from Rhode Island.
74. Ottrelite—AF Si3 + 3 (Fe,Mn) Si + 3 H.
i nn hexagonal tables. Cleavage, parallel to the lateral
faces, rather perfect. Scratches glass. G. = 4*4. Translu-
’ i yitreous* Greenish or blackish-gray. B.B. melts
ifficultly on the edges to a black magnetic globule. Pow-
s°luble in warm s. acid. Chem. com. 43*9 silica
4*3 alumma, 17*0 iron protoxide, 8*5 manganese protoxide!
and 6 3 water. In gray clay-slate at Ottrez in Belgium.
**75. Chlorite (Ripi- f 2 R Si + R2 A1 + 3 H, or
dolite, G. Pose.) [ 3 R3 Si + JU Si + 9 H (Pams.)
Hexagonal; P 106° 50'; crystals tabular of OP. ocP, or OP.
’ v £• 123), often in comb-like or other groups;
generally foliated and scaly. Cleavage, basal
perfect; laminae flexible, but not elastic.
H. = l...l-5; G. = 2*78...2*96. Thin plates *ig.i23.
transparent or translucent; pearly. Leek to blackish green,
often red transverse to the chief axis ; streak greenish-gray.
In the closed tube yields water. B.B. difficultly fusible on
thin edges ; soluble in con. sul. acid. Chem. com. when 4 R
= 3 Mg+Fe, =26-3 sil., 21-8 al., 25-5 mag., 15-0 Fe, and 11-5 water.
=2Mg+2F,=24-6 ... 20-1 ... 15-9 ... 28*5 ... 10-9
but the analyses variable. Common in the Alps, Scan¬
dinavia, the Ural, the Harz, Cornwall, and many parts of
Scotland.
76. Rieidolite, Pennine ( 3 Mg Si + Mg2 Al + 4H,or
(Chlorite, G. Pose), j 3 R3 g- + ^2 Si + 9 H (Pams.)
Rhombohedric (?); R 63° 15'; crystals chiefly tabular, in
comb-like or fan-shaped groups. Cleavage, basal very per¬
fect ; sectile and flexible, but not elastic. H. = 2...3 ; G. = 2*6
...2*77. Translucent, in thin leaves transparent; pearly.
Green, but red by light transmitted transverse to the axis;
streak greenish-white. B.B. exfoliates, becomes white, and
fuses on the edges to a white enamel. Completely soluble
in warm s. acid. Chem. com. 33*2 silica, 18*3 alumina, 35*7
magnesia, and 13*8 water, but with 1 to 7 peroxide, and 1
to 6 protoxide of iron. Zermatt in Valais, Schwarzenstein in
Tyrol, and Mauleon in the Pyrenees. Leuclitenbergite,
yellowish-white, from Slatoust, is the same.
N.B.—Chlorite and Ripidolite may be regarded as one
species, with the formula R3 (Si, Al)2 + 3 H (Rams.)
77. Clinochlore.
Monoclinohedric; C = 76°4'; OP : P 113° 59', OP : 00P
102° 8.' Macles common; also in groups and druses.
Other characters and chem. com. like ripidolite, and the
two probably identical. West Chester in Pennsylvania,
Achmatowsk in Ural, and Leugastin Bavaria (massive).
Epichlorite, Metachlorite, Helminth, Delessite, and
Grengesite are other chlorite-like minerals.
**78. Talc.—Mg4 Si5+ H, or Mg6 Si5+ 2 H.
Monoclinohedric ; coP2 = 105° 50'. Rarely found in six-
sided or rhombic tables. Generally massive, granular, or scaly.
Cleavage, basal very perfect. Soft, sectile, and flexible, in
thin plates. H.= 1 ; G. = 2*68...2*80. Transparent in thin
plates, and optically binaxial; pearly or x*esinous. Colour¬
less, but generally greenish or yellowish-white, to apple,
leek, or olive green. Feels very greasy. B.B. emits a
bright light, exfoliates, and hardens (H. = 6), but is in¬
fusible. Not soluble in h. or s. acid before or after igni¬
tion. Chem. com. 62*5 silica, 33*9 magnesia, and 3*6 water;
but analyses give 57 to 63 silica, 0 to 4*7 alumina, 30 to 35
magnesia, 0 to 2*3 iron protoxide, with traces of lime and
nickel oxide, and 2 to 6 water. Greiner in Tyrol, Sala,
Fahlun, the Pyrenees, Unst in Zetland, and many parts
MINERALOGY.
ilnera- of the Scottish Highlands (talc-slate). Used as crayons ;
iogy- also for forming crucibles and porcelain.
Steatite.—Massive. Gray, red, yellow, or green. B.B.
melts in fine splinters to a white enamel; but in other
respects acts like talc, of which it seems only a com¬
pact variety. Brian con, Wunsiedel, the Lizard Point,
Cornwall, and near Kirkcaldy, Scotland. Savage nations
cut the steatite into culinary utensils. Potstone is a mix¬
ture of talc, chlorite, and other minerals. Steatite and
talc are apparently altered forms of other minerals, chiefly
augite and hornblende.
79. Schillerspar.—Mg (Fe, Ca), Si (-41, Ur, £e) + H.
Mono- or tri-clinohedric; only granular and foliated.
Cleavage very perfect in one direction, less so in another,
meeting at 87°; fracture uneven, splintery. H.-3*5...4;
G. = 2-6...2’8. Translucent on thin edges ; metallic pearly.
Olive or pistacio green, yellow, brown, or black; streak,
greenish white. Imperfectly soluble in h., wholly in s. acid.
B.B. becomes magnetic, and fuses in thin splinters on the
edges. With borax traces of iron when hot, of chrome
when cold. Chem. com. 43 silica, 26 magnesia, 2*7 lime,
7*4 iron protoxide, 3-3 iron peroxide, 2’4 chrome-oxide, L7
alumina, and 12’4 water. Baste in the Harz; other loca¬
lities uncertain. Probably an altered augite.
Metaxite, massive, asbestiform, weak pearly, and green¬
ish-white; H. = 2...2-5 nearly; G. = 2’52; Schwarzenberg;
is closely related.
80. Pyrosmalite. \ ^ + 3 ie H
[ +Te2 CP.
Hexagonal; P 101° 34'; crystals ooP . OP, tabular; also
granular. Cleavage, basal perfect, ooP imperfect; brittle.
H. = 4...4-5; G. = 3 0...3,2. Translucent to opaque; resin¬
ous, or metallic pearly. Uiver-brown to olive-green. B.B.
fuses to a black magnetic globule. Wholly soluble in c. n.
acid. Chem. com. 38*5 silica, 22 iron protoxide, 22 man¬
ganese protoxide, 13 iron peroxide, 3-4 hydrochloric acid,
and IT water. Nordmark in Sweden.
81.
Cronstedtite
Chloromelan
:1s
•Ue2 Si + 2 (Fe, Mg)2 Si+ 5 H.
Rhombohedric, chiefly radiated, columnar. Cleavage,
basal perfect; thin laminae elastic. H. = 2‘5; G. = 3-3
...3-5. Opaque or translucent; highly vitreous. Raven-
black; streak dark-green. B.B. intumesces, and melts
on the edges slowly to a steel-gray globule. Gelat¬
inizes with h. or s. acid. Chem. com. 2P8 silica, 37-6
iron peroxide (with 2-9 manganese peroxide), 25-4 iron pro¬
toxide, 4-7 magnesia, and 10-5 water. Przibram in Bohe¬
mia; Huel Maudlin, Cornwall; and Conghonas do Campo
in Brazil (Sidcroschisolite).
Groppite.—Coarse foliated. H. = 2-5, G. = 2,73. Rose
or brown-red. Gropptorp in Sweden.
84. Margarite, Pearl- > ... ..  
Mica, Emerylite. j ^ ^ + (Ca> Na, Mg) Si + H.
Rhombic; rarely in six-sided tables; generally granular
foliated. Cleavage, basal very perfect. Thin plates slightlv
elastic. H. = 3-o...4'5; G. = 3'032. Translucent; vitreous,
or pearly. Snow-white, reddish-white, or pearl-gray. B.B.
intumesces and difficultly fusible. Soluble in acids. Chem.
com. 30T silica, 5P2 alumina, 1P6 lime, 2-6 soda, 0’5 to 3
magnesia, and 4*5 water. Sterzing in Tyrol; Asia Minor and
Greece, with emery; and in Pennsylvania. Diphanite, in
hexagonal prisms, bluish-white ; B.B. fuses to an enamel;
from the Ural; is nearly allied.
Euphyllite.—Like mica, but less readily cleavable. H. = 4;
G. = 3. Pellucid; bright pearly; colourless. B.B. exfoliates
with a bright light, and fuses on the edges. Contains 40
silica, 42 alumina, P4 iron peroxide, P4 lime, 3-3 potash,
o soda, and 5'5 water. Unionville, Pennsylvania.
85. PvROPIIYLLITE.—A1 Si4+H.
Rhombic (?), butradiated, columnar, or foliated. Cleavage
very perfect; flexible; sectile. H.= l; G. = 2,7...2,8.
Translucent; pearly. Light verdigris-green to yellowish-
white. B.B. swells up wLh many twistings to a white infu¬
sible mass. Partially soluble in sulphuric acid. Chem.
com. 67 silica, 28T alumina, and 4-9 water, with OT to 4
magnesia and lime. Ural, Spaa, Morbihan, and Westana
in Sweden.
86. Anauxite.
Granular, with a very perfect cleavage in one direction.
H. = 2...3; G. = 2-26. Translucent on the edges; pearly.
Greenish-white. B.B. becomes white and fuses on thin
edges. Chem. com. 55*7 silica, much alumina, a little
magnesia, iron protoxide, and 11*5 water. Bilin in Bo¬
hemia.
87. Pholerite, Nacrite.—4T Si3+ 4 H.
Fine scaly. H. = 0‘5...1; G. = 2'35...2,57. Glimmering
or pearly. Snow or yellowish white. B.B. infusible.
Chem. com.40 silica, 44’4 alumina, and 15’6 water. Fins
in the Allier dept., Mons, Freiberg, and Naxos.
88. Rosellan, Polyar- ■)    
gite, Rosite. j 412 Si3 + (K, Ca, Mg) Si +12 H.
Small grains, with perfect cleavage. H. = 2*5; G. = 2'72.
Translucent; splendent; fine rose-red. B.B. fuses with
difficulty to a white slag. Chem. com. 45 silica, 35 alumina,
6’6 potash, 3-6 lime, 2-45 magnesia, and 6‘5 water. Aker
and Tunaberg in Sweden.
82. Stilpnomelan.—(Fe, Mg)2 (Si, 41)3 + 2 H.
Massive or radiating-foliated. Cleavage in one direction
very perfect; rather brittle. H. = 3...4; G. = 3...3'4.
Opaque; vitreous, inclining to pearly. Greenish-black; streak
greenish. B.B. fuses with difficulty to a black shining globule.
Imperfectly decomposed by acids. Chem. com. 45*3 silica,
6*9 alumina, 38-3 iron protoxide (with 2 to 3 magnesia), and
9‘5 water. Zuckmantel in Silesia, and Wielburg in Nassau.
83. Clintonite, Seybertite, Holme-f Si, 41, Mg, Ca,
site, Xanthophylite, Chrysophane. ( pe 4a jj
Hexagonal tables, or massive and foliated. Cleavage
very perfect in one direction, traces in another. H. = T5
...6; G. = 3 to 3T6. Translucent; pearly on the cleavage
planes. Wax-yellow, yellowish, or reddish-brown. Soluble
in concentiated acids. B.B. infusible alone, but some
become white and colour the flame yellow. Chem. com.
uncertain. Amity, New York; Slatoust in the Ural.
Pisterrite.Prandisite,Irom Monzoni, in Tyrol; H. = 5 on
basis, 6...6-5 on the prism ; when fresh blackish-green, but
reddish-brown after exposure; is closely allied. 5
** Family YIII.—Serpentine.
Massive or rhombic. H. = 1...4, rarely more; G. = 2’3
...8. Often compact or fibrous. B.B. infusible or difficultly.
Mostly soluble in acids. Colour often green. Chem. com.
generally hydrated silicates of magnesia, partly replaced
by protoxide of iron or lime, occasionally also with silicate
of alumina or iron peroxide. Occur in plutonic or altered
rocks; the serpentine often in large masses or beds.
**89. Serpentine. — Mg3 Si2 + 2 H, or Mg9 ST + 6 H.
Crystallization uncertain ; generally massive, and granular
or fibrous. Fracture flat-conchoidal, uneven, or splintery.
Sectile and slightly brittle. H. = 3...3-5; G.=2-5...2,6.
Translucent to opaque; dull resinous. Green, gray, yel¬
low, red, or brown, often in spots, stripes, or veins; streak
white, shining. Feels greasy. In the closed tube yields
water and becomes black. B.B. becomes white, and fuses
with much difficulty on thin edges. Soluble in h. or easier
in s. acid. Chem. com. 43‘35 silica, 43*78 magnesia, and
12*87 water, but with 1 to 8 iron protoxide, and also car¬
bonic acid, bitumen, and chrome oxide.
79
Minera-
logy.
80
MINER ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera-
logy-
Varieties are,—1^, Noble Serpentine ; 2d, Marmolite or
foliated; 3 c?, Picrolite or fibrous (H. = 3*5...4-5); Ath, Com¬
mon or compact Serpentine; 5th, Chrysotile (Baltimorite,
Metaxite), in fine asbestiform fibres, easily separated, with
a metallic or silky lustre. G. = 2*219. Common in Norway,
Sweden, North America, the Lizard Point in Cornwall, in
Shetland, Portsoy, and many parts of Scotland. The chry¬
sotile, at Reichenstein in Silesia, the Vosges Mountains,
and North America.
90. Antigorite.—(Mg, Fe)4 Si3 + H (?).
Very thin, straight, slaty laminae. H. = 2,5 ; G. = 2,62.
Transparent or translucent. Dull or blackish leek-green, in
some parts with brown spots ; streak white. B.B. very thin
edges fuse to a yellowish-brown enamel. Chem. com. 46
silica, 2 alumina, 13 iron protoxide, 35 magnesia, and 3'7
water (but others 13 water). Antigorio in Piedmont.
91. Hydrophite.—(Mg, Fe)4 Si3 + 4 H.
Massive or fibrous. Fracture uneven. H. = 3...4;G.=
2-65. Mountain-green; streak lighter. B.B. infusible.
Chem. com. 36‘19 silica, 22‘73 iron protoxide, P66 manga¬
nese protoxide, 2P08 magnesia, 2-89 alumina, 0T2 vanadic
acid, 16-08 water. Taberg in Sweden, and New York.
92. Picrosmine.—2 Mg Si + H. ^
Rhombic, but massive. Cleavage, ccPco perfect; less so
in other directions. Very sectile. H.=2-5...3; G. = 2-5...
2'7. Translucent or opaque; vitreous, but pearly on ocP oo.
Greenish-white, gray, or blackish-green ; streak colourless,
fields a bitter odour when breathed on (hence the name).
In closed tube gives water and blackens. B.B. becomes
white, and hard ( = 5). Chem. com. 55 8 silica, 36T mag¬
nesia, and 8-1 water. Presnitz in Bohemia, and the Greiner
in Tyrol.
Monradite.—Massive,foliated, translucent, and yellowish-
gray. H. = 6; G. = 3-267. Has nearly the same composition,
but with half the water. B.B. infusible. Bergen, Norway.
Picrophyll.—Dark-green, foliated. G. = 2-73; H. = 2'5.
B.B. infusible, but becoming white. Is also nearly related.
Sala.
93. Villarsite.—2 Mg2 Si + H.
Rhombic; crystals ocP . P . OP, with ooP = ] 19° 59' (?) ;
also granular. Fracture uneven. H. = 3; G. = 2-9...3.
Translucent. Greenish or grayish-yellow. B.B. infusible ;
decomposed by acids. Chem. com. 41 silica, 53 magnesia,
with 34 iron protoxide and 23 manganese protoxide, and
6 water. Probably a pseudomorph of Olivine. Traversella
in Piemont.
94. Spadaite.—Mg5 Si6 + 4 H.
Only massive, with splintery fracture. Sectile. H. = 2-5.
Translucent; weak resinous. Red; streak white. B.B.
fuses to an enamel-like glass ; soluble in con. h. acid, leav¬
ing slimy silica. Chem. com. 57 silica, 32 magnesia, and
11 water. Capo di Bove, near Rome.
95. Gymnite, Deweylite.—Mg4 Si3 + 5 H.
Only massive. H. = 2...3; G. = 2-2...2-4. Semi-trans¬
lucent; resinous. Pale or dirty orange-yellow. B.B. be¬
comes dark-brown, and fuses on very thin edges. Chem.
com. 42'1 silica, 37 magnesia, and 20-9 water. Bare Hills
near Baltimore, and Tyrol.
96. Cuonikrite.—3 (Mg, Ca, Fe) (Si, Al) + 2 H.
Massive. Fracture uneven. Sectile. H. = 2-5...3; G.
= 2-91. I ranslucent; dull or glimmering. Snow, yellowish,
or grayish-white. B.B. melts with ebullition to a grayish-
white glass ; soluble with deposition of silica in h. acid.
Chem. com. 35-7 silica, 17T alumina, 22-5 magnesia, 12-6
lime, 1"5 iron protoxide, and 9 water. Elba.
97. Pyrosclerite.—3 Mg2 Si + AlSi + 4 H.
Massive. Cleavage, in two directions at right angles, the
one pei feet, the other imperfect; fracture uneven, splin-
tery. Sectile. H. = 3; G. = 2‘7...2-8. Translucent; dull,
ciiiciciiiM, ui  
With borax forms a
or weas. peariy. Appiw, ,
fuses with difficulty to a gray glass.
chrome-green glass. The powder soluble in c. h. acid,
leaving silica. Chem. com. 36"8 silica, 15-2 alumina (with
1-5 chrome-oxide), 33-7 magnesia, 3‘5 iron protoxide, and
10-7 water. Elba, Aker in Sodermanland.
98. Kammererite.—3 Mg2 Si + Al Si+ 5 H.
Hexagonal; OP .coP tabular and prismatic; but usually
massive and foliated. Cleavage, basal perfect. Sectile;
flexible. H.= l-5...2; G. = 2-76. Translucent; pearly.
Violet-blue, reddish, or greenish. Feels greasy. B.B. ex¬
foliates without fusing. Chem. com. 37-0 silica, 14-2 alu¬
mina, PO chrome-oxide, 3P5 magnesia, P5 lime, 1"5 iron
protoxide, and 13"0 water. Bissersk in Siberia.
Rhodochrome.—Massive, fine scaly, splintery fracture. H.
— 2 5...3; G. = 2"668. Greenish-black, in fine splinters
peach-blossom red. Tino in Greece, the Ural, Styria, and
near Baltimore.
Tahergite, from Taberg; Vermiculite, in fine scales, twist-
ing up, B.B., from Millbury, Mass.; and Loganite, from
Canada, are closely allied.
99. Brucite, Nemalite.—Mg H.
Rhombohedric; R. 82° lo”; crystals OR, ocR; also
foliated or columnar. Cleavage, basal very perfect. Sectile;
fine ammse flexible. H. = 2 ; G. = 2-3...2-4. Translucent;
pearly. Colourless, or grayish and greenish-white. B.B. in¬
fusible ; easily soluble in acids. Chem. com. 69 magnesia,
and 31 water, but after exposure often contains carbonic
acid and effervesces. Nemalite is the fine fibrous varieties
with silky lustre. Swinaness in Unst, Hoboken in New
Jersey, and Beresow'sk in the Ural.
** Family IX.—Hornblende.
Monoclinohedric mostly. Distinct cleavage in several
directions. H. = 4...6, but generally 5, or scratch with knife ;
G. = 2-5...4, but mostly high. Mostly coloured, ranging
from white, through green (rarely brown), to black. Lustre
sometimes silky or metallic pearly. Soluble, but not very
readily, in acids; and more or less easily fusible. Chem.
com. anhydrous silicates and aluminates of lime, magnesia,
iron protoxide, more sparingly of soda, yttria, and manga¬
nese protoxide. The chief species are essential constituents
of the igneous rocks, and form by their decomposition highly
fertile soils.
N.R. Hornblende and Augite rather represent groups of
mineral substances than single species.
**100. Hornblende, f R3 Sic=(Mg, Ca, Fe)5 (Si A1)G, or
Amphibole. 1 j^4 *gj3
monocnnoneanc; iu, oor 124 30
, 1. 1*10 ow,
The crystals short and thick, or long and thin prisma¬
tic, formed especially by ccP (M) and (ocPoo) (x), and
bounded on the ends chiefly by OP and P (r) (fig. 123).
Macles common, with the chief axis the twin
axis. Very often radiated, fibrous or columnar,
or granular. Cleavage, prismatic along ocP
124^° very perfect, orthodiagonal and clinodia-
gonal very imperfect. H. = 5...6; G. = 2-9...3-4.
Pellucid in all degrees ; vitreous, but sometimes
pearly or silky. Colourless; often white, but
usually some shade of gray, yellow, green, brown,
or black. B.B. fuses, generally intumescing and boiling, to
a gray> green, or black glass. Those containing most iron
are most fusible, and are also partially soluble in hydrochloric
acid, which scarcely affects the others. Chem. com. very
variable, and hardly reducible to any general formula. Ana¬
lyses range from 40 to 60 per cent, silica, 0 to 17 alumina,
0 to 30 lime, 0 to 36 iron protoxide (or peroxide), 0 to 4
manganese protoxide, 0 to 8 soda, 0 to 3 potash, and 0 to
1-5 fluorine, with a little w-ater.
Fig. 124.
MINERALOGY.
Minera-
logy.
The more remarkable varieties are,—
1. Tremolite, Grammalite, or Calamite.—3 Mg5 Si6 +
Ca5 Si6+ Ca F, with 60-85 silica, 24-53 magnesia, 13-74
lime, and 0"88 fluoric acid. White, graj7, green, rarely yel¬
lowish or blue ; in long prismatic crystals, often bent and
striated longitudinally. Pearly or silky ; semitransparent or
translucent. B.B. fuses readily to a white or nearly colour¬
less glass. Lapland, Sweden, Arendal, Campo Longo, St
Gotthardt, and other parts of the Alps; in the Pyrenees,
Silesia, Siberia, North America; Glen Tilt, Glenelg, Tiree,
and many parts of Scotland.
2. Actinolite, Actinote, or Strahlstein.—Colour green, in¬
clining to black, gray, or brown. Translucent, or only on
the edges. Long prismatic crystals, or radiated columnar
masses. B.B. melts to a greenish or blackish enamel. Swe-
den, Tyrol, North America, Glenelg, Isle Oronsay, and
Aberdeenshire.
3. Asbestus, Amianthus, and Byssolite.—Fine fibrous.
White, gray, or green. The fibres often easily separable,
elastic, and flexible. Savoy, Tyrol, and Corsica. Rock-
cork, felt-like, and swims on water; Saxony, Sweden,
Portsoy and Leadhills in Scotland. Rock-leather, flat and
flexible; Leadhills, Aberdeenshire, and Strontian; and
Rock-wood, near Sterzing in the Tyrol.
4. Anthophyllite.—Clove-brown to leek-green ; translu¬
cent, radiating, and columnar; pearly on cleavage planes.
B.B. very difficultly fusible. In it the lime is chiefly replaced
by protoxide of iron. Kongsberg and near Brevig in
Norway, Greenland, and the United States.
5. Hornblende.—Green or black, seldomer brown or gray.
G. = 3-3.. .4. B.B. fuses rather easily to a yellow, greenish,
or black enamel. (Mg3 + Ca2) Si"6 + Fe Al, with 47‘9 silica,
13*2 alumina, 15*5 magnesia, 14*4 lime, and 9 0 iron prot¬
oxide in the black variety. Three varieties are distinguished,
(a.) The Noble or Pargasite, pale celadine or olive-green,
and strong pearly or vitreous lustre; at Pargas in Finland,
Tyrie in Scotland, (i.) Common Hornblende, dark leek or
blackish green, opaque; a constituent of many rocks, as in
Norway, the Alps, and Scottish Highlands (Ben Lair, East
Rona). Streak greenish-gray, (c.) Basaltic, velvet-black,
foliated, opaque ; streak gray or brown, in basalt and volcanic
rock. Ural, Arendal, Bohemia.
Arfvedsonite.—3 Fe5 Si6 + Na5 Si6, with 52-3 silica (2 alu¬
mina), 36-9 iron protoxide, 8*6 soda, and 2 lime. Pure black,
opaque; streak grayish-green. Cleavage, very perfect along
a prism of 123° 55'. G. = 3-44; H. = 6. Fusible in fine
splinters in the flame of a candle. B.B. intumesces much,
and melts to a black magnetic globule. Not soluble in
acids. Greenland, Frederiksvarn in Norway, and Arendal.
The Raphilite, from Upper Canada, seems only tre-
molite.
Uralite.—Dark-green or greenish-black, with the outward
form of augite, the internal structure and composition of
hornblende. The Ural. Is probably a pseudomorph.
**101. Augite, Pyroxene. i9'a + ^e.)
(Ca3 Si2 + (Mg, Fe)3 Si2.
13I029',2P 96°36'. Crystals, ooP (M). ocPoo (r).( ocPx )(l)
. P (s). (fig. 125) gcP . 2P . OP . 3 P. ooPoo, and ocPoo .
( gcPoo ) . Pco . ooP, almost always prismatic, imbedded,
or attached; also granular, columnar, and scaly. Macles
(fig. 126) common. Cleavage, prismatic along ooP (with
angles of81 6 and 92 54 ), generally rather imperfect; or¬
thodiagonal and clinodiagonal imperfect. H. = 5...6 ; G.=
3-2...3-5. Pellucid in all degrees ; vitreous ; in some pearly
on ooPoo . Colourless, and white, but usually gray, green,
or black. B.B. generally fusible; imperfectly soluble in
acids. Chem. com. generally
Silica. Lime. Magnesia. Iron.
a. Magnesia-augite 56-36 25-46 18-18
5. Magnesia-iron-augite ....52-72 23-81 8-50 14-97
c. Iron-augite 49-52 22 37 ... 28-11
Analysis gives 47 to 56 silica, 20 to 25 lime, 5 to 15 magne¬
sia, 1 to 20 iron protoxide, with Oto 3 manganese protoxide,
and 0 to 8 alumina. The alumina, chiefly found in very
dark green or black augites, may replace part of the silica.
The more important varieties are—
1. Diopside.—Grayish or greenish-white, to pearl-gray or
leek-green ; streak white. Crystallized or broad-columnar,
or concentric lamellar. Transparent to translucent on the
edges. Not affected by acids. B.B. fuses to a whitish
semitransparent glass. Mussa Alpe (Mussite) and Ala
(Alalite) in Piedmont, Swarzenstein in the Tyrol; also
the Alps, Scandinavia, Finnland, Ural, and North America.
2. Sahlite, Malacolite.—Green, rarely yellow, brown or
red; streakwhite. Translucent,oronlyontheedges; vitreous,
inclining to pearly. Seldom crystallized {Baikalite), mostly
columnar or lamellar. B.B. melts to a dark-coloured glass.
Fassathal (Fassaite), Piedmont, Arendal, Philipstadt in
Sweden; in the vicinity of Lake Baikal (Baikalite); near
Lake Lherz in the Pyrenees (Lherzolite) ; Sahla, Sweden ;
Glentjlt, Glenelg, Tiree, in Scotland ; Tyrol, and North
America. Coccolite is a distinct granular sahlite or augite.
3. Augite.—Leek-green, greenish-black, or velvet-black,
rarely brown ; streak greenish-gray. Vitreous to resinous ;
translucent or opaque. Only slightly affected by acids.
B.B. fuses to a black, often magnetic glass. An essential
component of many rocks, basalt, dolerite, clinkstone, and
augite porphyry, in Germany, Auvergne, Vesuvius, and in
many parts of Scotland ; associated chiefly with labrado-
rite, also with olivine, leucite, or nepheline; rarely if ever
with quartz.
4. Hedenbergite.—Black or blackish-green ; opaque or
translucent on the edges. B.B. melts to a black magnetic
glass. Seems a lime-iron augite. Tunaberg. Jeffersonite,
from Sparta, New Jersey; Hudsonite, from the Hudson
River ; and Polylite, are related.
5. Amianthus.—Some asbestiform minerals are probably
augite, but the greater number are rather hornblende.
6. Breislackite.—Fine yellowish or brown woolly crystals.
Vesuvius, and Capo di Bove near Rome.
Hornblende and augite agree so closely in crystalline
forms and chemical composition, that it has sometimes been
proposed to unite them in one species. They, however,
differ too widely to justify their union. Thus, hornblende
contains more silica, and a half to one per cent, of fluoric
acid, which does not appear in augite. Hornblende, too,
is more fusible, and ranges lower in specific gravity (horn¬
blende from 2-931 to 3*445; augite, 3*195 to 3*525).
Though both possess a cleavage parallel to their vertical
prisms, yet these differ in angular dimensions. They also
occur in distinct geognostic positions. Hornblende in
rocks containing quartz or free silica, and mostly with mi¬
nerals that are neutral compounds of silica, as orthoclase
and albite ; augite in rocks that do not contain free silica,
and mostly with minerals that are not neutral silicates, as
labradorite, olivine, and leucite. Hence there are two dis¬
tinct series of massive or igneous rocks; the hornblende
L
81
Mincra-
ffigy-
MINER ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- series, including granite, syenite, diorite, diorite-porphyry,
°^' , and red porphyry; and the augite series or hypersthene
' ^ Y ^ rock, gabbro, dolerite, nepheline rock, augite-porphyry,
and leucite-porphyry.
102. Nephrite, Jade. C Si + Ca. Si, or
(3 Mg Si + Ca Si.
Compact; fracture coarse splintery. Very tenacious.
H. = 6...6‘5 ; G. = 2,9...3. Translucent, dull, or resinous.
Leek-green, to greenish-white or blackish-green. Feels
slightly greasy. B.B. become white and melt with diffi¬
culty to a gray mass. Chem. com. 57'7 silica, 24,8 mag¬
nesia, 17'4 1ime; or 58'5 silica, 28’3 magnesia, and 13’2
lime, but with 1 to 3 protoxide of iron and 1 to 2*5 water.
China and the East, also in New Zealand. Seem varieties
of hornblende or augite. Cut into ring-stones or amulets.
103. Boltonite.—(Mg, Fe, Ca)5 Si2.
Granular; cleavage, one perfect, two others in traces.
Translucent. Bluish-gray changing to yellowish-gray on
exposure. B.B infusible. Chem. com. 46 to 47 silica, 43
to 44 magnesia, 6 iron protoxide, and 3-5 lime. Bolton,
Massachusetts.
104. Hypersthene, Paulite.—(Mg, Fe) Si.
fsomorphous with augite, ooP 87°. Crystalline and gra¬
nular, or disseminated. Cleavage, orthodiagonal very per¬
fect, prismatic gcP distinct, clinodiagonal very imperfect.
H. = 6; G. = 3-3...3*4. Opaque or translucent on thin
edges; vitreous or resinous, but metallic pearly on the
cleavage planes, of which one is copper-coloured, two
silvery. Pinchbeck-brown, inclining to copper-red, pitch-
black, and grayish-black ; streak greenish-gray. Not
affected by acids. B.B. melts more or less easily to a
greenish-black glass, often magnetic. Chem. com. generally
46 to 58 silica, 0 to 4 alumina, 11 to 26 magnesia, 1 to 5
lime, 13 to 34 iron protoxide, 0 to 6 manganese protoxide.
Paul’s Island {Paulite), Labrador, and Greenland. Hy¬
persthene rock in Norway, Elfdal in Sweden, Skye and
Ardnamurchan in Scotland. Also Cornwall; the Harz,
and other parts of Germany.
*105. Bronzite.—(7 Mg + Fe) Si8.
Monoclinohedric, like augite ; C. = 72°, ocP 86° ; indis¬
tinct crystals or granular. Cleavage, orthodiagonal very
perfect, coP imperfect, clinodiagonal in traces. H. = 4'5
...5; G. = 3,2...3,5. Translucent, or only on the edges;
resinous or vitreous ; on the more perfect cleavage planes,
which are often slightly curved and fibrous; metallic-pearly
or silky. Clove-brown to pinchbeck-brown, sometimes
greenish or yellowish ; streak white. Not affected by
acids. B.B. very difficultly fusible to a dark-brown or
blackish-green glass. Chem. com. 58‘6 silica, 33'0 magne¬
sia, and 8‘4 iron protoxide; but also 1 to 2 alumina, 0 to
2'2 lime, and 0 to 3 manganese protoxide. Kraubat in
Styria, Kupferberg in Baireuth, Ullenthal in Tyrol, and
near Marburg.
*106. Diallage.—(Ca, Mg, Fe) Si.
Like augite, and only a variety, with very perfect cleavage
in the clinodiagonal, a metallic-pearly lustre, and gray
or pinchbeck-brown colour. B.B. melts easily to a grayish
or greenish enamel. Chem. com. 50 to 53 silica, 1 to 5
alumina, 15 to 23 magnesia, 11 to 20 lime, and 5 to 12
manganese protoxide. Constituent of the Gabbro. Baste
in the Harz, Silesia, the Alps, Apennines, and Ural. Va-
nadine-bronzite, containing soda and vanadic acid, and
Diaclasite, seem merely diallage.
107. PiHOdonite, Manganese-spar.—Mn Si.
Monoclinohedric, crystalline, or granular. Cleavage, ooP
8/ 5 imperfect, (goPoo) perfect, also ooPoo. Brittle.
H. = 5...5'5; G. = 3*5...3-6. Translucent; vitreous or partly
pearly. Dark rose-red, bluish-red, or reddish-brown. Not
affected by acids. B.B. fusible. Chem. com. 45‘33 silica,
and 53’67 manganese protoxide, with 3 to 5 lime, and 0 to 6
iron protoxide. Langbanshytta, Katharinenburg, the Harz,
and New Jersey. The Buslamite, pale-greenish or red¬
dish-gray, with 14 lime, Mexico ; Fowlerite, New Jer¬
sey, with 7 to 11 iron protoxide, and Paisbergite, Sweden,
are varieties. Hgdropite, Photicite, Allagite, and Horn-
manganese, mere mixtures.
108. Wollastonite, Tabular-spar.—Ca Si.
Monoclinohedric ; C. = 84° 40', ocP 140°, or C. = 69° 48',
oo P. 87°, 28'. Very rarely crystallized, mostly broad prismatic
or laminar. Cleavage, along OP and ooP x> perfect, but planes
uneven or rough ; meet at 95° 23'. H. = 5 ; G. = 2-7...2-9.
Translucent; vitreous, or pearly on cleavage. White, in¬
clining to gray, yellow, red, or brown ; streak white. Phos¬
phoresces with heat or friction ; gelatinizes in hydrochlo¬
ric acid. B.B. difficultly fusible to a semitransparent glass.
Chem. com. 52‘5 silica and 47‘5 lime, but with 0 to 2 mag¬
nesia, and 0 to 2 iron protoxide. Bannat, Finnland, Swe¬
den, North America, Ceylon, Capo di Bove, Monaltrie in
Aberdeenshire, and the Castle Rock at Edinburgh.
110. Acjiite.^2 Me Si3 + Na2 Si3.
Monoclinohedric. Crystals long acute-pointed prisms.
Cleavage like augite, coP (86° 56'). H. = 6...6-5 ; G. = 3-4
...SB. Nearly opaque; vitreous. Brownish or greenish-
black ; streak greenish-gray. Imperfectly soluble in acids.
B.B. fuses easily to a black magnetic glass. Chem.com.
55*6 silica, 32 iron peroxide, and 12-4 soda, but with 1 to
3 manganese peroxide, and also 3 to 4 titanic acid. Eger
and Porsgrund in Norway.
111. Babingtonite.—R4 Si5, or Ca2Si3 + 2 Fe Si.
Triclinohedric ; ooPoo(7l!f) ; ooPoo (*) = 1120 30'; ooP'
(h): co'P (g) = 90° 40'; OP (P): ooPco = 92° 34', OP : ocPoo
= 88° 0'; crystals very low eight-sided
prisms (fig. 127), small, attached. Cleav¬
age, basal and brachydiagonal perfect. H. — ^
5...5’5 ; G. = 3*4. ..3‘5. Thin laminae trans¬
lucent, greenish, and brownish. Splen¬
dent vitreous; black. Slowly soluble in Fis-127•
boiling h. acid. B.B. fuses easily with effervescence to a
black magnetic bead. Chem. com. 54*7 silica, 20-3 lime,
and 25‘0 iron protoxide, but with 0*3 to 6 alumina, 2*2
magnesia, and 2 to 10 manganese protoxide. Arendal,
Zetland, and Governeur, New York.
112. Sordawalite.—A-l Si2 + 4 (Mg, Fe) Si + 2H.
Massive. Fracture conchoidal; brittle. H. = 4*“4,5.
G. = 2-55...2-62. Opaque; resinous or vitreous. Brown¬
ish-black or blackish-green ; streak liver-brown. B.B.
fuses to a black globule. Chem. com. 50‘7 silica (with
2-68 phosphoric acid), 14 alumina, 19-6 iron protoxide, 10*9
magnesia, and 4'8 water. Sordawala in Finnland.
113. Krokydolite.—3FeSi + (Na, Mg) Si2+2H.
Very fine, easily separable, but tough elastic fibres.
H. = 4; G. = 3-2...3*3. Translucent; silky, or dull. In¬
digo blue; streak lavender-blue. B.B. fuses easily to a
black magnetic glass. Chem. com. 50‘3 silica, 35 0 iron
protoxide, 2’2 magnesia, 6*7 soda, and 5-8 water. Orange
River in South Africa, Stavern in Norway, and Greenland.
114. Pyrallolite.
Triclinohedric; prismatic; usually columnar orgramdar.
Cleavage, ocP' to go'P = 94° 36' distinct. Fracture un¬
even, splintery; rather brittle. H.= 3*5...4; G.=2-55...
2,60. Opaque, or translucent on the edges ; resinous, or
pearly. Greenish-white, asparagus-green, and yellowish-
gray. B.B. becomes black, then white, and fuses with very
much difficulty. Chem. com. silicate of magnesia with a
little silicate of lime, water, and bituminous matter. Stor-
gard, Finnland. Probably decomposed augite.
115. Isopyre.—(Al, ¥e,)2 Si3 + 3 Ca Si (?).
Minera-
logy-
MINERALOGY.
83
Minera- Brittle; fracture conchoidal. ; G. —2,90...
logy. 2'95. Opaque ; vitreous. Grayish or velvet-black, some-
/ times with red spots; streak pale greenish-gray. Im¬
perfectly soluble in acids. B.B. fuses to a magnetic glo¬
bule. Chem. com., by Turner’s analysis, 47-09 silica, 13-91
alumina, 15-43 lime, 20"07 iron peroxide, T94 copper oxide.
St Just near Penzance, Calton Hill, Edinburgh (?).
116. Taciiylite.—-A1 Si2 + 3 (Fe, Ca, Mg, Mn, Na, K) Si.
Conchoidal. H. = 6’5 ; G. = 2"52. Opaque; vitreous
or resinous. Velvet, brownish, or greenish black ; streak
dark-gray. B.B. fuses very easily to an opaque glass;
soluble in h. acid. Vogehherg (Hyalomelari) near Drans-
feld, Munden, and Iceland. Seems a vitreous basalt.
* Family X.—Clays.
Amorphous, earthy, variously-coloured masses. H. = 1
...5, but generally low or 1...3 ; G. = 1...3, but often about
2. Many have a shining streak, adhere to the tongue,
feel greasy, and fall down in water. Some then form a
ductile paste and are used for pottery. These are slightly
affected by acids (under 25 per cent, of mass, soluble.)
They are chiefly silicates of alumina, with about 10 to 12
per cent, water. Others with 20 to 25 per cent, water, and
almost entirely soluble in acids, do not become plastic, and in
the fire become misshapen or fuse; but often combine with
grease or oil to an earthy soap. Many are thus of great
economic importance. They rarely form true species,
and are mostly indefinite mixtures or mere products of
the decomposition of rocks and minerals.
*117. Kaolin, Porcelain-earth.—Aisi3 + 2 H.
Massive in beds and veins. Fracture uneven; fine-
eartny, very soft, sectile, and friable. H. = l; G. = 2-2.
Opaque, dull. White or gray, inclining to blue, green,
yellow, or red. Feeis meagre when dry, and plastic when
wet. B.B. infusible. Not affected by h. acid, but de¬
composed by warm s. acid, leaving silica. Chem. com. very
variable, but approximates to 47"2 silica, 39-1 alumina, and
13-7 water. Chiefly a product of the decomposition of
orthoclase, or of granite, porphyry,-md other rocks contain¬
ing this mineral. Cornwall and Devonshire in Britain,
Limoges in France, Meissen in Saxony, are the chief locali¬
ties for the kaolin used in manufacturing porcelain.
*118. Clay.
Clays are merely varieties of kaolin, mixed with quartz-
sand, carbonate of lime, magnesia, the oxyhydrates of iron
and manganese, or other substances. Generally they are
compact and friable, of white, yellow, red, blue, gray, or
brown colours. Their spec. gr. varies from P8 to 2-7. Va¬
rieties are,—Pipe-clay, grayish or yellowish-white, with a
greasy feel; adheres strongly to the tongue; and when wet
is very plastic and tenacious, and in the fire burns white.
Abundant in Devonshire, and in the Trough of Poole in
Dorsetshire ; in France, Belgium, and Germany. Used for
manufacturing tobacco-pipes and similar articles. Potter’s
clay, red, yellow, green, or blue, becoming yellow or red
when burnt; more easily fused than the former, and often
effervesces with acids. That used in the potteries in Eng¬
land comes chiefly from Devonshire. Loam, coarser and
more impure, with more sand, and consequently less plastic.
Shale or Slate-clay, grayish-black, and much mixed with
bituminous or carbonaceous matter. Bituminous shale,
known by its shining, resinous streak. Black chalk, with
more carbon, leaves a black mark on paper. Iron-clay con¬
tains much peroxide of iron, is reddish-brown, and forms the
basis of many amygdaloids and porphyries.
119. Rock-soap, Bergseife.
Compact. Fracture earthy or conchoidal; sectile.
H.= 1...2. Streak resinous. Colour pitch-black and
bluish-black. Feels very greasy; writes, but does not soil.
Adheres strongly to the tongue, and falls to pieces in water.
Chem. com. 44 to 46 silica, 17 to 26 alumina, 6 to 10
iron peroxide, 13 to 25 water. Arnstedt, Cassel, Bilin, and
Isle of Skye. Used for crayons by painters, and for washing
cloth.
120. Plinthite.
Compact; earthy. H. = 2...3; G. = 2*34. Brick-red or
brownish-red. Does not adhere to the tongue. B.B. be¬
comes black, but is infusible. Chem. com. 30-9 silica, 20-8
alumina, 26-1 iron peroxide, 2'6 lime, and 10-6 water. An¬
trim in Ireland. Erinite, from the same place, is similar.
121. Green-earth.—Si, Al, Fe, Mg K, H.
Massive, forming crusts. Fracture, fine earthy ; sectile.
H.= 1...2; G. = 2-8. Opaque; streak shining. Green.
Feels greasy. B.B. fuses to a black magnetic glass; not
affected by acids. Common in the trap rocks of Faroe, Ice¬
land, Scotland, and other countries; that used in the arts
chiefly from Monte Baldo near Verona, and Cyprus. Glau¬
conite, small round green grains, in the greensand of Eng¬
land, France, Germany, and North America, is essentially
a hydrous silicate of iron protoxide and potash, but with
43 to 57 silica, 5 to 17 alumina, 19 to 27 iron protoxide, 5
to 15 potash, 1 to 4 magnesia, 0 to 3 lime, and 7 to 13
water. In New Jersey forms a valuable manure.
122. Yellow-earth. — (-Fe, -Al)2 Si3 + 4 H.
Fracture fine earthy or slaty. H.= 1...2; G. = 2'2.
Ochre-yellow. Greasy; adheres slightly to the tongue, and
pulverizes in water. B.B. infusible, but becomes red ; par¬
tially soluble in h. acid. A mixture of silicate of alumina,
peroxide of iron, and water. Harz, France, and Scotland.
Used as a coarse pigment.
123. Halloysite.—Al Si + 4 H.
Reniform. H.= P5...2'5; G.= P9...2T. Semitrans-
lucent, and more so when moist. White, inclining to blue,
green, or yellow. Adheres slightly to the tongue. B.B.
infusible; soluble in c. s. acid. Chem. com. nearly 4P5
silica, 34-4 alumina, and 24T water. Liege, Tarnowitz,
Thiviers in France; Eifel (Lenzinite); Scotland (Tuesite).
*124. Fuller’s-earth, Walkerde.
Fracture uneven, slaty, or earthy. H.= 1...U5; G.=
1'8...2‘0. Opaque; dull, but streak resinous. Green, gray,
or white. Very greasy; scarcely adheres to the tongue.
Falls down in water, but does not become plastic. That from
Reigate in Surrey contained 53 silica, 10 alumina, 9-75 iron
peroxide, P25 magnesia, 0-5 lime, and 24 water. It is used
in preparing cloth,—the best for this purpose being found
in England, as at Reigate, Maidstone in Kent, Woburn in
Bedfordshire, &c.; also near Maxton in Scotland, in Saxony,
Bohemia, and Styria.
125. Allophane.—Al Si+ 5 H.
Botryoidal and reniform. Fracture conchoidal, brittle.
H. = 3; G.= P8...2. Pellucid; vitreous. Pale-blue, white,
green, or brown. B.B. intumesces and becomes white,
but does not fuse ; gelatinizes in acids. Chem. com. often
near 24*3 silica, 40’4 alumina, and 35-3 water; occasionally
with 2 to 3 oxides of iron or copper and 2 to 4 carbonate of
lime or magnesia. Charlton near Woolwich, Baden, Bonn,
and Saal-field.
126. Schr'otterite.—Al5 Si2 + 20 H.
Amorphous. Conchoidal. H. = 3...3'5; G. = 2. Greenish,
yellowish, or with brown spots. B.B. infusible, but burns
white ; gelatinizes in h. acid. Freienstein in Styria.
127. Bole.
Earthy, in nests and veins. Conchoidal. H. = 1...2;
G. = 2,2...2,5. Opaque, or translucent on the edges ; dull
resinous; streak shining. Brown, yellow, or red. Feels
greasy; some adhere strongly to the tongue, others not at
all. In water crackle and fall to pieces. B.B. harden, and
generally fuse to an enamel; in acids are more or less
soluble. Chem. com. hydrous.silicates of alumina and iron
peroxide in various proportions. Dransfield, Stolpen, Cler
Minera-
iogy.
84
MINE li A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- mont, Auvergne, the trap rocks of the Hebrides and other
logy. parts of Scotland, and Ireland. Sinopite, red, from Asia
■—v/—^ Minor, is supposed to be the Sinopian earth of antiquity.
Fettbol, from Freiberg, and Ochran, of a yellow colour,
are infusible B.B.
128. Tekatolite.
Fracture uneven, or earthy. H. = 2'5...3; G. = 2*5.
Opaque; dull. Lavender-blue to plum-blue, often with
reddish-white veins and spots. Feels rough and meagre.
B.B. infusible. Schuler’s analysis gave 4L66 silica, 22,85
alumina, 12-98 iron peroxide, 3-04 lime, 2-55 magnesia, 0-93
potash, 1-68 manganese peroxide, 14-20 water ( = 99‘89).
Planitz near Zwickau; the Terra miraculosa Saxonice of
old authors.
129. Kollykite.—-Ai2Si + 10H.
Fine-earthy. Fracture even or conchoidal. H. = 1 ...2;
G. = 2-0...2-15. Semitranslucent or opaque ; dull or glim¬
mering. Snow-white, rarely reddish, greenish, or yellowish.
Feels greasy, and adheres strongly to the tongue. B.B.
infusible ; gelatinizes imperfectly with acids. Chem. com.
14 silica, 46 alumina, and 40 water. Schemnitz, Pyrenees,
and Saxony. Scarbroite, from Scarborough, is similar, but
with more (48) water.
130. Lithomarge, Steinmark.
Kaolin substances; in general compact, earthy, or
pseudomorphous. H. = 2-5...3-0; G. = 2-4...2-6. Opaque,
or dimly translucent; dull. White, yellow, or red. Peel
greasy, and adhere more or less to the tongue. Landshut,
Clausthal, and the Harz. Similar are Carnat, fine red;
and Myelin, pale yellow or red, and renifbrm; both from
Rochlitz in Saxony : also Melopsite, yellowish or greenish-
white, from Neudeck in Bohemia.
131. Miloschin, Serbian.—(Al, Gr) Si+ 3 H.
Fracture conchoidal, or earthy. H. = 2; G. = 2-13.
Indigo-blue to celadine-green. Adheres to the tongue, and
crackles in water. B.B. infusible; partially soluble in h.
acid. Contains 3-6 chrome oxide. Rudnaik in Servia.
132. Kerolite.—4 Mg Si + -Al Si+15 H.
Reniform. Uneven, conchoidal, or splintery; rather
brittle. H. = 2...3; G.■=2-3...2>4. Translucent; dull
resinous. White, inclining to gray, yellow, green, or red.
Feels greasy, but does not adhere to the tongue. B.B. in¬
fusible. Frankenstein in Silesia.
133. Agalmatolite, Figure- 1 Vi 5% . A „ T-T
stone, Pagodite. ° } 4 A1 S.-+K Si» + 3 H.
Massive or slaty. Fracture splintery; rather sectile.
H. = 2...3; G. = 2-8...2-9. Translucent, or only on the
edges ; dull or glimmering. Green, gray, red, and yellow.
Feels somewhat greasy, but does not adhere to the tongue.
B.B. burns white and fuses slightly on very thin ed^es •
soluble in warm s. acid. Chem. com. 55 silica, 33-1 alu¬
mina, 7*6 potash, and 4*4 water, with 0-5 to 3 iron peroxide,
and 0 to 3 lime. China, where it is cut into various works of
art; also Nagyag in Hungary, and Saxony. Cimolite, pure
white clay from Argentiera and Milo, used for cleaning
cloth, is similar.
134. Soapstone, Saponite.—6 Mg Si-pAl Si + 5 H.
Massive; sectile and very soft. H. = l-5; G. = 2-26.
White, or light-gray, yellow, and reddish-brown; streak
shining. Feels greasy, and writes feebly; does not adhere
to the tongue. B.B. fuses to a colourless porous glass;
soluble in s. acid. Chem. com. 50 silica, 1P8 alumina, 27-8
magnesia, and 10-4 water. Lizard Point and St Clear in
Cornwall, and Dalarne in Sweden {Piotine).
135. Onkosin.—2 A1 Si2 + (K, Mg) Si2+ 2 H.
Fracture uneven or splintery; sectile. H. = 2; G. = 2*8.
1 lanslucent; slightly resinous. Apple-green or brown. B.B
intumesces and fuses; soluble in s. not in h. acid. Salzburg
136. Pipestone. (Al, £e) Si3+(Na, Ca, Mg) Si + H.
Compact; fracture earthy; sectile. H.= P5; G. = 2*6.
Opaque, dull. Grayish-blue, black, or red {Catlinite). B'.B.
infusible. Used by the North American Indians for pipes.
137. Meerschaum.—2 Mg2 Si3 + 3 H.
Fracture fine earthy; sectile. H. = 2...2'5; G. = 0*8...
10 (when moist nearly 2). Opaque, dull. Streak slightly
s fining. Yellowish and grayish-white. Feels rather greasy,
and adheres strongly to the tongue. B.B. contracts, be-
comes hard, and fuses on the edges; soluble in h. acid,
leaving silica. Chem. com. 62-6 silica, 28*3 magnesia, and
91 water; but others give also 0*7 to 2-7 carbonic acid,
and 14 hygroscopic water. Asia Minor, Greece, near Mad¬
rid^ and loledo; Moravia and Wermeland {Aphrodite, G.
— 2 21). Chiefly used informing heads for tobacco pipes.
138. Pimelite.—(Ni, Mg)2 s’i3 + H.
Fracture conchoidal. H. = 2 5 ; G. = 1-4 {Alizite)...2^.
Tianslucent; dull resinous. Colour apple-green; streak
yellowish-white. Feels greasy. B.B. fuses to a slag anly
on thin edges. With borax shows reaction for nickel (32-66
nickel oxide). Silesia. Razoumoffskin is by some united
to pimelite, but the variety from Kosemutz in Silesia con¬
tained no nickel.
139. Dermatin.—(Mg, Fe) Si+ 2 H.
Reniform. H. = 2-5; G. = 2T36. Resinous. Colour
blackish-green ; streak yellowish-white. Does not adhere
to the tongue. B.B. cracks and becomes black. Wald¬
heim in Saxony.
* Family XI.—Garnet.
Chiefly tesseral. H.= 6...7-5; G. = 3-1 ...3-8. All
fusible and soluble in acids, but not readily, or only after
ignition. Mostly highly coloured, and often with fine gem-
hke lustre; but rarely transparent, mostly translucent or
opaque. Are mostly anhydrous silicates of alumina and
the earths, coloured by oxides of iron, manganese, and
chrome.
Occur imbedded, or in veins and druses, in the older crys¬
talline rocks, but rarely as essential constituents.
**140- Garnet.—li3 Si2 + U Si, or R3 S*i + 44 Si.
Tesseral; most common forms ocO (fig. 3), and 202
(fig. 6). These are often combined (figs. 18 and 19). Also
granular or compact. Cleavage dodecahedral, but very
imperfect; fracture conchoidal, or uneven and splintery.
H. * 6-5...7-5 ; G. = 3-5...4*3. Pellucid in all degrees;
vitreous or resinous. Rarely colourless or white ; generally
led, brown, black, green, or yellow. B.B. in general fuse
easily to a glass, black or gray, in those containing much
iron, green or brown in the others, and often magnetic;
imperfectly soluble in h. acid, some wholly, alter long
digestion, leaving the silica in powder. Chem. com. ex-
ceedingly variable, but generally form two series, according
as 44 is chiefly alumina or chiefly iron peroxide ; and these
are again divided according as R is more especially lime,
iron protoxide, magnesia, or similar bases.
The more important varieties are:—
(I.) Almandine,or JYoble Garnet.—Columbine-red inclin¬
ing to violet, blood-red, or reddish-brown; streak white;
transparent or translucent; sometimes magnetic. Is an
iron-alumina garnet, Fe3 Si2 + Al Si, with 37 silica, 20-1
alumina, and 42*9 iron protoxide. Common in the primary
rocks, in crystals, or rarely forming beds and veins. The
finest are from Pegu, Ceylon, and the East. Large crystals
at Fahlun, Arendal, Kongsberg, the Tyrol, the Ural, and
in North America. It is common in the mica-slates of
Perth, Inverness, and Zetland; in granite at Rubislaw,
Aberdeen. Used as an ornamental stone.
(2.) Manganese-alumina Garnet; R = Mn; reddish-
brown; Spessart, Sweden.
Minera-
logy.
MINERALOGY.
85
logy.
(3.) Lime-alumina Garnets.—Ca3 Si2 + -Al’S*i, with 40,7
s silica, 22'5 alumina, and 36*8 lime. To these belong—
{a.) Grossular. White to olive-green, and translucent.
Wilui River, Siberia, the Ural, and Tellemark in Norway.
(6.) Cinnamon-stone, Hessomte, or Kaneelstein.—Hya¬
cinth-red to honey or orange-yellow, and transparent or
translucent. Ceylon and Wermeland. Romanzowite,
Kimito in Finnland, is similar. When polished, this variety
is often named Hyacinth.
(c.) Common Lime-garnet.—Red, brown, yellow, or green,
and with part at least of the alumina replaced by iron per¬
oxide. Abundant in Piedmont, Vesuvius, the Ural, and
North America.
(4.) Magnesia-garnet.—R, chiefly magnesia; opaque, re¬
sinous; coal-black. G. = 3T57. Arendal.
(5.) Lron-garnets.—Ua3 Si2 + Ue Si, with 36-2 silica, 31'1
iron peroxide, and 33-6 lime. G. = 37...4. More diffi¬
cultly fusible and more easily soluble in h. acid than the
others.
(a.) Common Iron-garnet, Rothoffite, Allochroite—Sub-
translucent or opaque. Green, brown, yellow, or black, with
white, gray, or yellow streak. Sweden and Arendal.
(b.) Melanite.—Black; opaque ; in thin splinters trans¬
lucent. Streak gray; slightly magnetic. Albano near
Frascati, Vesuvius, France, Lappmark. Pyreneite, near
Bareges in the Pyrenees.
(c.) Colophonite.—Yellowish-brown to pitch-black, also
yellow or red; resinous; streak white. G. = 3'43. Arendal.
(6.) Uwarowite, or Chrome-garnet.—Emerald-green; vi¬
treous; streak greenish-white. Translucent or only on the
edges. G. = 3#4; H. = 7,5. B.B. infusible. Bissersk and
Kyschtimsk in the Ural.
141. Pyrope.—(Mg, Fe, Ca, Mn)3 Si2 + -Al Si.
1 esseral, but crystals (cubes) rare and indistinct; gene¬
rally in roundish grains. Cleavage not perceptible; fhxc-
ture conchoidal. H. = 7*o; G. = Transparent or
translucent; vitreous. Dark-hyacinth to blood-red. B.B.
becomes black and opaque, but regains its colour and trans¬
parency on cooling; fuses with difficulty to a black glass;
not soluble in acids, partially after fusion. Chem. com.
41‘35 silica, 22,35 alumina, 15 magnesia, 9‘94 iron prot¬
oxide, 5’29 lime, 4T7 chrome-protoxide, and 2*58 manga¬
nese-protoxide {Moherg). The chrome has also been con¬
sidered as the oxide or acid. Zoblitz in Saxony, Meronitz
and Mittelgebirge in Bohemia, and Elie in Fife (Elie
rubies). Valued as a gem.
Also columnar or granular.
142. Helvine.
Mn S + 3 R2 Si, or
Mn S, Mn O + (Mn, Fe)3 Si2 + 0 Si.
o o o
Tesseral, and tetrahedral;
2 01 ~2 ' ~ 2 ]28)‘ Ira
bedded or attached. Cleavage,
octahedral imperfect. H. = 6...6’o;
G. = 3T...3'3. Translucent on the
edges; vitreous to resinous. Wax-
yellow, siskin-green, or yellowish-
brown. B.B. in the red. flame
fuses with intumescence to a yel¬
low obscure pearl; soluble in h.
acid, evolving sulphuretted hydro¬
gen, and gelatinizes. Chem. com.
34 silica, 10 glucina, 8 iron protoxide, 43 manganese prot¬
oxide, and 5 sulphur. Schwarzenberg in Saxony, and near
Modum in Norway.
143. Idocrase, f 3 (Ca, Mg, Fe)3 Si+ 2 At Si2, or
Vesuvian. { g (Ca, Mg, Fe)> iii + 2 (Al, fe) Si.
5 1 etragonal; P 74° 27. Crystals of ocP, 00P00 , OP, P,
Poo (56° 29'), coP3. Columnar; more rarely tabular or
Fig. 128.
Fig. 129.
pyramidal (figs. 129, 130).
Cleavage, prismatic along
ooPoo and ocP, but im¬
perfect ; fracture uneven,
splintery. H^O’S; G.=
S'Sc.-.S^S^rd). Pellucid;
vitreous or resinous. Yel¬
low, green, brown, almost
black, rarely azure - blue ;
streak white. B.B. fuses
easily with intumescence
to a yellowish - green or
brown glass; partially so¬
luble in h. acid, after fu¬
sion wholly, and gelatinizes. Chem. com. 39
silica, 22 alumina, 32 lime, 5 iron protoxide, and
2 magnesia. Vesuvius, Wilui River in Siberia,
Mussa-alp in Piedmont, Egg in Norway, Wick¬
low in Ireland, Monaltrie in Aberdeenshire, and
near Broadford in Skye, in Scotland.
Gahnite, Loboite, Gokumite, from Gbkum; Fig-13°-
Frugardite, from Finnland; Egeran, from near Eger;
Cyprine, from Tellemark, Norway (azure-blue or green,
contains copper, and B.B. melts easily in the inner flame
to a red pearl); Xanthite, from Amity in New York—seem
only idocrase.
Used as an ornamental stone, the brown being named
hyacinth, the green chrysolite, but it is not highly valued.
*144. Epidote. I ^a’ Si2.+ 2(-Ai, 4^6, Mn) Si
t or R3 Si + 2-R: Si. (Rams.)
Monochlinohedric; C = 89° 27', ooP2 63° 8', Poo 64° 36',
— Px> 63 43, P 70° 9'. — P 70° 33'. Crystals horizontal-
prismatic, as in fig. 131, where ooPoo (iY) . Poo (T)
— Pro (r) — P (n). Generally in druses ;
the surface often horizontally striated. Ma-
cles united by a face of Poo; also colum¬
nar, granular, or compact. Cleavage, or¬
thodiagonal very perfect, along Poo rather Fig. m.
perfect. Fracture conchoidal, uneven, or splintery. H.=
6...7; G. = 3’2...3'5. Pellucid in all degrees ; vitreous, on
cleavage adamantine. Especially green, yellow, and gray;
rarely red and black. B.B. fusible; strongly ignited, or
after fusion all are soluble in h. acid, and gelatinize. Va¬
rieties are,—
(1.) Zoisite.—White, yellowish, or brownish-gray; chiefly
large imbedded crystals, or foliated and columnar. B.B.
intumesces and forms a white or yellow porous mass, and
on the edges fuses to a clear glass. Is a lime-alumina
epidote, = 42-4 silica, 3P4 alumina, 26‘2 lime, with very
little iron oxide or magnesia. Sau Alpe in Carinthia, the
Ural, and Connecticut. Thulite, rose or peach-blossom
red, from Souland in Norway, is similar.
(2.) Pistazite, Thallite.—Pistacio-green to blackish-green
and black, also yellow or brown. Crystallized, granular,
or earthy, also in crusts. B.B. fuses on the edges, and
swells into a dark-brown slag. Is an iron-epidote, with 10
to 16 peroxide and 2 to 6 protoxide of iron. Arendal, the
Ural, the Alps (Mont Blanc), Pyrenees, the Harz, Finnland,
Greenland, and North America. In Scotland, in syenite
in Zetland, in gneiss in Sutherland, in trap in Mull and
Skye, in quartz in Rona, in clay-slate in Arran, and in
porphyry in Arran and Glencoe. Puschkinite, from the
Ural, Withamite, from Glencoe, in minute bright-red crys¬
tals ; and Bucklandite, in small black crystals, from Lake
Laach and Siberia, are this variety.
(3.) Manganese-epidote.—With much manganese-perox¬
ide (14 to 20). Dark violet-blue or reddish-black ; streak
cherry-red. H. = 6\5; G. = 3’4. B.B. melts easily to a black
glass. St Marcel in Piedmont.
Minera,-
iogy-
86
Minera- . . ..  
logy. (2 (Ca, Mg)2 Si3 + 3 (4-1, ^e, Mn) Si +
v*145. Axinite. (Ca,Mg)*B, or
(2 [2-Rsi + R3 Si] + B si.
Triclinohedric. Crystals usually very unsymmetrical
(figs. 132 and 133), with m to P = 135° 24', uto r=: 115° 39',
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Fig.132.
Fig. 133.'
P to ?’= 134° 48'; attached singly, or in druses. Also
laminar or broadly radiated. Cleavage, imperfect along a
plane truncating the sharp edge between P and u. H.=
G’D.-.V; G. = 3...3-3. Pellucid; vitreous. Clove-brown, in¬
clining to smoke-gray or plum-blue, but often cinnamon-
brown in one direction, dark violet-blue in a second, and
pale olive-green in a third. B.B. intumesces and fuses easily
to a dark-green glass, becoming black in the ox. flame;
not soluble in h. acid till after ignition, when it gelatinizes.
Chem. com. about 44 silica, 5 boracic acid, 16 alumina, 11
iron peroxide, Po manganese-peroxide, 2-5 magnesia, and
20 lime. Bourg d’Oisans in Dauphine, and the Botallack
mine in Cornwall, Kongsberg in Norway, Arendal, Nord-
mark in Sweden, Pyrenees, Savoy, Tyrol, Thum in Saxony
(Thummerstein), the Ural, and North America.
146. Glaucophane. -P. ^ p3 + 9 (Fe, Na, Mg, Ca,
IMn) Si.
Rhombic or monoclinohedric, only indistinct; thin four or
six-sided prismatic crystals, or granular. Cleavage, prismatic
distinct; fracture conchoidal. H. = 5'5; G. = 3T. Trans¬
lucent or opaque; vitreous or pearly. Gray, indigo-blue, or
bluish-black. B.B. becomes yellowish-brown, and fuses
readily to an olive-green glass; partly soluble in acids.
Island of Syra. Similar are,—
Wichtyne.—Massive ; black. B.B. fuses to a black ena¬
mel ; not affected by acids. Wichtis in Finnland. Violan.
—Massive ; opaque, resinous. Dark violet-blue. B.B. fuses
easily to a clear glass. St Marcel in Piedmont.
Family XII.—Cyakl is.
fected by acids. Chem. com. like cyanite, from which it is
scarcely distinct. Chester and Norwich in Connecticut,
J. vedestrand in Norway. The Xenolite, Finnland ; Buch-
olzite, vibrolite, and Bamlite, from Bamle in Norway,
seem also cyanite; Worthite, an altered variety,
*149. Andalijsite.—Al_Si, or X‘l8 Si9=Al4 Si3.
Rhombic ;_ooP 90° 44', Pod 109° 6'. Crystals 00P . OP,
or this with Poo (fig. 135); prismatic, attached or
imbedded; also columnar, or granular. Cleavage,
00 Pj-ather indistinct; traces along 00Poo, ocPoo
and Px . Fracture uneven, splintery. H. = 7...
r5; G. = 3-1...3-3. Pellucid; vitreous. Gray,
green, red, or blue. B.B. infusible ; not affected
by acids. Chem. com. 40’4 silica and 59‘6 alu- Fis-135-
mina, with 1 to 2 iron peroxide. Andalusia, Lisens in Tyrol,
Penig in Saxony, Westford in Massachusetts, Litchfield
in Connecticut; and Botriphny in Banffshire, Tyrie in
Aberdeenshire, and Killiney Bay in Wicklow.
Chiastolite. H. = 5...5‘5 ; G. = 3. Dirty or pale gray,
yellow, or red. Occurs imbedded in clay-slate, and pn ^
often appears like four crystals separated by a black
cross (fig. 136). Fichtelgebirge, Brittany, the Py¬
renees, Sierra Morena, Wolfscrag near Keswick,
and on Skiddaw in Cumberland ; near Balahulish Fi
in Argyleshire, Boharm in Banffshire, and in Wicklow. °G'
*150. Staurolite, Staurotide. { ^!’Si, or
1 (-A1, -Fe)5 Si6.
Rhombic; 00P 128° 42', Poo 70° 46'. Crystals ocP (M) .
00 r? ‘ °P Macles very common, like figs. 137 or
138. Cleavage, brachydiagonal perfect, traces along 00P ;
Minera
logy-
Fig. 137.
Fig. 138.
Triclinohedric or rhombic, often in long prismatic forms.
H. = 5...7‘5; G. = 2’9...3-8. B.B. infusible; insoluble in
acids. Some show fine colours and high vitreous lustre.
They are chiefly anhydrous silicates of alumina. Occur
especially in the crystal 1! ve strata.
*147. Cyanite, Disthene.—-Al Si, or AP Si2.
Triclinohed.ic. Generally broad prismatic lengthened
crystals formed by two faces meeting at 106° 16'. ^
Macles are common, united by ocPoo. Also |Y 
even, curved, or radiated. Cleavage, along the
prisms very (or less) perfect; brittle. H. = 5 on
cleavage planes, on other faces=7; G. = 3-5l ^
to 3’7. Pellucid, vitreous ; on cleavage pearly. Fig. 134.
Colourless, or blue, gray, green, yellow, or red. Not af¬
fected by acids. B.B. infusible. Chem. com. 37'6 silica,
and 62 4 alumina. St Gotthardt, Tyrol (Rhcetizite), Pon-
txvy in France, Bohemia, Nigg near Aberdeen, Botriphny
m Banffshire, and Hillswick in Zetland.
148. SlLLIMANITE.—Al* Si.
Triclinohedric, with 00P': oo'P = 98°, P': ooP'=105°.
Crystals long and slender; also fibrous or parallel. Cleav¬
age, macrodiagonal highly perfect. H. = 7... 7‘5; G. =* 3'2
...3 26. I fanslucent; vitreous, inclining to pearly. Gray-
ish-brown, clove, or hair-brown. B.B. infusible; not af¬
fracture conchoidal, or uneven and splintery. H. = 7; G.
= 3,5...3,8. Translucent or opaque; vitreous, inclining
to resinous. Reddish to blackish-brown; streak white. B.B.
infusible; not affected by h. partially by s. acid. Chem.
com. ranges from 28 to 40 silica, 45 to 55 alumina, 15 to 18
won peroxide, with 0'2 to 2*5 magnesia. St Gotthardt and
Greiner in Tyrol, Finisterre, Pyrenees, Spain, the Ural,
and in North America; in Scotland, Bixeter Voe in Zet¬
land, in Aberdeenshire, and the Hebrides.
151. Diaspore.—Al H.
Rhombic; ooP = 130°, broad indistinct prisms, chiefly of
gcPqc , bounded by the curved faces of P (fig. 139).
Usually thin foliated or broad radiated. Cleavage,
brachydiagonal highly perfect; very brittle. H.
= 6 Pellucid; vitreous; pearly
on gcPoo. Colourless, but generally yellowish or
greenish-white; also violet-blue. Insoluble in acids. Fig. 139.
B.B. infusible, but some decrepitate into small white scales.
Chem. com. 85 alumina and 15 water. Rare. Ural and
Schemnitz, Broddbo and St Gotthard.
152. Hydrakgillite.—A1 H3.
Hexagonal; OP. goP . goP2, or granular scaly. Cleavage,
basal very perfect. H. = 2-5...3 ; G. = 2-3...2-4. Translu¬
cent ; vitreous; pearly on OP. Colourless or reddish-white.
MINERALOGY.
87
linera- Slowly soluble in warm acids. B.B. exfoliates, and gives
logy, out a strong light, but is infusible. Chem. com. 65’3 alu-
U-y-—^ mina and 34‘5 water. Near Slatoust in the Ural. Stalac-
titic, greenish or grayish-white (Gibbsite) ; Richmond, Mas¬
sachusetts, Villa Rica in Brazil.
153. Periclase.—Mg.
Tesseral, only in octahedrons. Cleavage, hexahedral per¬
fect. H. = 6; G. = 3'75. Transparent; vitreous. Dark-
green. B.B. infusible ; powder soluble in acids. Chem.com.
magnesia, with 5 to 8 protoxide of iron. Monte Somma.
Family XIII.—Gems.
All very hard, H.= 7...9, or scratch quartz, except a few
= 6, which are scarcely true gems; G. = 2‘6...4*7, but mostly
high in the finest. Insoluble in acids, and infusible B.B. in
the true gems. These have a high lustre, brilliant colours,
and take a fine polish, and are therefore much valued. They
are, however, rare, and generally small. Chem. com. vari¬
able, but mostly simple. Chiefly occur in the older igneous
or metamorphic rocks.
*154. Zircon.— Z*r2 Si, or Zr3 Si, or Zr Si.
Tetragonal; P 84° 20'. Crystals, coP. P, often with 3 P 3;
also ooPoo . P, or ooPoo (s) . ooP (/) . P (P) . 3 P 3 (#) . Poo
(*) . 4 P 4 (y) . 5 P 5 (z) (fig. 140),
chiefly prismatic or pyramidal, and in
rounded grains. Cleavage, along P and
ooP, both rather imperfect; fracture
conchoidal or uneven. H. = 7'5; G.
= 2...4*7. Transparent to opaque;
vitreous, often adamantine. Rarely
white, generally gray, yellow, green,
or frequently red and brown. B.B.
loses its colour, but is infusible ; not
affected by any acid except con. s.
acid, after long digestion. Chem.com. Eig. m
66’23 zirconia (and noria, Svanberg), and 33’77 silica, with
0 to 2 iron peroxide as colouring matter. Southern Nor¬
way, Ilmen Mountains, Arendal, Sweden, Carinthia, Tyrol,
Ceylon, and North America; in Scotland, at Scalpay in
Harris, and Criffel.
The colourless varieties are often sold for diamonds. The
more brilliantly coloured are named hyacinth.
155. Malakon.—3 Zr2 Si + H.
Tetragonal; P. 82°. Crystals, like zircon. II. = 6; G.
= 3’9. Opaque ; resinous or vitreous. Internally bluish-
white, but on the surface mostly brownish, reddish, yel¬
lowish, or blackish. Chem. com. zircon, with 3 per cent,
water. Hitterb in Norway, Malakon. CErstedtite from
Arendal, Tackyaphaltite from Krageroe, and Calyptolite,
are probably altered zircon.
*156. Spinel.—Mg jy, or (Mg, Fe) (A-f, Ue).
Tesseral; O alone or predominating, ooO and 303.
Macles united by a face of O (fig.
141); also in grains or fragments.
Cleavage, octahedral imperfect;
fracture conchoidal. H. = 8; G.
= 3-4...3,8. Transparent to opaque:
vitreous. Red, blue, green, and
black; streak white. B.B. in¬
fusible and unchanged. Chem.
com. 71 alumina and 29 magne¬
sia ; but some 1 to 5 silica, 3 to 20
iron protoxide, 0 to 6 iron peroxide, i
and the red varieties 1 to 5 chrome. The varieties are:—
Spinel or Spinel-ruby, rose-red (Balas ruby), yellow
or orange-red {llubicelle), violet {Almandine ruby) or
brown; G. = 3‘52; from Ceylon, Ava, and the East.
Much prized as ornamental stones. Sapphirine.—Pale
sapphire-blue to greenish or reddish blue; G.=3‘4...3-7;
with 4 per cent, iron protoxide; Aker in Sweden, Greenland,
and North America. Pleonaste, opaque or translucent,
black; G. = 3’65...3‘8; with 8 to 20 iron protoxide; Candy
in Ceylon {Candite, or Zeilanite), Monte Somma, Monzoni,
Arendal, Bohemia {Hercinite), the Ural, and New York.
Chlorospinel, grass-green, with a yellowish-white streak;
G. = 3,59; Slatoust in the Ural.
157. Automolite, Gahnite.—Zn -7i\.
Tesseral; O, alone or macled. Cleavage, O perfect; brit¬
tle, with conchoidal or splintery fracture. H. = 8; G.=
4'3...4,6. Opaque or translucent on the edges; vitreous,
inclining to resinous. Dark leek-green to blackish-green
and blue; streak gray. B.B. unchanged; not affected
by acids or alkalis. Chem. com. 56 alumina and 44 zinc
oxide, but with 4 to 6 protoxide of iron, and 2 to 5 magnesia.
Fahlun, Broddbo, Haddam in Connecticut, and Franklin
in New Jersey. Pysluite, yellowish-brown, with manga¬
nese, from Sterling, Massachusetts; and Kreittonite, brown,
from Bodenmais, are similar.
*158. Corundum.—A-L
Rhombohedric; isomorphous with peroxide of iron and
chrome; R 86° 4'. Crystals chiefly of ooP2 (s), OR (o),
R (>P), are pyramidal (fig. 142), prismatic (fig. 143), or
Pig. 142.
Fig. 143.
rhombohedral. Macles common, united by a face of R.
Cleavage, rhombohedral along R, or basal. Extremely
tough, and difficultly frangible. H. = 9; G. = 3‘9...4’2.
Transparent or translucent; vitreous, or pearly on OR.
Colourless and white, but generally blue, red, yellow, brown,
or gray. B.B. unchanged. Chem. com. alumina, with a mi¬
nute proportion of peroxide of iron or other colouring matter.
Varieties are:—(1.) Sapphire, highly transparent, very
imperfect cleavage and conchoidal fracture ; colourless, blue
(Salamstein), seldomer green, yellow, red (Orientalrubies),
or brown; Ceylon, Ava, Pegu, Miask, Slatoust, Bilin in
Bohemia, and Expailly in Auvergne. (2.) Corundum,
rough crystals or foliated, less transparent and duller co¬
lours ; Malabar, Ceylon, Ava, Canton in China, Siberia, St
Gotthardt, and Piedmont. Some (Asteria or star sapphire)
show a bright opalescent star of six rays. (3.) Adamantine
spar, with distinct cleavage, hair-brown, and adamantine;
Gellivara, Ural, Malabar, and North America. (4.)
Emery, compact, dimly translucent, and gray or indigo-
blue; Asia Minor near Smyrna, Naxos,
Spain, Saxony, and Greenland. Sapphire
and rubies are highly valued as ornamental
stones; emery as a polishing material.
159. Ciirtsoberyl, Cymo- \
phane. J
Rhombic; P with polar edges 86® 16'
and 139° 53. Crystals of goPgo (M)
. coPoo (T) . Poo (i), or this with oo P3
(s), and also with P (o) (fig. 144), are
short and broadly columnar, or thick tabu¬
lar with vertical striae. Macles very com¬
mon, united by a face of Pco. Cleavage,
Minera-
logy-
88
Minera-
logy.
MINER A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
*160. Topaz.
brachydiagonal imperfect, macrodiagonal more so; frac¬
ture conchoidal. H. = 8-o; G. = 3'6'8...3-8. Transparent
or translucent; vitreous, sometimes resinous. Greenish-
white, leek-green, olive-green, and greenish-gray; some¬
times with a bluish opalescence, or beautiful dichrosm.
B.B. infusible; not affected by acids. Chem. com. 80‘25
alumina and 19*75 glucina, with 3 to 4 protoxide of iron.
Brazil, Ceylon, India, Haddam in Connecticut, and Ural.
|6Ai Si + (-Al F3 + Si F2), or
^ 6 Al’3 Si2 + (3 A1 F3 + 2 Si F3).
Rhombic; coP (M) 124° 19', 2Poo («) 93°, ooP2 (/) 93° 8',
P (o), and numerous other forms. Crystals always pris¬
matic (fig. 145), often hemimorphic, and
the prisms finely striated; also gra¬
nular. Cleavage, basal very perfect,
traces in other directions, especially M
and / in the Scottish varieties ; frac¬
ture conchoidal or uneven. H. = 8;
G. = 3*4...3*6. Transparent to trans¬
lucent on the edges; vitreous. Colour¬
less, but yellowish, reddish, or greenish-
white, honey-yellow, hyacinth-red, violet-
blue, and asparagus-green. Becomes
electric from heat or friction. B.B. in¬
fusible. Not affected by h. acid, but by
long digestion in s. acid gives traces of Fig. us.
^hem’ COm- 35'52 silica> 53‘33 alumina, and
L7't9 fl.u0Jlne ( = IGS'SS). Brazil, Siberia, Ceylon, New
*164. Emerald, Beryl.
M
!M
traces. Very brittle and fragile; fracture conchoidal.
H. = ro ; G. = 3...3*1. Transparent; splendent vitreous.
Pale mountain-green, passing into yellow, blue, or white.
R.B. intumesces, becomes white, and melts in thin splin¬
ters to a white enamel. Not affected by acids. Chem.
com. 44*7 silica, 31*8 alumina, and 23*5 glucina, with 1 to
2*2 iron peroxide and 0*4 to 0*7 tin oxide. Peru and
Brazil, but very rare.
|A1S13 + ^. Si3, or
TJ 1 T-» r, ' d" ^
™ poXnwfi ;i^^9 53’. Cl7stals of ccP . OP, and ^P .
J . 01 (hg. 14 /), are prismatic, generally with
vei tical striae. Cleavage, basal rather perfect,
ooP imperfect. H. = 7*5...8; G. = 2*6...2*8.
1 ransparent or translucent; vitreous. Colour¬
less or white, but generally green, sometimes
very brilliant, also yellow, and smalt-blue. B.B. >
melts with difficulty on the edges to an obscure
vesicular glass. Not affected by acids. Chem. Fig’147*
com. 67*5 silica, 18*7 alumina, and 13*8 glucina, with 0‘3
to 3 iron peroxide, and 0*3 to 3*5 chrome oxide in the
rich green emerald. Emerald, bright green ; G. = 2*710
2759; occurs in Muso Valley near Bogota, also in Salzburg
and the Ural. Beryl, or Aquamarine, colourless, or less
brilliant ; G. = 2*577...2*725; near Mursinsk, and Nert-
schmsk in Siberia, Salzburg and Brazil; in the United States,
at Ackworth in New Hampshire, Royalston in Massachu-
tt fr TA>—oiuena, ^eyion, iNew setts> Saddam in Connecticut; Mourne Mountains in Ireland
wnh iS/mya!1’ ,, ™ect*c'ut’B°heraia’ Saxony, and Corn- andCai™gorum Mountains in Aberdeenshire. Common beryl
all (St Michael s Mount), Mourne Mountains in Ireland, atFahlun in Sweden, Fossum in Norwav. Limo<rPs in Fran™
Cairngorum Mountains in Aberdeenshire (one crystal nine-
teen ounces). The common or coarse columnar named
Byrophysahte, at Finbo, and Broddbo near Fahlun. Topaz
is valued as an ornamental stone. The purest from Brazil,
w ten cut in facets like the diamond, closely resemble it in
lustre and brilliance, but are easily known by their electricity.
161. Pycnite, Schorlite.—AP Si6 + (A1 F3+ Si F2).
Massive ; like topaz. H. = 7*5 ; G. = 3*49...3*54. Trans¬
lucent; vitreous. Straw-yellow to reddish-white. Chem.
com. 39*04 silica, 51*25 alumina, 18*48 fluorine. Altenberg
in Saxony, and Schlackenwald and Zinnwald in Bohemia.
162. Leucophane.—3 Ca Si +44 Si2+Na F.
Triclinohedric; but crystals rare. Cleavage in three di¬
rections,^ intersecting at 53° 25'and 65°. H. = 3*5...4;
G. = 2*9/4. In thin splinters pellucid and almost colour¬
less; in thicker pieces wine-yellow or olive-green; vitreous
or resinous. B.B. fuses to a pale violet-blue bead. Near
Brevig in Norway.
163. Euclase.—3A1 Si + Si4.
Monoclinohedric; C. = 71° 7'; ooP 115°, P105° 49'. Crys-
Fig. 118.
(AP Si|+2 (Mg, Fe) Si, or
Fig. 146.
tals <xP (s) . (ccPoo) (T) . P (/) (fig. 146). Cleavage,
c inodiagonal highly perfect, along Poo less so; coPooin
atranlun m Sweden, Fossum in Norway, Limoges in France,
Rabenstein in Bavaria, Rubislaw near Aberdeen (Davidson-
ite). Emerald and beryl are much valued as precious stones.
165. Phenakite —G-2 Si3.
Rhombohedric; R 116° 40'. Crystals R . ooP2, or ocP?
|P2 . R- (fig. 148). Macles with parallel axes
and intersecting. Cleavage, R and ooP2 not
very distinct; fracture conchoidal. H.= 7*5...
8; G = 2*97. Transparent or translucent;
vitreous. Colourless, and wine-yellow or brown.
B.B. infusible; not affected by acids. Chem.
com. 55 silica, and 45 glucina. Ural, Ilmen
Mountains, Framont in Alsace.
*166. Cordierite, lolite, G
Dichroite. (3 Al Si + R3 S72.
Rhombic ; ocPj 19° 10', middle edge of P 95° 36.
tals coP (T) . ccPoc (/) . OP (M), and
this with ooPco (k), ocP3 (d), Poo (n),
and J-P (s) (fig. 149); short, prismatic.
Cleavage, ccPoo rather distinct, traces
along Poo; fracture conchoidal or un¬
even. H. = 7...7*5; G. = 2*5...2*7.
Transparent or translucent; vitreous, in¬
clining to resinous. Colourless, but
chiefly blue, green, brown, yellow, and
gray, often with distinct pleochroism.
B.B. fuses slowly to a clear glass; slightly
affected by acids. Chem. com. 48 to 51 =
silica, 29 to 33 alumina, 8 to 13 magnesia, 1 to 12 iron prot¬
oxide, and 0 to 1*5 manganese protoxide. Cabo de Gata
in Spain, Bodenmais {Pehom), Orrijerfvi {Steinheilite), Nor¬
way, Sweden, Greenland, North America, and Siberia.
Small rolled masses of an intense blue colour and transparent,
found in Ceylon, are the Sapphire dEau or Luchssapphir
of the jewellers.
The following substances seem cordierite altered, or with
2 to 4 atoms water:—
(a.) Bonsdorjite, Hydrous lolite, greenish brown, or
dark olive-green, near Abo. (b) Esmarkite, Chlorophyl-
Fig. 149.
Minera
Ggy.
MINERALOGY.
tfinera- Ute, large prisms or foliated, green or brownish; near Brevig
logy. in Norway, Unity in Maine, and Haddam in Connecticut.
-V-—^ (c-) Fahlunite, Triclasite, compact, greenish-brown or black
foliated; H. = 2-5...3; G. = 2-o...2-8; Fahlun. (d.) Weissite,
kidney-shaped and ash-gray or brown ; Fahlun and Lower
Canada, (e.) Pyrargillite, indistinct imbedded crystals, black
passing into brown or red, dull resinous lustre ; H. = 3-5 ; G.
= 2 5; Helsingfors, (y.) Finite, crystallized, or massive
and laminar, with imperfect cleavage; H. = 2...3; G. = 2'7
...2.9; semitranslucent or opaque, dull or resinous, and
dirty-gray, green, or brown; B.B. fuses to a glass, some¬
times clear, at other times dark-coloured; Auvergne,
Schneeberg, Penig in Saxony, in the Harz, Cornwall, Aber¬
deenshire, the United States, and Greenland {Gieseckite).
Oosite from Geroldsau in Baden, snow-white, opaque, fra¬
gile, is similar, {g.) Gigantolite; H. = 3-5; G. = 2'8...2-9;
opaque, dull resinous, and greenish-gray or brown; B.B.
intumesces slightly, and fuses easily to a greenish slag;
Fammela in Finnland. (A.) Praseolite, lamellar and green ;
Brevig in Norway.
** 167. Tourmaline, Schorl.
Ilhombohedric; R 133° 10'. Crystals of OR (#), - JR
(155°) 0), R (P),-2R (103° 3') (o), <xP2 (*), and ocR
(/), usually long prismatic, striated, and remarkable for he-
mimorphism, ocR appearing as a triagonal prism (figs. 150,
89
Groups 2 and 3 are the most common, and known as
Schorl, the red varieties as Rubellile, the colourless as
Achroite.
The finest transparent varieties or noble tourmalines
come from Ceylon, Siberia, and Brazil. The dark-blue or
Indicollite occurs chiefly in Utoe. Large crystals of the
dark opaque varieties occur in Greenland, Arendal, the
Tyrol, and various parts of North America. In England,
Bovey in Devonshire and St Just in Cornwall, are well-
known localities; and in Scotland large prisms, often curved
or broken, abound in the granite of Aberdeenshire.
Tourmaline is not much valued as a gem, the colours
being rarely pure. Zeuxite seems only Tourmaline.
(Mg, Fe)2 Si.
Eig. 152.
R
151); also radiating, columnar, or fibrous. Cleavao-e jn
and gcP 2 both imperfect; fracture conchoidal or uneven.
H. = 6-5...7'5 ; G. = 3...3‘3. The black opaque, the others
pellucid; vitreous. Colourless, but gray, yellow, green,
blue, red, brown, and most frequently black. Often several
colours in layers perpendicular, or parallel to the axis. By
friction acquires positive, by heat polar electricity; powder
white, often magnetic. B.B. some fuse, others only intu-
mesce, and some both fuse and intumesce. Powder not so¬
luble in h.,only imperfectly in s. acid. Chem.com. very com¬
plex, with 36 to 41 silica, 5 to 10 boracic acid, P3 to 27
fluorine, 0 to 0*3 phosphoric acid, 30 to 45 alumina, 0 to 13
iron peroxide, 0 to 5 manganese peroxide, Oto 10 iron pro¬
toxide, 0-5 to 15 magnesia, 0 to 2 lime, 1 to 2*6 soda 0'1
to 2 potash, and 0 to P5 lithia. Rammelsberg makes five
groups in two divisions:—
A. Tourmalines with no lithia, and little or no manga¬
(1.) Magnesia Tourm. -R3 Si2+ 3R: Si; yellow
and brown, with much magnesia and little iron.
(2.) Magnesia-iron T. -R3 Si2+4&Si; ap¬
parently black ; with an average amount of
magnesia and iron.
(3.) Iron T. -R3 Si2 + 6-Mr Si; deep black with
most iron and least magnesia.
B. Tourmalines with lithia and little magnesia: 
(4.) Iron-manganese T. - R si + 3 & Si; blue (or
violet) and green T., with iron.
(5.) Manganese T. - R Si + 4 & Si; red or co¬
lourless, with no iron.
VOL. xr.
*168. Chrysolite, Olivine, Peridot
Rhombic; ooP {n) 130° 2', Poojrf)
76° 54,2Poo (^) 80° 53’; alsoooPoo
{M), coPoo with P (/>), OP (fig. 152).
The crystals are frequently prisma¬
tic and imbedded; also massive and
granular. Cleavage, ooPoo rather
distinct; fracture conchoidal. H.
= 6,5...7; Transpa¬
rent or translucent; vitreous. Olive-
green, also yellow and brown, rarely
colourless. B.B. infusible; soluble
and gelatinizing in acids. Chem. com. 38 to 43 silica, 43 to
51 magnesia, 8 to 18 iron protoxide, with a little man¬
ganese. Chrysolite is the fine green transparent and crys¬
tallized varieties from the East, Esne in Egypt, and Brazil.
uhvine, the darker and less pellucid, from Vesuvius, Unkel
on the Rhine, the basalts of Germany, and the trap of Arthur
Seat and other parts of Scotland ; also in meteoric iron as in
the mass found by Pallas in Siberia, and in that of Otumpa
in South America. Used as an ornamental stone, but not
much valued.
The following seem mere varieties:—
Hyalosidente. Brown or yellow, very ferruginous and
metallic-looking; H. = 5; G. =2*875; in other respects
like olivine ; Kaiserstuhl in the Breisgau. Chusite, Lim-
belite^ and Tautolite^ Lake Laach. Butvcichite^ greenish-
gray or white, translucent; Rizoni Mountain, Tyrol. Mon-
ticellite, transparent, colourless or yellowish; Vesuvius.
Fayalite.—Crystalline, columnar and foliated, but often as
if fused. Greenish or pitch-black, brownish or brass-yellow,
with a resinous metallic lustre. H. = 6*5 ; G. = 4*15. Partly
soluble in h. acid. Chem. com. Fe2 Si with 29*7 silica,
/0*5 iron protoxide, and 2 to 8 manganese protoxide.
Knelellite. Massive, opaque, gray, green, brown, or red.
Chem. com. 32*5 silica, 32 iron protoxide, and 35 manga¬
nese protoxide.
Tephroite.—Granular, with two cleavages at right angles.
H. = 5*5; G. = 4...4*12. Lustre adamantine. Ash-gray, with
reddish-brown tarnish. Chem. com. 70 manganese pro¬
toxide and 30 silica. Franklin and Sparta, New Jersey.
169. Chondrodite, Maclurite, f wMg8 Si3 + [8 Mo- F +
Brucite, Humite. ( 3 Si F2.] &
Rhombic ; ocP 94° 26', Pgo 112° 2'; but crystals on three
types, and often monoclinic in character or indistinct;
chiefly in round grains or granular. Cleavage indistinct;
fracture imperfect conchoidal. H. = 6*5; G. = 3*15...3*25.
Transparent or translucent; lustre vitreous or resinous.
Yellow, red, brown, green, and almost black; streak white
or yellowish. B.B. infusible, or only on very thin edges;
decomposed by acids. Chem. com. 33 to 37 silica, 55 to 60
magnesia, 2*6 to 9*/ fluorine, with 1*7 to 6*7 iron protoxide.
Chondrodite occurs at Pargas in Finnland, Aker, and
Gullsjo in Sweden, Sparta in New Jersey, and Orange
M
Minera¬
logy.
Fig. 153.
90
Miaera- T Tr t , .
I0gy> county in New \oik; also in Saxony and on Loch Ness
i Scotland. Humite on Monte Somma.
Family XIV.—Metallic Stones.
Crystallization predominantly rhombic; some tesseral or
monoclinohedric; but many massive, or products of decompo¬
sition, and thus rather metallic clays or rocks. The crys¬
talline species are rather hard; H. = 5-5...6*5 ; and with G.
= 3’6...5*6. Those with high specific gravity are mostly
infusible B.B., the others fusible. Most are soluble in
acids, often gelatinizing. They are mostly silicates with a
metallic base, and thus an intermediate group between the
true stones and the metallie ores. Often opaque, and black
or brown and yellow. They occur especially in the igneous
and metamorphic rocks, or metallic veins of Scandinavia
and the Ural.
*17°. LitaTE, Yenite, | g+8fc, ^
Rhombic; P, polar edges 138° 26'and 117° 34', ooP
111° 12', Poo 112° 40'. Crystals ocP2 {s) . P(o)
. Poo(d) (fig. 153), are long prismatic and
vertically striated; also radiated columnar
or fibrous. Cleavages all imperfect; brittle.
H.= 5’5...6; G. = Opaque, re¬
sinous or imperfect metallic. Brownish or
greenish-black; streak black. B.B. fuses
easily to a black magnetic globule ; soluble
in h. acid forming a yellow jelly. Chem. com.
28‘8 silica, 24,8 iron peroxide, 33‘4 iron prot¬
oxide, and 13#0 lime. Rio in Elba, Possum,
Kupferberg, Rhode Island, and Greenland.
Wehrlite, iron-black, with greenish-gray
streak, and B.B. difficultly fusible, is a
variety; Hungary.
171. Hisingerite, Thraulite.—Ue2 Si3+ 2 Fe Si + IOH.
Renifbrm, or in crusts. H. = ; G. =2,6...3.
Opaque; resinous. Brownish or bluish-black; streak liver
or yellowish brown. B.B. fuses with difficulty; soluble
in acids, leaving slimy silica. Chem. com. 32’5 silica, 33‘5
iron peroxide, 15T iron protoxide, and 19 water, of the
Thraulite from Bodenmais. Also Gillinge, Rydarhyttan in
Sweden, and Breitenbrun in Saxony {Polyhydrite).
172. Anthosiderite.—Ue2 Si9+ 2 H.
Fine fibrous or flower-like; very tough. H. = 6'5; G.
= 3, Opaque or translucent; silky. Ochre-yellow to yel¬
lowish-brown. B.B. becomes reddish-brown, then black,
and fuses with difficulty. Soluble in h. acid. Chem. com.
61 silica, 35 iron peroxide, and 4 water. Minas Geraes in
Brazil.
173. Nontronite.—-Fe Si3 + 5H.
Massive. Fracture uneven. G. = 2...2’3; H. = 2...3.
Opaque; dull or glimmering; streak resinous. Straw-yel¬
low, yellowish-white, or siskin-green. B.B. decrepitates,
becomes black and magnetic, but without fusing; soluble,
and gelatinizes in warm acids. Chem. com. nearly 43 silica,
36 iron peroxide, and 21 water, with 3"5 alumina and 2 mag¬
nesia. Nontron in France, Harz, and Bavaria.
Chloropal is similar, but B.B. brown and infusible.
Unghwar in Hungary, and near Passau. Pinguite, sectile;
H. = 1; feels greasy; and B.B. fuses on the edges; is also a
silicate of iron oxides with water; Wolkenstein in Saxonv,
near Zwickau, and Suhl.
174. Chlorophjeite.—(Fe, Mg)3 Si4 + 18 H.
Massive. Cleavage in two directions; fracture con-
choidal, earthy ; very soft and sectile. G. = 2-02. When
first exposed translucent and pistacio or olive-green, but
soon changes to brown or black, and opaque. B.B. melts
to a black glass. Chem. com. of a specimen from Faroe,
32 8o silica, 22’08 iron protoxide, 3‘44 magnesia, and 41*63
mineralogical science.
water. Scuir More in Rum, Faroe, and Iceland; also in
Fife and near Newcastle.
175. Thorite.—fh2 Si+2 H.
Massive. Fracture conchoidal; hard and brittle. G. =
4*63...4*8. Opaque; splendent; vitreous. Reddish-brown,
or black clouded with red; streak dark-brown. B.B. in¬
fusible ; gelatinizes with h. acid. Chem. com. essentially
73*4 thorina, 16*8 silica, and 9*8 water, but combined with
very many other substances: lime, iron, manganese, mag¬
nesia, uranium, lead, tin, potash, soda, and alumina. Near
Brevig in Norway.
176. Eulytine.—Bi Si2
Miners.
logy.
Tessera! and tetrahedral; ^^and-^^
7 ^ ^ •
The crystals
(like fig. 9) very small, and often with curved faces.
Cleavage very imperfect; fracture conchoidal. H. = 4*5...
7*. ’ ^' = 5*9...6. Iransparent and translucent; adaman¬
tine. Clove-brown, yellowish-gray or white ; streak white
or gray. B.B. fuses readily with intumescence to a brown
bead, leaving a yellow ring on the charcoal; decomposed by
2'af1. ’ ^omkng gelatinous silica. Chem. com. 21 silica and
/9 bismuth peroxide, with 3*3 phosphoric acid, 2*4 iron
peroxide, and 1*3 fluorine. Schneeberg, and Braunsdorf
near rreiberg.
Hypochlorite or Green Iron-earth, also from Schnee¬
berg, in reniform crusts, or very fine earthy ; semitranslu-
cent or opaque. Dull, and siskin or olive-green. H. = 6;
G* = 2‘9-3* B.B. infusible, but becomes blackish-brown ;
and forms a yellow ring on the charcoal; insoluble in
aads. It seems a mixture of silicate of iron and bismuth
with phosphate of alumina.
177. GADOLiNiTE.((t’Ge’?e); Si, and
1 (Y, Or, Fe, La)3 Si.
Monoclinohedric, probably; with Poo 49°, ooP 115°,
(2 Poo ) 70f nearly (Scheerer); but crystals rare and indis¬
tinct. Cleavage very indistinct, or none ; fracture conchoidal
or splintery. H. = 6*5 ; G. = 4*0...4*4. Opaque or translu¬
cent on the edges; vitreous, often resinous. Black ; streak
greenish-gray. B.B. the conchoidal (vitreous) varieties in¬
candesce vividly, intumesce, but do not fuse; the splintery
varieties form cauliflower-like ramifications, but do not in¬
candesce ; gelatinizes in h. acid. Chem. com. uncertain,
but 25 to 29 silica, 36 to 51 yttria, 10 to 15 protoxide of
iron, 5 to 17 protoxide of cerium with lanthanium, and 0 to
12 glucina. Krageroe in Norway, Ytterby, and Finbo.
178. Allanite, Cerin, Orthite.—3 R3 Si2 + 2 A1 Si.
Monoclinohedric, like epidote, but distinct crystals rare
(fig, 154), mostly long, columnar, or granular. ^
Cleavage imperfect; fracture conchoidal or un-
even. H. = 6; G. = 3*2...3*7. Opaque, or
translucent in thin splinters ; imperfect metal¬
lic, inclining to vitreous or resinous. Black
inclining to green or brown ; streak greenish
or brownish-gray. B.B. frothes, and melts easily
to a black or brown scoria or glass, often mag¬
netic , gelatinizes with h. 8;cid. Chem. com. very variable,
but with 30 to 3o silica, 12 to 18 alumina and iron peroxide,
whilst R includes protoxides of cerium (11 to 24), lan¬
thanium (2 to 8), iron (4 to 21), and manganese (0 to
3 5), with lime (2 to 12), yttria (0*3 to 4), and magnesia
(0*4 to 5). Allanite occurs in Greenland, also at Hitteroe,
the Jotun Fjeld, and Snarum; Cerin at Rydderhyttan;
Orthite at Finbo, Fahlun, Arendal, and Krageroe.
Pyrorthite, with carbonaceous and other matter ; Ural-
orthite, from the Ilmen Mountains, containing more alu¬
mina ; Bodenite, from Boden, Saxony; and Bagrationite,
from Achmatowsk, are only varieties.
179. Tcheffkinite.
Massive. Fracture flat conchoidal. H. = 5...5*5 ; G. =
Fig. 154.
MINERALOGY.
91
rfinera- 4,5. Opaque; vitreous, splendent. Velvet-black; streak
logy. dark-brown. B.B. intumesces greatly, becomes porous,
^ and often incandesces ; in the strongest white heat fuses
to black glass; gelatinizes with warm h. acid. Chem. com.
21 silica, 20 titanic acid, 11 iron protoxide, and 47 per¬
oxides of cerium, lanthanium, and didymium. Ilmen Moun¬
tains near Miask.
180. Cerite.—(Ce, R)2 (Ce, R)2Si + H.
Hexagonal; OP . ccP, in low six-sided prisms, but very
rare. Generally fine granular, almost compact. Cleavage,
traces ; fracture uneven, splintery ; brittle. H. = 5-5 ; G.
= 4*9...5. Translucent on the edges, or opaque; dull,
adamantine, or resinous. Clove-brown, cherry-red, orpearl-
gray; streak white. B.B. infusible, but becomes dirty
yellow; soluble in h. acid, leaving gelatinous silica. Chem.
com. 22 silica, 72 protoxide of cerium (with didymium
and lanthanium), and 6 water, with iron protoxide and lime.
Bastnaes near Ridderhyttan.
181. Tritomite,—Si, Ce, La, Ca, H.
Tesseral in tetrahedrons. Fracture conchoidal; brittle.
H. = 5*5 ; G = 4-16...4'7. Vitieous; translucent on the
edges. Dark-brown. B.B. swells and cracks; soluble in
acids. Lamoe near Brevig.
182. Ptrochlore.—2 (Ca, th, Ce, Fe) Ni + Na F.
Tesseral; O. Cleavage octahedral; brittle; fracture
conchoidal. H. = 5 ; G. = 3*8...4'3. Opaque or translu¬
cent ; resinous. Dark reddish-brown, or almost black,
some crystals ruby-red and transparent; streak pale-brown.
B.B. becomes yellow and fuses with much difficulty into a
blackish-brown scoria; the fine powder soluble in con. s.
acid. Chem. com. very complex, but the Miask variety,
62 to 67 niobic (mixed with titanic and tungstic) acid, 10 to
13 lime, 6 to 13 oxide of cerium and thoria, and 7 fluoride
of sodium ; but yttria, iron, zirconia, lithia, and in that from
Norway, also uranium, occur. Miask in Ural, Brevig and
Fredriksvarn in Norway; also Chesterfield in Massachusetts
Microlite).
_ Pyrrhite, small orange-yellow octahedrons ; H. = 6 ; is a
niobate of zirconia, with iron and uranium. Mursinsk and
Azores.
183. Oerstedtite.
Tetragonal; P 84° 26', like zircon. H. = 5-5; G. = 3-629.
Opaque or translucent on the edges; adamantine vitre¬
ous. Reddish-brown. B.B. infusible. Forchhammer
found 19*71 silica, 2*61 lime, 2*05 magnesia, 1*14 iron pro¬
toxide, 68*96 titaniate of zirconia, 5*53 water. Arendal.
18Ytooton"e.TE’}(3da Si + (Ai,S) Si) + Y IV.
Monoclinohedric; C. = 58°, coP = 114°. Cleavages, along
-2 P intersecting at 138°. H.=6...7; G. = 3*5...3*7.
Translucent; vitreous or resinous. Blackish-brown; by
transmitted light reddish; streak grayish-brown. B.B. fuses
easily with effervescence to a black shining slag; with borax
forms a blood-red glass in the red. flame; in powder
soluble in h. acid. Chem. com. 28*8 silica, 27*8 titanic
acid, 19*5 lime, 9*3 yttria, 6*9 alumina, and 7*7 iron per¬
oxide. Near Arendal.
185. Wohlerite.
Rhombic; ooP 127° 6, Poo 140° 54'. Cleavage perfect;
fracture conchoidal. H. = 5...6; G. = 3*41. Translucent;
vitreous or resinous. Yellow, inclining to red or brown.
B.B. fuses to a yellowish glass; easily soluble in warm con.
h. acid, depositing silica and niobic acid. Analysis—30*62
silica, 14*47 niobic acid, 15*17 zirconia, 3*67 iron and man¬
ganese protoxide, 26*19 lime, and 7*78 soda. Fredriksvarn
(Eukolite\ and Brevig in Norway.
Order II.—SALINE STONES.
Comprises minerals which, in external aspect and com¬
position, resemble (or are) the salts of the chemist. With
a few exceptions, as rock-salt and fluor-spar, they are com¬
binations of the second order of two oxygen compounds. The
acid component is one of the common acids,—the carbonic,
sulphuric, boracic, or phosphoric acid,—not silica or alumina,
as in the former order. They are almost all crystallized,
and predominantly in rhombic or monoclinohedric forms,
but some rhombohedric or tesseral. Their hardness is low ;
one 7, a few about 5, most lower. G. = 1*5...4*7. All are
soluble in acids, except the sulphates (three) ; more than half
in water. B.B. all fusible or decompose. Many of them
are products of decomposition. Occur rather in veins than
as components of rocks.
**Family I.—Calc-spar.
Generally rhombohedric in crystals and cleavage. H.
= 3...4*5 ; G. = 2*6...3*4, becoming higher as the metallic
element increases. They are soluble and often effervesce
in acids; and become caustic or alkaline when burned.
They form a series of closely-related compounds of carbonic
acid with lime, magnesia, and isomorphous bases, as the
protoxide of iron. Are generally white, translucent, with a
vitreous, or pearly lustre.
**186. Calc-spar, Calcareous Spar, ) ♦
Carbonate of Lime. j G.
Rhombohedral; R 105° 5'; the forms and combinations
exceeding those of any other mineral. Among them are
more than thirty rhombohedrons, especially -|-R 135°, R,
— 2R /9 , and 4R 66°, with OR and ocR as limiting forms ;
more than fifty distinct scalenohedrons, as R3, R2, and ^R3;
and the second hexagonal prism ooP2, whilst hexagonal
pyramids are among the rarer forms. Some of the most
usual combinations are ooR . -£R (fig. 157) ; or - 1R .
qo R, very frequent; also ooR . OR ; likewise - 2R . R ;
R3 . coR . -2R ; R5 (y) . R3 (r) . R (P) . 4 R (m) . ooR (Q
(fig. 155); and many others, upwards of an hundred dis¬
tinct combinations being known.
Macles are not uncommon, especially with the systems of
axes parallel (figs. 156, 157), and others conjoined by a
Minera-
logy.
-■tr:
-4
Eig. 157.
face of R with the chief axes almost at right angles, 89° 8'
(fig. 82); or by a face of — £R, in which the chief axes
form an angle of 127^° ; and usually many times repeated,
so that the centre crystals appear in lamellae not thicker
than paper (fig. 81). Cleavage, rhombohedric along R very
perfect and easily obtained, so that the conchoidal fracture
is rarely observable ; brittle. H. = 3 ; G. = 2*6...2*8 ; pure
transparent crystals = 2*72. Pellucid in all degrees. Very
distinct double refraction. Lustre vitreous, but several faces
resinous, and OR pearly. Most frequently colourless or white,
but often gray, blue, green, yellow, red, brown, or black;
streak grayish-white. B.B. infusible, but becomes caustic
and emits a bright light; effervesces, and is entirely
soluble in h. or n. acid. The fine powder ignited on
platina-foil over the spirit-lamp, according to v. Zekmen,
92
Minera-
logy.
MINER A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
forms a somewhat connected mass, and even adheres to the
platina. Chem. com. of the purest varieties, carbonate of
lime, with 43'87 carbonic acid and 5613 lime, or 40 cal¬
cium, 12’2 carbon, and 47'8 oxygen; but usually contain
magnesia and protoxide of iron or manganese. Remark¬
able specimens of the crystallized variety, or proper calc-
spar, are found in Andreasberg and other parts of the Harz
(six-sided prisms), Freiberg, Tharand, Maxen, Alston Moor
in Cumberland (flat rhombic crystals), and in Derbyshire
(pale yellow transparent pyramids).
Certain varieties are distinguished, as,—Iceland spar,
remarkable for its transparency and double refraction, oc¬
curs massive in a trap rock in that island. S/ate spar, thin
lamellar, often with a shining white pearly lustre, and
greasy feel; Wicklow in Ireland, Glentilt in Scotland, and
Norway. Aphrite, fine scaly, from Hessia and Thuringia.
Marble is the massive crystalline variety of this mineral,
produced by igneous action on compact limestone. Paros,
Naxos, and Tenedos furnished the chief supply to the Gre¬
cian artists ; Carrara, near the Gulf of Genoa, to those of
modern times. Some of the coloured marbles of the an¬
cients were impure limestones, as the Cipollino, zoned with
green talc or chlorite; and Verde antique, mixed with green
serpentine. Ruin marble shows irregular markings like
ruins ; Val d’Arno (Florentine marble), and Bristol (Cotham
marble). Lucullite, from Egypt, and Anthraconite, from
Kilkenny in Ireland, are black from carbon. Lumachello,
from Bleiberg in Carinthia, exhibits beautiful iridescent
colours from fossil shells, sometimes deep-red or orange
{Fire marble).
Limestone occurs in all formations under various names,
as Oolite, egg or roe-stone, round concretions, with a con¬
centric structure like the roe of fish ; Pisolite, or peastone,
similar structure; Chalk, soft earthy; Lithographic stone, yel¬
lowish and compact, from Solenhofen ; and Marl, calcareous
matter more or less mixed with clay. Tufa, or calcareous
tufa, generally a recent deposit from calcareous springs, has
often a loose friable texture, but at other times is hard and
compact; and in the neighbourhood of Rome forms the
common building stone or Travertino. The sandstone of
Fontainbleau is carbonate of lime (£) mixed with quartz
sand (!■), and occasionally crystallizing in rhombohedrons.
This mineral is employed in many ways,—the coarser
varieties, as lime, for mortar, manure, tanning, a flux in
melting iron and other ores, or in preparing glass, and similar
purposes ; the finer, as marbles, for sculpture, architecture,
and ornamental stone-work ; the chalk for writing, white¬
washing, or producing carbonic acid.
Plumbocalcite.—Cleavage, R 104° 53'. White and pearly;
softer than calc-spar; but G. = 2’824. Contains 2-3 to 7*8
carbonate of lead. Wanlockhead and Leadhills, Scotland.
**187. Dolomite, Bitter Spar.—Ca C + MgC.
Rhombohedric; R 106° 15'—20'; most frequent form R ;
also R and — ^R, or OR, ocR, and 4R. The rhombohe¬
drons often curved and saddle-shaped; also granular or
compact, often cellular and porous. Cleavage, rhombohedral
along R. H. = 3,5...4‘5 ; G. = 2‘85...2-95. Translucent;
vitreous, but often pearly or resinous. Colourless or white,
but frequently pale-red, yellow, or green. B.B. infusible,
but becomes caustic, and often shows traces of iron and
manganese; fragments effervesce very slightly or not at
all in hydrochloric acid; the powder is partially soluble, or
wholly when heated; the very fine powder ignited on pla-
tina-foil for a few minutes over a spirit-lamp continues pul¬
verulent, but intumesces slightly during ignition. Chem.
com. generally carbonate of lime, with more than 20 per
cent, carbonate of magnesia and less than 20 per cent, car¬
bonate of iron.
Varieties are, Dolomite, massive, granular, easily divi¬
sible, white; Rhomb or Bitter-spar, larger grained, or dis¬
tinctly crystallized and cleavable, often inclining to green;
anABroivn-spar ax\<\ Pearl-spar, in simple crystals or in imi¬
tative forms, of colours inclining to red or brown, more dis¬
tinct pearly lustre, and under 10 per cent, carbonate of iron.
Traversella in Piedmont, St Gotthardt, Gap in France,
Alston in Cumberland, in Derbyshire, and at Leadhills and
Charlestown in Scotland. Greenish, macled; Miemo, in
Tuscany {Miemite), and Tharand in Saxony (Tharandite).
Gurhojian, from Gurhof in Austria, is white and compact.
The massive and compact varieties are very common,
and valued as building-stones (cathedral of Milan, York
Minster, and the New Houses of Parliament). The Parian
marble, and also the Iona marble in the Hebrides, have been
supposed to belong to this species.
Predazzite.—Granular ; white and vitreous on the cleav¬
age planes. H.=3*5 ; G. = 2*623. Contains 6*98 per cent,
water. Predazzo in Tyrol.
188. Breunnerite, Giobertite.—Mg C.
Rhombohedral; R 107° 10'—30'; as yet only R; and
granular or columnar. Cleavage, R very perfect, with
straight faces. H. = 4...4*5; G. = 2*9...3T. Transparent
or translucent on the edges; highly vitreous. Colour¬
less, but often yellowish, brown, or blackish-gray. B.B. in¬
fusible, but generally becoming gray, or black and mag¬
netic ; soluble in acids, often only when pulverized and
warmed. Chem. com. essentially carbonate of magnesia,
with 51*7 carbonic acid and 48*3 magnesia, but often mixed
with 8 to 17 carbonate of iron or manganese. Tyrol, St
Gotthardt, Harz, Fassathal; also Unst in Zetland.
Mesitine-spar, splendent, yellow, lenticular crystals; G.
= 3*35...3*4; Traversella in Piedmont: sad Pistomasite\
G. = 4*4; Salzburg; are similar.
189. Magnesite.—Mg C.
Reniform or massive. H.= 3...5; G. = 2*85...2*95.
Sub-translucent or opaque ; streak shining. Snow-white,
grayish, or yellowish-white, and pale-yellow. Adheres
slightly to the tongue. B.B. and with acids acts like breun¬
nerite. Chem. com. pure carbonate of magnesia, with no
metallic oxides. 1 yrol, Norway, North America.
190. Hydromagnesite.—Mg4 C3 + 4 H.
Monoclinohedric; C = 82^0, ooP 88° nearly. Crystals
small, acicular ; also massive/ H.= 1*5...3*5 ; G. = 2*14...
2*18. Vitreous or silky. White. B.B. infusible; soluble
with effervescence in acids. Chem. com. 36*2 carbonic
acid, 44 magnesia, and 19*3 water. Moravia, Kumi, Hobo¬
ken in New Jersey, and Texas in Pennsylvania. The
Hydromagnocalcite is a similar yellow sinter from Vesuvius
with part of the magnesia replaced by lime.
**191. Arragonite, Needle Spar, Flos-ferri.—Ca C.
Rhombic; ccP 116° 16', Pcc 108° 27'. The most com¬
mon combinations are gcPoo (h), ocP (M) . Poo (/qP),gene¬
rally long prismatic (like fig. 158, and separate crystals in fig.
159);^gcPgo . cc P . OP, generally short prismatic; 6Pf.
oo P . Poo , acute pyramidal. But simple crystals are rare,
v'
Fi5.160.
Fig. 158. Fig. 159.
from the great tendency to form macles, conjoined by a face
of ocP, and repeated (figs. 159, 160). Also columnar,
fibrous, and in crusts, stalactites, and other forms. Cleav-
MINERALOGY.
logy.
Min era* age, brachydiagonal distinct, also ooP and Poo imperfect;
,0°y- fracture conchoidal or uneven. H. = 3‘5...4; G = 2-8
...3 (massive 2'7). Iransparent or translucent; vitreous.
Colourless, but yellowish-white to wine-yellow, reddish-
white to brick-red ; also light-green, violet-blue, or gray.
In the closed tube, before reaching a red heat, it swells
and falls down into a white coarse powder, evolving a little
water. A poition of this powder heated in the forceps,
13.13., colours the flame carmine-red when strontia is pre¬
sent ; on charcoal it becomes caustic, and with fluxes acts
like calc-spar. Chem. com. carbonate of lime, occasionally
mixed with (0-1...4) carbonate of strontia. Valencia, Mo-
|n Arragon ; Leogang in Salzburg, and Antiparos.
rlos-ferri, coralloid, in the iron mines of Styria. Satin-
spar, fine fibrous silky, at Dufton ; stalactitic in Bucking¬
hamshire, Devonshire, coast of Galloway, and Leadhills;
also deposited as tufa by the Carlsbad and other hot springs.
Arragonite is most readily distinguished from calc-spar
by falling to pieces at a low temperature, and by its less
distinct and prismatic cleavage.
Tarnowitzite contains 2 to 4 carbonate of lead. Tarnowitz
in Silesia.
**Family II.—Fluor Spar.
Crystallization tesseral, hexagonal, or rhombic. H. = 4
...5, in one 7; G. = 2-9...4-7, but mostly about 3. All so¬
luble in acids, and mostly fusible or altered by heat. Those
containing fluorine, when warmed with concentrated sul¬
phuric acid, evolve vapours that corrode glass; those with
phosphoric acid, when moistened with sulphuric acid, colour
B.B. the flame green.
**192. Fluor Spar.—Ca F.
Tesseral; the most common form is the cube ooOco,
then the octahedron O, and the rhombic dodecahedron ocO;
but many other forms occur in combinations. Macles are
common; also coarse granular, columnar, or compact and
earthy. Cleavage, octahedral perfect; conchcidal frac¬
ture ; brittle. H. = 4 ; G. = 3-1...3‘2. Pellucid in all de¬
grees ; vitreous. Colourless, but generally very various,
and beautiful shades of yellow, green, blue, and red ; often
two or more in one specimen. Many varieties phosphoresce
when heated (Chlorophane, with a bright green light).
B.B. decrepitates, often violently, phosphoresces and fuses
in thin splinters to an opaque mass; slowly soluble in
h. or nitric acids, readily in s. acid, with evolution of
hydrofluoric acid. Chem. com. neutral fluoride of calcium,
containing 48T4 fluorine, and 51*86 calcium ( = 72*45 lime),
Fluor-spar is a very common mineral, chiefly in veins, as
with tin ores in Saxony, Bohemia, Cornwall; with silver at
Freiberg, Marienberg, Kongsberg; with lead in Derby¬
shire (near Castletown), Cumberland (Alston Moor), Nor¬
thumberland and Ireland. It is rare in Scotland, but in
greenstone near Gourock, in granite near Ballater in Aber¬
deenshire, on the Avon in Banffshire, and in Sutherland.
In Derbyshire it occurs in large crystalline masses either
with concentric colours or of a rich translucent blue {Blue
John), and is wrought into various ornamental articles.
Fluor spar is also used for etching on glass, and as a flux
in reducing metallic ores, especially iron and copper.
193. Yttrocerite.
Very similar to fluor spar. Granular, crystalline, or in
crusts. Cleavage imperfect. H.=-4...5; G. = 3*4...3*5.
Translucent or opaque; weak vitreous lustre. Violet-blue
to gray or white. B.B. infusible on charcoal alone, and
evolves fluorine when heated with s. acid. Chem. com.
fluorides of calcium, cerium, and yttrium, in variable pro¬
portions. Finbo and Broddbo near Fahlun, Massachusetts,
and Amity in New York.
194. Fluocerite.— Ce F + Ce2 F3.
Hexagonal; ooP .OP. H. = 4...5; G.=4*7. Opaque or
93
translucent on the edges ; lustre weak. Pale brick-red or
yellowish; streak yellowish-white. In the closed tube
gives out fluorine. B.B. infusible. Chem. com. 82*64
peroxide of cerium, 1*12 yttria, and 16*24 hydrofluoric
acid, Berzelius. Finbo and Broddbo.
195. Fluocerine.—Ce2 F3 + Ce H.
Massive, with traces of cleavage ; fracture conchoidal.
H. = 4*5. Opaque; vitreous or resinous. Yellow, inclining
to red or brown ; streak brownish-yellow. B.B. infusible.
Analysis, 84*21 peroxide of cerium, 10*85 hydrofluoric acid,
and 4*95 water. Finbo. A similar mineral from Bastnaes
gave fluoride of cerium (and lanthanium) 50*15, peroxide of
cerium 36*43, and water 13*4.
196. Cryolite.—3 Na F + Al2 F3.
Rhombic (or tetragonal ?), but only indistinct crystalline
or granular. Cleavage, basal perfect, two others less so,
the three nearly at right angles ; brittle. H. = 2*5...3 ; G.
= 2*9...3. Translucent, and after immersion in water al¬
most transparent; vitreous, but on OP rather pearly. Co¬
lourless and snow-white, but often grayish, yellowish, or
reddish. . B.B. fuses very easily (even in the flame of a candle)
to a white enamel; in open tube shows traces of fluorine ;
partially soluble in h. acid; wholly so in s., with evolution
of fluorine. Chem. com. 53*7 fluorine, 13*1 aluminium,
and 33*2 sodium. Arksutfiord in West Greenland, Miask
in Ural. Used as an ore of aluminium.
197. Chiolite.— p+2a‘i21t73F3
(2 Na F + Al2 F3 = B.
Tetragonal, with middle edge 113° 25' (or rhombic with
so P 124 22 ); mostly granular. Cleavage, P rather perfect.
H. = 4. Resinous. White. Very easily fusible (more so
than cryolite), colouring the flame deep yellow; evolves
fluoric acid. Chem. com. twofold ; one variety (A) with
G. = 2 8...2*9, containing 18*7 aluminium, 23*8 sodium, and
57*5 fluorine; the second (B), with G. = 3*0...3*1, containing
16*4 aluminium, 27*8 sodium, and 55*8 fluorine. Miask in
Siberia.
I'luellite. Small, white, transparent, rhombic pyramids ;
polar edges 109° 6’ and 82° 12', middle 144°. Consists essen¬
tially of fluorine and aluminium. Stenna-gwyn in Cornwall.
Prosopite.—Crystals like datholite. H. = 4*5. Vitreous.
Colourless and transparent. Contains fluorine, aluminium,
calcium, and water. Altenberg ; Schlackenwalde (?)•
198. Hopeite.
Rhombic; coP2, 82° 20'; P with polar edges 106° 36'
and 140°. Cleavage, macrodiagonal perfect. H. = 2*5...3;
G. = 2*76...2*85. Vitreous or pearly. Grayish-white. B.B.
melts to a clear globule, tinging the flame green ; soluble
in acids without effervescence. Chem. com. oxide of zinc
and cadmium, with phosphoric (or boracic ?) acid, and much
water. Altenberg near Aix la Chapelle.
**199. Apatite.—3 Ca3 P + Ca (Cl, F).
Hexagonal, and pyramidal-hemihedric ; P 80° 26'; the
Pig. 161.
most common forms are ooP {M), ocP2 (e), OP (P), P {x).
I he crystals (figs. 161, 162) are short prismatic or thick
tabular, and often striated vertically. Also granular, fibrous,
or compact. Cleavage, prismatic and basal both imper-
Minera-
l°gy.
94
Minera-
logy.
MINE R ALOGIC AL SCIENCE.
feet; fracture conchoidal or uneven and splintery; brittle.
H. = 5; G. = 3,16...3,25. Transparent to opaque; vit¬
reous, but resinous on the cleavage planes and fracture.
Colourless, and white, but generally light-green, gray, blue,
violet, or red. B.B. fusible in thin splinters with much
difficulty to a colourless, translucent glass ; moistened
with sulphuric acid it colours the flame green; soluble in
nitric or h. acid. Chem. com. phosphate of lime (91 to
92,3), with chloride (0 to 4-2) and fluoride (4'6 to 7'7) of
calcium. In tin mines in Saxony, Bohemia, St Michael’s
Mount, St Agnes, and Botallack in Cornwall; in granite
at Bovey Tracey in Devonshire, and at Calbeck Fell in
Cumberland ; also at St Gotthardt, the Tyrol, and at Ham¬
mond and Edenville in New York. Moroxite, opaque
greenish-blue from Arendal. Asparagus-stone, translucent,
wine-yellow crystals from the Zillerthal in Tyrol. Phos¬
phorite, massive, from Logrosan in Estremadura.
Magnesia-apatite, from Kusiusk in the Ural, contains
7*74 magnesia.
200. Herderite, Allogonite.—jy, Ca,*P, F.
Rhombic; P middle edge 77° 20', ocP 115° 53'. Cleav¬
age, OP and coP imperfect; fracture conchoidal. H. = 5 ;
G. = 2-9...3. Translucent; vitreous, inclining to resinous.
Yellowish or greenish-white. B.B. difficultly fusible to a
white enamel; moistened with s. acid colours the flame
green; soluble in warm h. acid. Ehrenfriedersdorf in
Saxony, but extremely rare.
201. Childrenite.—2(Fe, Mn)4, P+ M3 P + 15 H.
JRhombic; P 102° 41', 130° 4', 97° 52'; usual form P.
2Poo. ooPco(fig. 163). Cleavage, Pimperfect. H = 4*5...5.
G. = 3T8...3‘3. Translucent; vitreous. Yel¬
lowish-white to wine or ochre-yellow, brown,
or almost black. B.B. infusible, but colours
the flame bluish-green ; slowly soluble in
warm h. acid. Chem. com. 30*7 iron protox¬
ide, 9 manganese protox., 14*5 alumina, 29 Fig.ies.
phosphoric acid, and 17 water. Tavistock in Devonshire,
Crinnis in Cornwall, and Callington in Cumberland.
202. Xenotime.—Y3 P.
Tetragonal; P 82°30'. Crystals P . ooP. Cleavage, ccP.
H. = 4*5 ; G. = 4*39...4*55. Translucent in thin splinters ;
resinous. Yellowish or reddish-brown, and flesh-red ; streak
paler. B.B. infusible. Chem. com. 62*82 yttria, and 37*18
phosphoric acid, with traces of fluoric acid, and 3*39 phos¬
phate of iron. Lindesnaes and Hitteroe in Norway, Ytterby
and Georgia, U.S.
203. Boracite.—M<U, ii*4.
Tesseral, and hemihedric; c»Ooo, ooO, and —. Cleav-
Zt
age, octahedral very imperfect; fracture conchoidal; brittle.
H. = 7; G. = 2*9...3. Transparent, or translucent on the
edges. Vitreous or adamantine. Colourless or white, often
grayish, yellowish, or greenish. Becomes polar electric by
heat. B.B. fuses with difficulty to a clear yellowish bead,
which on cooling forms a white opaque mass of needle-like
crystals; at same time colours the flame green ; soluble
in h. acid. Chem. com. 69*8 boracic acid, and 30*2 mag¬
nesia. Liineberg and Segeberg in Holstein.
Stassfurthite.—Compact, or in very minute prismatic
crystals. White. Chem. com. same as boracite, and thus
dimorphous. Stassfurth in Germany.
Rhodizite agrees with boracite ; only H. = 8 and G. =
3*3...3*42. B.B. fuses difficultly on the edges, colouring
the flame first green, then green above and red below, and
at last in some varieties all red. Chem. com. borate of
lime. Mursinsk in Siberia.
204. Hydroborocalcite.-—Ca B2 + 6 H
Delicate snow-white crystals, with 19 lime, 46 boracic
acid, and 35 water. Iquique in Peru.
Family III.—Heavy Spar.
Crystallization rhombic specially. H. = 3...4*5; G. = 3*2
...4*7, but mostly 3*6...4*5. Soluble in acids, except ba¬
rytes. B.B. fusible or decompose. Those containing baryta
colour the flame yellowish-green ; those with strontia car¬
mine red, best seen when moistened with h. acid. The sul¬
phates fused with soda and then moistened leave a black
stain on silver.
**207. Barytes, Heavy Spar.—Ba S.
Rhombic; ooP {g) 101° 40', Poo (/) 74° 35', £Poo (ri)
102° 17'; and OP (c), (figs. 165, 166,167). The crystals
tabular or columnar, often in
druses or groups; also foli¬
ated, fibrous, granular, or
compact. Cleavage, basal
perfect, prismatic along ooP
less perfect; brachydiagonal
traces. H. = 3...3*5; G. =
4*3...4*7(4*48). Transparent
to translucent; vitreous or resinous
but generally reddish-
white, or flesh-red, yel¬
low, gray, bluish, green¬
ish, or brown. B.B.
decrepitates violently,
and fuses very difficultly, or only on the edges, colouring
the flame yellowish-green;
not soluble in acids. Chem.
com. 34*3 sulphuric acid,
and 65*7 baryta, but occa¬
sionally with 1 to 15 sul¬
phate of strontia. Very Fig. 167.
common, chiefly in veins, either alone or accompanying ores.
Crystals at Dufton, Bohemia, Felsobanya and Kremnitz in
Hungary, Auvergne, and United States. Columnar at Frei¬
berg. The radiated from near Bologna, or the Bolognese
stone, phosphoresces in the dark. Massive or Catch from
Derbyshire and Staffordshire; in Scotland, at Leadhills,
Fig. 165.
Colourless and white,
205. Hydroboracite.—Ca2 *B3 + Mg2 B3+12 H. Minera-
Radiating and foliated like gypsum. H. = 2; G. = l*9 ^
...2. Translucent. White, but partly red. B.B. melts
easily, tinging the flame green ; easily soluble in warm
acids. Chem. com. 13*52 lime, 10*57 magnesia, 49*58
boracic acid, and 26*33 water. Caucasus. A similar mi¬
neral with soda in place of magnesia is found in Peru.
*206. Datholite, Borate of Lime—Ca B + Ca Si + H.
Monoclinohedric; C = 88° 19', ooP (/) 77° 30', ooP2 (g)
116° 9',—P (P) 122°,—2Poo (a) 43° 56', ( aoPoo ) (.?), 2Poo )
(o) (fig. 164); or rhombic with
b : / 90°, b: a 135°; 5: c 141° 9',
and/’: <7 160° 39'; also coarse gra¬
nular. Cleavage, orthodiagonal
and ooP very imperfect; fracture
uneven or conchoidal. H. = 5...
5*5; G. = 2*9...3. Transparent Fig. 16*.
or translucent; vitreous; on the fracture resinous. Colour¬
less or white, inclining to gray, green, yellow, and red. In
closed tube yields water. B.B. intumesces, and melts easily
to a clear glass, colouring the flame green ; the powder ge¬
latinizes in h. acid. Chem. com. 38*3 silica, 21*5 boracic
acid, 34*6 lime, and 5*6 water. Arendal, Utoe, Andreas-
berg, Seisser Alpe, Sonthofen (Humboldtite); Toggianna
in Modena; also Salisbury Crags, Corstorphine Hill, and
Glen Farg, in Perthshire; Connecticut and New Jersey.
Botryolite.—Fine fibrous, botryoidal or reniform, snow-
white or hair-brown; otherwise, and in chem. com., like
datholite, but with two atoms water. Arendal.
MINERALOGY.
finera-
logy.
Braid Hills near Edinburgh, the Pentlands and Cheviots,
and Arran, where mined as a white pigment.
Lime Barytes from Freiberg, Strontian, and Derbyshire,
seems a mixture with sulphate of lime; crystals, tabular, in
rosettes and other groups. G. = 4-0...4*3.
Hepatite. Dark-gray, from carbonaceous matter; Kongs-
berg. Allomorphite, scaly, white and pearly, at Unter-
wirbach near Rudolstadt, agrees essentially (98-05 sulphate
of baryta, 1 -90 sulphate of lime) with barytes.
208. Dreelite.—Ca S* +3 Ba * S.
Rhombohedric; R93°. Cleavage, R imperfect. H.=
3...4; G. = 3-2*»*3-4. Lustre dull; on cleavage pearly.
White. B.B. fuses to a white vesicular glass; effervesces
with h. acid, but only partially dissolves. Chem. com. 61-73
sulphate of baryta, 14"27 sulphate of lime, 8"05 carbonate
silica, 2"40 alumina, 1-52 lime, 2"31 water.
Nuissiere near Beaujeu.
, *209. Witherite.—Ba C.
^Rhombic; co P 118° 30', 2 Pao 68°. Crystals ooP . Poo .
2Poo (fig. 168); more common spherical, bo-
tryoidal, or reniform, with radiated columnar
texture. Cleavage, coP distinct, 2 Poo and oo P
imperfect; fracture uneven. H. = 3...3-5 ; G.
= 4-2...4-3. Semitransparent or translucent; vi¬
treous, or resinous on the fracture. Colourless,
but generally yellowish or grayish. B.B. fuses Eig.ies.
easily to a transparent globule, opaque when cold; on
charcoal boils, becomes caustic and sinks into the support;
soluble with effervescence in nitric or h. acid. Chem.’
com. 22-3 carbonic acid and 77'7 baryta. Alston Moor
iu Northumberland, and Lancashire, where it is used for
poisoning rats; also in Styria, Salzburg, Hungary, Sicily
Siberia, and Chili.
210. Alstonite.—BaC + Ca C.
Rhombic; gcP 118° 50', 2 Poo 111° 50'; usual combina¬
tion P.2 Poo . coP .^resembling a hexagonal pyramid.
Cleavage, coP and coPco rather distinct. H.= 4..,4-5 ;
G. = 3’65...3‘76. Translucent; weak resinous. Co¬
lourless or grayish-white. Chem. com. 66 carbonate of
baryta and 34 carbonate of lime, thus identical with the
baryto-calcite. hallowfield near Hexham, and Alston
Moor.
211. Baryto-Caecite.—Ba C + Ca C.
Monoclinohedric; C. = 69° 30'; oo P 95° 15' P
106° 54', Poo 119° (fig 169); also columnar and
granular. Cleavage, P perfect, Poo less perfect.
H. = 4; G. = 3-6...3-7. Transparent or translucent;
vitreous, inclining to resinous. Yellowish-white.
B.B. infusible, but becomes opaque and caustic.
Chem. com. like Alstonite, Alston Moor.
*212, Ceeestine.—SrS* Fig.iGD.
Rhombic; forms like those of barytes and sulphate
of lead; ooP 104° 8', Pco75°58'. Usual combinations
Poo . oo P . OP, this with ^Poo, also OP . oo P (fio-. 170);
also columnar, and foliated; or fibrous, fine gra¬
nular or compact. Cleavage, basal perfect; pris¬
matic along 00 P less perfect. H. = 3...3-5; G.=
3-9...4. Transparent or translucent; vitreous
or resinous. Colourless, but usually bluish-white
to indigo-blue, and rarely reddish or yellowish. Fi—m
B.B. decrepitates and fuses easily to a milk-white globule;
colours the flame carmine-red. Distinguished from barytes
by a splinter after ignition in the inner flame, being moistened
with h. acid, and held in the blue border of the flame of a
candle, colouring this of a lively purple-red. Scarcely
attected by acids. Chem. com. 43-6 sulphuric acid, and
5fi. s^rontia* Sulphur mines of Girgenti and other parts
ot Sicily, Herrengrund in Hungary, Bex, Salzburg, Monte
Viale near \ erona, and Meudon and Montmartre near
Paris; in England near Bristol, and Knaresborough;
in Scotland at Inverness, Tantallan Castle, Calton Hill.
Used for strontium preparations, and red-light in fire-works.
Baryto-celestine.—Radiating columnar or foliated. Bluish-
white ; very brittle and friable. H. = 2-5 ; G. = 3-92. B.B.
difficultly fusible. Chem. com. 2 Sr S* + Ba ‘s, with 36
strontia, and 23 baryta. Diamond Island in Lake Erie,
Kingstown in Upper Canada, and Binnenthal.
*213. Strontianite.—Sr C.
Rhombic; oo P 117° 19', P go 108° 12'. Crystals (fig. 171)
and macles like arragonite; also broad columnar and fibrous.
Cleavage, prismatic along 00 P
{M), and 2 Pco (P) (69° 16')
imperfect. H. = 3-5; G.=3-6
...3"8. Translucent or trans¬
parent ; vitreous or resinous on
fracture. Colourless, but often
light asparagus or apple-green,
more rarely grayish or yel¬
lowish. B.B. fuses in a strong heat only on very thin
edges ; intumesces in cauliflower-like forms, shines brightly,
and colours the flame red; easily soluble with efferves¬
cence in acids; the solution in hydrochloric acid, evapo¬
rated and then dissolved in alcohol, makes this burn with
a carmine-red flame. Chem. com. 30 carbonic acid and
70 strontia, but often contains carbonate of lime (6 to 8).
Leogang in Salzburg, Braunsdorf in Saxony, Hamm in
Westphalia, the Harz, at Schoharie and other parts of the
United States (Emmonite); Strontian in Argyllshire, Lead-
hills, Yorkshire, and Giant’s Causeway. It is used to pro¬
duce red fire in pyrotechnic exhibitions.
Stromnite or Barystrontianite.—Yellowish-white, semi-
translucent, faint pearly lustre. H. — 3'5 ; G. = 3-7. Con¬
tains 68-6 carbonate of strontia, 27‘5 sulphate of baryta,
and 2’6 carbonate of lime. Stromness in Orkney.
95
Fig.171.
Family IV.—Gypsum.
Crystallization rhombic or monoclinohedric. H. = 2...3,
or less, many yield to the nail. G. = 2-2...2-9, or also low!
All, except the sulphates, soluble in acids, some in water;
also fusible in general. Mostly translucent and colourless,
but often coloured by mixtures.
**214. Gypsum.—Ca S + 2 H.
Monociinohedric ; C. = 81° 26'; the most common forms
are go P 111° 14', P 138° 44',—P 143° 28', and (00P00).
Two common combinations are 00P (y) . (ocPoo )0P) .
—P (0 (fig. 172), and this with P. Lenticular crystals often
occur; macles frequent (fig. 83 above);
also granular, compact, fibrous, scaly, or
pulverulent. Cleavage, clinodiagonal very
perfect, hemipyramidal along P much less
perfect; sectile, thin plates flexible. H. =
P5...2 (lowest on P)\ G.=2-2... 2*4.
Transparent or translucent; vitreous, on
cleavage pearly or silky. Colourless and
snow-white, but often red, gray, yellow,
brown, and more rarely greenish or bluish.
In the closed tube yields^ water. B.B.
becomes opaque and white; exfoliates and
fuses to a white enamel, which is alkaline ;
soluble in 400 to 500 parts of water,
scarcely more so in acids. Chem. com. sulphate of lime
with two atoms water, or46-47 sulphuric acid, 32-65 lime
and 20*88 water.
Gypsum is a very common mineral, often in nests or
reniform masses in clay or marl. Transparent crystals, or
Selenite^ occur in the salt mines of Bex in Switzerland
of the fyiol, Salzburg, and Bohemia, in the sulphur mines
Fig. 172.
Minera-
iogy.
96
Minera-
togy-
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
of Sicily, at Lockport in New York, in the clay of Shot-
' over Hill near Oxford, at Chatley near Bath, and many
other localities. Fibrous gypsum at Ilfeld in the Harz, and
Matlock in Derbyshire. Compact gypsum at Volterra in
Tuscany {Alabaster), and in whole beds in many parts of
Germany, France, Italy, and England, often with rock-salt.
T he finer varieties, or Alabaster, are cut into various or¬
namental articles. Plaster of Paris, used for casts and
other works of art, is formed by calcining gypsum at a
temperature below 300° Fahr., and grinding it down to a
fine powder, which forms a paste that soon hardens by
absorbing the water driven off by the heat.
*215. Anhydrite, Muriazit, Karstenite.—Ca S.
Rhombic ; ocP 91° 10,' Pco 96° 36'. Crystals OP . coPoo
. oo Poo . oo P, but rare; chiefly granular, or almost com¬
pact or columnar. Macles rare. Cleavage, macrodiagonal
and brachydiagonal both very perfect, basal perfect. H. = 3
...3‘5 ; G. = 2‘8...3. Transparent or translucent; vitreous;
on ooPoo pearly. Colourless or white, but often blue,
red, or gray; streak grayish-white. In closed tube gives
no water. B.B. fuses difficultly to a white enamel; with
fluor spar fuses readily to a clear globule, which becomes
opaque when cold, and, on continuation of the heat, in-
tumesces and becomes infusible; very slightly soluble in
water or acids. Chem. com. 58-7o sulphuric acid and
4P25 lime.
The crystalline, or Muriacite, occurs in the salt mines of
Bex, Hall in Tyrol, and Aussee in Styria; also Sulzon the
Neckar, and Bleiberg. Compact at Ischel in Austria, Berch-
tesgaden, Eisleben, and the Harz. Granular, or Vulpinite,
near Bergamo. The contorted, or Gekrosstein, chiefly at
Wieliczka and Bochnia.
• • ••• • ••• •
216. Polyhalite.-2 Ca S+MgS + KS+2H.
Rhombic; ocP 115°; mostly columnar or fibrous. Cleav¬
age, coP imperfect. H. = 3-5; G.=2-7...2*8. Trans¬
lucent; pearly or resinous. Colourless, but generally pale
red, seldom gray. Weak bitter, and slightly saline taste.
Soluble in water, leaving gypsum. B.B. fuses on charcoal
to an opaque reddish bead, becoming white when cold.
Chem. com. sulphates of lime 45, of magnesia 20-5, of potassa
28, and water 5*5. Ischel, Aussee, and Berchtesgaden.
217. Glauberite, Brongniartin.—Na *S +Ca’s.
Monoclinohedric; C = 683 16'; ooP 83° 20',—P 116° 20'.
219. Aluminite, Websterite.—Xi S* +9 H.
Reniform, and very fine scaly or fibrous. Fracture earthy;
sectile or friable. H.= l; G. = P7. Opaque; dull or
glimmering. Snow-white or yellowish-white. In closed
tube yields much water. B.B. emits sulphurous fumes, the
remainder being infusible; easily soluble in h. acid.
Chem. com. 29’8 alumina, 23,2 sulphuric acid, and 47
water. Newhaven in Sussex; Eperney, Auteuil, and Lunel
Vieil in France; Halle and Mori in Prussia.
220. Pharmacolite.—Ca3 As + 6 H.
Monoclinohedric; C = 65°4';ocP 117° 24',—P 139° 17'.
Crystals prismatic; often acicular or capillary, or radiated
fibrous crusts. Cleavage, clinodiagonal very perfect; sec-
tile and flexible. H. = 2...2-5; G. = 2-6...28. Trans¬
lucent ; vitreous; pearly or silky. Colourless and white,
but sometimes rose-red or green. Yields water in the
closed tube. B.B. fuses to a white enamel; in the inner
flame on charcoal gives arsenic fumes, and fuses to a semi-
translucent grain, colouring the flame blue; easily so¬
luble in acids. Chem. com. 51 arsenic acid, 25 lime, and
24 water. Andreasberg, Riechelsdorf, Biber, Joachimsthal
in Bohemia, Markirchen, and Wittichen in the Schwarzwald.
Picropharmacolite contains magnesia. Roselite, vitreous;
rose-red. B.B. with borax forms a deep blue glass. Chem.
com. arsenic acid, oxide of cobalt, lime, magnesia, and water.
Schneeberg in Saxony.
221. Haidingerite.—Ca2 A*s"+ 3 H.
Rhombic; coP 100°. Cleavage very perfect; sectile,
flexible. H. = 2...2*5; G. = 2-8«**2,9. Transparent or
translucent. Colourless and white. Chem. com. 85‘68 ar-
seniate of lime and 14'32 water. Joachimsthal in Bo¬
hemia.
222. Berzeliite.—Ca3 As + Mg3 As.
Massive, with traces of cleavage. Brittle. H. = 5-5;
G. = 2-52. Translucent on the edges ; resinous. Honej'-
yellow or yellowish-white. B.B. infusible, but becomes
gray; soluble in nitric acid. Contains also 2 to 4 man¬
ganese protoxide. Longbanshytta in Sweden.
223. Struvite, Guanite.—(NH4 O, Mg2) P +12 H.
Rhombic and hemihedric; Poo 63° 7', Poo 95°. Cleav¬
age, brachydiagonal perfect. H. = P5...2; G.= 1*66...1*75.
Minera-
logy.
MINERALOGY.
97
Winera- chlorine and 40 sodium, but often with various impuri-
logy- ties.
This important mineral is very widely disseminated, either
in thick masses, with clay, anhydrite, and gypsum, or as
an efflorescence, covering extensive tracts of country.
The most celebrated European deposits occur at Wieliczka
and other parts of Galicia, in Hungary, Siebenburg,
Moldavia, Styria, Salzburg (Hallein), in Tyrol (Hall); also
in Bavaria, Wurtemburg, Switzerland (Bex), and Spain,
especially at Cardona. In England the chief deposits are
in Cheshire, as at Northwich. As an efflorescence it is
most abundant on the sandy plains in Brazil, at the foot
of the Atlas Mountains in Africa, in Abyssina, in Arabia,
and in the Steppes round the Caspian Sea and Lake Ural.
Also as a sublimation among the lavas of Vesuvius.
Sylvin, or chloride of potassium, found as a sublimation
on Vesuvius, and in the rock-salt of Hallein and Berch-
tesgaden, agrees in most characters with rock salt (G.=
1-9 ...2).
*225. Alum.—R s’+ (Al, Ue) s’1 + 24 H.
Tesseral; O, sometimes with coOoo and ooO. Generally
fibrous crusts, or as an efflorescence. Cleavage, octahedral
imperfect; fracture conchoidal. H. = 2...2,5; G.= LTS...
1*9. Translucent. Colourless and white. Taste sweetish
astringent. Easily soluble in water. B.B. generally evolves
sulphurous fumes.
(a.) Potash-alum, with R = K, and 32*52 sulphuric acid,
10*86 alumina, 9*96 potash, and 45*60 water. In the closed
tube it fuses, intumesces, and yields much water. In the
Silurian alum-slates of Sweden, Norway, and Scotland;
the coal formation, Hurlet and Campsie, in Scotland; the
lias near Whitby; in the brown-coals of Hessia and the
Rhine ; and in the volcanic formations of the Lipari Islands,
Sicily, and the Azores.
(b.) Ammonia-alum, wth R = NH40, and about 4 per cent,
ammonia and 48 water. In the closed tube it forms a sub¬
limate of sulphate of ammonia. Tschermig in Bohemia.
(c.) Soda-alum, with R = Na, and 7 soda and 48 water.
Like potash-alum, but more easily soluble. Near Mendoza
in South America, the Solfatara at Naples, and Milo.
{d.) Magnesia-alum.—R = Mg with Mn. Translucent and
silky, but soon changes in the air. South Africa, Iquique
in Peru (Pickeringite).
(<?.) Iron-alum (Feather-aluni), with R = Fe. Hurlet
near Paisley, Morsfield in Rhenish Bavaria, Krisuvig in
Iceland (Hversalt).
226. Voltaite.—3 (Fe, K, Na) S + (£e, -Al) S3 + 12 H.
Tesseral. Black, brown, or green ; greenish-gray streak.
Otherwise like alum, but more difficultly soluble in water.
Solfatara of Pozzuoli.
227. Alunogene, Halotrichite, Hair Salt.—Al S3-}-18 H.
Capillary or acicular, in crusts or reniform masses. H. = 1*5
...2; G.= I*6...1*7. Silky. White, inclining to green or
yellow. Tastes like alum. B.B. in closed tube intumesces,
yields much water, and is infusible. Chem. com. 36*05
sulphuric acid, 15'40 alumina, 48*55 water. Volcanoes of
South America, coal and brown coal strata of Germany, and
on old walls.
228. Mirabilite, Glauber-salt.—Na S*+10H.
Monoclinohedric; C = 72° 15'; 00P 86° 31', P 93° 12'.
Crystals predominantly OPand ocPco (fig. 175); butgenerally
efflorescent crusts. Cleavage, orthodiagonal
very perfect; fracture conchoidal. H..= l*5
...2; G.= 1*4...1'5. Pellucid and colour¬
less ; taste cool, saline, and bitter ; decom¬
poses readily in the atmosphere, and falls Fig. 175.
into powder. Gives no precipitate with carbonate of soda.
Chem. com. 19*3 soda, 24*7 sulphuric acid, and 56 water.
As an efflorescence in quarries and on old walls in many
VOL. XV.
countries, on Vesuvius in lava. Used in medicine, and in
preparing glass and soap.
N.B.—No. 229-237 form a sub-family of Metallic salts,
or Vitriols.
Minera-
logy.
}*5
e 8 + 7 H.
*229. Melanterite, Green or
Iron Vitriol, Copperas.
Monoclinohedric; C =75° 40'; 00P (f) 82° 21'  P
(P) 101° 35', (Poo) (o) 69° 17', (00P00) (w), (fig. 176);
chiefly stalactitic, reniform, or in
crusts. Cleavage, basal very per¬
fect, ccP less so. II. = 2; G.= l*8
...1*9. Translucent, rarely transpa¬
rent; vitreous. Leek or mountain-
green, often with a yellow coating;
streak white. Taste sweetish astrin¬
gent. Very soluble. B.B. becomes
brown, then black and magnetic.
Chem. com. 26*0 protoxide of iron,
28*8 sulphuric acid, and 45*2 water.
Bodenmais, Rammelsberg in the Harz,
Fahlun, Schemnitz, Bilin, and Hurlet
near Paisley. Used in dyeing, in manufacturing ink, Prus¬
sian blue, and sulphuric acid.
2S0' BRed™SE’[ rVS! + 3K*S' + 36H2(?).
Monoclinohedric; C = 62° 26'; ooP119°56'. Crystals
small and short prismatic. More common botryoidal and
reniform. Cleavage, 00P rather distinct. H. = 2...2*5;
G. = 2...2T. Translucent; vitreous. Hyacinth-red,orange-
yellow, and yellowish-brown ; streak ochre-yellow. Taste
slightly astringent. Partially soluble in water, leaving a
yellow ochre. Chem. com. sulphates of the protoxide and
peroxide of iron (48), with 31 water, and about 21 sulphates
of magnesia and lime; the two latter considered mixtures
by Berzelius. Fahlun in Sweden.
Fig. 176.
231. Copiapite.—i^e2 SJ + 18 H.
Six-sided tables, but crystal-system uncertain; also granu¬
lar. Cleavage perfect. Translucent; pearly. Yellow. Chem.
com. 30*7 iron peroxide, 38*3 sulphuric acid, and 31 water.
Copiapo in Coquimbo in Chili. Also radiated fibrous masses;
dirty greenish-yellow, incrusting the former. Contain 32
sulphuric acid, and 37 water; but both are probably mix¬
tures. To these may be added—
Fihroferrite, also from Chili. Yellow Iron-ore, from
the brown coal at Kolosoruk in Bohemia and Modum
in Norway. Both are reniform, or compact and earthy.
H. = 2*5...3; G. = 2*7...29. Colour ochre-yellow. Not
soluble in water, with difficulty in hydrochloric acid.
Apatelite, reniform earthy, yellow, from Auteuil near
Paris, is similar ; also Vitriol ochre from Fahlun. Misy,
from Rammelsberg in the Harz, contains sulphates of iron,
copper, zinc, and other metals.
232. Coquimbite.—Le is* + 9 II.
Hexagonal; P 58°. Crystals OP, with ocP and P; usually
granular. Cleavage, ocP imperfect. H. = 2...2*5; G. = 2
...2*1. White, also browm, yellow, red, and blue. Taste
astringent. Chem. com. 28*5 iron peroxide, 43*6 sulphuric
acid, and 28*9 water. Copiapo in Chili, and Calama in
Bolivia.
233. Tectizite.—~Fe, S, H.
Rhombic; dimensions unknown. H.= l*5...2; G. = 2
nearly. Vitreous or resinous. Clove-brown. Saxony near
Schwarzenberg, and at Braunsdorf.
*234. Cpanose, Blue Vitriol.—Cu S*+5 H.
Trielinohedric. Crystals very unsymmetric; ocPoo (»)
to 00Poo (r), forms an angle of 79° 19'; P' (P) to orP' {T)
127° 40', to ocPoo {n) 120° 50', to ocPx (r) 103° 27', and
N
98
Minera-
iogj.
MINER ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
00 0°,P {M) 123° 10' (fig. 177). More often sta-
lactitic, reniform, or as an incrusta- q ~
tion. Cleavage, along ooP' and w7/ ^
co T very imperfect; fracture con-
choidal. H. = 2'5; G. = 2-2...2'3. r[
Translucent; vitreous. Blue. Taste
very nauseous. Readily soluble in
water, from which metallic copper
is precipitated by iron. B.B. on
charcoal, especially with soda, is
easily reduced to metallic cop¬
per. Chem. com. 32 protoxide of
copper, 32 sulphuric acid, and 36 177.
water.
Abundant in the water of some mines, as in the Harz,
Hungary, Tyrol, Fahlun, in Anglesea, Cornwall, and Wick¬
low. Also on the lava of Vesuvius. Used in dyeing, and
in forming blue and green pigments.
*235. Goslarite, White Vitriol.—Zn S*+ 7 H.
Rhombic; coP90 42, isomorphous with epsomite; ooP .
co Poo . P (fig. 178). Mostly granular, or stake-
title, reniform, and encrustinsr. Clpavno-P K/—/S
title, reniform, and encrusting. Cleavage,
brachydiagonal perfect. H. = 2...2‘5; G. = 2
...2T. Pellucid; vitreous. White, inclining to
gray, yellow, green, or red. Taste nauseous
astringent. Chem. com. 28'2 zinc oxide, 27’9 ^
sulphuric acid, and 43*9 water. Rammelsberg Fig. 17a
in the Harz, Fahlun, Schemnitz, Holywell in Flintshire, in
Cornwall, at Villefranche, and Guipuzcoa in Spain. Used
in dyeing and medicine.
236. Bieberite, Cobalt Vitriol.—(Co, Mg) S*+ 7 H.
Monoclinohedric ; similar to melanterite ; usually stalac-
titic, or an efflorescence. Pale rose-red. Taste astringent.
Chem. com. 20 cobalt oxide, 4 magnesia, 29 sulphuric acid*
and 47 vvatei. Bieber near Hanau, and Leogansj in Salzbur0-.
237. Johannite, Uran Vitriol.
Monoclinohedric; C = 85° 40'; 00P 69°. Crystals similar
to trona (fig. 181), but very small. Cleavage, 00P. H. = 2
...2*5; G. = 3-19. Semitransparent; vitreous. Brightgrass-
green, with paler streak. Chem. com. a hydrous sulphate
of the protoxide of uranium. Joachimsthal and Johann-
Georgenstadt.
*238. Natron.—Na C + 10 H.
Monoclinohedric ; C = 57° 40. Crystals ( coPoo ) . 00P
P • (%• 179); with 00P (M) 79° 41^ p
(P) 76° 28'. Cleavage, 00P00 distinct; ( 00P00 )
less so. H. = 1...P5; G. = P4...15. Pellucid;
vitreous. Colourless or grayish-white. B.B.
melts easily, colouring the flame yellow. Chem.
com. 2T8 soda, 15-4 carbonic acid, and 6-28
water; but mixed with chloride of sodium, and
other salts. On lava, as on Vesuvius and
Etna; as an efflorescence on the ground in
Hungary, Egypt, Tartary, and in mineral
springs and lakes. Used in the manufac¬
ture of soap, in dyeing, bleaching, and medi¬
cine.
239. Thermonatrite.—Na C + H.
Rhombic; ooP2 ^7) 107° 50', Poo
(0) 83 50; withooPoo (P), in rect¬
angular tables (fig. 180). Cleavage,
(p) perfect. H. = P5; G. = P5
...P6. Colourless. B.B. like natron,
but does not melt. Chem. com.
50T soda, 35-4 carbonic acid, and
14-5 water. Natron lakes of Lagu-
mlla m Colombia, of Lower Egypt,
and of the steppes between the Ural
and Altai.
Fig. 180.
Fig. 179.
Fig. 181.
240. Trona, Urao.—Na2 C! + 4 H.
Monoclinohedric. Crystals OP and 00P00 (103° 15'),
(fig. 181). Cleavage, ocPoo perfect. H.
= 2'5...3; G. = 2T...2-2. Transparent to
translucent; colourless. Does not decom¬
pose in the air. Taste alkaline. Chem.
com. 3r93 soda, 40’24 carbonic acid, and
21 83 water. Fezzan and Barbary [Trona), Lagunilla in
Colombia [Urao).
241. Gaylussite.—Na C + Ca C + 5 H.
Monoclinohedric; C = 78°27'; 00P 68°51', P 110° 30'.
Cleavage, coP imperfect; fracture conchoidal. H. = 2‘5;
G-— 1'9...1‘95. Fi'ansparent; vitreous; colourless. Slowly
and partially soluble in water. B.B. fuses readily to an
opaque bead. Chem. com. 34‘5 carbonate of soda, 33'6
carbonate of lime, 30-4 water, with L5 clay. La°-unilla
near Merida. 0
*242. Borax, Tinkal.—NaB2+10H.
. Monoclinohedric; C = 73° 25'; 00P 87°, P 122° 34'-
almost isomorphous with augite. Twin crystals frequent!
Cleavage, ( soPco ) perfect; 00P less distinct; fracture con¬
choidal, rather brittle. H. = 2...2-5; G. = P7...1-8. Pel¬
lucid ; resinous. Colourless, but yellowish, greenish, and
grayish-white. Taste feebly alkaline and sweetish. B.B.
intumesces greatly, becomes black, and melts to a trans¬
parent bead, colouring the flame yellow, or, with sulphuric
acid, green ; soluble in 12 parts of cold water. Chem.
com. of the pure salt, 16-37 soda, 36-53 boracic acid, and
47-10 water; but often contains many impurities. Shore
of salt lakes in Thibet and Nepal, and in South America
near Potosi. Borax is prepared from this mineral, and is
used for blowpipe experiments, in preparing fine glass, in
medicine, and for dyeing.
*243. Sassoline.—ii + 3 H.
Triclinohedric; OP: ccPoo75°30'; usually fine scaly six-
sided tables, or fibrous, and stalactitic. Macles frequent.
Cleavage, basal very perfect; sectile and flexible. H. = 1J
G. = l-4...1-5. Translucent; pearly. Grayish or yellowish-
white. Taste acidulous and slightly bitter. Feels greasy.
Easily soluble in boiling, less so in cold water. Frothes
up and melts in the candle flame to a hard transparent glass,
colouring the flame green. Chem. com. 56-3 boracic'acid!
and 43 7 water. Vulcano in the Lipari Islands, hot springs
of Sasso near Sienna, and lagoni of Tuscany.
*244. Nitre, Salpetre.—K N.
Rhombic; ccP [M) 119°, 2Poo [P) 71°, Poo ] 10°, 00P00
[h), (fig. 182); isomorphous with arrago-
nite. Only occurs acicular, capillary, or
pulverulent. Cleavage indistinct; frac¬
ture conchoidal. H. = 2; G. = P9...2.
Semitransparent; vitreous, or silky. Col¬
ourless, white or gray. Taste saline and
cooling. Deflagrates when placed on hot
charcoal; and B.B. on platina wire melts
very easily, colouring the flame violet.
Chem. com. 46‘6 potash, and 53'4 nitric
acid, but always more or less mixed. In
the limestone caves of many countries,
Hungary, Spain, India. Used for pro¬
ducing nitric acid, in glass-making, medicine, and the manu¬
facture of gunpowder.
245. Nitratine.—Na N.
Rhombohedric; R=106° 30', isomorphous with dolo¬
mite. Cleavage rather perfect. H. = l-5...2; G. = 2-1
...2-2. Translucent or transparent, with very distinct
double refraction; vitreous. Colourless, or grayish and
yellowish-white. Taste saline and cooling. Deflagrates
on hot charcoal. B.B. fuses on platina wire, colouring the
M
Fig. 182.
Minera-
logy.
MINERALOGY.
99
Minera- flame yellow. Chem. com. Sfl’S soda, and 63'4 nitric acid,
logy, but mixed with common salt and other substances. Tara-
paca in Chili. Used in the arts as a substitute for nitre ; but
deliquesces in the air.
246. Nitrocalcite.—CaN + H.
Fibrous or pulverulent. White or gray. Translucent.
Taste sharp and bitter. Readily soluble in water, and
deliquesces in the air; melts slowly on burning charcoal,
with slight detonation. Chem. com. 32-00 lime, 57'54
nitric acid, and 10-56 water. Limestone caves of Ken¬
tucky ; on old walls and limestone rocks.
247. Nitromagnesite.—Mg N + H.
In the same places and similar to nitrocalcite. Taste bit¬
ter. Chem. com. 24 magnesia, 65 nitric acid, and 11 water.
*248. Sal-ammoniac.—N H4 Cl.
Tesseral; O, also ocOoo, ooO, and 303. In crusts,
stalactites, and earthy or pulverulent. Cleavage, O imper¬
fect; fracture conchoidal. H. = T5...2; G. = l’5...1’6.
Pellucid ; vitreous. Colourless, but gray or yellow, rarely
green, brown, or black. Taste saline and pungent. B.B.
volatilizes without fusing; on copper wire colours the flame
bluish-green. Chem. com. (32 per cent, ammonia, or) SS'O
ammonium, and 66-l chlorine. Chiefly occurs as a subli¬
mate on active volcanoes, Vesuvius, Etna, the Solfatara,
Vulcano, and Iceland; also near ignited coal seams, New¬
castle, and Scotland. Used in medicine, dyeing, and vari¬
ous metallurgic operations.
249. Mascagnine.—N H3 S + H. ^
Rhombic; ccP 107° 40', Poo 121° 16'; coP . ooPcc. P
(fig. 183); but chiefly in crusts and stalactites.
Cleavage rather perfect; sectile. H.=2...2-5;
G. = P7...1,8. Pellucid, vitreous. Colourless,
white or yellowish. Taste pungent and bitter ;
easily soluble, and deliquesces. B.B. decrepi¬
tates, melts, and volatilizes. Chem. com. 25'9
ammonia, GO’S sulphuric acid, and l.S’G water. Eig. isa
Near volcanoes, as Etna, Vesuvius, the Solfatara, the Lipari
Islands, in the lagoni near Sienna, and in ignited coal beds,
as at Bradley in Staffordshire.
250 Arcanite, Glaserite.—K S.
Rhombic; acute pyramids, with ccP 120° 24', 2Pco
67° 38', OP, and other forms. Mostly in crusts, or pulveru¬
lent. Cleavage, basal imperfect. H. = 2'5...3; G. = 2,73.
Pellucid ; vitreous or resinous. Colourless or white. Taste
saline, bitter. B.B. decrepitates, fuses, and becomes he¬
patic. Chem. com. 54,04 potash and dS’OG sulphuric
acid. Lavas of Vesuvius and other volcanoes.
251. Thenardite.—Na S.
Rhombic; acute pyramids P, with OP and ooP, in crusts
and druses. Cleavage, basal rather perfect; fracture un¬
even. H. = 2,5 ; G. = 2,6...2,7. Pellucid, vitreous. White.
Taste feebly saline. B.B. colours the flame deep yellow,
and fuses. Chem. com. 43‘82 soda, and 56T8 sulphuric
acid. Salinas d’Espartinas near Aranjuez, and Tarapaca.
Used for preparing soda.
252. Loweite.—2 (Na S + Mg S) + 5 H.
Compact with traces of one cleavage. H. = 2,5...3;
G. = 2‘376. Vitreous. Yellowish-white to flesh-red. Taste
slightly saline. Chem. com. 20,3 soda, magnesia, 52
sulphuric acid, and 14‘5 water. Ischel.
*253. Epsomite, Epsom-salt.—Mg S + 7 H.
Rhombic; P mostly hemihedric, ccP 90° 38'; ocP (M) .
ooPco (o). P (/) (fig. 184). Granular, fibrous, or earthy.
Cleavage, brachydiagonal perfect. H. = 2...2,5; G. = 1 ’75.
Pellucid ; vitreous ; and white. Taste saline, bitter. B.B.
on charcoal fuses, incandesces, and shows alkaline reaction ;
with solution of cobalt becomes pale rose-red. Chem.
com. 16‘32 magnesia, 32'53 sulphuric acid, and 51T5
water. Efflorescence on various rocks, as at Hurlet near Minera-
Paisley, Idria, Montmartre, and Freiberg; on the ground ( logy-
in Spain, and the Russian steppes; in
(Epsom salts), Saidschiitz and Seidlitz
in Bohemia. Used in medicine and in
preparing magnesia.
Astrakan ite.—Wh i t e, tran spar en t,
prismatic crystals among the salts in the
salt lakes near the Wolga. Chem. com.
4POO sulphate of soda, 35Y8 sulphate
of magnesia, 21‘56 water. Reussin,
white, six-sided, and pointed crystals,
from Seidlitz and Saidschiitz in Bohe¬
mia, is similar, but seems a mixture.
Order III.—SALINE ORES.
Resemble the saline stones both in external characters
and chemical composition, forming almost a parallel series,
with metallic oxides in place of the earthy bases. Lime or
magnesia occasionally occur in more or less extent, and the
acid element is one of the common acids of the chemist.
Crystallization in the carbonates is often rhombohedric, in
the others monoclinohedric or rhombic. Other systems
only occur in rare cases.
Hardness is not high, mostly 3...4, in a few as high as 5,
and as low as 2. Their specific gravity is high, from the
metallic element in their composition; mostly from 3...4
in the salts of iron or copper, and from 5...7 or 8 in the
salts of lead and some others. They are almost all soluble
in acids, and the carbonates effervesce. B.B. mostly fusible,
decomposed, or reduced, and with fluxes form coloured
glasses characteristic of the different metals. They are
mostly translucent, rarely transparent. Their lustre is often
pearly or vitreous. Some are white, others are coloured,
and these colours are now characteristic of the metal as the
essential element.
^Family I.—The Sparry Iron Ores.
Crystallization and cleavage rhombohedric. H. = 3'5...5;
G. = 3’3...4-5. They are all soluble in acids, and often
effervesce. B.B. they are all infusible, but decomposed,
and leave a magnetic residue, and show reactions of metals.
The colours are white, but often with a brown, yellow, or
red tinge, especially when weathered. They chiefly occur
in veins.
*254. Siberite, Sparry Iron, Spharosiderite,) p
Chalybite. j- x e l,.
Rhombohedric; R 107°. Chiefly R, often curved, saddle-
shaped, or lenticular, occasionally OR, — ^R, ooR, — 2R,
oo P2. Frequently fine or coarse granular, more rarely
botryoidal or reniform (Splicerosiderite). Cleavage, rhom-
bohedral along R perfect. H. = 3,5...4'5; G. = 3'7...3'9.
Translucent in various degrees, becoming opaque when
weathered; vitreous or pearly. Rarely white, generally
yellowish-gray or yellowish-brown, changing to red or
blackish-brown on exposure. B.B. infusible, but becomes
black and magnetic; with borax and salt of phosphorus
shows reaction for iron ; with soda usually for manganese.
In acids soluble with effervescence. Chem. com. carbonate
of iron, with 62'6 protoxide of iron and 37'9 carbonic acid,
but usually 0‘5 to 10, or even 25, protoxide of manganese,
0’2 to 15 magnesia, and 0’1 to 2 lime. In beds or masses,
in Styria, Carinthia, and Westphalia; in veins in Anhalt and
the Harz; also in the Pyrenees, and the Basque provinces
of Spain, as near Bilboa. The crystals at Joachimsthal,
Freiberg, Klausthal, Beeralstone in Devonshire, Alston
Moor in Cumberland, and in many of the tin mines of
Cornwall.
100
Minera
logy.
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Clay ironstone, gray, biue, brown, or black, G. = 2'8...
3-o ; H. = 3-o...4-5, is an impure variety. It occurs chiefly
in slate-clay or marls, in layers or nodular masses, especially
ip, ^le coa^ of Britain, Belgium, and Silesia.
hese contain 50 to 85 per cent, carbonate of iron, and yield
-5 to 42 metal. I he Lanarkshire black band contains 70
caibonate of iron, 23 carbonaceous matter, 7 of silica, alu¬
mina, and lime, and yields 33’7 iron. In 1855 Great Britain
produced 3,211,000 tons iron, worth about twelve millions
sterling. South Wales alone produced about 839,000 tons,
and Scotland 828,000 tons, worth nearly three millions
sterling.
Junkerite, from Brittany, is a mere variety of siderite.
Oligon spar, varieties with more than 20 per cent, manga¬
nese protoxide.
^ Ankerile.—B, 106° 12', but mostly massive and granular.
G. = 2-9...3-1 ; otherwise like siderite. Contains 51 carbo¬
nate of lime, 12 to 33 carbonate of magnesia, 12 to 36 carbo¬
nate of iron, and 0 to 3 carbonate of manganese protoxide.
Styria. Used as an ore or flux.
255. Diallogite, Red Manganese.—Mn C.
Rhombohedric; R 106° 51'; R and-lR, sometimes
OR and gcP 2. Crystals often curved, lenticular, or saddle-
shaped ; also spherical, reniform, and columnar or granular
Cleavage, R perfect. H. = 3-5 ... 4-5 ; G. = 3-3 ... 3-&
Translucent; vitreous or pearly. Rose-red to flesh-red;
streak white. B.B. usually decrepitates and becomes
greenish-gray or black, but is infusible ; the powder
soluble with effervescence in warm h. acid. Chem. com.
62 manganese protoxide and 38 carbonic acid, but usually
mixed u'ith carbonates of lime 0 to 13, magnesia 0 to 7, or
iron 0 to 15. Freiberg, Schemnitz, Kapnik, Nagyag, El-
bingerode, and near Sargans. At the latter, also hydrated,
and fibrous, silky ( Wiserite); compact in Hessia and Glen-
dree, Ireland.
256. Manganocalcite.—(Mn, Ca,Fe)C.
Rhombic; in prisms like arragonite,and bears the same re¬
lation to diallogite thatarragonite does to calc-spar. H. = 4...
5 ; G. = 3-03. Red or reddish-white ; vitreous. Schemnitz!
257. Lanthanite.—LaC + 3H.
Rhombic; ooP94 nearly; small tabular crystals ; usually
granular or earthy. Cleavage basal. H. = 2-5...3 ; G = 27
Dull or pearly. White or yellowish. B.B. becomes brown¬
ish-yellow ; soluble in acids with effervescence. Chem.
com. 2p] carbonic acid, 52'9 lanthanium oxide, and 26
water. Bastnaes in Sweden, Lehigh in Pennsylvania.
258. Parisite.—CeC, Ca F, H.
Hexagonal; P 164° 58. Cleavage, basal very perfect.
H. = 4 5; G. = 4 35. Vitreous; on the cleavage planes
pearly. Brownish-yellow inclining to red. B.B. infusible
and phosphoresces. Chem. com. 23'6 carbonic acid, 60
protoxide of cerium, with lanthanium and didymium, 377
lime, 11’51 fluoride of calcium, and 27 water. Emerald
mines of the Musso Valley in New Granada.
*259. Calamine, Smithsonite.—Zn C.
Rhombohedric; R 107° 40’; R, 4 R, and R3. The crys-
tals generally small, obtuse-edged, and rounded. Usually
lemform, stalactitic, and laminar or granular. Cleavage,
perfect but curved; fracture uneven conchoidal;
ntt e. H. = 5 0; G. = 47...4‘5. Translucent or opaque ;
peai j oi Mtieous. Colourless, but often pale grayish-vellow,
lown, or green. B.B. becomes white, and acts like zinc
oxk e, soluble in acids with effervescence ; also in solu-
lon o potash. Chem. com. 64-6 zinc oxide, and 357
car omc aci , but with protoxide of iron 2 to 3, and manga-
nese 3 to 7, lime 1 to 2, or magnesia 0 to 3.
j !ls m!"eral occurs in beds or veins in the crystalline
and transition rocks, and also in the carboniferous and
oohte formations. It ,s most common in limestone, and is
o ten associated with calc-spar, quartz, blende, and ores of
iron and lead. Chessy near Lyons, Altenberg near Aix-
1 a-Chapel I e, Erillon in Westphalia, Tarnowitz in Silesia
Hungary, Siberia; also Mendip in Somersetshire, Matlock
in Derbyshire, Wanlockhead and Lead Hills in Scotland •
compact at Alston Moor. Zinc is obtained chiefly from
t is mineral by distillation. In Silesia also cadmium.
• i varieties with 15 to 37 per cent, ofiron protox¬
ide. Zinc-bloom, reniform, earthy, pale-yellow, and shining
streak; seems a mere produce of decomposition. Bleiberg
and Raibel in Carinthia. a
-Rhombohedric, with curved cleavage planes.
.-4-.o; G. = 4‘3. Translucent; pearly or ^vitreous ;
becomes gray, fumes, and stains the charcoal
w i e. Consists, according to Del Rio, of carbonates of
zinc oxide and nickel oxide. Mexico.
*2C0. Galmei, Electric Calamine.—Zn2 Si" + H.
Rhombic, and hemimorphic ; coP 2 (P) with polar edges
101 44, and 132° 16'; o° P (c?) 104° 6', Poo (0) 117°8', Poe
(/) 129° 2'; common form ooPoo (s) . ocP . px 185V
Also columnar, fibrous, granular, and s"
earthy. Cleavage, jorismatic along ocP
very perfect, along Poo perfect. H. = 5 ;
G. = 3-3...3-5. Transparent to translu¬
cent; vitreous and pearly. Colourless or
white, but often light gray, also yellow,
green, brown, and blue ; becomes electric
by heat. B.B. decrepitates slightly, but
is infusible ; readily soluble in acids,
and gelatinizes. Chem. com. 257 silica,
66 8 zinc oxide, and 7"5 water. With
calamine, as at Raibel and Bleiberg in
Carinthia, Aix-la-Chapelle, Iserlohn, Tar¬
nowitz, and Nertschinsk; also Mendip
Hills, Matlock in Derbyshire, and Wanlockhead
an ore of zinc, and in the manufacture of brass.
261. Willemite, Troostite.—Zn2 Si.
Rhomoohedric ; R 115° ; ooP 2 . R ; also granular and
reniform. Cleavage, basal rather perfect, oo R imperfect;
brittle. H. = 4‘5; G. = 47...4*2. Translucent or transpa-
lent; dull resinous. White, yellowish, or brown. B.B. in
closed tube yields no water, otherwise like galmei. Chem.
com. <277 zinc oxide and 27’53 silica, with 0 to 9 protoxide
of manganese, 0 to 5 iron protoxide, and 0 to 3 magnesia.
Aix-la-Chapelle, Liege, Raibel, and Sterling and Franklin
in JNew Jersey.
Family II.—Iron Salts.
Ci j/stallization predominantly rhombic or monoclinohe-
dric. H. = 2...5,5 ; G. = 2-2...4. They are all soluble in
acids, and nmny easily. B.B. all fusible, and also often
easily so. Their colours are often brown, or dark blue and
aik gieen; the streak yellow or red. They are chiefly
phosphates or arseniates of iron. The phosphates B.B.
moistened vvith sulphuric acid, colour the flame bluish-green.
I he aiseniates B.B. in the reducing flame, or with carbonate
of soda, evolve odour of arsenic.
*262. Vivianite, 1 „ • „ . ...
Blue Iron. (^e f> + 8H) + (4^e3 P2 + 8 H).
Monoclinohedric; C = 71° 25', ocP 11]° 12', P 119° 10',
Poo 54° 13'. Crystals (cxPx ). ccPoo . Px (fig.   >
186); also spherical or reniform, and fibrous or
earthy. Cleavage, clinodiagonal very perfect; thin
laminae flexible. H. = 2; G. = 2*6...2 7. Trans¬
lucent or transparent; vitreous or bright pearly on
cleavage. Indigo-blue to blackish-green ; streak Fis- 18C
Minera-
iogy.
Fig. 185.
Used as
bluish-white, but soon becomes blue on exposure. The white
earthy variety also changes to blue in the air; the dry
crushed powder is liver-brown. In the closed tube yields
much water, intumesces, and becomes spotted with gray
and red. B.B. on charcoal becomes red, and then fuses to
MINERALOGY.
a gray, shining, magnetic granule; easily soluble in h.
or nitric acid; becomes black in warm solution of potash.
Chem. com., the colourless vivianite is a hydrous phosphate
of iron protoxide, with 42 iron protoxide, 29 phosphoric
acid, and 29 water; but on exposure, when it acquires
a blue colour, with 29'1 phosphoric acid, 33-0 iron prot¬
oxide, 12-2 iron peroxide, and 25*7 water. Transparent
indigo-coloured crystals at St Agnes in Cornwall, and
Allentown and Imleytown in New Jersey. Earthy in
Cornwall, Styria, North America, Greenland, and New
Zealand, and in peat mosses in Northern Germany, Swe¬
den, Norway, and the Zetland Isles. As a recent forma¬
tion under some old slaughter-houses at the foot of the
Castle Rock in Edinburgh. It is sometimes used as a
pigment. Mulhcite and Anglarite are varieties.
263. Dufrenite, Green Iron Earth.—2 -Ee2 P + 5 H.
Rhombic; ccP about 123 ; spherical or renifbrm. Cleav¬
age brachydiagonal; very brittle. H. = 3...3*5; G. = 3‘3
...3 4. 1 ranslucent on the edges, or opaque ; shining or
dull. Dirty, leek, or blackish green; streak siskin-green.
B.B. fuses readily to a porous, black, non-magnetic globule ;
soluble in h. acid. Chem. com. 63 iron peroxide, 28 phos¬
phoric acid, and 9 water. Westerwald, Hirschberg, and
Limoges in France.
264. Triplite.—Mn4 P + Fe4P.
Rhombic (?); only granular. Cleavage, in three directions
at right angles; fracture conchoidal. H. = 5...5'5; G.=
3-6...3'8. Translucent or opaque ; resinous. Chesnut or
blackish-brown ; streak yellowish gray. B.B. on charcoal
fuses easily, with strong intumescence, to a black magnetic
globule ; soluble in h. acid. Chem. com. 34 iron prot¬
oxide, 33 manganese protoxide, and 33 phosnhoric acid.
Limoges in France.
265. Zwieselite, Eisenapatit.—(Fe, Mn)3 P + Fe F.
Rhombic (?), but only massive. Cleavage, in three direc¬
tions imperfect; fracture conchoidal. H. = 4'5...5; G.=
3‘95...4. I ranslucent on the edges; resinous. Colour
brown ; streak yellow. B.B. decrepitates and fuses easily
to a bluish-black magnetic globule; easily soluble in
warm s. acid, showing traces of fluorine. Chem. com. 30-3
phosphoric acid, 41 *4 iron protoxide, 23‘3 manganese prot¬
oxide, and 6 fluorine. Zwiesel in Bavaria.
266. Triphyline.—6 (Fe3, Mn3)P-t-Li3 P.
Rhombic; ooP 94°; chiefly granular. Cleavage, basal
perfect, prismatic and diagonal imperfect. H. = 5; G.—
3-6. Translucent on the edges ; resinous. Greenish-gray
with blue spots. B.B. fuses very easily to a dark steel-
gray magnetic bead ; easily soluble in h. acid. Chem. com.
42-64 phosphoric acid, 49*16 iron protoxide, 4*75 man¬
ganese protoxide, and 3'45 lithia. Bodenmais in Bavaria.
Tetrapkyline or Peroivskine, from Tammela in Finland, is
similar.
267. Monazite, Mengite.—(Ce, L, Th)3 P.
Monoclinohedric; C = 77°, ooP 94° 35'; crystals of OP .
ccP.(goPoo^) . Pco . -Poo, with OP: Poo = 129° 6'OP:
— P00 = 139 25 (fig. 18^); thick, tabular, or very short
prismatic. Cleavage, basal imperfect. H. = 5
...5'5; G. =4'9...5-25. Translucent on the
edges; dull resinous. Flesh-red, hyacinth-red,
and reddish-brown. B.B. infusible ; moistened
Fig. is/, with sulphuric acid, colours the flame green;
soluble in h. acid. Chem. com. 28 phosphoric acid, 25 to
37 cerium protoxide, 23 to 27 lanthanium oxide (18 tho-
rina), with 2 tin oxide, 1 ’5 lime, and some magnesia and
manganese. Miask in Ural, and Norwich in Connecticut
(Edwardsite).
Monazitoid; G. = 5-281 ; brown; partially soluble in
acids, and with 18 phosphoric acid; probably a variety.
268. Cryptoltte.—Ce3P.
Acicular crystals, imbedded in apatite. G. = 4-6. Tran¬
sparent. Pale wine-yellow. Soluble as powder in con. s.
acid. Wohler’s analysis gave 73-70 cerium oxide (protoxide),
27-37 phosphoric acid, and 1-51 iron protoxide. Arendal.
269. Hureaulite.—(Mn, Fe)5p’3 + 8 H.
Monoclinohedric; C. = 68°, ocP 62° 30', P 88°; fracture
conchoidal. H. = 3-5; G. = 2*27. Translucent; resinous.
Reddish-yellow or brown. B.B. fuses easily to a black
metallic globule ; soluble in acids. Chem. com. 38 phos¬
phoric acid, 11*1 iron protoxide, 32-9 manganese prot¬
oxide, and 18 water. Hureaux near Limoges.
Beraunite.—Foliated and radiated. H. = 2; G. = 2‘87.
Vitreous or pearly. Hyacinth-red or reddish-brown ; streak
reddish ochre-yellow. B.B. in forceps melts and colours
the flame bluish-green ; soluble in h. acid. Seems a hy¬
drous phosphate of iron. Beraun in Bohemia. Kakoxene,
from Zbirow in Bohemia, is similar.
Heterozite.—H. = 5; G. = 3’5. Opaque, or translucent
on the edges; vitreous or resinous. Colour dark-violet or
lavender-blue co greenish-gray; streak violet-blue or
crimson-red. Chem. com. 41*77 phosphoric acid, 34-89
iron protoxide, 17*57 manganese protoxide, and 4*40 water.
Hureaux near Limoges.
270. Alluaudite.—(Mn, Na)3 P + -Fe P *+ H.
Rhombic, with cleavage in three directions at right angles.
H. above 4 ; G. = 3-468. Translucent on the edges; lustre
dull. Clove-brown ; streak yellowish-brown. B.B. on pla-
tina wire fuses to a black magnetic globule ; in h. acid
forms a black solution. Chem. com. 41-25 phosphoric acid,
25*62 peroxide of iron, 23-08 manganese protoxide, 1*06
manganese peroxide, 5-47 soda, 2-65 water, and 0-60 silica.
Chanteloube near Limoges.
271. Diadochite.—-Fe P2 + 4 Ue S + 32 II.
Reniform and stalactitic. Fracture conchoidal. H.
= 3; G. = 2‘035. Resinous; vitreous. Yellow or yel¬
lowish-brown ; streak white. B.B. intumesces, and fuses
on the edges to a black magnetic enamel. Chem. com.
36-7 iron peroxide, 14-8 phosphoric acid, 15-2 sulphuric
acid, and 30 3 water. Grafenthal and Saalfeld in Thur¬
ingia.
272. Delvauxine.—He1 P + 24 H.
Massive and earthy. H. = 2-5; G. = P85. Reddish or
blackish brown or yellow. B.B. decrepitates, and fuses to
a gray magnetic bead. In h. acid forms a brown solution.
Chem. com. 35*8 iron peroxide, 48-3 water, and 15-9 phos¬
phoric acid. Vise in Belgium.
Karphosiderite, reniform, opaque, resinous, and straw-
yellow, with a greasy feel, is related. H. = 4"5; G. = 2*5.
B.B. becomes red and fuses to a black magnetic bead;
consists of hydrous phosphate of iron with a little oxide of
zinc. Labrador.
273. Pissophane.—(-A1, -Fe)2 S +15 H.
Stalactitic; fracture conchoidal; very easily frangible.
H. = 2; G.= l-9...2. Transparent or translucent; vitre¬
ous. Olive-green to liver-brown ; streak greenish-white to
pale yellow. B.B. becomes black; easily soluble in h.
acid. Chem. com. 7 to 35 alumina, 10 to 40 iron peroxide,
12 sulphuric acid, and 41 water. Saalfeld, and Reichen-
bach in Saxony.
274. Pitticite, Iron Sinter.—-Fe'2 & + 2 Fe As + 24 H.
Renifbrm and stalactitic; brittle; fracture conchoidal.
H. = 2...3; G. = 2"3...2-5. Translucent, or on the edges ;
resinous, inclining to vitreous. Yellowish, reddish, or
blackish-browm, sometimes in spots or stripes; streak light-
yellow, or white. B.B. on charcoal fuses easily, with effer¬
vescence and strong arsenical fumes, to a black magnetic
101
Minera-
logy.
a v. m i
102
Minera-
logy.
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
globule; easily soluble in h. acid to a yellow fluid. Chem.
com. 35 iron peroxide, 26 arsenic acid, 14 sulphuric acid, and
24 water. In many old mines, as Freiberg and Schneeberg.
275. Symplesite.
Monoclinohedric, like gypsum; in very fine prismatic
crystals or groups. Cleavage perfect. 11. = 2*5; G.=
2,957. Transparent or translucent; vitreous; pearly on
the cleavage. Pale indigo to celadine-green, with bluish-
white streak. B.B. emits arsenic odours, becomes black
and magnetic, but does not fuse. Chem. com. arseniate of
iron protoxide with water, also a little sulphuric acid and
protoxide of manganese. Lobenstein in Reuss.
276. Scorodite, Neoctese.—-EeAs + 4H.
Rhombic; P, with polar edges 103° 5' and 114° 34'. Crys-
tak ooPoo and ooPoo (r); also OP (/*), ooP 2 (d) 120° 10', and
188); also
Cleavage
Fig. 188.
2 Poo5 O) 48° (fito.
columnar and fibrous
imperfect; rather brittle. H. = S’o
...4; G^ST.-.S^. Translucent;
vitreous. Leek-green to greenish-
black, also indigo-blue, red and
brown. In closed tube yields
water and becomes yellow. B.B.
on charcoal fuses easily, emitting
arsenic vapours, to a gray mag¬
netic slag; easily soluble in h.
(not in nitric) acid, forming a
brown solution. Chem. com. 49‘8
arsenic acid, 34*6 iron peroxide, and 15‘6 water. St Austle
in Cornwall, Vaulry in France, Schlackenwald and Schonfeld
in Bohemia, Antonio Pereira in Brazil, and near Marmato.
277. Arseniosiderite.—-Ca5 As + 3 -Fe2 As +11 H.
Spheiical and fibrous; friable, and leaves a mark on
paper. H. = 1...2; G. = 3-52..-3-88. Opaque; metallic
pearly. Ochre brown, becoming darker in the air; streak
brownish-yellow. B.B. fuses easily, with reaction for iron
and aisenic. Chem. com. 39 arsenic acid, 40‘7 iron per¬
oxide, 11‘9 lime, and 8-4 water. Romaneche near Macon
in France. ’
278. Pharmakosiderite,) • „ ...
Cube Ore. j Fe As + Fe3 As2-}-18 H.
Tesseral and tetrahedral; usually ooOoo ,with —, or oo O.
2i
Cleavage, tesseral very imperfect; rather brittle. H. = 2-o;
= 2 9...o. Semitransparent to translucent; adamantine
or resinous. Olive to emerald-green, honey-yellow, and
brown ; streak straw-yellow. Pyro-electric. In closed tube
yields water, and becomes red. B.B. on charcoal fuses
easily to a steel-gray magnetic slag; easily soluble in
acids. Chem. com. 40-4 arsenic acid, 28T iron peroxide,
12-6 iron protoxide, and 18-9 water. Huel Gorland,
Huel Unity, and Carharrak in Cornwall; Burdle Gill in
Cumberland; also St Leonard in the Haute-Vienne, Lo¬
benstein in Reuss, Schwarzenberg in Saxony, and North
America.
Beudantite, said to be rhombohedral; R 92° 30'. H.
above 4. Resinous; black greenish-gray streak ; but pro¬
bably a mixture of pharmakosiderite with sulphate of lead.
Horhausen in Nassau.
Family III.—Copper Salts.
Crystallization generally rhombic and monoclinohedric.
Hardness generally from 2...3-5, but a few as low as 1...2,
others 4...5 Gravity 2...4, but mostly 3...4. The co-
lours are predominantly green, and rarely blue. They are
a I soluble in acids, and mostly easily so. Mostly fusible
U.Ij. and on charcoal, when moistened with hydrochloric
acid, the copper is known by colouring the flame blue.
’ 32, -P
or h, M, s
With soda they are reduced to metallic copper. They are, Miner,
with a few exceptions, compounds of copper with one of the logy,
common acids, and some used as ores of this metal. They
occur especially in veins.
2/9. Dioptase, Emerald Copper.—Cu Si-f-li.
Rhombohedric; R 126° 24'; ooP2
(s) . —2 R (r) 95° 54' (fig. 189). Cleav¬
age, R perfect; brittle. FI. = 5; G.
= 3,2...3‘3. Transparent or translu¬
cent ; vitreous. Emerald-green, rarely
verdigris or blackish green; streak
green. B.B. in the outer flame be¬
comes black, in the inner red, but is
infusible; soluble, and gelatinizes in
h. or s. acid, and also in ammonia.
Chem. com. 38‘7 silica, 50 copper
protoxide, and IPS water. Altyn-
tubeh in the Kirgis Steppe.
Fig. 189.
280. Chrysocolla, Copper-green.—Cu Si + 2 H.
Botryoidal, reniform, or investing ; brittle ; fracture con-
choidal, and fine splintery. FI. = 2...3; G. = 2-0...2-3.
Translucent or semitransparent; weak resinous. Verdigris
to emerald green or azure-blue; streak greenish-white.
B.B. and with acids like dioptase. Chem. com. 34-83
silica, 44-94 copper protoxide, and 20-23 water. Saxony,
Bavaria, Ural, Cornwall, Hungary, the Tyrol, Spain, the
Harz {Siliceous malachite), Mexico, and Chili.
*281. Azurite, Blue Copper.—Cu3 C2 + H.
Monoclinohedric; C = 87° 39', ocP (Jf) 99
(h') 106° 14'. Crystals OP . ooP . ooPoo . — P
//, in fig. 190; also radi¬
ated and earthy. Cleavage,
(Poo) (B) 59° 14', rather
perfect; fracture conchoi-
dal, or splintery. H. = 3’5...
4*2; G. = 3-7...3"8. Trans¬
lucent or opaque; vitreous.
Azure-blue, the earthy va¬
rieties (and streak) smalt- Fig. 190.
blue. B.B. on charcoal fuses and yields a grain of copper;
soluble with effervescence in acids, and also in ammonia!
Chem. com. 69T protoxide of copper, 25‘7 carbonic acid,
and 5 2 water. Crystals at Chessy near Lyons, Kolywan
and Nischne-Tagilsk in Siberia, Moldawa in the Bannat;
also Redruth in Cornwall, Alston Moor, and Wanlockhead;
massive in Cornwall, Thuringia, the Flarz, Hessia, and the
Ural. Valued as an ore of copper.
*282. Malachite.—Cu2 C + H.
Monoclinohedric; C = 61° 49', ooP 103° 42'; crystals
oo P (M) . ccPoo (s) . OP (P), in macles (fig. 191). In
general acicular, scaly, or renilbrm, stalactitic,
and radiated fibrous. Cleavage, basal and
clinodiagonal very perfect. IF. = 3-5...4; G.
= 3-6.. .4. Transparent or translucent on the
edges; adamantine, vitreous, silky or dull.
Emerald and other shades of green; streak
apple-green. B.B., and with acids, like azur- Fig. m.
ite. Chem. com. 7l"8 copper protoxide, 20 carbonic acid,
and 8-2 water. Crystalline at Rheinbreitenbach on the
Rhine, and Zellerfeld in the Harz; fibrous and compact at
Chessy in France, Siberia, the Ural, Saalfeld in Thuringia,
Moldawa in the Bannat, Sandlodge in Zetland, Cornwall,
Wales, and Ireland, and in North America and Australia.
It is a valuable ore of copper, and the finer varieties are
prized for ornamental purposes.
Lime-Malachite.—Reniform, botryoidal, and radiated
fibrous; brittle. II. = 2-5. Silky; verdigris-green. B.B.
blackens and fuses to a black slag; soluble in h. acid,
leaving gelatinous gypsum. Seems a hydrous carbonate of
rt<\
MINERALOGY.
103
lay.
copper and lime, with sulphate of lime and some iron.
Lauterberg in the Harz. Mysorine, compact, blackish-
brown, and soft, G. = 2-62, is a mixture of a carbonate of
copper with iron peroxide. Mysore in the East Indies.
283. Aurichalcite.—2 Cu C + 3 ZnH.
Acicular. H. = 2. Translucent, pearly, and verdigris-
green. B.B. on charcoal in the inner flame forms a depo¬
sition of zinc oxide, and with fluxes gives reaction for
copper; soluble with effervescence in h. acid. Chem.
com. 29-2 copper protoxide, 44-7 zinc oxide, 16-2 carbonic
acid, and 9-9 water. Loktefskoi in the Altai; Matlock in
Derbyshire.
Buratite, azure-blue, and agrees with aurichalcite, but
perhaps mixed with lime. Loktefskoi.
G. —4-1. ..4-4. Pellucid in all degrees; vitreous, resinous, Minera-
Cu8 As + 23 H, or
284. Chalcophyllite,
Copper-mica. . ...
lCu6 As +12 H.
Rhombohedral; R 69° 48'. Crystals, OR (o) . R (fig.
192). Cleavage, basal very per¬
fect; sectile. H. = 2; G. = 2‘4;
...2-6. Translucent or trans¬
parent ; vitreous inclining to ada- Pig. 192.
mantine; pearly on OR. Emerald to grass or verdigris
green; streak light-green. B.B. decrepitates violently,
emits arsenical vapours, and fuses to a gray metallic grain ;
easily soluble in acids and ammonia. Chem. com. 49'6
copper protoxide, 18 arsenic acid, and 32-4 water; or 51 *6
copper protoxide, 25 arsenic acid, and 23‘4 water; but also
2 alumina, and 1'5 phosphoric acid. Tingtang, Huel Gor-
land and Huel Unity Mines near Redruth; also Saida in
Saxony, and Moldaw’a in the Bannat.
285. Tirolite.—(Cu5 As +10 H) + Ca C.
Rhombic; reniform, or radiating foliated. Cleavage,
basal very perfect; sectile. Thin laminae flexible. H.=
U5...2; G. = 3...3T. Translucent; pearly or vitreous.
Verdigris-green to azure-blue ; streak paler. B.B. decre¬
pitates violently and fuses to a steel-gray bead; soluble in
acids, evolving carbonic acid. Chem. com. 43-88 copper
oxide, 25-01 arsenic acid, 17"46 water, and 13’65 carbonate
of lime, by analysis. The carbonate of lime is perhaps acci¬
dental. 1* alkenstein in Tyrol, in Hungary, Reichelsdorf,
Saalfeld, Piombino in Italy, in Asturia and at Linares in
Spain, and Matlock in Derbyshire.
286. Erinite.—Cu5 As + 2 H.
Reniform and foliated; conchoidal fracture. H. = 4-5.. .5;
G. = 4...4-l. Translucent on the edges; dull resinous.
Emerald or grass green ; streak similar. Chem. com. 59-9
copper protoxide, 34-7 arsenic acid, and 5-4 water. Lime¬
rick in Ireland. Cornwallite, is similar, but dark-green, and
5 H. Cornwall.
Cleav-
287. Liroconite.—Cu8 As + A\ As + 24 H.
Rhombic; coP 119° 20', Poo 72° 22' (fig. 193).
age, Pco imperfect, and Poo more so. H.=
2...2-5; G. = 2-8...3"0. Translucent; vitre¬
ous, or resinous on fracture. Azure-blue to
verdigris-green; streak paler. In the closed
tube does not decrepitate, but becomes green ;
then ignites and brown. B.B. on charcoal emits
arsenical vapours and fuses; soluble in acids Fig.i93.
and in ammonia. Chem. com. 36-6 copper protoxide, 11-9
alumina, 26-6 arsenic acid, and 24‘9 water. Huel Unity
and other mines near Redruth ; also Herrengrund in Hun¬
gary and Ullersreuth in the Voightland.
*288. Oeivenite.—Cu4 (As P) + H.
Rhombic ; 00P (r) 92° 30', Poo (l) 110° 50'; 00P00 (n)
(fig. 194) ; also spherical and reniform, and columnar or
fibrous. Cleavage, (r) and (/) very imperfect. H. = 3;
or silky. Leek, olive, or blackish-
green, also yellow and brown; streak
olive-green or brown. B.B. in the
forceps fuses easily to a dark-brown
adamantine bead covered with radi¬
ating crystals; on charcoal, deto¬
nates, emits arsenical vapours, and
is reduced; soluble in acids and
ammonia. Chem. com. 56.5 copper
protoxide, 39-5 arsenic acid, and 4
wrater, but also 1 to 6 phosphoric acid.
Carrarach, Tin Croft, Gwennap, and
St Day in Cornwall; also Alston Moor,
Fig. 194.
Thuringia, Tyrol, Siberia, Chili, and other places.
289. Euchroite.—Cu4 As + 7 H.
Rhombic ; 00P (M) 117° 20'Poo (n) 80° 52', with ooP2
(/), and OP (P), (fig. 195). Cleavage
M and n imperfect; rather brittle. H.
= 3-5...4; G. = 3-35...3-45. Trans¬
parent or translucent; vitreous. Eme¬
rald or leek-green; streak verdigris-
green. B.B. in forceps fuses to a
greenish-brown crystallized mass; on
charcoal detonates; easily soluble in
nitric acid. Chem. com. 47*1 copper Fig. 195.
protoxide, 34-2 arsenic acid, and 18-7 water. Libethen in
Hungary. ..
290. Klinoclase, Aphanese, Abichite.—Cu6 As + 3 H.
Monoclinohedric; C = 80° 30', goP 56°; also ivedge-shaped
and hemispherical. Cleavage, basal highly perfect. H.
= 2-5...3; G. = 4-2...4-4. Translucent or opaque; vit¬
reous ; pearly on the cleavage. Dark verdigris-green in¬
clining to sky-blue; streak bluish-green. B.B. becomes
black, and is reduced; soluble in acids and ammonia. Chem.
com. 62-6 copper protoxide, 30 3 arsenic acid, and 7-1
water. Cornwall and the Erzgebirge.
291. Phosphorochalcite, Lunnite.—Cu6P + 3H.
Monoclinohedric; crystals ( 00P2) (/) 38° 56', P (P)
117° 49', with OP (a) and 00Poo (e)
(fig. 196); usually small and indis¬
tinct, more common in spherical
or reniform, and radiated, fibrous.
Cleavage, (e) imperfect ; fracture
uneven and splintery. H. = 5 ;
G. = 4T ••• 4-3. Translucent, or on
the edges ; adamantine or resinous.
Blackish, emerald, or verdigris green.
B.B. decrepitates, or blackens and
fuses to a black globule ; easily
soluble in nitric acid or ammonia. Chem. com. 70’8 copper
protoxide, 21*2 phosphoric acid, and 8 water. Rheinbrei-
tenbach, Nishne-Tagilsk, and in Cornwall. Dihydrile,
with about a fifth less water. Copperdiaspore and Prasin
seem varieties.
292. Thrombolite.—Cu3P3 + 6H.
Porodine. Fracture conchoidal; brittle. H.= 3...4 ;
G. = 3-38...3‘40. Opaque; vitreous. Emerald, leek, or
dark-green. B.B. colours the flame blue and then green ;
on charcoal fuses easily. Chem. com. 45T phosphoric
acid, 37"8 copper protoxide, and 17"1 water. Retzbanya in
Hungary.
293. Libethenite.—Cu4 P + H.
Rhombic; 00P (u) 92° 20', Pco(o) 109° 52',and P.(fig.
197). Cleavage, brachydiagonal and macrodiagonal im¬
perfect. H. = 4 ; G. = 3-6...3"8. Translucent on the
edges ; resinous. Leek, olive, or blackish-green; streak
olive-green. B.B., and with acids, acts like the phospho-
logy-
104
MINER ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- rochalcite. Chem. com. 66-37 copper protoxide, 29’86
logy- phosphoric acid, and 3*77 water.
Libethen in Hungary, Tagilsk in
the Ural, and Gunnislake in Corn¬
wall.
294. Tagilite.—Cu4 P+ 3H.
Fungoid or botryoidal, and radi¬
ating fibrous or earthy. H. = 3; G.
= 3'5. Emerald - green. Chem.
com. 61‘8 copper protoxide, 27*7
phosphoric acid, and 10’5 water.
Nischne-Tagilsk.
295. Ehlite.—Cu5F + 3H.
Botryoidal or reniform, and radiating foliated, or com¬
pact. Cleavage in one direction perfect. H.= l*o...2;
G. = 3-8 ... 4’27. Translucent on the edges; pearly on
the cleavage. Verdigris-green ; streak paler. B.B.
breaks into small fragments thrown about violently. Chem.
com. 66‘8 copper protoxide, 24-l phosphoric acid, and 9T
water. Ehl on the Rhine, Nischne-Tagilsk, and Libethen.
v
V 
296. Atacamite.—Cu Cl + 3 Cu H.
Rhombic; oo P (iHf) 112° 20', Poo (P) 105° 40'
ccPoo (A) (fig. 198); also reniform and
columnar or granular. Cleavage (A) perfect.
H. = 3...3*5 ; G. = 4...4’3 (3*7, Breil.)
Semitransparent or translucent on the
edges; vitreous. Olive, grass, or emerald-
green ; streak apple-green. B.B. fuses,
and leaves copper ; easily soluble in
acids. Chem. com. 55'85 copper pro¬
toxide, 14-86 copper, chlorine,
and 12#68 water; or 74'46 copper pro¬
toxide and 17‘09 h. acid. Remolinos
and Santa Rosa in Chili, Tarapaca in
Bolivia, Schwarzenberg, and on lavas of
Altna and Vesuvius. Used as an ore of copper.
, and
—
Fig. 198.
297. Volborthite.—(Cu Ca)4 V + H.
Hexagonal; small tabular crystals, OP . coP, single or in
groups. H. = 3; G. = 3*45 ... 3‘89. Olive-green; streak
almost yellow. B.B. on charcoal fuses easily, and forms a
graphite-like slag, containing grains of copper ; on platina
wire, with salt of phosphorus, forms a green glass ; soluble
in nitric acids, and with water gives a brick-red preci¬
pitate. Chem. com. 37 to 38 vanadic acid, 39’4 to 46
copper oxide, 18’5 to 13 lime, 3-6 to 5 water. Syssersk,
Nischne-Tagilsk, and Friedericksrode in Thuringia.
298. Brochantite.—Cu S + 3 Cu H.
Rhombic; ooP 104° 10', P» 151° 52', and ccPco; also
reniform. Cleavage, brachydiagonal very perfect. H.=
3*5 ...4 ; G. = 375...3*9. Transparent or translucent;
vitreous. Emerald or blackish-green ; streak bright-green.
B.B. on charcoal fuses, leaving copper; easily soluble in
acids. Chem. com. 70 copper protoxide, 18 sulphuric acid,
and 12 water. Rezbanya, Katharinenburg, and Roughton-
hill in Cumberland ; also Krisuvig in Iceland (Krisuvigite),
and in Siberia (Konigine).
299. Uranite, Uran-Mica.—(Ca +U-)2 P + 8 H.
Tetragonal ; P 143° 2'. Crystals OP, with ccP or P
(fig. 199). Cleavage, basal very perfect; sectile. H. =
1...2; G. = 3...3’2. Translucent; pearly
on OP. Siskin-green to sulphur-yellow; V\T
streak yellow. B.B. on charcoal fuses to
ablack semicrystalline mass; with soda forms
a yellow infusible slag; in n. acid forms a yellow solution
Chem.com. 15’5 phosphoric acid, 62‘6 uranium peroxide
6‘2 lime, and 15-7 water. Johann-Georgenstadt am
Eibenstock in Saxony, Autun and Limoges in France
Fig. 199.
Chesterfield in Massachusetts, and Lake Onega in
Russia.
300. Chalcolite.—(Cu + -U-)2 P + 8 H.
^ Tetragonal, and like uranite, but brittle. H. = 2...2-5 ;
G. = 3-5...3-6. Grass to emerald or verdigris green ;
streak apple-green. B.B. like uranite, but with soda yields
a grain of copper. Chem. com. 15-2 phosphoric acid, 61T
uranium peroxide, 8-4 copper protoxide, and 15-3 w'ater.
Johann-Georgenstadt, Eibenstock, Schneeberg, Bodenmais,
near Baltimore in North America, and near Redruth and
St Austle.
Miner*.
logy-
V 
Fig. 200.
*301. Erythrine, Cobalt-Bloom.—Co3 As+ 8 H.
Monoclinohedric ; (ooPoo) (Z3) . ccPoc (T) . P co
(J/) (like fig. 186), with A/: T=55° 9'; also ocP3 (k)
130° 10', and P (t) 118° 23' (fig. 200).
Cleavage, clinodiagonal (P) very perfect;
sectile; thin laminae flexible. H. = P5...
2’5 ; G. = 2,9...3. Translucent; vitre¬
ous ; pearly on the cleavage. Crimson or
peach-blossom red. B.B. on charcoal
fuses with arsenic fumes to a gray glo¬
bule ; colours borax blue ; easily soluble
in acids. Chem. com. 24 water, ZS’2 ar¬
senic acid, and 37'8 cobalt protoxide ; but
often with 0 to 8 lime, or the protoxides of
iron 1 to 4, and nickel 0 to 9. Schneeberg,
Saalfeld, Allemont, Riechelsdorf, the Pyrenees, and Modum
in Norway ; also Cornwall, Alston in Cumberland, at Alva
in Stirlingshire, and Tyndrum in Perthshire. Used in pre¬
paring blue colours.
Kotigite. —White or peach-blossom red incrustations of
minute crystals like erythrine, with which it agrees, except
that the cobalt is almost wholly replaced bv zinc. Schnee¬
berg.
Kobaltbeschlag, or Earthy-encrusting Cobalt, reniform
or spheroidal, is a mixture of erythrine with arsenious
acid.
Lavendulan.—Thin reniform lavender-blue crusts; trans¬
lucent; resinous or vitreous. H. = 2’5...3; G. = 2,95...3‘l.
B.B. fuses very easily, colouring the outer flame blue.
Consists of arsenic acid, protoxides of cobalt, nickel and
copper, and water. Annaberg.
302. Nickeline, Nickel-Ochre.—Ni As + 8 H.
Monoclinohedric (?); capillary and massive; earthy, rather
sectile. H. = 2...2*5; G. = 3...3-l. Dull or glistening.
Apple-green or greenish-white ; streak greenish-white and
shining. B.B. on charcoal fuses with arsenical vapours ;
easily soluble in acids. Chem. com. 38‘7 arsenic acid,
37,3 nickel protoxide, and 24 water, but with a little cobalt
or iron. Andreasberg, Annaberg, Saalfeld, Riechelsdorf,
Joachimsthal, and Leadhills. Used in preparing blue
colours.
Family IV.—Lead-Salts.
Crystallization predominantly rhombic and monoclinohe¬
dric in the salts of lead, but several tetragonal and hexagonal.
Hardness moderate, or from 2...4-5, or generally about
calc-spar. All have a high specific gravity, or from S’S.-.S,
—this family including all minerals without metallic lustre
and aspect, with G. above S’S. They are all soluble in
nitric acid, and form coloured solutions or precipitates.
They are all easily fusible, and mostly readily reduced alone,
or with soda, to lead. They are mostly compounds of lead,
and the cerussite is an ore of this metal. The others are not
abundant, but often show fine colours. Occur chiefly in
veins and mines with other ores of lead.
Lead B.B. on charcoal forms a greenish or sulphur-
yellow coating round the assay. Solutions in nitric acid
MINERALOGY.
Minera¬
logy-
give, with sulphuric acid, a white precipitate; reduced B.B.,
and with chromate of potassa, a yellow precipitate.
*303. Cerussite, Lead Spar.—Pb C.
Rhombic ; isomorphous with arragonite and nitre ;
OOP {M) nr 14', Poo^ 108° 13',^2Poo («) 69° 18'; also
OP, p (0, i-Poo (^), ccPoo {t), gcP3 (e) (figs. 201, 202).
Fig. 201.
Fig. 202.
Fig. 203.
Macles are very common (fig. 203) ; also granular or
earthy. Cleavage, ccP and 2Poo rather distinct; frac¬
ture conchoidal; brittle and easily frangible. H. = 3...3'5;
G. = 6-4...6-6 (earthy 5-4). Transparent or translucent;
adamantine or resinous. Colourless and often white, but
also gray, yellow, brown, black, rarely green, blue, or red;
streak white. B.B. decrepitates violently, but easily fused
and reduced ; soluble with effervescence in nitric acid.
Chem. com. 83-6 protoxide of lead and 16-4 carbonic acid.
Very common at Przibram, Mies, and Bleistadt, Tarnowitz,
Johann-Georgenstadt, Zellerfeld, Klausthal, Beeralston in
Devonshire, St Minver’s in Cornwall, Alston Moor, Keswick,
Leadhills and Wanlockhead, and many other places.
304. Anglesite.—Pb S.
Rhombic; ooP 103° 43', Poo 75° 35'. The crystals
(fig. 204) short prismatic, or pyramidal, or tabular.
Cleavage, prismatic along ooP and basal, neither very
perfect; fracture conchoidal ; very brittle. H.
= 3; G. = Transparent or translu¬
cent ; adamantine or resinous. Colourless and
white, but occasionally yellow, gray, brown, or
blue ; streak white. Decrepitates in candle ;
B.B. on charcoal fuses in the ox. flame to a
milk-white bead; very difficultly soluble in acids, :Fig•2W-
wholly in solution of potash. Chem. com. 73'7 lead pro¬
toxide and 26*3 sulphuric acid, in some with a little silver.
Zellerfeld, Clausthal, Badenweiler, Siegen, Silesia, Linares
Southampton in Massachusetts, Parys Mine in Anglesea, St
Ives in Cornwall, Derbyshire, Leadhills and Wanlockhead.
Compact (Bleiglas), Alston Moor in Cumberland.
305. Leadhillite.—3 Pb C + Pb S.
Rhombic; P middle edge 137°, ccP 120° 20', 2Pco 43°
12'. Crystals, OP . ooP . ccPso (fig. 205), mostly tabu¬
lar ; also macles. Cleavage, basal very perfect; 
slightly brittle. H. = 2*5 ; G. = 6*2...6*4 (6*0). [>-■ i--^]
Transparent or translucent; resinous or adaman- ^^
tine-pearly on OP. Yellowish-white, inclining Fig-2°5-
to gray, green, yellow, or brown. B.B. on charcoal intu-
mesces, and becomes yellow, but again white when cold
and easily reduced ; soluble with effervescence in nitric
acid, leaving sulphate of lead. Chem. com. 72*6 carbonate
and 27*4 sulphate of lead. Leadhills; also Grenada in
Spain, and the Greek island Serpho.
306. Susannite.—3 Pb C + Pb S*.
Rhombohedric; R 72° 30'. Cleavage, basal perfect. H.
= 2-5 ; G. = 6*55. White, green, yellow, or brown. Other¬
wise like Leadhillite. Susannah Mine, Leadhills.
307. Lanarkite.—Pb S + Pb C.
Monoclinohedric; ocP 85° 48', Poo 120° 45'. Cleavage,
basal very perfect; sectile, thin laminae flexible. PL = 2
VOL XV.
rj\
\iv
...2*5; G. = 6*3.i,7. Transparent; resinous or adaman¬
tine ; on OP pearly. Greenish or yellowish-white, inclining
to gray ; streak white. B.B. on charcoal fuses to a white
globule containing some metallic lead; partially soluble
in nitric acid with effervescence. Chem. com. 53*15
sulphate and 46*85 carbonate of lead. Leadhills in Scot¬
land.
308. Caledonite.—3 Pb S + 2 Pb C + Cu C (?).
_ Rhombic; Poo 95°, ccP 109°. Crystals coPoo . ooPoo .
Px (fig. 206). Cleavage, Px brachydiagonal and ma¬
crodiagonal all imperfect. H. = 2*5.. .3 ; G. = 6*4. Trans¬
parent or translucent; resinous. Verdigris to
mountain green ; streak greenish-white. B.B.
on charcoal easily reduced ; soluble in nitric
acid, leaving sulphate of lead. The solution is
greenish, and shows reaction for lead and cop¬
per. Chem. com. 55*8 sulphate of lead, 38*8
carbonate of lead, and 11*4 carbonate of copper.
Leadhills, Roughton Gill in Cumberland, and Fig. 206.
Rezbanya.
309. Linarite.—Pb S + Cu H.
Monoclinohedr ic; ccP 61° O', Px 77° 15',—Poo 74° 25'.
Ci ystals ccPx . OP, with the above or other forms; macles
united by ccPoo. Cleavage, orthodiagonal very perfect,
and Px less so; fracture conchoidal. H. = 2*5...3; G.
~ ^ ^ 5*45. Translucent ; adamantine. Azure-blue ;
streak pale-blue. Chem. com. 75.7 sulphate of lead, 19*8
copper protoxide, and 4*5 water. Wanlockhead, Leadhills,
Roughton Gill, and Linares.
310. Phosgenite, Corneous Lead, > T-
Cerasine. | Pb Cl + Pb C.
Tetragonal; P 113° 48'. Crystals of xP, OP, ooPx, with
P or 2Px . Cleavage, ocP rather perfect; fracture con-
choidal. H. = 2*5 ... 3 ; G. = 6... 6*2. Transparent or
translucent 5 resinous adamantine. Wlnte^ yellow^ green^
or gray. B.B. fuses easily to an opaque yellow globule’
citron-yellow or white and crystalline on cooling ; soluble
with effervescence in nitric acid. Chem. com. 51 chloride
and 49 carbonate of lead. Very rare near Matlock in
Derbyshire, and Elgin in Scotland.
311. Mendipite, Berzelite.—Pb Cl + 2 Pb.
Rhombic; but chiefly massive. Cleavage, alono- xP
102 36 highly peifect; fracture conchoidal or uneven.
H. = 2*5...3 ; G. = 7*0...7*1. Translucent; adamantine-
pearly on the cleavage. Yellowish-white to straw-yellow
and pale-red ; streak white. B.B. decrepitates, fuses easily,
and becomes more yellow ? easily soluble in nitric acid!
Chem. com. 40 chloride and 60 protoxide of lead = 85*8
lead, and 9*8 chlorine. Churchill in the Mendip Hills, and
Brilon in Westphalia.
312. Matlockite.—Pb Cl + Pb.
Tetragonal; P 136° 17'. Crystals, OP. P. Poo , small, thin,
tabular. Cleavage, basal indistinct; fracture uneven con¬
choidal. H. = 2*5 ; G. = 7*21 [Greg'), 5*39 Trans¬
parent or translucent; adamantine. Yellowish or greenish.
B.B. decrepitates and fuses to a grayish-yellow globule.
Chem. com. 55*6 chloride of lead, and 44*4 lead oxide.
Matlock, on Galena.
313. Cotunnite, Cotunnia.—Pb Cl.
Rhombic; ccP 118° 38', Px 126° 44'. Small acicular
crystals. Transparent; adamantine. White. Easily scratched
with the knife. G. = 5*238. B.B. on charcoal fuses easily,
colours the flame blue, volatilizes as a white vapour, forms
a white ring, and leaves a very little metallic lead ; soluble
in a large amount of water. Chem. com. 74 lead and
26 chlorine.
1822.
Crater of Vesuvius after the eruption of
105
Minera-
logy.
*314. Pyromorphite.—3 Pb3 P + Pb Cl.
Hexagonal; P 80° 44'. Crystals ocP . OP, with ooP2, P
106
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE;
H
I’ig. 207.
Minera- (fig. 207) or other pyramids, occasionally thicker in the
loSy- middle, or spindle-shaped ; also reniform or
botryoidal. Cleavage, P very imperfect, goP
in traces ; fracture conchoidal or uneven. H.
= 3’5...4; G. = 6‘9...7. Translucent; resin¬
ous or partly vitreous. Colourless, but generally
grass, pistacio, olive, or siskin green, and clove
or hair brown. B.B. fuses easily, with a transi¬
tory ignition, to a crystalline granule ; soluble in nitric acid
and in solution of potash. Chem. com. 89'7 phosphate
and 10-3 chloride of lead, but with 0 to 9 arseniate of lead,
0 to 11 phosphate of lime, and 0 to 1 fluoride of calcium. Przi-
bram, Mies and Bleistadt in Bohemia, Zschopau, Clausthal,
Poullaouen, Beresof, and Mexico; also Cornwall, Derby¬
shire, Yorkshire, Durham, Cumberland, Wicklow, and
Leadhills and Wanlockhead. Miesite, Poly splicer tie, and
Nussierite, from near Beaujeu, are varieties.
315. Mimetesite, 3 Pb3 As + Pb Cl.
Hexagonal; P 81° 48'. Crystals, ooP . OP . P, or P . OP.
Cleavage, P rather distinct, ocP very imperfect; fracture
conchoidal or uneven. H. = 3-5...4‘0 ; G. = 7T9...7-25.
Translucent. Colourless, but usually honey or wax yellow,
yellowish-green, or gray. B.B. on charcoal fusible, but
less easily than pyromorphite, with strong arsenious vapours.
Chem. com. 90’7 arseniate and 9,3 chloride of lead ; but
part of the arsenic occasionally replaced by phosphoric acid.
Johann-Georgenstadt, Zinnwald, Badenweiler, St Prix in
France, Nertschinsk, and Zacatecas in Mexico ; Huel Al¬
fred and Huel Unity in Cornwall, Caldbeckfell in Cumber¬
land, and Beeralston in Devonshire.
Kampylite.—Orange-yellow; G. = 6-8...6-9 ; Chem.
com. like mimetisite, but contains phosphate of lime and
chromate of lead. Alston in Cumberland and Badenweiler.
Hedyphane.—Crystalline masses with an imperfect hex¬
agonal cleavage. G. = 5-4...5-5. Translucent; resinous
adamantine. White. Chem. com. like mimetesite, but with
13 arseniate and 15-5 phosphate of lime. Langbanshytta
in Sweden.
316. Bleinierite.—Pb, Sb, H.
Eeniform, spheroidal; earthy, or encrusting. H. = 4 ; G.
= 3-9...4*76. Opaque; dull resinous, or earthy. Gray,
brown, red, or yellow; streak grayish or yellowish-white.
B.B. on charcoal reduced with antimony fumes. Chem.
com. mixture of protoxide of lead (40 to 62), antimony oxides
(31 to 47), and water (6 to 12) ; some also contain arsenic
acid. Nertschinsk in Siberia, Cornwall.
317. Vanadinite.—3 Pb3 V + Pb Cl.
Hexagonal; goP . OP. H. = 3; G. = 6'6...7‘2. Opaque;
resinous. Yellow and brown ; streak white. B.B. decre¬
pitates violently, and on charcoal fuses to a globule, which
emits sparks and is reduced, colouring the support yellow;
in the forceps fuses, and retains its yellow colour when cold ;
in nitric acid forms a yellow solution. Chem. com. 89’7
vanadiate, and 10‘3 chloride of lead. Zimapan in Mexico,
Beresof in the Ural, and Wanlockhead.
318. Dechenite.—Pb V.
Botryoidal or thin lamellar. H. = 3‘5...4; G. = 5,81.
Resinous; translucent on the edges. Red or reddish-yellow;
streak yellow. B.B. fuses easily to a yellow bead, and on
charcoal reduced to lead ; easily soluble in nitric acid.
Chem. com. 54,7 lead oxide, and 45'3 vanadic acid, but
analyses gave 46 to 49 of the latter. Niederschlettenbach
in Rhenish Bavaria.
Similar are—Arceoxene ; botryoidal; red, with a brown
tinge. Chem. com. vanadic acid, with 48‘7 lead oxide, and
16-3 zinc oxide. Dahn on the Rhine.
Eusynchite.—Yellowish-red; opaque. B.B. melts easily
to a lead-gray globule. Chem. com. 56 lead oxide, 23
vanadic acid, and 21 deutoxide of vanadium.
Dcscloizitc.—Vb- V. In small rhombic crystals. Cleav- Minera.
age wanting ; brittle. Translucent. Olive-green to black ; v logy-
on fracture concentric yellow and brown zones. B.B. " v-***
fuses and partially reduced. Chem. com. 54^7 lead oxide,
and 22*46 vanadic acid, but also oxides of manganese, zinc,
iron, and copper. La Plata.
319. WULFENITE.—Pb Mo.
Tetragonal; P 131° 35'; OP (a), ^ P (b), P, ccP, and
Poo (fig. 208). Cleavage, P rather perfect, basal imperfect
fracture conchoidal to
uneven ; rather brittle.
H. = 3 ; G. = 6-3...6-9.
Pellucid ; resinous or
adamantine. Colourless,
but generally yellowish-
gray, wax, honey, or orange yellow. B.B. decrepitates
violently; on charcoal fuses and sinks into the support,
leaving lead ; in con. h. acid forms a yellow solution.
Chem. com. 61-5 protoxide of lead and 38-5 molybdic acid.
Bleiberg and Windisch Kappel in Carinthia, Retzbanya,
Badenweiler, and Zacatecas in Mexico.
320. Scheeletine, Stolzit.—Pb W.
Tetragonal and hemihedric; P 131° 25. Crystals, 2 P .
P . ooP, spindle-shaped. Cleavage, P imperfect. H. = 3 ;
G. = 7-9...8-1. Semitransparent or translucent; resinous.
Gray, brown, yellow, or green. B.B. fuses to a dark crys¬
talline grain ; soluble in nitric acid, with a yellow precipi¬
tate. Chem. com. 5P6 tungstic acid and 48’4 protoxide
of lead. Zinnwald in Bohemia and Coquimbo.
321. Plombgomme.—Pb3 P + 6 A1H3-
Reniform or stalactitic. Fracture conchoidal and splintery.
H. = 4...4-5; G.6 = 3...-6-4. Translucent; vitreous, in¬
clining to resinous. Yellowish or greenish white to reddish
brown, often in stripes. B.B. on charcoal becomes opaque
and white, intumesces, and partially fuses ; soluble in
nitric acid. Chem. com. 38 protoxide of lead, 35 alu¬
mina, 8 phosphoric acid, and 19 water ; but with 2 chloride
of lead, a little iron peroxide and lime. Poullaouen in
Brittany, and at Nussiere near Beaujeu. It much resem¬
bles gum-arabic.
322. Crocoisite, Krokoit.—Pb Cr.
Monoclinohedric; C = 78°1';goP 93° 44'(Jf), — P 118° 58
(t), ( ccP2) 56° 10' (r), ( odPco ) (y) (fig. 209). Cleav¬
age, goP rather distinct; sec-
tile. H. = 2-5...3; G. = 5-9...6-l.
Translucent; adamantine. Hya¬
cinth or aurora red; streak orange-
yellow. B.B. decrepitates, black¬
ens, and fuses on charcoal, the
lower part being reduced; with
borax or salt of phosphorus in the
ox. flame a green, in the red. r
flame a gray glass; soluble in
warm h. acid. Chem. com. 31-7
chromic acid, and 68‘3 lead pro¬
toxide. Beresof, Mursinsk, and Eig.209.
Nischn e- Tagilsk in the Ural; Congonhas do Campo in
Brazil, Rezbanya, Moldawa, and Tarnowitz. Used as a pig¬
ment, but not permanent.
323. Melanochroite, Phcenikochroite.—Pb3 Cr2.
Rhombic; dimensions unknown. Cleavage imperfect.
H. = 3...3-5 ; G. = 5-75. Translucent on the edges; re¬
sinous or adamantine. Cochineal to hyacinth red ; streak
brick-red. B.B. on charcoal fuses easily to a dark crystal¬
line mass; in the red. flame yields lead; soluble in h.
acid. Chem. com. 23-6 chromic acid, and 76-4 protoxide of
lead. Beresof.
324. Vauquelinite.—Cu3 Cr2 + 2 Pb3 Cr2.
Monoclinohedric; C = 67° 15'. Crystals OP . — P. —Poo,
Eig. 208.
MINERALOGY.
107
;[inera- always macled (fig. 210), the faces of OP forming an angle
logy. of 134° 30'; alsobotryoidal or reniform. H. ^
= 2‘5...3 ; G. 5,5...5,8. Semitranslucent or \
opaque; resinous. Blackish or dark olive-
green; streak siskin-green. B.B. on char- 210-
coal intumesces, frothes up, and fuses to a dark-gray metal¬
lic globule surrounded by small grains of lead; in nitric
acid forms a dark-green solution with a yellow residue.
Chem. com. 60-87 lead protoxide, 10-80 copper protoxide,
28-33 chromic acid. Beresof, Congonhas do Campoin Brazil.
325. Bismuthite.
Disseminated or investing. Fracture conchoidal or un¬
even ; very brittle. H. = 4...4-5; G. = 6-8...6-91. Opaque;
weak vitreous. Gray, yellow, or green. B.B. decrepitates,
fuses very readily, and is reduced with effervescence ; in h.
acid it forms a deep-yellow solution. Chem. com. essentially
carbonate, with a little sulphate of bismuth. Ullersreuth
near Hirschberg, Schneeberg, and Johann-Georgenstadt.
326. Kerate, Hornsilver.—Ag’Cl.
Tesseral; chiefly coOoo ; small or very small; also mas¬
sive. Fracture conchoidal; malleable and yields^ to the
nail. H.= l...l-5; G. = 5-3...5-4, or 5-5. Translucent;
adamantine resinous ; gray, occasionally bluish or greenish.
B.B. fuses very easily to a gray, brown, or black bead,
which in the inner flame is reduced; slightly affected by
acids, and slowly soluble in caustic ammonia. Chem. com.
75 silver and 25 chlorine, but with some (0 to 6) iron perox¬
ide. Johann-Georgenstadt,Joachimsthal, Huelgoet, Kongs-
berg in Norway, Spain, and Cornwall; now chiefly from
Mexico and Peru. At Andreasberg in the Harz, mixed
with clay (Buttermilcherz).
Carbonate of Silver (Selbite), ash-gray, massive, very
soft, effervescing in nitric acid, and B.B. easily reduced,
seems a mixture. Wolfach in Baden, and Real de Catorce
in Mexico (Plata azul, a rich silver ore).
327. Calomel.—Hg2 Cl.
Tetragonal; P 135° 50'. Crystals like fig. 118 above
but very small; sectile. H. = 1...2; G. = 6'4...6-5
(artificial 7"0). Translucent; adamantine. Grayish or
yellowish-white. In the closed tube it sublimes as a white
mass, and with soda yields mercury. B.B. on charcoal,
when pure, wholly volatilizes; in nitric acid not soluble, in
h. acid partially. Chem. com. 15 chlorine and 85 mer¬
cury. Moschellandsberg in Rhenish Bavaria, also Idria and
Almaden.
328. Iodite.—Ag I.
Thin flexible plates. Malleable. H.= l...l-5; G. = 5-5
...5-7. Translucent; lustre inclining to adamantine. Pearl-
gray, yellowish-gray, or greenish-yellow. B.B. on char¬
coal becomes red, fuses easily, colouring the flame purple-
red, and leaves a grain of silver. Chem. com. 54 iodine
and 46 silver. Albarradon in Zacatecas, Mexico; Arque-
ros in Chili, and Guadalajara in Spain.
329. Coccinite.—Hg I.
Scarlet-red, easily fusible, and subliming ; said to occur
at Casas Yiejas in Mexico, and to be used as a pigment.
Chem. com. probably 44*3 mercury and 55*7 iodine, like the
artificial salt, which crystallizes in tetragonal pyramids.
330. Bromite.—Ag Br.
Tesseral; ooOoo and O. Crystals very small; also crys¬
talline grains. H.= 1...2; G.=5-8...6. Very splendent.
Olive-green or yellow, with gray tarnish; streak siskin-
green. B.B. very easily fusible; scarcely affected by
acids. Chem. com. 57*5 silver and 42-5 bromine. San
Onofre in the district of Plateros in Mexico (Plata verde),
and used as an ore of silver.
331. Embolite.—2 Ag Br + 3 Ag Cl.
Tesseral; ooOoo and O. H.= 1...1-5 ; G. = 5-3...5-4or
5-8 (Breit.) Resinous or adamantine. Yellow or green.
Chem. com. 67 silver, 20 bromine, and 13 chlorine. Chili,
Mexico, and Honduras. Ore of silver.
332. Romeite, Romeine.—Ca3 Sb Sb.
Tetragonal; P 110° 30'; consequently very like an octa¬
hedron. Scratches glass. G. = 4"6...4"7. Honey-yellow
or hyacinth-red. B.B. fuses to a blackish slag; not so¬
luble in acids. Chem. com. 41-3 antimonic acid, 37-3
antimony oxide, and 21-4 lime, but with 2 to 3 manga¬
nese and iron protoxide. St Marcel in Piedmont.
*333. Scheelite, Tungsten.—Ca W.
Tetragonal and hemihedric; P 112° 2'; often alone. The
usual combinations are P (P) . 2 Poo (g), (fig. 211). Cleav¬
age, 2Poo 129° 2' rather perfect,
along P and OP less perfect. Frac¬
ture conchoidal and uneven. H. = 4
...4-5; G. = 5-9...6‘2. Translucent;
vitreous, inclining to resinous or ada¬
mantine. Colourless, but gray, yel¬
low, or brown ; streak white. B.B.
fuses difficultly to a translucent glass;
decomposed in h. or n. acid, leaving
tungstic acid; also in solution of pot¬
ash. Chem. com. 80’6 tungstic acid
and 19*4 lime, but with 0 to 3 silica and
0 to P5 iron peroxide, or rarely cop¬
per protoxide when the mineral is
green. Caldbeckfell near Keswick;
Pengilly, Cornwall; at Zinnwald and Schlackenwald in
Bohemia; also in the gold mines of Salzburg and of Hun-
gaiy; Chili and Siberia; also in the Monroe Mines in
Connecticut, where used in preparing tungstic acid, a very
fine yellow pigment.
Minera¬
logy.
Eig. 211.
Order IV.—OXIDIZED ORES.
Crystallization rhombic, then tesseral or tetragonal, less
frequently hexagonal or rhombohedric. Hardness gene¬
rally high, or 5...7, most equal to felspar. Gravity also
high, or 4...7 or 8. They are generally soluble in acids
and solutions coloured. B.B. infusible, or very difficultly
so. Chem. com. oxides of the metals alone or in compo¬
sition. They are mostly opaque, with metallic lustre, and
of black, brown, or dark-gray colours. Occur in beds,
veins, or large masses, especially in the metamorphic and
igneous rocks.
Family I.—Oxidized Iron Ores.
Crystallization tesseral, rhombohedric, or rhombic. H. =
5...6,5; G. = 3-4...6,5; crystalline species 4,5...5,3. Solu¬
ble in acids ; solution green. B.B. infusible or very diffi¬
cult, but becomes magnetic in the red. flame. With borax
show reaction for iron. Colours black, brown, or red. Oc¬
cur in beds, veins, or large masses in the older rocks, or as
rock constituents.
**334. Magnetite, Magnetic Iron.—Fe j^e.
Tesseral; O and ooO, also oo Oco, 202 and 20. Macles
common, united by O (fig. 212). Generally granular or al¬
most compact; often also in loose
grains. Cleavage, octahedral per¬
fect, or mere traces ; fracture con¬
choidal or uneven ; brittle. H.=
5’5...6-5; G. = 4‘9...5-2. Opaque;
lustre metallic. Iron-black, or in¬
clining to brown or gray; highly
magnetic. B.B. becomes brown
and non-magnetic, and fuses with
extreme difficulty; powder so¬
luble in h. acid. Chem. com.
31*03 of the protoxide, and 68*77 Fig. 212.
108
MINER A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- of the peroxide of iron, or 72-4 iron and 27-6 oxygen.
logy. Crystals at Traversella in Piedmont, Greiner in Tyrol, Krau-
>—n/—^ bat in Styria; large masses Arendal in Norway; Danne-
mora, Utoe, Norberg, Taberg in Sweden ; Kurunavara and
Gellivara in Lapland; Nischne-Tagilsk, Blagodat, and
the Kaschkanar in the Ural; also Scotland, the Harz, Sax¬
ony, Bohemia, Silesia, Elba, and Spain ; Mexico, Brazil, and
North America. Magnetite is the most important ore of
iron in Norway, Sweden, and Russia. ^
*335. Chromite.—(Fe, Mg) (Gr Xi)-
Tesseral, only in octahedrons; generally granular.
Cleavage, octahedral imperfect; fracture imperfect, con-
choidal, or uneven. H. = 5-5; G.=4*4...4,5. Opaque;
semi-metallic or resinous. Iron or brownish-black; streak
yellowish or reddish-brown. Sometimes magnetic. B.B.
infusible and unchanged, but the non-magnetic in the red.
flame become magnetic; in borax forms an emerald-green
bead; scarcely affected by acids. Chem. com. 19 to 37 iron
protoxide, 0 to 10 magnesia, 36 to 60 chrome peroxide, and
9 to 21 alumina, with 0 to 10 silica as a mixture. Saxony,
Silesia, Bohemia, Styria (Kraubat), Gassin in the Var dept,
in France, Riiraas in Norway, Katherinenburg in the Ural,
near Baltimore, Chester in Massachusetts, and Hoboken;
in Scotland in great abundance in Unst and Fetlar in the
Zetlands, at Portsoy in Banff, and Tyndrum. Used in the
preparation of various pigments.
336. Frankxinite.—(Fe, Zn, Mn) (£e, -M-n) (?).
Tesseral; O and O . ccO; also granular. Cleavage, oc¬
tahedral, but very imperfect; fracture conchoidal or un¬
even; brittle. H. = 6...6‘5 ; G. = 5’0...5*3. Opaque; im¬
perfect metallic lustre. Iron-black ; streak dark reddish-
brown. B.B. infusible, but shines brightly and gives out
sparks when strongly heated. On charcoal, with soda, a de¬
position of zinc; soluble in h. acid with strong extrica¬
tion of chlorine. Chem. com. 66 to 69 iron and 15 to 18
manganese peroxide (or in part protoxides), and 10 to 17
zinc oxide. Franklin and Sterling in New Jersey.
Dysluite, from Sterling, N. J.; dark or yellowish-brown;
vitreous ; G. = 4*5; contains 30 per cent, alumina. Isophane,
G. = 5'01, seems also Franklinite.
**337. Hematite, Specular Iron.—^e.
Rhombohedral; R 86°. Crystals rhombohedric, pris¬
matic, or tabular, of R . OR, OR . R (fig. 213.), R . — fR
oo P2, R . |P2 . OR, |P2 . R . ^R, (or n, P, s.), (fig. 214).
Fig. 213. Fig- 214.
Macles with parallel axes, and mostly intersecting.
Cleavage, R and OR, but seldom distinct; fracture con¬
choidal or uneven; brittle. ; G^S’l ...S’S.
Opaque, or in very thin laminae translucent and deep blood-
red. Metallic; iron-black to steel-gray, but often tarnished,
also red; streak cherry-red or reddish-brown. Usually
weak magnetic. B.B. in the red. flame black and mag¬
netic ; slowly soluble in acids. Chem. com. 70,03 iron
and 29‘97 oxygen, but sometimes contains oxide of tita¬
nium, chrome, or silica.
Specular Iron Ore, varieties with crystalline structure and
high metallic lustre, includes micaceous iron, thin lamellar,
and red iron froth, finer or scaly. The Red Hcematite or red
iron, with inferior lustre, lower specific gravity (4'5...4‘9),
and hardness (3...5), and deeper blood-red or brownish-
red colours ; comprises the fibrous red iron, reniform, bo-
tryoidal, and stalactitic, often with an irregular concentric
structure ; the compact and ochrey iron ores, more earthy
or minute ; the reddle or red chalk, still more earthy, and
used as a drawing material; and the jaspery, columnar, v
and lenticular clay iron, mere impure varieties.
Crystals, Elba, St Gotthardt, Framont in the Vosges,
Arendal, Langbanshytta, Tilkerode in the Harz, Altenberg,
Capas in Brazil, Katherinenburg and Nischne-Tagilsk.
Micaceous, Zorge in the Harz, Tincroft in Cornwall, Ta¬
vistock in Devonshire, Wales, Cumberland, and Birnam in
Perthshire ; also in Auvergne, on Vesuvius, AStna, and
Stromboli. The Red Hcematite, the Harz, Ulverstone in
Lancashire, near Edinburgh, and in many other parts of
Britain. A most abundant ore of iron.
Martite.—Tesseral, O, O . ooO and O . ooOoo . H. = 6;
G. = 4’6...5-33. Iron-black, with reddish-brown streak.
Either pseudomorphs after magnetite, or a dimorphous form
of haematite. Brazil, Monroe in New York, Framont, and
Auvergne.
338. Irite.—(Ir, 6s, Fe) (4r, Os, Or).
Tesseral; O ; but in fine iron black scales, with strong
metallic lustre, which mark paper. G. = 6-506. Strongly
magnetic. B.B. fused with nitre gives out the odour of
osmium ; insoluble in acids. Chem. com. 62‘86 peroxide
of iridium, lO'SO osmium protoxide, 12'50 iron protoxide,
13’7 chrome oxide, with traces of manganese. Ural, with
platina.
*339. Limonite, Brown Iron Ore.—2 -be + 3 H.
Fine fibrous, in spherical, reniform, and stalactitic
masses; also compact and earthy. H. = 5...5’5; G. = 3'4
...3*95. Opaque; lustre weak silky, glimmering, or dull.
Colour brown, especially yellowish, clove, hair, and black¬
ish-brown, also yellow and green ; streak yellowish-brown.
In the closed tube yields water, and the powder becomes
red. B.B. in the outer flame red on ignition ; in the
inner flame thin splinters fuse to a black magnetic glass.
Chem. com. 85’6 peroxide of iron ( = 60 iron), and 14'4
water; but occasionally with silica, alumina, or phosphoric
acid. Harz, Thuringia, Siegen near Bonn, Naussau,
Styria, Carinthia, Pyrenees, Siberia, Brazil, and the United
States ; in Britain in Cornwall, at Clifton near Bristol,
Sandlodge in Zetland, and in many other places. A valu¬
able ore of iron, the iron usually uniting hardness with
tenacity. Stilpnosiderile, Lepidokrokite, and Yellow ochre
seem partly this mineral, partly Gotheite, or mixtures.
Bog-Iron Ore is also an hydrated oxide of iron, with no
definite composition, and often containing thirty to fifty
per cent, of impurities. Phosphoric acid to 11 per cent.
Occurs chiefly in bogs, meadows, and lakes, as in North
Germany, Sweden, and Britain; especially the northern
and western islands of Scotland.
Minera-
logy-
*340. Gotheite, Pyrrhosiderite.— -Le 4- H.
Rhombic; P with polar edges 121° 5' and 126° 18',
ooP(^)94°53',ooP2 (d) 130° 40', Poo [b) 117° 30', with
CO Poo (M) and P (P), (fig. 215); also columnar, fibrous,
or scaly. Cleavage, brachydiagonal very
perfect; brittle. H. = 5...5*5; G. = 3*8
...4*4. Opaque, or in fine lamellae, trans¬
lucent, and hyacinth-red; lustre adaman¬
tine or silky. Colour yellowish, reddish, or
blackish-brown ; streak brownish or red¬
dish-yellow. In the closed tube the pow¬
der yields water, and becomes reddish-
brown. B.B. in the ox. flame also brown;
in the red. flame black and magnetic;
difficultly fusible ; soluble in h.acid, often
leaving a little silica. Chem. com. 90 Fig. 215.
peroxide of iron and 10 water, with silica and manganese
peroxide. Foliated, Eiserfeld near Siegen. Crystals, Lost-
withiel in Cornwall, and Clifton near Bristol. Capillar}',
Przibram, Hiittenberg in Carinthia, and Norway. Compact,
MINERALOGY.
109
Minera- Saxony, the Pyrenees, Ural, North America, and many
logy- other localities.
Turgite, with 94‘ 15 peroxide of iron and 5*85 water; com¬
pact reddish-brown; G. = 3'54...3'74; Turginsk in the
Ural; is probably a mixture.
*341. Ilmenite, Titanitic Iron.—-Ue, Ti.
Ilhombohedric, and isomorphous with haematite, but some¬
times tetartohedral; R 86° (85° 40' to 86° 10'). Crystals
tabular or rhombohedral, of OR («) and R, with - |R (e),
— 2R {d), and P 2) (6'), (fig. 216.) Also in maclesj
granular or foliated, or in loose
grains. Cleavage, basal more
or less perfect, and rhombohe¬
dral R less distinct; fracture
conchoidal or uneven. H. = o
...6; G. = 4‘66...5. Opaque;
semimetallic. Iron-black, often
inclining to brown, rarely to Fig. 21G.
steel-gray ; streak generally black, but sometimes reddish-
brown. Slightly or not at all magnetic. B.B. infusible
alone, but with salt of phosphorus in the red. flame a red
glass; soluble, but often with much difficulty in h. acid.
Chem. com. peroxide of iron with 8 to 53 blue oxide of
titanium. Ilmen Mountains; Gastein in Salzburg (Kibdel-
ophan)-, Egersund in Norway; near Arendal {Hystatit)-,
Menaccan in Cornwall [Menaccanite); Bourg d’Oisans in
Dauphine (Crichtonite). Mohsite is the same, or connected.
Iserine, or magnetic iron sand, in cubes, octahedrons,
and dodecahedrons, generally with rounded edges or in
loose grains; strongly magnetic in chemical action and
composition ; resembles ilmenite, but is perhaps only mag¬
netite mixed with peroxide of titanium. Iservveise in Bo¬
hemia, the Eifel, Auvergne, near Rome and Naples ; also
in Northern Germany; Cornwall, sands of the Don in Aber¬
deenshire, and Loch of Tristan in Zetland.
Family II.—Tin Ore.
Crystallization tetragonal, rhombic, or rarely monoclino-
hedric, with prismatic forms. Hardness or 7.
Gravity 3*4...4'3 in the titanium compounds, 4‘6...8 in
the remainder. Mostly not soluble, or very difficultly, in
acids, and also B.B. very difficultly, or not fusible. Colours
dark, as black, brown, or red. Lustre resinous, semimetal¬
lic, or adamantine. Occur chiefly in the older crystalline
strata, or in granite and syenite.
**342. Cassiterite, Tin Ore.—Sn.
Tetragonal; P 87° 5', Poo 67° 50'. Crystals ooP . P ;
coP (^) . P (.v) . coPgo (/), or with Poo (P), (fig. 217);
and also coP 2 (r), and 5 P 2 (z), (fig. 218). Macles very
Fig. 217.
common, combined by a face of P oc, with the chief axis
112° 10 (figs. 219, 220); also granular or fibrous (wood
tin), or in rounded fragments and grains (stream tin).
Cleavage, prismatic along ocP and ooP oo, rather imperfect;
brittle. H. =6.../ ; G. = 6'8...7. Iranslucent or opaque;
adamantine or resinous. White, but usually gray, yellow,
red, brown, and black; streak white, light-gray, or brown.
B.B. in the forceps infusible; on charcoal, in the inner Minera-
flame, more easily with soda, reduced to tin. Not affected logy-
by acids. Chem. com. 79 tin and 21 oxygen, but often
Fig. 221.
mixed with peroxide of iron or manganese, tantalic acid, or
silica. Cornwall, Bohemia, Saxony, Galicia in Spain, and
Portugal; also Silesia, the Haute Vienne in France,
Greenland, Sweden, Russia, North and South America,
Malacca, and Banca. The only ore of tin. The produce
of the Cornish mines is about 100,000 cwts. annually.
Stannite.—Compact; brittle. H. = 6‘75; G. = 3’5. Trans¬
lucent only on thinnest edges ; weak resinous. Yellowish
white to yellow. B.B. infusible. Chem. com. 36‘5 tin oxide
with silica and alumina. Probably a mixture. Cornwall.
*343. Wolfram.—(Fe, Mn) W.
Rhombic; ocP 101° 45', iPoo 123° 57', Poo 98° 27'.
Crystals ooP (r) . ^Poo (£) . co Poo (AT) . Poo (u), (fig.
221). Macles rather common, also columnar, laminar, or
coarse granular. Cleavage, brachy-
diagonal very perfect; macrodiagonal
imperfect; fracture uneven. H. = 5
...5’5; G. = 7T...7'5. Opaque; re¬
sinous, metallic-adamantine on the
cleavage. Brownish-black; streak
reddish-brown to black. Sometimes
weak magnetic. B.B. on charcoal
fuses to a magnetic globule covered
with small crystals; soluble in warm
h. acid, leaving a yellow residue.
Chem. com. 76 tungstic acid, 9’5 to
20 protoxide of iron, and 4 to 15 protoxide of manganese,
in some with a little lime or magnesia. Altenberg, Geyer,
Ellenfriedersdorf, Schlakenwald, Zinnwald, the Harz, Corn¬
wall, near Redruth, Rona in the Hebrides ; also the Ural,
Ceylon, and North America.
344. Columbite, Niobite.—(Fe, Mn) Nb.
Rhombic ; ocP 100° 40', 2 P 8 59° 20'. Tabular, or
broad prismatic (fig. 222). Macles with chief J.  
axes at 59° 20'; also foliated or granular. Clea- f /
vage, brachydiagonal very distinct, macrodiago¬
nal less so, and basal imperfect. H. = 6 ; G. =
Opaque; metallic adamantine. Brown¬
ish or iron-black; streak reddish brown or black. Fig-222-
B.B. infusible ; not affected by acids. Chem. com. 14 to 17
protoxide of iron, 3‘7 to 4-8 protoxide of manganese, and
78 to 81 niobic (or columbic) acid, with a little oxide of
tin or copper. Middletown and Haddam in Connecticut,
and Chesterfield in Massachusetts; Rabenstein near Bo-
denmais, and Ilmen Mountains.
345. Samarskite, Uranotantalite, Yttroilmenite.
Rhombic; isomorphous with columbite ; mostly flat, some¬
what polygonal grains. Fracture conchoidal; brittle. H.
= 5-5; G. = 5*625. Opaque ; strong semi-metallic. Velvet-
black; streak dark reddish-browm. B.B. fuses on the
edges to a black glass. In the closed tube decrepitates,
yields water, incandesces, and becomes brown. Soluble in
h. acid with difficulty, but wholly to a greenish fluid. Chem.
com. 56 niobic acid, 15 to 16 iron protoxide, 14 to 17 ura-
110
MINERALOGXCAL SCIENCE.
Minera-
logy.
anium oxide, and 8 to 11 yttria with lime and magnesia. Il¬
men Mountains in miascite.
346. Tantalite.—(Fe, Mn) Ta.
Rhombic ; P with polar edges 126° and 112° 30', middle
91° 42'. Cleavages all very indistinct; fracture con-
choidal or uneven. H. = 6...6'5; G. = 7’1...8. Opaque;
semimetallic, adamantine, or resinous. Iron-black ; streak
cinnamon or coffee brown. B.B. infusible ; scarcely affected
by acids. Chem. com. 7 to 14 protoxide of iron, 1 to 7
protoxide of manganese, and 67 to 84 tantalic acid, with tin
oxide and lime. Kimito and Tammela in hinnland,
Broddbo and Finbo near Fahlun.
Cassilerotantalite, varieties with much tin oxide, have G.
= 6’2...6,5, and with soda yield tin.
347. Yttrotantaeite.—(Y, Ca, Fe, U)3 (Ta, W.)
Crystallization unknown; indistinct four or six sided
prisms ; also in grains and lamellae. Cleavage in one direc¬
tion ; fracture conchoidal or uneven. Opaque, or in thin
splinters translucent. Three varieties are distinguished
(a.) Black Y, iron-black, semimetallic, and greenish-gray
streak; H. = 5'5; G. = 5-4...5-7. (b.) Dark or Brown Y,
brownish-black, bright brown streak, vitreous or resinous,
(c.) Yellow F., yellowish-gray, or brown, often striped or
spotted ; streak white ; resinous or vitreous. H. = 5 ; G.=
5*88. B.B. infusible, but become brown or yellow; not
affected by acids. Chem. com. 57 to 60 tantalic acid, 1
to 8 tungstic acid, 20 to 38 yttria, 0’5 to 6 lime, 0'5 to 6
uranium peroxide, and 0'5 to 3‘5 iron peroxide. Ytterby,
and near Fahlun.
348. Euxenite.—Ta, Ti, Y, Ce, Ca, H.
Monoclinohedric probably; also compact, with no trace
of cleavage. Fracture imperfect conchoidal.
G. = 4‘6. Opaque; thin splinters reddish-brown translu¬
cent ; metallic vitreous. Brownish-black ; streak reddish-
brown. B.B. infusible ; not affected by acids. Chem.
com. uncertain. Jolster and Arendal in Norway.
349. Fergusonite.—(Y, Ce, Zr)6 Ta.
Tetragonal and hemihedric; P 128° 28' (fig. 223).
Cleavage, traces along P ; fracture imperfect
conchoidal; brittle. H. = 5‘5...6; G. = 5'8...
5’9. Translucent in thin splinters ; semimetal¬
lic. Brownish-black ; streak pale-brown. B.B.
infusible. Chem. com. 48 tantalic acid, 42
yttria, 5 cerium protoxide, 3 zirconia, with tin
oxide, uranium, and iron peroxide. Cape Fare¬
well in Greenland. Fig. 223.
Tyrite, brown, resinous or semimetallic; H. = 6‘5; G.
= 5T3...5-36 ; Helle, near Arendal; is similar or identical.
Azorite, minute, greenish or yellowish white tetragonal
pyramids from the Azores, seems a tantalate of lime.
350. Sphene, Titanite.—Ca Si2 + Ca Ti2.
Monoclinohedric; C = 85°6'; 00P (/) 133° 54', |P go
(x) 52° 21', Poo (y) 34° 27', OP (P), (ooPco) (<7), (coP3)
(M), and (|P2) (n) 136° 6'. Crystals horizontal pris¬
matic or tabular, or very often oblique prismatic (figs.
224, 225). Macles frequent; also granular or foliated.
Cleavage, in many goP ; in others (Poo ) (r) 113° 30', im¬
perfect. H. = 5...5"5; G^SA^.S^O. Semitransparent or
opaque ; adamantine or often resinous. Brown, yellow, or Minera-
green. B.B. fuses on the edges to a dark glass; with salt logy,
of phosphorus in the red. flame reaction for titanic acid;
wholly soluble in s. acid, which forms sulphate of lime.
Chem. com. 3P3 silica, 40-4 titanic acid, and 28‘3 lime,
with 0 to 5 iron protoxide in the brown varieties. Dauphine
near Mont Blanc, St Gotthard, Tyrol, Arendal, Sweden, Sax¬
ony, France, America, and the Ural; also Lake Laach and
Vesuvius; in Scotland, in Criffell, near King’s House,
Ben Nevis, Strontian, Loch Ness, Aberdeenshire, Fetlar
and Burra in Zetland.
Greenovite, flesh-red, from St Marcel in Piedmont, with
much protoxide of manganese, is not distinct. Schor-
lamite, black shining; H. = 7...7’5; G^SYS.-.S’Sfi; from
Arkansas, is related.
351. Brookite.—Ti.
Rhombic ; P with polar edges 135° 37' and 101° 3', gcP 2
99° 50' (fig. 226). Cleavage macrodiagonal. a.
H. = 5-5...6; Opaque or trans- /y\N.
lucent; metallic adamantine. Yellowish,reddish, r-i
or hair-brown ; streak yellowish-white. B.B. in¬
fusible ; with salt of phosphorus forms a brown¬
ish-yellow glass. Chem. com. titanic acid, with
P4 to 4*5 per cent, peroxide of iron. Bourg
d’Oisans, Chamouni, and near Amsfag in the rig- 226.
Canton Uri, Miask, Magnet Cove in Arkansas (Arkamite);
Snowdon and Tremaddoc in North Wales.
V
*352. Rutile, Nigrine.—Ti.
Tetragonal; P 84° 40', Poo 65° 35'. Crystals coP .
00 Poo . P, and ooP3 . P (fig. 227). Macles very common
(like fig. 220) with chief axis at 114° 26'; also
imbedded or granular. Cleavage, 00P and AAAX
goPgo perfect. H. = 6...6*5; G. = 4,2...4,3.
Translucent or opaque; metallic adamantine.
Reddish-brown to red, also yellowish and black
{Nigrine'); streak yellowish-brown. B.B. un¬
changed alone; with borax in the ox. flame
forms a greenish, in the red. flame a violet glass; Eig 227.
not affected by acids. Chem. com. titanic acid, with 1*5
per cent, or more peroxide of iron. Alps, in Spain, St
Yrieux near Limoges, Norway, the Ural, Brazil, and North
America; Craig Cailleach near Killin, Ben-y-gloe and
Crianlarich in Perthshire, and Burra in Zetland. Used in
painting porcelain to produce a yellow colour.
353. Anatase, Octaedrite.—Ti.
Tetragonal; P 136° 36'. Crystals P . OP (fig. 228), or
P.*P. Cleavage, basal and P both perfect;
brittle. H. = 5-5...6; G.=3'8...3-93. Semi- / \
transparent or opaque; metallic adamantine./^/ \
Indigo-blue, almost black, red, yellow, or brown, X/y- y
rarely colourless; streak white. B.B. infusible; \ 1 /
only soluble in warm con. s. acid. Chem. com. M—/
titanic acid with a little peroxide of iron, or Fig. 228.
rarely tin oxide. The Alps, as Bourg d’Oisans, Dauphine,
Valois, and Salzburg; Hof in Bavaria, at Slidre in Norway,
Ural, Minas Geraesin Brazil, and in Cornwall.
354. PoLYMIGNITE.
Rhombic; P with polar edges 136° 28' and 116° 22,
oo P 109° 46'. Crystals long prismatic, rather broad, and
vertically striated. Cleavage imperfect; fracture con¬
choidal. H. = 6*5; G. = 4-806. Opaque ; semimetallic.
Iron-black; streak dark-brown. B.B. infusible alone, or
with soda ; soluble in con. h. acid. Analysis by Berzelius
46-30 titanic acid, 14-14 zirconia, 12-20 iron peroxide,
2-70 manganese peroxide, 5-00 cerium peroxide, 11-50
yttria, 4"20 lime (=96-04). Fredriksvarn, Norway.
355. Polykrase.—Zr, Y, -Ee, U, Ce, Ti, Ta.
Rhombic, six-sided tables, ccP 140°. Cleavage not
observable; fracture conchoidal. H.= 5...6; G. = 5"0...
5T5. Opaque, or in very fine splinters translucent yel-
Itinera- lowish-brown. Black; streak grayish-brown. B.B. de-
logy. crepitates violently, incandesces, and becomes grayish-
brown, but is infusible; imperfectly soluble in warm h.
acid, wholly in s. acid. Hitterb in Norway.
356. Perrowskite.—Ca Ti.
Tesseral; especially 00O00, also O, ooO. Cleavage
hexahedral. H. = 5*5; G. = 4. Opaque, or translucent
on the edges; adamantine. Grayish or iron-black, or
dark reddish-brown. B.B. infusible; slightly affected by
acids. Chem. com. 58*9 titanic acid, and 41*1 lime, with
2 to 5 iron protoxide. Slatoust, Kaiserstuhl in Baden.
357. Aeschtnite.—2(Ce,La,Fe)(Nb, Ti) + £e(Nb,Ti).
Rhombic; coP 127° 19', 2Poo 73° 44'. Crystals long
prismatic (fig. 229). Cleavage, only in traces; jfvK
fracture imperfect conchoidal. H. = 5...5*5; G./r
= 4,9...5'1. Opaque; submetallic or resinous. Iron
black or brown; streak yellowish-brown. B.B.
swells and becomes yellow or brown, but is infus- W \j
sible; not soluble in h. acid, partially in con. s. acid. CIS/
Miask in the Ural. Fig. 229.
358. Mengite.—Ue, &, Ti.
Rhombic; ccP 136° 20'. The crystals small, prismatic;
fracture uneven. H. = 5...5'5; G. = 5’48. Opaque;
semi-metallic. Iron-black; streak chestnut-brown. B.B.
infusible, but becomes magnetic ; almost wholly soluble in
warm con. s. acid. Ilmen Mountains.
359. Pechurane, Pitch-Blende.—U U.
Tesseral; O; also granular, reniform, columnar or
lamellar. H. = 5...6; G. = 6*5 or 7,9...8. Opaque; im¬
perfect metallic or resinous. Grayish, greenish, or
brownish-black; streak greenish-black. B.B. infusible ;
not soluble in h. acid, but easily in warm n. acid. Chem.
com. proto-peroxide of uranium, 84*78 uranium, and 15*22
oxygen, but with lead, iron, arsenic, lime, magnesia, silica,
and other impurities. Some contain vanadium, others also
selenium (Gummierz, H. = 2*5...3). Pittinerz, olive-green
streak; H. = 3*0...3*5 ; G. = 4*8...5*0; and Coracite, from
Lake Superior, seem mixtures. Johann-Georgenstadt,
Marienberg, Annaberg, Przibram, Rezbanya, and near
Redruth in Cornwall. Used in porcelain-painting.
360. Plattnerite.—Pb.
Hexagonal; 00P . OP . P. Cleavage indistinct; frac¬
ture uneven ; brittle. G. = 9*39...9*44. Opaque; metallic
adamantine. Iron-black; streak brown. Chem. com.
86*2 lead and 13*8 oxygen, with trace of sulphuric acid.
Leadhills in Scotland.
Family III.—Manganese Ores.
Crystallization rhombic, tetragonal, and monoclinohedric.
Crystals often prismatic. H.= 1...7; G. = 2*3...5. Opaque;
lustre more or less perfect metallic. Colour black or
brown. B.B. infusible, mostly give out much oxygen, and
do not become magnetic ; soluble in hydrochloric acid, with
fumes of chlorine. The solution, saturated with carbonate
of lime and filtered, gives, with chloride of lime, a copious
dark-brown precipitate which acts like manganese oxide.
Occur chiefly in veins in the older rocks, often along with
barytes.
*361. Pyrolusite.—Mn.
Rhombic; 00P 93° 40'; Pco 140°. Crystals short, pris¬
matic, or pointed (fig. 230); generally massive
or reniform, and radiating, fibrous, earthy, or
compact. Cleavage, ocP, also macro- and brachy-
diagonal; rather brittle or friable. H. = 2...2*5 ;
G. = 4*7...5. Opaque; semimetallic or silky. Fig.230.
Dark steel-gray, bluish, or iron-black; streak black and
soiling. B.B. infusible, loses oxygen, and becomes brown ;
soluble in h. acid, with large evolution of chlorine. Chem.
com. 63*6 manganese and 36*4 oxygen. Ilmenau, Ihlefeld,
Goslar, Johann-Georgenstadt; also France, Hungary, Brazil,
Cornwall and Devon. Used for producing oxygen, chlo¬
rine, and chloride of lime, removing the brown and green
tints in glass, in painting glass and enamel-work, and for
glazing and colouring pottery.
Varvacite.—With 5 water, pseudomorphs after calc-spar ;
also crystals with ooP = 99° 36', or columnar, and fibrous.
G. = 4*5...4*6. Semimetallic. Iron-black to steel-gray;
streak black. Warwickshire.
Minera-
logy.
362. Polianite.—Mn.
Rhombic; 00P 92° 52', Poo 118°. Crystals generally
short, prismatic, and vertically striated; also granular.
Cleavage, brachydiagonal perfect. H. = 6*5...7; G.=
4*84...4*88. Opaque; weak metallic. Light steel-gray.
B.B. acts like pure hyperoxide of manganese. Chem. com.
identical with pyrolusite, which seems thus a less hard
variety or product of decomposition. Flatten, Schneeberg,
and Johann-Georgenstadt.
*363. Manganite.—-M-n + H.
Rhombic, sometimes hemihedric; coP (Jf) 99° 40',
00 P2 (J) 118° 42', Poo (c) 114° 19'; also P3(^), ooP2
(/•), 2P (m), and 2P2 {n), (fig. 231).
Crystals prismatic, vertically striated, and
in bundles; also columnar or fibrous,
rarely granular. Cleavage, brachydiago¬
nal very perfect, basal and goP less per¬
fect; rather brittle. H. = 3*5...4; G.
= 4*3...4*4. Opaque; imperfect metal¬
lic. Dark steel-gray to iron-black, or,
often brownish-black and tarnished;
streak brown. B.B. infusible; soluble in
warm con. h. acid. Chem. com. 89*9
manganese peroxide and 10*1 water.
Ihlefeld, in the Harz, Thuringia, Chris-
tiansand in Norway, Undenaes in Sweden, Nova Scotia,
and Danestown near Aberdeen.
364. Hausmannite.—Mn + Mn, or Mn2 Mn.
Tetragonal; P 117° 54', Pgo 99° 11'. Crystals P or
P . ^P. Macles common (fig. 77) ; also granular. Cleav¬
age, basal rather perfect, less distinct P and Poo ; frac¬
ture uneven. H. = 5*5; G. = 4*7...4*8. Opaque; strong
metallic. Iron-black; streak brown. B.B. like peroxide
of manganese; soluble in h. acid, with escape of chlo¬
rine ; powder colours con. s. acid bright-red in a short
time. Chem. com. 31 protoxide and 69 peroxide of man¬
ganese, or 72*4 manganese and 27*6 oxygen. Ihlefeld, and
near Ilmenau.
365. Braunite.—Mu.
Tetragonal; P 108° 39'; hence almost an octahedron.
Crystals P and P . OP. Cleavage, P rather perfect; brittle.
H. = 6...6*5; G. = 4*818. Opaque; imperfect metallic.
Colour and streak dark brownish-black. B.B., and with
acids like manganite. Chem. com. 70 manganese and 30
oxygen. Elgersburg, Oehrenstock, Ihlefeld, and St Marcel
{Marceline).
366. Psilomelane.—(Mn, Ba, K, Cu), Mn -f H.
Massive, botryoidal, or stalactitic. Fracture conchoidal
or uneven. H. = 5*5...6; G. = 4*1...4*2. Opaque; dull
or glimmering. Iron-black or bluish-black; streak brownish-
black and glistening. B.B. infusible. Chem. com. 4*7 to
11 protoxide of manganese, 80 hyperoxide (but 20 to 50
mixed), 6 to 16 baryta, 2 to 5 potash, 0 to 1 copper, and
0*5 cobalt protoxide; and thus a mixture. Schneeberg,
Ilmenau, France, Vermont, Cornwall, and Devon.
367. Crednerite.—Cu3 Mn2.
Monoclinohedric; granular, foliated. Cleavage, basal
very distinct, prismatic imperfect. H. = 4*5...5; G. = 4*9
...5*05. Opaque; metallic. Iron-black; streak brownish-
112 MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- black. B.B. very thin foliae scarce fusible on the edges;
logy- with salt of phosphorus in the inner flame forms a glass first
green, then copper-red; in h. acid it forms a green solu¬
tion. Chem. com. 42'85 copper protoxide and o7’15 per¬
oxide of manganese. Freidrichsroda in Thuringia.
368. Cupreous Manganese.—(Mn, Cu) Mn2 + 2H.
Amorphous; botryoidal, stalactitic, or earthy. Rather
brittle or friable. H. = 3*o or less; G. = 3T...3*2. Opaque;
vitreous. Black, inclining to brown or blue ; streak similar.
Gives off much water in the closed tube. B.B. fusible, and
yields copper. Contains 14 to 17 copper protoxide, T6 bary¬
ta, 2’5 lime, 0'2 to O'S protoxide of cobalt and nickel, 15 to
17 water, and other substances; thus scarcely a true species.
Silesia, Saxony, the Harz, and Cornwall.
Black copper, with 28 iron peroxide, 29*5 water, is similar.
Harz.
369. Earthy Cobalt.—(Co, Cu) Mn2 + 4H.
Amorphous; reniform, sectile. H.= 1...T5; G. = 2T...
2*2. Opaque; dull. Bluish or brownish-black; streak
black, shining, and leaves a mark. B.B. infusible. Con¬
tains about 20 cobalt protoxide, 4’5 copper protoxide, and
21 water. Saalfeld, Gliicksbrun, Riechelsdorf, and Alder-
ley Edge in Cheshire. Horn-cobalt, Siegen, is a mixture
•with quartz.
*370. Wad.—Mn (Ca, Ba, K) Mn2 + 3H.
Massive; reniform, stalactitic, or froth-like; also scaly,
earthy, or compact. Very soft and sectile (rarely brittle,
and H. = 3) ; G. = 2,3...3,7 ; or porous, and swims on water.
Opaque; semimetallic, and shining or dull. Colour and
streak brown or black. B.B. like peroxide of manganese;
soluble in h. aciA Chem. com. very uncertain. Saxony,
Harz, France, Devonshire, and Cornwall. Groroilite is a
variety, and Neivkirkite related.
Family IV.—Ochres.
The following substances, chiefly products of decomposi¬
tion, and all compact, earthy, or disseminated, and scarcely
true mineral species, may be described here:—
371. Cobalt-ochre, Earthy Cobalt.—¥e, As, Co, Ca,H.
H. = 1...2; G. = 2...2"65. Yellowish-gray or brown to
liver-brown; streak brown or yellowish-gray and shining.
In the closed tube yields water. B.B. emits odour of
arsenic, and fuses to a black magnetic slag. Saalfeld, Rie¬
chelsdorf, Dauphine, and other localities.
372. Molybdena-ochre.—Mo.
Opaque; dull. Straw, sulphur, or orange yellow. B.B.
fuses and smokes; soluble in h. acid. Sweden, Norway,
the Tyrol, and on Corybuy, near Loch Creran in Scotland.
373. Bismuth-ochre.—Bi.
Very soft and friable. G.= 4#36...4‘7. Opaque; dull,
or glimmering. Straw-yellow to light-gray or green. B.B.
fusible and easily reduced; easily soluble in nitric acid.
Schneeberg, Siberia, and St Agnes in Cornwall.
374. Antimony-ochre.—Sb, H.
Soft and friable. G. = 3'7...3'8. Opaque ; dull or glim¬
mering, with glistening streak. Yellow, yellowish-gray, or
white. B.B. easily reduced. Harz, Hungary, Saxony,
France, Spain, and Padstow in England.
375. Stiblite.—Sb, H.
H. = 5*5 ; G. Resinous or dull. Yellowish-white
or yellow. B.B. not reduced alone, but easily with soda.
Chem. com. 75 antimony, 205 oxygen, and 5’5 water.
Kremnitz, Felsobanya, and Mexico.
376. Tungsten-ochre.—W.
Soft. Opaque ; dull. Yellow or yellowish-green. Solu¬
ble in caustic ammonia. Huntington in North America.
377. Uranium-ochre.—U-, H.
Sectile, soft, and friable. Opaque; dull. Straw, sulphur,
or orange yellow. In the closed tube yields water, and Minera.
becomes red. B.B. in the red. flame becomes green, but logy,
does not fuse; easily soluble in acids. Joachimsthal,
Johann-Georgenstadt, and St Symphorien in France.
378. Minium (Native).—Pb + 2Pb.
H. = 2...3; G. = 4'6. Opaque, dull or weak resinous.
Aurora-red ; streak orange-yellow. B.B. fuses easily, and
reduced; in h. acid loses its colour, and changed into
chloride of lead. Chem. com. 90,7 lead and 9‘3 oxygen.
Schlangenberg in Siberia, Badenweiler, Anglesea, Gras-
sington Moor and Weirdale in-Yorkshire.
379. Lead-ochre.—Pb.
G^S’O. Opaque; dull. Sulphur or lemon yellow. Po¬
pocatepetl in Mexico.
380. Chrome-ochre.—Gr.
Opaque, or translucent on the edges; dull. Grass-green
to siskin or yellowish green. B.B. infusible ; soluble to a
green fluid in solution of potash. Unst in Zetland, Creuzat
in France, and Sweden. Wolchonskoite, emerald or
blackish green, from Okhansk in Perm, is similar.
381. Tellurite.—Te.
Spherical, and radiated fibrous. Yellowish or grayish-
white. Siebenbiirg.
Family V.—The Red Copper Ores.
Tesseral and hexagonal. H. = 3*5...4’5 ; G. = 5’4...6.
Translucent; metallic. Red or dark-gray. Soluble in
acids, and B.B. fusible, except zincite. Are oxides of
copper or zinc.
*382. Cuprite, Red Copper Ore.— ■Gu.
Tesseral; O, ocO, and ocOx ; granular or compact.
Cleavage, octahedral rather perfect; brittle. H.=3*5...4;
G. = 5*7...6. Translucent or opaque ; metallic-adamantine.
Cochineal to brick red, with a lead-gray tarnish ; or crimson
in transmitted light; streak brownish-red. B.B. on char¬
coal becomes black, fuses, and reduced; soluble in acids
and ammonia. Chem. com. 88’9 copper and 11T oxygen.
Siberia, the Bannat, Chessy near Lyons, Linares in Spain,
and in the Huel Gorland, Huel Muttrel, Carvath, and
United Mines in Cornwall.
383. Chalcotrichite.
Rhombic or tesseral; in fine capillary crystals (prisms or
cubes). Cochineal and crimson red. In other characters
like cuprite. Rheinbreitenbach, Moldawa, and Huel Gor¬
land, Carharrack, and St Day, in Cornwall.
Tile-ore.—Reddish-brown, or brick-red and earthy. Chem.
com. suboxide of copper, mixed with much peroxide of iron
and other substances. Bannat, Thuringia, Cornwall, and
Shropshire.
384. Tenorite.—Cu.
Hexagonal, in thin tables; also fine scaly or earthy.
Translucent and brown; metallic. Dark steel-gray or
black. On lava, Vesuvius.
385. Zincite, Red Zinc.—Zn.
Hexagonal; granular or foliated. Cleavage, basal and
OOP very perfect. H^d’-A’S; G.=5’4...5’5. Trans¬
lucent on the edges; adamantine. Blood or hyacinth red;
streak orange-yellow. B.B. infusible, but phosphoresces.
Chem. com. zinc and 19"74 oxygen, but with 3 to 12
manganese peroxide. Franklin and Sterling in New Jersey.
Ore of zinc.
Family VI.—The White Antimony Ores.
386. Valentinite, White Antimony.—Sb.
Rhombic; ooP 137°, P<» 70£°. Crystals ccPx . xP .
Px (fig. 232); broad prismatic, or long tabular; also
granular, columnar, or foliated. Cleavage, ccP very per-
MINERALOGY.
113
Einera- feet, brachydiagonal imperfect. H. = 2-o...3 ; G. = 5-5
logy. ...5-6. Translucent; adamantine or pearly. Yellowish
^ and grayish-white, brown, gray, and rarely
peach-blossom red; streak white. B.B. be¬
comes yellow, and fuses (in the flame of a
candle) to a white mass. In the closed tube
wholly sublimes ; on charcoal forms a thick
white coating; easily soluble in h. acid; the
solution yields with water a white precipitate.
Cliem. com. 83‘6 antimony and 16‘4 oxygen.
Przibram, Braunsdorf in Saxony, Harz, Hungary, Allemont
in Dauphine, and Siberia.
387. Senarmontite.—Sb.
Tesseral; O; also massive. Cleavage, O imperfect.
G. = 5"22...5‘30. Transparent to translucent; brilliant re¬
sinous or adamantine. White or gray. B.B. and chem.
com. like valentinite. Sensa, near Constantine in Algeria,
Perneck in Hungary.
• •• *•
388. Cervantite.—Sb Sb.
Acicular or incrusting. G. = 4T. Resinous. Yellow or
white. B.B. infusible, but reduced on charcoal; soluble in
h. acid. Chem. com. 79*5 antimony, 20*5 oxygen. Cer¬
vantes in Spain, Auvergne, Hungary, and Pereta in Tus¬
cany.
389. Arsexite.—As.
Tesseral; O; usually capillary, flaky, or pulverulent.
Cleavage octahedral. H. = 1 ’o (3, Breit.); G. = 3'6...3'7.
Translucent; vitreous. Colourless and white. Tastesweetish
astringent; highly poisonous. B.B. in closed tube sub¬
limes in small octahedrons; on charcoal volatilizes with
strong smell of garlic. Chem. com. arsenious acid, with
75‘76 arsenic and 24‘24 oxygen. Andreasberg, Joachim-
sthal, Kapnik, Alsace, and Pyrenees.
rig. 232.
Order V.—NATIVE METALS.
Form only one family. Crystallization either tesseral in
regular octahedrons, as gold, silver, copper, and lead; or
rhombohedric, with R = 86° to 88°, as antimony, arsenic,
tellurium, and bismuth (tin is tetragonal). H. ranges from
1*5 in lead to 6...7 in iridium ; G. from 5*7 in arsenic to 23
in iridium. Some (platina, palladium, iridium, and iron) are
infusible; gold and the others easily fusible; antimony,
arsenic, and tellurium, burn and fume.
They are all opaque, metallic lustre, and pure metallic
colours (not lead-gray nor black); streak similar and shin¬
ing. Are simple metals or their combinations.
*390. Platina.—Pt, Fe.
Tesseral; very rarely in small cubes, commonly in
minute, flat, or obtuse grains and roundish lumps. Cleav¬
age wanting ; fracture hackly ; malleable and ductile. H.
= 4...5; G. = 17... 19 (hammered 21-23). Steel-gray, in¬
clining to silver-white. Sometimes slightly magnetic. Very
difficultly or not fusible; in nitrochloric acid forms a red col¬
oured solution. Chem. com. platina, but generally alloyed with
4 to 13 iron, 1 to 5 iridium, and many other metals. Found
in diluvial deposits in Columbia, Brazil, and St Domingo;
in the Ural; also in California, Canada, Borneo, the Harz,
and France. The largest mass from South America weighs
1 lb. 9J oz.; from the Ural, 18£ lb. English avoirdupois.
Its hardness, infusibility, power of resisting acids, and other
properties, render platina a very important material for che¬
mical, mathematical, and philosophical instruments. In
Russia also used for money.
391. Paladium.—Pd.
Tesseral; in very minute octahedrons; mostly small
grains or scales. Malleable. H. = 4-5...5; G.= ll-8...12-2.
Light steel-gray or silvery-white. B.B. infusible ; in nitric
acid forms slowly a brownish-red solution. Chem. com.
VOL. xv.
palladium, alloyed with platinum and iridium. Brazil, in
gold sands; Tilkerode in the Harz, in very small, brilliant,
hexagonal tables;—hence rhombohedric and dimorphous.
Used for astronomical and other instruments.
392. Osmium-iridium.—Ir, Os.
Hexagonal; P 124°; or rhombohedric, R
84° 52', OP . P . cxP (fig. 233), more
common in small flat grains. Cleavage,
basal rather perfect. Slightly malleable.
Not affected by acids. ‘m-
(a.) Osmiridium.—Tin-white. H. = 7; G. = 19"38... 19-47.
B.B. not altered. Analysis, 46*77 iridium, 49-34 osmium,
3-15 rhodium, 0-74 iron, and trace of palladium. Kather-
inenburgh.
(5.) Iridosmium.—Lead-gray. H. = 7; G. = 21-118 (G.
Rose). B.B. on charcoal becomes black, with a very strong
odour of osmium ; in the flame of a spirit-lamp shines
brightly and colours it yellowish-red. In one variety Ber¬
zelius found 25 iridium and 75 osmium, or Ir Os3; in
another, 20 iridium and 80 osmium, or Ir Os4. Nischne-
Tagilsk, Ural, Brazil, and Borneo.
393. Iridium, Platin-iridium.—Ir, Pt.
Tesseral; ccOoo . O ; also small rounded grains. Cleav¬
age, traces ; slightly malleable. H. = 6...7; G. = 21-57...
23*46. Silver-white, inclining to yellow on the surface.
B.B. unalterable ; insoluble in acids, even the nitrochloric.
Chem. com., by Svanberg’s analysis, 76'80 iridium, 19*64
platina, 0*89 palladium, and 1 *78 copper. Nischne-Taglisk
and Newjansk. Used in porcelain-painting.
*394. Gold.—An.
Tesseral; O, ooOoo, ooO, 303, oo 02, and other forms.
Crystals small, often elongated, deformed, and indistinct;
also capillary, wire-like, arborescent, and in plates and grains.
Remarkably ductile and malleable. H. = 2-5...3 ; G.= 17*0
...19-4. Gold-yellow to brass or bronze yellow. B.B. easily
fusible; soluble in aqua regia, often with a precipitate of
chloride of silver. The solution is yellow, and colours the
skin deep purple-red. Chem. com. gold with silver to 38
per cent., and copper and iron under 1 per cent. In beds,
veins, and alluvial deposits in many parts of the world,—
the Ural, Brazil, California, Australia; in the sand of many
rivers, as Rhine and Tagus ; in Britain in many of the Cor¬
nish stream-works; in mineral lodes near Dolgelly, North
Wales ; in Scotland at Leadhills, Tyndrum, and Glen Coich,
Perthshire; and in Ireland in Wicklow.
*395. Silver.—Ag.
Tesseral; cubes and octahedrons; also ocO, 303, and
oo 02. Crystals small and often misshapen ; also capillary,
filiform, arborescent, or tooth-like, and in leaves, plates, or
crusts. Malleable and ductile. H. = 2*5...3; G.= 10T
...11-1. Silver-white, but often tarnished yellow, red,
brown, or black. B.B. easily fusible; easily soluble in
nitric acid; the solution colours the skin black. Chem.
com. silver, often with copper, iron, gold (28 per cent.),
platina, antimony, and arsenic. Chiefly in veins, as at An¬
dreasberg, Freiberg, Johann-Georgenstadt, and Kongsberg
in Norway; Mexico and Peru; St Mewan, St Stephens,
Huel Mexico, and Herland in Cornwall; and at Alva in
Stirlingshire.
396. Antimony-silver, Discrasite.—Ag4 Sb.
Rhombic; P with polar edges 132° 42' and 92°, ocP
120° nearly. Crystals short prismatic or thick tabular, and
vertically striated; macles united by a face of ooP; often
in stellar groups (fig. 234); also massive
or granular. Cleavage, basal and Poo dis¬
tinct ; ocP imperfect; rather brittle, and
slightly malleable. H. = 3*5; G. = 9-4...
9*8. Silver-white to tin-white, with a yel¬
low or blackish tarnish. B.B. fuses easily ;
fumes, staining the charcoal white, and
p
Fig. 234.
Minera-
logy-
114 MINERAL0G1CAL SCIENCE.
Minera-
logy-
leaves a grain of silver ; soluble in nitric acid. Chem. com.
78 silver and 22 antimony. Andreasberg, Allemont in
Dauphine, Spain, and Arqueras in Coquimbo. A valuable
ore of silver.
397. Mercury, Native Quicksilver.—Hg.
Fluid ; but at — 40° congeals, and forms tesseral crystals.
G.= 13*545 fluid, 15*612 solid. Bright metallic; tin-
white. B.B. wholly volatile, or leaves a little silver. Chem.
com. mercury, sometimes with a little silver. Idria, Al-
maden, Wolfstein, and Mbrsfeld on the Rhine, the Harz,
Peru, China, and California.
398. Amalgam.—Ag Hg2, and Ag Hg3.
Tesseral; goO, with 202, O, ooOoo, 30f, and oo03 ;
also compact, or in crusts and plates. Cleavage, traces along
oo O ; rather brittle. H. = 3...3*5; G.= 13*7...14*1. Silver-
white, and leaves the same colour on copper. In the closed
tube yields mercury and leaves silver; easily soluble in
nitric acid. Chem. com. 35 and 26*5 per cent, silver.
Morsfeld and Moschellandsberg in Rhenish Bavaria, Hun¬
gary, Sala, Allemont, and Almaden. Arquerite in small
octahedrons and arborescent; ductile and malleable. H. = 2
...2*5 ; G.= 10*8. Chem. com. 86*5 silver. Forms the chief
ore in the rich silver mines of Arqueros near Coquimbo.
399. Antimony.—Sb.
Rhombohedric ; R 87° 35', but very rarely crystallized,
generally massive or spherical, and botryoidal. Cleavage,
basal highly perfect; R perfect, and — 2R imperfect; rather
brittle and sectile. H. = 3...3*5; G. = 6*6...6*8. Tin-white,
with a grayish or yellowish tarnish. B.B. easily fusible;
on charcoal burns with a weak flame; volatilizes and forms a
white deposit. Chem. com. antimony, with a little silver, iron,
or arsenic. Andreasberg, Przibram, Sala, and Allemont.
400. Arsenic-Antimony.—Sb As3.
Rhombohedric; spherical or reniform. H. = 3*5; G.=
6*1...6*2. Tin-white to lead-gray, and tarnished with
brownish-black. B.B. gives out a strong smell of arsenic.
Chem. com. 35*2 antimony and 64*8 arsenic; but the two
metals are isomorphous, and form indefinite compounds.
Allemont; also Przibram, Schladming, and Andreasberg.
401. Arsenic.—As.
Rhombohedric; R 85° 26'; OR, R, -iR (fig. 235);
usually fine granular, rarely columnar, bo¬
tryoidal, or reniform. Cleavage, basal per¬
fect, R and — |R imperfect; brittle. H. =
3*5; G. = 5*7...5*8. Whitish lead-gray, but
in a few hours acquires a grayish-black tarnish. ■Fig*235-
When broken or heated gives out arsenical odours. B.B.
easily fusible, but on charcoal gives off dense white vapours,
and may be wholly volatilized without fusing. Chem.
com. arsenic, with some antimony, and traces of iron, silver,
or gold. Andreasberg, Annaberg, Schneeberg, Marien-
berg, Freiberg, Joaehimsthal, Kapnik, Orawitza, Allemont,
St Marie aux Mines in Alsace, and Konigsberg; Tyndrum
in Perthshire; also the Altai, North America, and Chili.
Arsenic-silver is a compound with silver; Kongsberg.
Arsenic-glance, vi\\h 3 bismuth ; H. = 2; G. = 5*36...5*39;
dark lead-gray; takes fire at the flame of a candle, and
burns; Marienberg. Arsenic is used in various pharma¬
ceutical preparations and metallurgic processes.
402. Tellurium.—Te.
Rhombohedric ; R 86° 57'; ooR . OR . R . — R; usually
massive, and fine granular. Cleavage, ocR perfect, basal
imperfect; slightly sectile. H. = 2...2*5; G. = 6*1...6*3.
Tin-white. B.B. very easily fusible ; burns with a greenish
flame and much smoke, which forms a white ring with a
reddish margin on charcoal. In con. s. acid forms a bluish-
red solution. Chem. com. tellurium, with a little gold or
iron. Facebay in Siebenburg.
403. Lead.—Pb.
Tesseral, but only capillary, filiform, or in thin plates.
Ductile and malleable. H.= 1*5 ; G.= 11*3...11*4. Blu¬
ish-gray with a blackish tarnish. B.B. very easily fusible;
on charcoal volatilizes and forms a sulphur-yellow coating;
soluble in nitric acid. In lava on Madeira ; also near Bristol
and Kenmare in Ireland; in meteoric iron from Chili.
404. Tin.—Sn.
This metal has not certainly been found native, though
quoted from Cornwall. The fused metal crystallizes in
regular octahedrons. That formed by galvanic action is
described as tetragonal, with P 57° 13.
*405. Bismuth.—Bi.
Rhombohedric; R 87° 40'. Crystals R . OR, but often
misshapen, also aborescent or reticulated; often massive
and granular. Cleavage, -2 R 69° 28', and basal perfect.
Not malleable; very sectile. H. = 2*5; G. = 9*6...9*8.
Reddish silver-white, often with a yellow, red, brown, or
parti-colour tarnish. B.B. very easily fusible, even in the
flame of a candle. On charcoal volatilizes, leaving a citron-
yellow coating. Soluble in nitric acid. Chem. com. bis¬
muth ; sometimes with a little arsenic. Schneeberg, Anna¬
berg, Marienberg, Joachimsthal; Bieber in Hanau; Witti-
chen ; also Modum and Fahlun; near Redruth in Cornwall,
Carrick-Fell in Cumberland, and Alva in Stirlingshire.
*406. Copper.—Cu.
Tesseral; O, coOoo, ocO, oc02. Crystals small, and
generally irregular and deformed. Macles united by a face
of O. Often filiform and arborescent, or in plates and
laminae. Malleable and ductile. H. = 2*5...3; G. = 8*5...
8*9. Copper-red, with yellow or brown tarnish. B.B.
rather easily fusible, colouring the flame green; readily
soluble in nitric acid. In large masses (200 tons) near Lake
Superior, with native silver. Cornwall, near Redruth and
the Lizard; Yell in Zetland, Chessy near Lyons, the Bannat,
and Hungary; Faroe Islands, Siberia, China, Canada,
Mexico, Brazil, and Chili.
*407. Iron.—Fe.
Tesseral; chiefly the octahedron. Cleavage hexahedral,
but often mere traces; fracture hackly; malleable and
ductile. H. = 4*5; G. = 7...7‘8. Steel-gray or iron-black,
often with a blackish tarnish. Very magnetic. B.B. in¬
fusible, or only in thin plates with a strong heat; soluble
in h. acid. Two varieties are distinguished.
(«.) Telluric Iron.—In grains and plates, or disseminated.
Almost pure iron, or contains carbon, graphite, lead, or
copper, but not nickel. Said to occur at Gross Camsdorlf,
Oule in Dauphine; in the gold sands of Brazil, the Ural
and Olahpian; in veins in South Africa; also at Leadhills
in Scotland, and in basalt in north of Ireland.
(Jb.) Meteoric Iron.—Steel-gray and silver-white; contains
nickel, with cobalt, copper, and other substances. Polished
and etched with nitric acid, the surface is marked by lines
intersecting at 60° or 120°, named Widmanstadt’s figures.
Has fallen from the sky in very many countries. Siberia,
Brazil, North America, South Africa, Hungary, Britain and
Ireland.
Minera*
iogy.
Order VI.—SULPHURETTED METALS.
Crystallization often tesseral (fths), rhombic (Jd), or
hexagonal and rhombohedric (£th), rarely other forms.
H.= 1...7; G. = 3*4...9. Soluble in acids, and mostly B.B.
easily fusible, many yielding fumes characteristic of sulphur,
arsenic, or antimony. All (with one or two exceptions of
blendes) are opaque, and show metallic lustre and colour.
Are all compounds of sulphur, arsenic, or antimony with
metals. Occur frequently in veins, more rarely dissemi¬
nated in rocks.
Family I.—Pyrites.
Crystallization tesseral, rhombic, or hexagonal, one
tetragonal. Brittle, except bornite. H. = 3...6*5, the iron
MINERALOGY.
115
inera- pyrites being the harder, the copper ores the softer; G. =
logy. but sulphur compounds = 4*1...5’3, arsenic or
* antimony 6...8*1, sulphur with arsenic or antimony 6...6'5.
Colour mostly yellow, becoming lighter or more gray in those
with less sulphur. They are all soluble in nitric acid; solu¬
tions generally coloured, and all fusible, and give out fumes.
**408. Pyrite, Iron Pyrites.—Fe".
Tesseral, and dodecahedral-semitesseral. The cube
oo Ox, then O, (fig. 236),
and others (fig. 237), and macles
(fig. 238). In druses or groups,
spheroidal or reniform, and massive.
Cleavage, hexahedral or octahedral
very imperfect, or scarcely percep¬
tible; brittle. H. = ; G. =
4'9...5*2. Bronze-yellow, inclining
to gold-yellow, often with a brown Fig-236-
or rarely variegated tarnish; streak brownish-black. When
broken emits a smell of sulphur. B.B. on charcoal burns
Pig. 237.
Fig. 238.
with a bluish flame, and a strong smell of sulphur. In the
red. flame fuses to a blackish magnetic bead. Soluble in
nitric acid with deposition of sulphur; scarcely affected by
h. acid. Chem. com. 46'7 iron and 53’3 sulphur. Very
often contains gold, silver, or silicium, the gold occasionally
in visible grains. Common in rocks of all ages and classes.
Fine varieties, Elba, Cornwall, Persberg, Traversella; also
Alston Moor and Derbyshire. Auriferous pyrites, Beresof,
Marmato, Mexico, Aedelfors in Sweden, and many parts of
England and Scotland. Used for the manufacture of sul¬
phur, sulphuric acid, and alum.
*409. Marcasite, White Iron Pyrites.—Fe".
Rhombic; ooP 106° 5', £ Px 136° 54', Px 80° 20',
Px 64° 52'. Crystals like figs. 193 and 158; tabular or
thin prismatic, or pyramidal. Macles frequent; also cocks¬
comb-like groups, or spherical, reniform, and stalactitic.
Cleavage, xP indistinct, Px traces; fracture uneven;
brittle. H.=6...6,5; G^TOS-.M^. Pale, or grayish
bronze-yellow, sometimes almost greenish-gray ; streak dark
greenish-gray or brownish-black. B.B. and with acids acts
like pyrite. Varieties are:—Radiated pyrites, radiated,
fibrous masses. Spear pyrites, macles, very fine at Litt-
mitz, Przibram, Schemnitz, and Freiberg. Hepatic pyrites,
or Leberkies, liver-brown, generally decomposing; Harz,
Saxony, Sweden, Derbyshire, and Cornwall. Cockscomb
pyrites, compound, comb-like crystals, often greenish, or
with a brown tarnish; Derbyshire and the Harz. Was-
serkies or Hydrous pyrites contains water; the Kyrosite
copper and arsenic; Lonchidite also arsenic.
*410. Pyrrhotine, Magnetic Pyrites.—Fe', or Fe'5 rPe"'.
Hexagonal; P126° 50''. Crystals OP . xP, or with P (fig.
239) tabular or short prismatic, but rare. r^-^-
Commonly massive, granular, or compact. Vl
Cleavage, 8P imperfect, laminar structure t
along OP; brittle. H. = 3-5...4’5 ; G.=
4,4...4-7. Colour between bronze-yellow ^s-239-
and copper-red, with a pinchbeck-brown tarnish; streak
grayish-black; more or less magnetic. Unaltered in the
closed tube; in the open tube yields sulphurous fumes, but
no sublimation. B.B. on charcoal on the red. flame Mmera-
fuses to a black strongly-magnetic globule; soluble in logy‘
h. acid. Chem. com. 63‘65 iron and 36’35 sulphur,
or 60,44 iron and 39'56 sulphur, in some with 2 to 3
nickel. Bodenmais, Fahlun, Kongsberg, Andreasberg,
Moel Elion and Llanrwst in Caernarvonshire, Cornwall,
Appin in Argyleshire, and Vesuvius; also in some meteoric
stones.
*411. Leucopyrite, Arsenical ] t? A , . ,
Pyrites, Loiingite. } As’ <”• Fe As •
Rhombic; xP 122° 26', Px 51° 20', Px 86° 10'. Crys¬
tals xP .Px(fig. 240). Generally massive,
granular, or columnar. Cleavage, basal rather
perfect, Px imperfect; fracture uneven ; brit¬
tle. H.=5...5-5; G. = 7'0...7*4. Silver-white
to steel-gray, with a darker tarnish; streak
grayish-black. B.B. on charcoal emits a strong
smell of arsenic, and fuses to a black magnetic m
globule. Chem. com. 27*2 iron and 72,8 arsenic, or 32‘2
iron and 66‘8 arsenic, but always P3 to 21 sulphur, and
sometimes 13*4 nickel, and 5 cobalt. Reichenstein in
Silesia; Schladming in Styria; Lbling in Carinthia; An¬
dreasberg, in the Harz, and Fossum in Norway. Used
for the manufacture of arsenious acid.
*412. Mispickel.—Fe S2 + Fe As.
_ Rhombic; xP 111° 12',JPx 146° 28', Px 79° 22',
Px59°2'. Crystals xP . J Px . Macles short prismatic
or tabular; also massive, granular, or columnar. Cleav¬
age, xP rather distinct; fracture uneven; brittle. H.
= 5’5...6; G. = 6...6-2. Silver-white, almost steel-gray,
with a grayish or yellowish tarnish; streak black. In the
closed tube yields first a red then a brown sublimate of
sulphuret of arsenic, and then metallic arsenic. B.B. on
charcoal fuses to a black magnetic globule. Chem. com.
19‘9 sulphur, 46‘6 arsenic, and 33‘5 iron, but some contain
silver or gold, others 5 to 9 cobalt. Freiberg, Altenberg,
Joachimsthal, Zinnwald, Schlackenwald, Andreasberg, Swe¬
den, North America, and in many Cornish tin mines;
Cobalt-mispickel, from Skutterud in Norway. Danaite and
Plinian seem the same mineral. Used as an ore of arsenic
or of silver.
*413. Cobaltine.—Co S2+Co As.
Tesseral and semitesseral, like pyrite; also massive or
granular, disseminated. Cleavage, hexahedral perfect;
brittle. H. = 5‘5; G. = 6,0...6,3. Brilliant, silver-white,
inclining to red, often with a grayish or yellowish tarnish;
streak grayish-black. B.B. on charcoal fuses with strong
smell of arsenic to a gray, weak magnetic globule; after
roasting shows reaction for cobalt with borax. Chem. com.
35-9 cobalt (with 3'6 iron), 44^9 arsenic, and 19-2 sul¬
phur. Skutterud in Norway, Tunaberg, Querbach in Sile¬
sia, Siegen, and St Just in Cornwall.
Glaukodote.—Rhombic like mispickel. Dark tin-white ;
streak black; with 1P9 iron, 24-8 cobalt. Huasco and
Valparaiso in Chili, Orawitza.
*414. Smaltine.—Co As.
Tesseral; chiefly the cube and octahedron, the faces of
the cube convex or cracked; also reticulated, reniform,
or granular compact. Cleavage, traces along xOx and
O; fracture uneven; brittle. H. = 5’5; G. = 6-4...7,3.
Tin-white or steel-gray, with a dark-gray or iridescent
tarnish; streak grayish-black. Gives out an odour of
arsenic when broken. In the closed tube gives no subli¬
mate of arsenic. B.B. fuses easily, with a strong smell of
arsenic, to a white or gray magnetic globule. Chem. com.
7P4 arsenic and 28-6 cobalt, but with 3 to 19 iron and 1 to
12 nickel; others 1 to 3 bismuth. Schneeberg, Annaberg,
Riechelsdorf, Allemont in Dauphine; Tunaberg in Sweden;
Chatham in Connecticut; Huel Sparnon, Doalcoath, and
Redruth in Cornwall. Gray Smaltine has 10 to 18 iron,
116
Minera-
iogy.
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
and G. = 6'9 to 7'3. Smaltine and cobaltine are used in
preparing blue colours for painting porcelain and stoneware.
415. Modumite, Skutterudite.—Co2 As3.
Tesseral; O and ccOoo, or granular. Cleavage, hexa-
hedral distinct; fracture conchoidal or uneven ; brittle.
H. = 6 ; G. = 6,74...6'84. Tin-white to pale lead-gray,
sometimes with an iridescent tarnish. Lustre rather bril¬
liant. In the closed tube it gives a sublimate of metallic
arsenic ; in other respects acts like smaltine. Chem. com.
79 arsenic, and 21 cobalt. Skutterud, near Modum in
Norway.
416. Linneite.—(Ni', Co', Fe’) + (-N'i", Co"', Fe"').
Tesseral; in octahedrons and cubes, or macled; also
massive. Cleavage, hexahedral imperfect ; brittle. H.
= 5*5; G^d^.-.S'O. Silver-white inclining to red, often
with a yellowish tarnish ; streak blackish-gray. B.B. on
charcoal fuses in the red. flame to a gray magnetic globule,
bronze-yellow when broken. Chem.com. 11 to 53 cobalt,
0 to 42*6 nickel, 2 to 5 iron, and 1 to 15 copper. Bastnaes
in Sweden, and Miisen near Siegen.
417. Syepoorite.—Co'.
Massive. Steel-gray or yellowish. G. = 5*45. Chem.
com. 65'2 cobalt, and Sd'S sulphur. Syepoor near Raj-
pootanah in North-West India. The Indian jewellers use
it to give a rose colour to gold.
418. Grunauite, Saynite.
Tesseral; O and ccOoo; also granular. Cleavage octa¬
hedral; brittle. H. = 4'5; G. = 5T4. Light steel-gray
inclining to silver-white, with a yellow or grayish tarnish.
B.B. fuses to a gray, brittle, magnetic bead, yellow on the
fracture, and colours the support yellow. The solution in
nitric acid is green. Chem. com. nickel, bismuth, sulphur,
iron, cobalt, copper, lead, in variable proportions. Griinau
in Sayn-Altenkirchen.
419. Gersdorffite.—(Ni, Fe) As + (Ni, Fe) S2.
Tesseral; O, oeOoc ; usually granular. Cleavage,
hexahedral rather perfect ; fracture uneven ; brittle.
; G. = 5-6...6'13 (G'Gd ?) Silver-white to steel-
gray, with a grayish tarnish. In the closed tube decrepi¬
tates violently B.B. fuses to a brittle, black, slag-like
globule ; partially soluble in nitric acid. Chem. com.
35-2 nickel (with 2*4 to G iron, 0 to 3 cobalt), 45‘4 arsenic,
and 19-4 sulphur; but others give different formula, with
10 to 15 iron and 14 cobalt. Harzgerode and Tanne,
Schladming, Camsdorf, Loos in Helsingland, Sweden ; also
Spain and Brazil. Used as an ore of nickel.
Amoibite, Tombazite, and Wodankies, are similar.
420. Ullmannite.—Ni Sb + Ni S2, or Ni2 (Sb, As, S)3.
Tesseral; O, ooOoo, ccO ; usually granular. Cleavage,
hexahedral perfect; fracture uneven. H. = 5*-5'5; G.=
G^-.-G'S. Lead-gray to tin-white or steel-gray; with a
grayish-black or iridescent tarnish. B.B. fuses with dense
fumes, and slight odour of arsenic ; soluble in con. nitric
acid. Chem. com. 27’4 nickel, 57'5 antimony, and 15T
sulphur, with 2 to 12 arsenic. Westerwald, Siegen, Harz¬
gerode, and Lobenstein.
421. Breithauptite.—Ni2 Sb.
Hexagonal; P 112° 10'. Crystals, thin striated hex¬
agonal tables of OP . ooP. H. = 5; G. = 7*54. Brilliant.
Light copper-red, with violet-blue tarnish. B.B. fumes
and fuses with great difficulty. Chem. com. 32*2 nickel,
and 67’8 antimony, but mixed with 6 to 12 sulphuret of
lead. Andreasberg.
422. Nickeline, Copper Nickel.—Ni2 As.
Hexagonal; P 86° 50'. Crystals, oo P, OP (fig. 241),
very rare and indistinct ; also arborescent, renifbrm, or
generally massive. Fracture conchoidal and ^  
uneven; brittle. H. = 5-5; G. = 7-5...7-7.
Light copper-red, with a tarnish first gray then
blackish. It forms no sublimate in the closed llg-241-
tube. B.B. fuses with strong fumes to a white, brittle,
metallic globule. Chem. com. 43'6 nickel and 56'4 arsenic,
but with 0 to 2 cobalt, 0-2 to 9 iron, OT to 4 sulphur, and 0
to 29 antimony. Freiberg, Schneeberg, Joachimsthal,
Andreasberg, Chatham in Connecticut, Pengelly and Huel
Chance in Cornwall, and Leadhills in Scotland. Used as
an ore of nickel.
Plakodine is a furnace product, not a native mineral.
423. Rammelsbergite, White Nickel.—Ni As.
Tesseral; O, ccOco , ocO ; also fine granular or compact.
Fracture uneven ; brittle. H. = 5’5 ; G. = 6*4...6,6. Tin-
white, but first a gray, then a blackish tarnish, and loses its
lustre. Yields an odour of arsenic when broken. In the
closed tube forms a sublimate of metallic arsenic, and be¬
comes copper-red. B.B. on charcoal fuses easily with
much smoke, continues long ignited, becomes invested with
crystals of arsenious acid, and leaves a brittle grain of
metal. Chem. com. 28 nickel and 72 arsenic, but often
with cobalt; and many smaltines belong to this species.
Schneeberg, Riechelsdorf, Allemont.
424. Chloanthite.—Ni As.
Rhombic; ooP 123°...1240. G. = 7-099...7T88. Co¬
lour tin-white, inclining to red on the fresh fracture.
Otherwise like Rammelsbergite, with which it occurs. The
names are sometimes transposed.
425. Millerite.—Ni'.
Rhombohedric ; R 144° 8', in fine acicular prisms of
co P2 . R. Brittle. H.=3-5; G.=4-6, or 5-26, and 5-65.
Brass or bronze-yellow, with a gray or iridescent tarnish.
B.B. fuses easily to a blackish metallic globule, which boils
and sputters. In nitro-chloric acid forms a green solution.
Chem. com. 64-4 nickel and 35-6 sulphur. Johann-
Georgenstadt, Joachimsthal, Przibram, Camsdorf, Riechels¬
dorf, near St Austle in Cornwall, and at Merthyr Tydvil.
426. Inverarite, Eisennickelkies.—2 Fe' + Ni'.
Tesseral ; massive and granular. Fracture uneven ;
brittle. H. = 3-5...4; G. = 4'6. Light pinchbeck-brown,
with darker streak. Not magnetic. B.B. acts in general
like pyrrhotine ; the roasted powder forms with borax in
the red. flame a black opaque glass. Chem. com. 36 sulphur,
42 iron, and 22 nickel; but mixed with phyrrhotine and
chalcopyrite. Lillehammer in Southern Norway, near
Inverary in Scotland.
*427. Chalcopyrite, Yellow 1 r< ' . r- '
Copper Ore, Copper Pyrites, j Cu +Fe’ orGu +5e ‘
Tetragonal and sphenoidal-hemihedric; ^ P (P) with
polar edges 71° 20'; Pco (b), 2 Poo (c) 126° 11', OP (a),
P and ooPoo. Crystals generally small and deformed
(fig. 242); macles very common, like fig. 243. Most
commonly compact and disseminated; also botryoidal and
reniform. Cleavage, pyramidal 2 Poo sometimes rather
distinct ; fracture conchoidal or uneven. H. = 3‘5...4 ;
G. = 4T...4*3. Brass-yellow, often with a gold-yellow or
iridescent {peacock copper ore) tarnish; streak greenish-
black. B.B. on charcoal becomes darker or black, and on
cooling red. Fuses easily to a steel-gray globule, which
at length becomes magnetic, brittle, and grayish-red on the
fractured surface. With borax and soda yields a grain of
copper. Moistened with h. acid colours the flame blue.
Minera-
fogy.
MINER
Unera- Chem. com. essentially 1 atom copper, 1 atom iron, and 2
logy. atoms sulphur, with 34-o copper, 30 o iron, and 35 sulphur.
The most abundant ore of copper. Anglesea (Parys
Mine), Derbyshire, Staffordshire, Cumberland; Wicklow
in Ireland; also in the Cornish mines (Gunnis Lake and
St Austle); in Scotland in Kirkcudbrightshire and Wigtown¬
shire, Tyndrum in Perthshire, Inverness-shire, Zetland,
and other places. Of foreign European localities, Fahlun,
Roraas, Freiberg, Mansfeld, Goslar, Lauterberg, Musen,
may be mentioned ; also in Siberia, the United States,
and Australia. The ores raised in Cornwall and Devon
give 8 per cent, metal on the average ; and that picked
for sale at Redruth rarely yields 12, sometimes only 3 or 4
per cent. The richness of the ore may in general be judged
of by the colour; if of a fine yellow hue, and yielding
readily to the hammer, it may be considered a good ore ;
but if hard and pale yellow, it is assuredly a poor one, being
mixed with iron pyrites. From pyrite it is distinguished
by yielding readily to the knife, by its tarnish, and by soon
forming a green solution in nitric acid.
Cuban.—•Gu' rPe'" + 2 Fe. Tesseral in cubes or massive,
with a hexahedral cleavage. G. = 4‘02...4'04. 13.B. very
easily fusible, otherwise like chalcopyrite. Chem. com.
22,96 copper, 42,51 iron, and 34-78 sulphur. Bacaranao
in Cuba.
*428. Bornite, Variegated or Purple) <i t? <"
Copper. j *
Tesseral. Crystals, ocOco, and ocOco . O, but rare,
and generally rough or uneven ; also macles. Mostly
massive. Cleavage, octahedral very imperfect; fracture
conchoidal or uneven ; slightly brittle, or almost sectile.
H. = 3; G. = 4,9...5T. Colour between copper-red and
pinchbeck-brown, with very pale tarnish, especially steel-
blue, inclining to red and green ; streak grayish-black.
13.B. acts like chalcopyrite ; soluble in con. h. acid, leaving
sulphur. Chem. com. 3 atoms copper, 1 atom iron, and 3
atoms sulphur, with 55’6 copper, 16’4 iron, and 28 sulphur,
but often, especially when compact, mixed, and then 56 to
71 copper, and 6 to 17 iron. Crystals near Redruth and
St Day in Cornwall; massive at Killarney in Ireland ; also
Norway, Sweden, Mansfeld, Silesia, Tuscany, and Chili.
An ore of copper.
429. Domeykite.—CuG As.
Botryoidal, reniform, or massive. Fracture uneven or
conchoidal; brittle. H. = 3...3’5. Tin or silver white,
inclining to yellow, with an iridescent tarnish. B.B. fuses
easily with strong odour of arsenic ; not affected by h.
acid. Chem. com. 7P63 copper and 28’37 arsenic. Cala-
bazo in Coquimbo and Copiapo in Chili.
Condurrite.—Massive, soft, and soils the fingers. Frac¬
ture flat conchoidal. Colour brownish or bluish black.
G. = 4,20...4,29. B.B. on charcoal fuses, with escape of
arsenic vapours, to a globule, which, on cooling, cracks,
swells, and falls to pieces. With soda and borax leaves a
grain of copper. Seems an impure variety. Condurrow
Mine and near Redruth in Cornwall.
430. Arsenidret of Manganese.—Mn2 As.
Massivp and botryoidal, granular or foliated. Fracture
uneven; brittle. G. = 5\55. Grayish-white, with a black
tarnish. B.B. burns with a blue flame, and emits fumes of
arsenic; soluble in nitro-chloric acid. Chem. com. 42*75
manganese, 57*25 arsenic, with trace of iron. Saxony.
Family II.—Lead Glance.
Crystallization, chiefly tesseral; also rhombic and rhom-
bohedric. H.= l***2*5, rarely more; G. = 4*6...8*9, and
mostly 5*5, or higher. Colours generally lead-gray, and
more or less dark. All soluble in acids. B.B. all fusible,
and mostly very easily, and easily reduced. They are
compounds with sulphur, arsenic, or selenium; known by
their fumes. Chiefly occur in veins.
A L o G Y. nr
*431. Galena, Sulphuret of Lead.—Pb'. Minera-
Tesseral; ccOoo, coO ; seldomer 20, and 202. Crys- logy*
stals, ocOoo . O. Also massive and granular, compact, or lami-
nar. Cleavage, hexahedral very perfect; fracture scarcely
observable; sectile. H. = 2*5; G. = 7*2...7*6. Lead-gray,
with darker, or rarely iridescent tarnish; streak grayish-
black. B.B. decrepitates, fuses, and leaves a globule of
lead; soluble in nitric acid. Chem. com. 86*7 lead, and
13*3 sulphur, but usually contains a little silver,—ranging
from 1 to 3, or 5 parts in 10,000; rarely 1 per cent, or
more. Some contain copper, zinc, or antimony, others
selenium, and others (the supersulphuret) probably free
sulphur (2 to 8 per cent.). Most common ore of lead in
many countries. Cornwall, Derbyshire (Castletown),
Wales, Cumberland, Alston Moor, Durham (Altonhead);
Isle of Man ; Leadhills, Pentland Hills, Linlithgow, Inver-
keithing, Monaltrie, Strontian, Islay, and many other places
in Scotland. In 1855 the produce was,—England, 66,265
tons; Wales, 18,204; Isle of Man, 3573; Ireland, 2005;
and Scotland, 1587 tons.
432. Cuproplumbite.—Gu' Pb'2.
Tesseral; massive, with distinct hexahedral cleavage.
Rather sectile and brittle. H. = 2*5; G. = 6*408...6*428.
Blackish lead-gray; streak black. B.B. does not decre¬
pitate ; with soda gives a grain of metal. Chem. com.
65 lead, 19*9 copper, and 15*1 sulphur (with 0*5 silver).
Chili.
433. Clausthalite.—Pb Se.
Tesseral; but massive and fine granular, with hexahe¬
dral cleavage. H. = 2*5...3; G. = 8*2...8*8. Lead-gray;
streak gray. B.B. on charcoal fumes, smells of selenium,
colours the flame blue, stains the support red, yellow, and
white; and volatilizes, except a small remainder, without
fusing. Chem. com. 72*7 lead (with 11*6 silver), and 27*3
selenium. Lerbach, Zorge and Tilkerode in the Harz.
Tilkerodite, with 3 cobalt; G.= 7*7; colours borax glass
smalt-blue. Lehrbachite; Lerbach and Tilkerode; with
17 to 45 mercury, seems a mixture.
434. Selencopperlead.—(Gu, Pb) Se.
Massive and fine granular. Sectile. H. = 2*5; G. = 7
...7*5. Light lead-gray inclining to brass-yellow, or with
a bluish tarnish ; streak darker. B.B. like clausthalite,
only some fuse slightly on the surface, others easily forming
a gray metallic mass. Chem. com. 30 to 35 selenium, 47
to 64 lead, and 4 to 16 copper (with 0 to 1*3 silver). Tilke¬
rode, Zorge, and near Gabel in Thuringia.
435. Onofrite.—HgSe + 4HgS.
Massive, and granular. H. = 2*5. Blackish lead-gray or
steel-gray; streak shining. In the closed tube wholly
volatile with a black sublimate. With soda gives metallic
mercury. Chem. com. 82*8 mercury, 6*6 selenium, and
10*6 sulphur. St Onofre in Mexico, Zorge in the Harz.
436. Tiemannite.—Hg Se, or Hg6 Se5.
Fine granular; brittle. H. = 2*5; G. = 7*1...7*4. Bril¬
liant. Dark lead-gray. In the closed tube decrepitates,
swells, fuses, and volatilizes to a black and brown deposit.
Only soluble in nitro-chloric acid. Chem. com. 75 mer¬
cury, 25 selenium. Clausthal.
437. Naumannite.—Ag Se.
In thin plates and granular. Cleavage, hexahedral per¬
fect. Malleable. H. = 2*5; G. = 8. Iron-black; splen¬
dent. B.B. on charcoal fuses; with soda a grain of silver;
easily soluble in con. nitric acid. Chem. com. 73 silver
and 27 selenium, with 4*91 lead. Tilkerode.
Silverphyllinglanz.—Massive, foliated ; perfect cleav¬
age; thin lamina flexible. H.= 1...2; G. = 5*8...5*9. -.
Dark-gray. Chem. com. antimony, lead, tellurium, gold,
and sulphur (Plattner). Deutsch-Pilsen in Hungary.
*438. Argentite, Sulphuret of Silver.—Ag'.
Tesseral; ooOx, O, coO, and 202 (fig. 244). Crys¬
tals generally misshapen, with uneven or curved faces;
118
MINERALOGIC AL SCIENCE.
Minera¬
logy-
in druses, or linear groups; also arborescent, capillary, or
in crusts. Cleavage, very indistinct
traces along oo O and ooOoo; frac¬
ture uneven and hackly ; malleable
and flexible. H. = 2...2,5; G. = 7
...7'4. Rarely brilliant; more so on
the streak. Blackish lead-gray, often
with a black, brown, or rarely iri¬
descent tarnish. B.B. on charcoal
fuses, intumesces greatly, and leaves
a grain of silver; soluble in con.
nitric acid. Chem. com. 87 silver, and 13 sulphur. Frei¬
berg, Marienberg, Annaberg, Schneeberg, Johann-Geor-
genstadt; Joachimsthal'; Schemnitzand Kremnitz ; Kongs-
berg; Huel Duchy, Dolcoath, Herland, and near Calling-
ton, in Cornwall; Alva in Stirlingshire. Common ore at
Guanaxuato and Zacatecas in Mexico, in Peru, and
Blagodat in Siberia. Valuable ore of silver.
439. Stromeyekite.— -Gu + Ag.
Rhombic; isomorphous with redruthite. Crystals rare ;
usually massive, or in plates; fracture flat, conchoidal, or
even; verysectile. H. = 2*5...3; G. = 6’2...6'3. Bright.
Blackish lead-gray. B.B. fuses easily to a gray metallic
semimalleable globule. Chem. com. 52*9 silver, 31‘4 cop¬
per, and 15'7 sulphur, but often indeterminate proportions
of silver 3 to 53, and copper 30 to 75. Schlangenberg in
Siberia, Rudelstadt in Silesia, and Catemo in Chili. Ore
of silver and copper.
*440. Redruthite, Copper Glance.— Gu'.
Rhombic; ooP (o) 119° 35', P (P) middle-edge 125°
22', ^ P (a) middle-edge 65° 40', 2 P x> (d) middle-edge
125° 40', fPoo (e) middle-edge 65° 48'. Crystals OP . («)
oo P . (o) ooPoo (p), (fig. 245). Mostly thick tabular; also
macles; and massive, in plates
or lumps. Cleavage, o>P im¬
perfect ; fracture conchoidal or
uneven; very sectile. H.=
2,5...3; G^S’S-.-S’S. Rather
dull; brighter on the streak.
Blackish lead-gray, with a blue
or other tarnish. B.B. colours Eig. 245.
the flame blue; on charcoal in the ox. flame sputters and
fuses easily; in the red. flame becomes solid. With soda
gives a grain of copper. Green solution in nitric acid.
Chem. com. 79*8 copper, and 20*2 sulphur. Saxony, Sile¬
sia, Norway, the Bannat, Siberia, and the United States;
near Redruth and Land’s End in Cornwall; Fassnet
Burn in Haddingtonshire, in Ayrshire, and in Fair Island,
Orkney. Important copper ore.
Digenite.—Massive. G.=4‘56S...4-680; in other re¬
spects like redruthite. Contains 70‘20 copper, 29-56 sul¬
phur, and 0"24 silver. Sangerhausen in Thuringia, and Chili.
441. Kupferindig, Covelline.—Cu'.
Hexagonal. Crystals coP . OP rare; usually reniform,
and fine granular. Cleavage, basal often very perfect;
sectile, and tbin laminae flexible. H. = l"5...2; G.-=3'8
...3-85. Dull resinous, inclining to metallic. Indigo-blue,
inclining to black; streak black. B.B. burns with a blue
flame; on charcoal like redruthite, but remains fluid in the
inner flame; soluble in nitric acid. Chem. com. 66*7
copper, and 33-3 sulphur. Vesuvius, Sangerhausen, Baden-
weiler, Schwarzwald; Kielce in Poland, Leogang in Salz¬
burg, and Cairn Beg in Cornwall.
442. Eukairite.—Cu2 Se + Ag Se.
Massive and fine granular. Soft (cuts with the knife).
Lead-gray; streak shining. B.B. fuses to a brittle gray
metallic grain. Chem. com. 43 silver, 25-2 copper, and
31"8 selenium. Skrickerum in Smoland.
443. Berzeline.—Cu2 Se.
Crystalline, in thin dendritic crusts. Soft. Silver-white;
streak shining. B.B. on charcoal fuses to a gray, slightly
malleable bead. With soda a grain of copper. Chem.
com. 61-5 copper and 38’5 selenium. Skrickerum in Swe¬
den, Lerbach in the Harz.
444. Nagyagite, Black or Foliated Tellurium.
Tetragonal; P 137° 52', Poo 122° 50', and OP. Crys¬
tals tabular, but rare; in general thin plates or foliated.
Cleavage, basal very perfect; very sectile ; the thin laminae
flexible. H.= l...l-5; G. = 6'85...7'2. Splendent. Black¬
ish lead-gray. B.B. fuses easily, with white fumes, and
forms a yellow deposit on the charcoal; with soda leaves a
grain of gold ; soluble in nitric acid, with residue of gold.
Chem. com. 51 to 63 lead, 6*7 to 9 gold, 1 to 1*3 copper and
silver, 13 to 32 tellurium, 3 to 12 sulphur, and 0 to 4"5 anti¬
mony. Nagyag in Siebenburg, and Offenbanya.
445. Altaite.—Pb Te.
Tesseral and granular; hexahedral cleavage. Fracture
uneven; sectile. H. = 3...3"5; G.=8T...8"2. Tin-white
inclining to yellow, with yellow tarnish. B.B. on charcoal
colours the flame blue ; in the red. flame fuses to a globule
that almost wholly volatilizes. Chem. com. 61-9 lead with
1-28 silver, and 38-1 tellurium. Sawodinski mine in the
Altai.
446. Hessite.—Ag Te.
Massive and granular; slightly malleable. H. = 2’5...3;
G. = 8-31...8-83. Blackish lead gray to steel-gray. B.B.
on charcoal fumes, fuses to a black grain with white spots,
and leaves a brittle grain of silver. Chem. com. 62*8 silver,
and 37‘2 tellurium, but some [Petzite) 07...18 gold.
Sawodinski mine in the Altai, Nagyag in Siebenburg.
447. Tetradymite.—2Bi Te3 + Bi S3.
Rhombohedric; 3 R 66° 40'. Crystals 3 R . OR ; almost
always macles, with the faces of OR at 95°; also granular
foliated. Cleavage, basal very perfect; sectile, and in thin
laminae flexible. H. = 1...2; G. = 7-2...7'5. Dull. Tin-
white to steel-gray. B.B. on charcoal fuses easily, occa¬
sionally with odour of selenium, staining the support yellow
and white; at length yields a white grain of metal, almost
entirely volatile ; soluble in nitric acid. Chem. com. 59-66
bismuth, 35-86 tellurium, and 4 48 sulphur, with traces of
selenium; but the tellurium and bismuth are isomorphous,
and probably in indeterminate proportions, the sulphur and
selenium not essential. Schubkau near Schemnitz, Deutsch-
Pilsen in Hungary, San Jose in Brazil, Virginia and Caro¬
lina.
*448. Molybdenite.—Mo".
Hexagonal; but only tabular or short prismatic crystals
of OP . ooP or OP . P. Generally scaly or curved foliated.
Cleavage, basal very perfect; very sectile, and thin laminae
flexible. Feels greasy. H.= 1...P5; G.=4'6...4'9.
Reddish lead-gray; makes a gray mark on paper, a green¬
ish mark on porcelain. B.B. in the forceps colours the
flame siskin-green, but is infusible. On charcoal yields
sulphurous fumes, and forms a white coating, but burns
slowly and imperfectly. In warm nitrochloric acid forms
a greenish, in boiling sulphuric acid a blue solution. Chem.
com. 59 molybdena and 41 sulphur. Arendal, Altenberg,
Ehrenfriedersdorf, Zinnwald, Schlackenwald, Mont Blanc,
Shutesbury in Massachusetts, in Maine, Haddam in Con¬
necticut; Caldbeckfell in Cumberland, Shap in Westmore¬
land, Huel Gorland, and many Cornisb mines; Peterhead,
Corybuy on Loch Creran, and Glenelg. Readily distin¬
guished from graphite by its streak, lustre, gravity, and
action before the blowpipe. Used for preparing blue car¬
mine for colouring porcelain.
Minera-
togy-
Family III.—Gray Antimony Ore.
Crystallization rhombic, rarely tesseral or hexagonal.
H. = 3...3 5, or less ; G.=4...6-8 (sylvanite 8 1). Colour
MINER
inera- steel or lead gray. All soluble in acids with precipitates;
logy, generally very easily fusible, even in the flame of a candle,
and give out fumes.
*449. Stibine, Antimonite.—Sb'".
Rhombic; P polar edges 109° 16', and 108° 10', ooP
t iogy. ^
90° 45'. Crystals ooP (m) . ccPco (o) . P (P), or with
‘ iPoo (a), 2P2 (5), |P2 (e), ^P (s), (fig. 246). Mostly
long prismatic or acicular, with strong vertical striae, often
in druses, or stellar groups; also radiating, fibrous, or fine gra¬
nular. Cleavage, brachydiagonal (o) highly perfect, and
often horizontally striated ; also basal, gcP, and macrodiagonal
imperfect; sectile. H. = 2; G. = 4’6
...4’7. Brilliant. Lead-gray, with a
blackish or iridescent tarnish. B.B.
fuses easily, colouring the flame
green, and volatilizes, leaving a white
coating on the support; soluble in
warm h. acid. Chem. com. 71*8 an¬
timony and 28‘2 sulphur. Near
Freiberg in Saxony, Wolfsberg in
the Harz, Przibram, Felsobanya,
Kremnitz, Schemnitz, Auvergne,
Spain, and North and South Ame¬
rica ; St Stephen’s, Padstow, and Fi2-24G-
Endellion in Cornwall; Glendinning in Dumfriesshire, New
Cumnock in Ayrshire, and in Banffshire. Chief ore of
antimony.
450. Jamesonite.—Pb'3 + Sb"'2.
Rhombic ; coP 101° 20'. Crystals ocP . ooP oo, long pris¬
matic, parallel or radiating. Cleavage, basal very perfect,
oo P and brachydiagonal imperfect; sectile. H. = 2...2,5 ;
G. = 5*5...5*7. Steel-gray to dark lead-gray. B.B. decre¬
pitates, fuses easily, and wholly volatilizes, except a small
slag; soluble in warm h. acid. Chem. com. 44*6 lead, with
2 to 4 iron, 34‘8 antimony, and 20‘6 sulphur. Cornwall,
Estremadura, Hungary, Siberia, and Brazil.
451. Zinckenite.—Pb' Sb" .
Rhombic; ooP 120° 39', Poo 150° 36'. Crystals, pris¬
matic or acicular, vertically striated, and macled in threes.
Cleavage, prismatic very imperfect ; fracture uneven;
rather sectile. H. = 3...3’5; G. = 5*30...5*35. Dark steel-
gray to lead-gray, with a steel-blue or iridescent tarnish.
B.B. decrepitates violently, fuses, emits fumes of antimony,
and wholly volatilizes, except a small remainder; soluble
m warm h. acid. Chem. com. 35’9 lead, 42 antimony, 22-l
sulphur, with 042 copper. Wolfsberg in the Harz.
452. Plagionite.—Pb'4 Sb'"3.
Monoclinohedric; C = 72° 28', P 134° 30' and 142° 3'
— 2 P 120° 49'. Crystals thick tabular, minute, and in
druses. Cleavage, — 2 P rather perfect; brittle. H. = 2’5 ;
G. = 5’4. Blackish lead-gray. B.B. decrepitates violently,
fuses easily, sinking into the charcoal, and leaves metallic
lead. Chem. com. 42 lead, 37 antimony, and 21 sulphur.
Wolfsberg in the Harz.
, 453. Boulangerite.—Pb'5 Sb'"2.
Fine granular, columnar, radiating, or fibrous. Slightly
sectile. H.= 3; Silky, metallic. Blackish
lead-gray, with darker streak. B.B. fuses easily, forming
a coating of protoxide of lead; soluble in warm h. acid.
Chem. com. 55‘4 lead, 25-9 antimony, and sulphur.
Molieres in France, Ober-Lahr, Lapland, and Siberia.
Plumbostib, with arsenic, and Embrithite, seem varieties;
Nertschinsk.
454. Geokronite.—Pb'5 (Sb'", As'").
Rhombic; P polar edges 153° and 64° 45', ooP 2 = 119°
44', mostly massive, or lamellar. Cleavage, ooP 2 ; frac¬
ture conchoidal or even; sectile. H.=2...3; G. = 6*45...
6’54. Pale lead-gray, with a slight tarnish. B.B. fuses
easily and volatilizes. Chem. com. 67 lead, with 1 to 2
copper and iron, 16 antimony, with 4-7 arsenic, and 17 sul-
A L 0 G Y. 2U
phur. . Sala in Sweden, Meredo in Spain, and near Pietro- Minera.
santo in 1 uscany. Kilbrickenite, massive, granular, or fo- logy*
bated; County Clare in Ireland.
455. Steinmannite.—Pb', Sb'".
Tesseral; O ; also botryoidal and reniform. Cleavage,
hexahedral rather imperfect; sectile. H. = 2-5 ; G. = 6-833.
Lead-gray. B.B. decrepitates violently ; on charcoal fuses
readily, leaving lead and silver. Przibram.
456. Plumosite, Feather Ore.—Pb'2 Sb'".
Rhombic (?); acicular or capillary, in felt-like masses. H.
= 1...3 ; G. = 5-7...5-9. Dull or glimmering. Dark-lead or
steel-gray, sometimes iridescent. B.B. and with acids acts
like zinckenite ; fuses even in the flame of a candle. Chem.
com. 51-8 lead, 29’7 antimony, and 19-5 sulphur. Wolfs¬
berg, Andreasberg, and Clausthal; Neudorf in Anhalt,
Freiberg, and Schemnitz.
457. Enargite.—3 Cu'3 +As.'^
Rhombic; co P 97° 53, Poo 100° 58', mostly massive and
granular. Cleavage, ooP perfect, brachy- and macro-dia¬
gonal less so; brittle. H. = 3; G. = 4-43...4-45. Iron-black.
In the closed tube yields first sulphur, then fuses and
gives out sulphuretted arsenic. B.B. with borax, gives a
bead of copper. Chem. com. 48-3 copper, 19-1 arsenic,
and 32-6 sulphur. Morocacha in Peru.
458. Dufrenoysite.— •Gu'2 As" + Cu'2 As".
Tessera!. Crystals ooO . 202. Fracture uneven ; brittle.
H. = 2...3 ; G. = 4-48. Steel-gray; streak reddish-brown.
In the closed tube gives a reddish-brown sublimate. B.B.
fuses easily, leaving a grain of copper readily soluble in
warm acid. Chem. com. 38-4 copper, 2-8 lead, 1-3 silver,
30-5 arsenic, and 27 sulphur. Binnenthal, St Gotthardt.
459. Skleroklase.—Pb'2 As'".
Rhombic ; Poo 115° 16', Poo : P oo = 134° 59'. Crystals
broad prismatic, acicular or fibrous; very brittle and friable.
G. = 5-39...5*55. Bright metallic. Pale lead-gray, steel-
gray, and iron-black; streak reddish-brown. Chem. com.
57-12 lead, 20-74 arsenic, 22"14 sulphur, with traces of
silver, copper, and iron. St Gotthardt, with Dufrenoysite,
for which it was analyzed.
460. WOLFSBERGITE.— Gu' Sb'".
Rhombic; ccP 135° 12', ccP2 111°. Crystals tabular;
also fine granular. Cleavage, brachydiagonal very perfect,
basal imperfect; fracture conchoidal or uneven. H. = 3‘5;
G. = 4"748. Lead-gray to iron-black, sometimes iridescent;
streak black, dull. B.B. decrepitates, fuses easily, and with
soda gives a grain of copper. Chem. com. 25-4 copper,
49 antimony, and 25-6 sulphur. Wolfsberg in the Harz.
461. Berthierite.—Fe', Sb'".
Massive; columnar or fibrous, with indistinct cleavage.
H. = 2...3; G. = 4'0...4-3. Dark steel-gray, yellowish or
reddish; easily tarnished. B.B. on charcoal fuses easily,
with fumes of antimony, to a black magnetic slag; soluble
in h. acid. Chem. com. sulphurets of iron and antimony in
variable proportions, or 9'8 to 16 iron, 52 to 61*6 antimony,
and 29-1 to 31 sulphur. Auvergne and Anglar in France,
Braunsdorf in Saxony, Tintagel and Padstow in Cornwall.
In France used as an ore of antimony.
462. Bismuthine—Bi'".
Rhombic; ooP 91° 30'. Crystals long prismatic or acicular,
with strong striae; also granular or columnar, foliated or radi¬
ated. Cleavage, brachydiagonal perfect, macrodiagonal less
distinct; sectile. H. = 2...2-5 ; G. = 6-4...6-6. Lightlead-
gray to tin-white, with a yellowish or iridescent tarnish.
B.B. on charcoal fuses easily in the inner flame, sputters,
and yields a yellow coating with a grain of bismuth ; so¬
luble in nitric acid. Chem.com. 81-2 bismuth and 18*8
sulphur. Riddarhyttan, Bastnaes, Johann-Georgenstadt,
Altenberg, Joachimsthal; Haddam in Connecticut; near
Redruth, Botallack, Dolcoath, and Herland in Cornwall,
and Caldbeckfell in Cumberland.
120
Minera-
logy.
MINER A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
463. Aciculite, Needle-ore.—Pb'1 Bi'" + Gu'2 Bi"'.
Rhombic ; long thin crystals imbedded in quartz, often
bent or broken, with strong vertical striae. Cleavage im¬
perfect ; fracture conchoidal or uneven ; rather brittle.
H. = 2*5 ; G. = 6-7...6*8. Blackish lead-gray or steel-gray,
with a brownish tarnish. B.B. fuses very easily, smokes,
stains the charcoal white and yellow, and leaves a metallic
globule; soluble in nitric acid. Chem. com. 3o*8 lead,
11 copper, 36’7 bismuth, and 16‘5 sulphur. Beresof in
Siberia.
464. Kobellite.—3 Pb'3 Bi'" + Fe'3 Sb"'2.
Radiated columnar; soft. G. = 6*29...6’32. Blackish
lead-gray to steel-gray ; streak black. B.B. fuses (at first
boiling, then quietly), and stains the charcoal white and
yellow, and leaves a white grain of metal; soluble in con.
h. acid, evolving sulphuretted hydrogen. Chem. com. 46
sulphuret of lead, 33’3 sulphuret of bismuth, 5‘7 sulphuret
of iron, and 15 sulphuret of antimony. Hvena in Nerike,
Sweden.
465. Silvanite.—Ag Te* + Au Te\
Rhombic; crystals generally small, short acicular, and
often grouped in rows like letters. Cleavage in two direc¬
tions, one very perfect; sectile, but friable. H.= P5...2;
G. = 7*99...8-33. Steel-gray to tin-white, silver-white, and
pale bronze-yellow. B.B. on charcoal forms a white coat¬
ing, and fuses to a dark-gray globule, with soda reduced to
a malleable grain of argentiferous gold; soluble in nitro-
chloric acid, depositing chloride of silver; and in nitric
acid, leaving gold. Chem. com. 59'6 tellurium, with 0*5 to
8'5 antimony, 26*5 gold (in some 30), and 13*9 silver, with
0*2 to 19*5 lead. Offenbanya {Graphic Tellurium), Na-
gyag {Yellow Tellurium).
Family IV.—Gray Copper Ore.
Crystallization rhombic and tesseral. H. = 1...4, the
ores of copper being above 3, the ores of silver below 3;
G. = 4*2.. .6*3. Colour steel or lead-gray, in a few inclining
to black or brown. All soluble in nitric acid. B.B. fusible,
often easily, with fumes of sulphur or arsenic. Mostly sul-
phurets of copper and silver, with sulphurets of arsenic or
antimony.
'^GrayCopTr:} <G“* AS'’Fe'' 2"', Hy')* (Sb", As").
.0 O „ 202
' Tesseral and tetrahedral. In crystals —, — g-, ccU,—
(fig. 247, and figs. 19, 20). Macles (fig. 248), not uncom¬
mon ; most abundant massive and disseminated. Cleavage,
 r?
S
octahedral imperfect, with traces in other directions ; frac¬
ture conchoidal, uneven, or fine granular ; brittle. H. = 3
...4; G. = 4*5...5*2. Steel-gray to iron-black; streak
black (dark-red when containing zinc). B.B. on charcoal
boils slightly, and fuses to a steel-gray slag, usually mag¬
netic, and with soda gives copper. In nitric acid the
powder forms a brownish-green solution. Chem. com. very
variable; but 15 to 40 copper, 0 to 31 silver, 1 to 6 iron,
1 to 7 zinc, 0 to 7*5 mercury, 12 to 29 antimony, 0 to 10
arsenic, and 23 to 27 sulphur; those with much arsenic are
paler coloured ; those with little or no arsenic dark-coloured;
those with 17 to 31 silver are the silver fahlore (Freiberg).
Harz, Miisen, Freiberg, Camsdorf, Alsace, Kremnitz, Kap-
nik; Crinnis and other Cornish mines near St Austle;
Airthrie near Stirling, and Sandlodge in Zetland. Ore of
copper and silver.
467. Tennantite.—(Chi', Fe') As'".
Tesseral; like fahlore. Cleavage, ooO very imperfect;
brittle. H. = 4 ; G. = 4*3...4*5. Blackish lead-gray to iron-
black ; streak dark reddish-gray. B.B. decrepitates, burns
with a bluish flame and odour of arsenic, and fuses to a
magnetic slag. Chern. com. 49 copper, 4 iron, 19 arsenic,
and 28 sulphur. Redruth and St Day, Cornwall, and
Skutterud. Copperblende, with brownish-red streak ; G.
= 4*3; contains 8*9 zinc ; Freiberg.
468. Bournonite.—Pb'4 Sb^+Gu'2 Sb'".
Rhombic ; ooP (rf) 93° 4_0', Poo («) 96° 13', Poo (e) 92°
34', OP (r), coPod {s), ooPoo (£), as in fig. 249. Crystals
generally thick tabular, very often
macled by a face of ooP, and several
times repeated ; also granular or dis¬
seminated. Cleavage, brachydia-
gonal imperfect, traces in other di¬
rections ; fracture uneven to con¬
choidal; rather brittle. H. = 2*5...3 ;
G. = 5*7...5*9. Lustre brilliant me¬
tallic. Steel-gray, inclining to lead-
gray and iron-black. B.B. usually
decrepitates and fuses easily to a
black globule, staining the charcoal e
first white, then yellow, and with iig. 249.
soda leaves a grain of copper. In nitric acid a blue solu¬
tion. Chem. com. 41*8 lead, 12*9 copper, 26 antimony,
and 19*3 sulphur. Harz (Neudorf), Braunsdorf, Kap-
nik, Servoz, Alais and Pontgibaud, Redruth and Bee-
ralston.
469. Wolchite.—Cu'4 Sb'" + Pb'2 As'" (?).
Rhombic; in short prisms. Cleavage, brachydiagonal
rather distinct; fracture imperfect conchoidal; brittle. H.
= 3; G. = 5*7...5*8. Blackish lead-gray. B.B. on char¬
coal fuses with effervescence to a lead-gray metallic grain.
Chem. com. 29 90 lead, 17*35 copper, l4o iron, 16'65 anti¬
mony, 6*04 arsenic, and 28*60 sulphur. Wblch, near St
Gertraud, Carinthia.
470. Freieslebenite.—Ag'2 Sb'"+ Pb'3 Sb'".
Monoclinohedric; C = 87°46'; 00P 119° 12', Poo 131°41,
in prisms with curved reed-like faces and strong vertical
strise. Macles intersecting; also massive. Cleavage, ccP
perfect; fracture conchoidal or uneven ; rather brittle. H.
= 2...2*5; G. = 6*2...6*4. Steel-gray to dark lead-gray ;
streak the same. B.B. on charcoal fuses to a grain of silver.
Chem. com. 22*5 silver, 32*4 lead with copper, 26*8 anti¬
mony, and 18*3 sulphur. Rare. Freiberg in Saxony; also
Kapnik and Ratiborschitz (?).
471. Stephanite.—Ag'6 Sb'".
Rhombic; ocP (0) 115° 39', P (P) middle edge 104° 20',
2 Poo {d) middle edge 107° 48',
OP' {s), 00Poo {p), (fig. 250),
thick tabular or short prismatic,
Macles frequent, repeated three
or four times; also massive.
Cleavage {d and p), both imper¬
fect ; fracture conchoidal or un- Pig. 250.
even ; sectile. H. = 2...2*5; G. = 6*2...6*3. Iron-black to
blackish lead-gray, rarely iridescent. B.B. on charcoal (odour
of arsenic) fuses to a dark-gray globule; with soda, a grain of
silver. Chem.com. 70*9 silver, 13*5 antimony, and 15*6 sul¬
phur, but with 0 to 5 iron, or 0*5 to 4 copper, and 0 to 3*3
arsenic. Freiberg, Schneeberg, Johann-Georgenstadt, and
Annaberg; Joachimsthal and Przibram, Schemnitz, the
Miner*.
iogy.
MINERALOGY.
Minera¬
logy.
Harz, Mexico, Peru, Siberia, and Cornwall. Valuable ore of
silver.
472. POLYBASITE.—(At;, Cu')9 (Sb'", As'").
Hexagonal; P 117°. Crystals OP . ocP and OP . P, ta¬
bular, and often very thin ; also massive. Cleavage, basal
imperfect; sectile, and easily frangible. H. = 2...2'5; G.
= 6'0...6'2o. Iron-black. B.B. decrepitates slightly and
fuses very easily. Chem. com. 64 to 72 silver, 3 to 10 cop¬
per, 16 to 17 sulphur, 0-2 to 8 antimony, and 1 to 6 arsenic.
Freiberg, Joachimsthal, Schemnitz, and Guanaxuato. An
ore of silver.
473. Sternbergite.—Ag' + 2 -Fe'" (?).
Rhombic; P middle edge 118°, section (or ooP) 119u 30'.
Crystals usually thin tabular, in macles or in fan-like and
spheroidal groups. Cleavage, basal very perfect; sectile, and
flexible in thin laminae. H.= 1...P5 ; G. = 4-2...4-25. Dark
pinchbeck-brown, often a violet-blue tarnish ; streak black.
B.B. on charcoal fuses to a magnetic globule covered with
silver, with borax, a grain of silver; decomposed by nitro-
chloric acid. Zippe found 33*2 silver, 36 iron, and 30 sul¬
phur ; or nearly 1 atom silver, 4 iron, and 6 sulphur. Jo¬
achimsthal, Schneeberg and Johann-Georgenstadt.
flexible Sulphuret of Silver is identical; Hungary and
Freiberg.
474. Stannine, Tin Pyrites.—Gu'2 Sn" + (Fe/, Zn )2 Sn".
Tesseral; in cubes very rare, generally massive and gra¬
nular. Cleavage, hexahedral very imperfect; fracture un¬
even or small conchoidal; brittle. H. = 4; G. = 4-3...4-5.
Steel-gray (yellowish from copper pyrites); streak black.
B.B. on charcoal fuses, forming round the assay a white
coating; with soda, a grain of copper ; easily decomposed by
nitric acid, leaving tin peroxide and sulphur; the solution
is blue. Chem. com. 26 to 32 tin, 24 to 30 copper, 5 to 12
iron, 2 to 10 zinc, and 30 sulphur. Huel Rock near St Agnes,
St Michael’s Mount, and Carn Brea, Cornwall; and Zinn-
wald. Bell-metal ore.
475. Wittichite, Cupreous Bismuth,— Gu/3 Bi'".
Rhombic (?) ; massive. Cleavage, vertical distinct; frac¬
ture uneven and fine granular; sectile. H. = 3-5; G. = 5.
Steel-gray, pale lead-gray tarnish ; streak black. B.B. fuses
very readily, frothes, and stains the charcoal yellow; with
soda, a grain of copper. Chem. com. 38‘5 copper, 42 bis¬
muth, and ID'S sulphur. Wittichen in Schwarzwald, Huel
Buller in Cornwall.
476. Bismuthic Silver.
Acicular, capillary, or massive; sectile and soft. Pale
lead-gray, darker tarnish. B.B. fuses easily, and forms a
large deposit on the charcoal. Klaproth found 33 lead, 27
bismuth, 15 silver, 4'3 iron, 0'9 copper, and sulphur.
Schapbach Valley in Baden.
Family V.—Blendes.
Crystallization mostly tesseral; cleavage distinct. H.
= 3,5...4,5; G^S'S...^. Lustre adamantine or resinous;
more or less translucent. Colours and streak red, yellow,
brown, or black. All soluble in acids. B.B. often decre¬
pitate, but fuse with difficulty.
*477. Blende, Zinc-blende.—Zn'.
Tesseral and tetrahedral; 17, - 77 (sometimes as O), ocO
303 22 ' ’
—^— and cc O oo . Macles remarkably
common, united by a face of O (fig.251)
and several times repeated; frequently
massive and granular. Cleavage, ocO
very perfect; very brittle. H. = 3-5
...4 ; G. = 3‘9.. .4‘2. Semitransparent
to opaque ; adamantine and resinous.
Brown or black, also red, yellow, and Fig. 251.
green. B.B. decrepitates often violently, but only fuses on
very thin edges; soluble in con. nitric acid, leaving sul-
vol. xv.
phur. Chem. com, 66-8 zinc and 33'2 sulphur, but gene¬
rally with 1 to 15 iron, 0 to 3 cadmium. Very abundant,
the Harz, Freiberg, Przibram, Schemnitz, Kapnik, North
America, Peru, Cornwall, Derbyshire, Cumberland, Lead-
hills, and Stotfield, near Elgin. Used as an ore of zinc,
but with little success.
478. Voltzine.—4Zn,+ Zn.
Hemispherical, curved-lamellar incrustations. Fracture
conchoidal. H. = 4’5; G. = 3’66. Brick-red to yellow or
brown. Opaque or semitranslucent; vitreo-resinous; pearly.
B.B. like zinc-blende ; soluble in h. acid. Chem. com. 82-8
sulphuret and 17’2 oxide of zinc. Pontgibaud in Auvergne,
and Joachimsthal.
479. Alabandine.—Mn'.
Tesseral; O andocOoo; usually massive and granular.
Cleavage, hexahedral perfect; fracture uneven; rather brittle.
H. = 3-5...4; G.^S'ih.A Opaque; semimetallic. Iron-
black to dark steel-gray, brownish-black tarnish; streak dark
green. B.B. fuses on thin edges to a brown slag; soluble
in h. acid. Chem. com. 63’6 manganese and 36'4 sulphur.
Nagyag and Kapnik, Mexico and Brazil.
480. Hauerite.—Mn".
Tesseral; O, ooOco, and gcO. Crystals single or in sphe¬
rical groups. Cleavage, hexahedral perfect. H. = 4; G.
= 3’463. Semitranslucent on very thin edges; metallic-
adamantine. Reddish-brown to brownish-black; streak
brownish-red. In the closed tube yields sulphur, and leaves
a green mass, which B.B. becomes brown on the surface,
and is soluble in h. acid. Chem. com. 46'28 manganese
and 53’72 sulphur. Kalinka, near Neusohl in Hungary.
481. Greenockite.—Cd'.
Hexagonal and hemimorphic; P 87° 13', 2P 124° 34'.
Crystals 2P.0P.ocP.P, orP.2P.aoP; attached singly.
Cleavage, ccP imperfect, basal perfect. H. = 3...3‘5; G.
= 4-8...4,9, Translucent; brilliant resinous, or adamantine.
Honey or orange-yellow, rarely brown; streak yellow. B.B.
decrepitates and becomes carmine-red, but again yellow
when cold; fused with soda forms a reddish-brown coating
on charcoal; soluble in h. acid. Chem. com. 77'6 cadmium,
and 22-4 sulphur. Bishoptown in Renfrewshire.
Family VI.—Ruby-Blendes.
Crystallization rhombohedric, monoclinohedric, or rhom¬
bic. Cleavage rarely distinct. H. = L5...2,5; G^S’S.-.S^.
Lustre adamantine. Colour yellow, red or gray ; streak deep
red, rarely brownish or yellow. Soluble in nitric acid. B.B.
fusible and reduced often with fumes, or sublime.
*482. Pyrargyrite, Red Silver.—-Ag'3 Sb'".
Rhombohedric; R (P) 108° 42', - JR 137° 58', OR, -2R
(?•), R3, coP2 (s), and ocR (/). Crystals prismatic (figs. 252,
253); macles common of various kinds; also massive, den¬
dritic, or investing. Cleavage, R rather perfect; fracture
conchoidal to uneven and splintery ; slightly sectile, some¬
times almost brittle. H. = 2...2-5 ; G. = 5-75...5-85. Trans¬
lucent on the edges to opaque ; crimson-red to blackish lead-
gray; streak cochineal to cherry-red. B.B. on charcoal
Q
121
Minera-
logy-
122
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- fuses easily, gives out sulphurous acid and antimony fumes,
losy' and leaves a grain of silver; soluble in nitric acid, leaving
^ sulphur and antimony protoxide; solution of potash extracts
sulphuret of antimony. Chem. com. 59-8 silver, 22-5 anti¬
mony and 17‘7 sulphur. Andreasberg, Freiberg, Johann-
Georgenstadt, Annaberg, Schneeberg, and Marienberg;
Przibram, Schemnitz and Kremnitz, Markirchen, Kongsberg
and Mexico; Huel Brothers and Huel Duchy in Cornwall.
483. Peoustite.—Ag'3 As'". o (
Rhombohedric, like pyrargyrite, except R, 107° 50. G.
5 5...5 6. Semitransparent to translucent on the edges.
Cochineal to crimson red ; streak aurora-red to cochineal-
red. B.B. arsenical odour, and leaves a brittle metallic
grain difficultly reduced to pure silver; soluble in nitric acid,
with remainder of sulphur and arsenious acid; solution of
potash extracts sulphuret of arsenic. Chem. com. 65 4 silver,
15-] arsenic, and ]9'4 sulphur. In the same localities with
pyrargyrite, and both valuable ores of silver. Red orpi-
ment has a lower specific gravity and yellow streak; cinna¬
bar volatilizes before the blowpipe.
484. Miargyrite.—Ag Sb".
Monoclinohedric; C = 81° 36', P 90° 53, — P 95 59.
Crystals pyramidal, short prismatic, or
tabular (fig. 254); also massive. Cleavage,
indistinct traces; fracture imperfect con-
choidal or uneven; sectile. H. = 2...2'5;
G. = 5’3...4. Opaque; thin splinters dark
blood-red, translucent; metallic adaman¬
tine. Blackish lead-gray to iron-black and steel-gray ; streak
cherry-red. B.B. with soda, a grain of silver; with acids,
like pyrargyrite. Chem. com. 35'9 silver, 42’9 antimony,
and 2P2 sulphur. Braunsdorf near Freiberg.
Rittingerite.—Monoclinohedric; C = 88° 26', ooP 126° 18'.
Crystals small tabular. Cleavage basal imperfect; brittle.
H. = 2,5...3. Translucent honey-yellow to red. Colouriron-
black, on OP brown tarnished; streak orange-yellow. B.B.
melts easily, with arsenic fumes, leaving much silver. Jo-
achimsthal. «
485. Xanthokon.—Ag'3 As"'+ Ag'3 As".
Rhombohedric. Crystals very thin hexagonal tables, with
R : OR 110° 30', —2R : OR 100° 35'. Cleavage, R and OR
more or less perfect; rather brittle, very easily frangible.
H. = 2-.-2-5; G. = 5-0...5-2. Translucent and transparent;
adamantine. Orange-yellow or yellowish-brown; streak
slightly darker. In the closed tube fuses very easily, be¬
comes lead-gray. Chem. com. 63'4 silver, 14'7 arsenic,
and 2P9 sulphur. Himmelsfurst Mine at Freiberg.
Fireblende.—In thin tabular crystals (like heulandite), with
one perfect cleavage; sectile and slightly flexible. G. = 4 2
...4-3. Hyacinth-red. B.B. like pyrargyrite. Contains sul¬
phur, antimony, and silver. Freiberg and Andreasberg.
486. Kermes.—Sb'"2 Sb.
Monoclinohedric (?). Crystals acicular, capillary, and di¬
verging ; also radiating fibrous. Cleavage, very perfect along
the axis of the crystals, less perfect at right angles; sectile.
H. = 1...1'5; G. = 4-5...4-6. Semitranslucent; adaman¬
tine. Cherry-red; streak similar. B.B. acts like stibine;
soluble in h. acid; in solution of potash the powder be¬
comes yellow and dissolves. Chem. com. /5'3 antimony,
19-8 sulphur, and 4-9 oxygen ; or 70 sulphuret and 30
protoxide of antimony. Braunsdorf near Freiberg, Przi¬
bram, and Allemont.
Zundererz, or Tinder-ore, soft, flexible, tinder-like masses,
dirty cherry-red or blackish-red, is a mixture; Andreas¬
berg.
487. Cinnabar.—Hg.
Rhombohedric; R 71° 48,' OR JR, JR, oo R. Crystals
rhombohedric or thick tabular; also disseminated and
granular, compact, or earthy. Cleavage, coR rather perfect;
fracture uneven and splintery; sectile. H. = 2...2,5;
G. = 8...8*2. Semitransparent or opaque; adamantine.
Eig. 254.
Fig. 255.
Cochineal-red, with lead-gray and scarlet-red tarnish;
streak scarlet-red. In the open tube sublimes, partly as
cinnabar, partly as metallic mercury; perfectly soluble in
nitrocbloric acid, but not in hydrochloric acid, nitric acid,
or solution of potash. Chem. com. 86’2 mercury and 13‘8
sulphur. Idria in Carniola, Almaden and Almadenejos
in Spain, Wolfstein and Moschellandsberg in Rhenish
Bavaria, Hartenstein in Saxony, Szlana and Rosenau in
Pluhgary, Ripa in Tuscany; New Almaden in California,
Mexico, and Peru. Principal ore of mercury ; also used as
a pigment. Fibrous and Hepatic Cinnabar are mixtures.
488. Realgar, Red Orpiment.—As."
Monoclinohedric; C = 66° 5' {P\ oo P {M) 74° 26’, (P Q°)
(») 132° 2', oo P2 (V) 113° 16'. Crystals prismatic (fig.
255); also massive and investing. Cleav¬
age, basal and clinodiagonal rather per¬
fect, prismatic imperfect; fracture small
conchoidal to uneven or splintery; sectile.
H.= T5...2; G. = 3-4...3'6. Semitrans¬
parent or opaque ; resinous. Aurora-red;
streak orange-yellow. In the closed tube
sublimes as a dark-yellow or red mass; B.B. on charcoal
fuses and burns with a yellowish-white flame; acids act
on it with difficulty. Chem. com. 70 arsenic and 30
sulphur. Kapnik, Nagyag, Felsobanya, and Tajowa,
Andreasberg, St Gotthardt, Vesuvius and the Solfatara.
489. Dimorphine—As'".
Rhombic, in two types; more common short prismatic,
with ocP 96° 34' and Poo 103° 50'; the other more pyramidal.
Very fragile. H. = 1*5 ; G. = 3'5S. Splendent adaman¬
tine ; translucent or transparent. Orange-yellow; streak
similar. Chem. com. 75-5 arsenic, and 24'5 sulphur.
Solfatara, Naples.
490. Orpiment.—As'".
Rhombic; ooP 117° 49', Poo 83° 37'. Crystals short
prismatic (fig. 256), disseminated, columnar or foliated.
Cleavage, brachydiagonal very perfect, striated
vertically; sectile, and in thin laminae flexible.
H. = P5...2 ; Semi-transparent
or opaque; resinous or pearly. Citron-yellow
to orange-yellow. In the closed tube yields
a dark-yellow or red sublimate; fused with soda
it yields metallic arsenic ; soluble in nitrochloric Fiz- 256-
acid, in potash, and in ammonia. Chem. com. 61 arsenic
and 39 sulphur. Tajowa near Neusohl, Servia, Wallachia,
Natolia, Felsobanya, Kapnik, and Andreasberg; the Solfa¬
tara, and Zimapan in Mexico.
Order VII.—THE INFLAMMABLES.
Named from the substances all burning before the blow¬
pipe, whereas the former minerals only fused or gave out
fumes, and left a residue. Few of them are crystallized,
and many rather organic remains or rocks than simple
minerals. In chemical composition they are either simple
elements, as sulphur and carbon, or mostly formed not on
the plan of the mineral kingdom, but of organic nature.
Except the diamond, their hardness is low, or less than 2‘5;
and their specific gravity also 2’2, or under.
Family I.—Sulphur.
*491. Sulphur.—S. n r . _
Rhombic ; P polar edges 106° 38', 84 58, middle edge
143° 17'; »P 101° 58', OP, JP, P*>. Crystals pyra¬
midal (fig. 257), single or in druses ; also reniform,
spherical, stalactitic, disseminated, incrusting, or pulveru¬
lent. Cleavage, basal and coP imperfect; fracture con¬
choidal to uneven or splintery; rather brittle. ^ H.= 1'5
Minera*
Lgy.
MINERALOGY.
123
iinera- ...2'5 ; G.~ Transparent or translucent on
)gy. the edges ; resinous or adamantine. Sulphur-
yellow, passing into brown and red, or into
yellowish-gray and white. In the closed tube
it sublimes; at 227° Fahr. fuses, and at 518°
takes fire and burns with a blue flame, forming
sulphurous acid. Chem. com. sulphur, occasion¬
ally more or less mixed with other substances.
Sicily, at Girgenti, Cataldo,&c.; the Lipari Islands, the Solfa-
tara near Naples, Poland, Iceland, Java, Sandwich Islands,
Peru, and Chili; from springs at Aix-la-Chapelle, and in
Scotland.
492. Selen-SULPHUR.
Orange-yellow or yellowish-brown. Fuses readily in the
closed tube, and volatilizes. B.B. on charcoal burns, and
gives out fumes of selenic and sulphurous acids. Consists of
sulphur and selenium. Vulcano, Lipari, and Kilauea in
Hawai.
Native Selenium.—Brownish-black or lead-gray. Thin
splinters red translucent. H. = 2; G. = 4,3. Culebras in
Mexico.
Pig. 257.
Family II.—Diamond.
/ 493. Diamond.— Cj , ,0,0
Tesseral and tetrahedral-semitesseral; -- and — —, mostly
A A
conjoined, ooO, ccOra, mO, mOn\ or the octahedron,
rhombic dodecahedron, and hexakisoctahedron (figs. 2, 3,
7, and 5). The crystals have often curved faces, and oc¬
cur loose or imbedded singly. Macles common, united
by a plane of O, like fig. 251. Cleavage, octahedral
perfect; fracture conchoidal; brittle. H.= 10; G. = 3’5
...3*6. Transparent or translucent when dark-coloured.
Refracts light strongly ; brilliant adamantine. Colourless,
but often white, gray, or brown tints, also green, yellow,
red, blue, and rarely black. Becomes positive electric by
friction; burns in oxygen gas, and forms carbonic acid.
Chem. com. pure carbon. Hindostan on the east of the
Deccan, between Pennar, Sonar, and the delta of the
Ganges (lat. 14° to 25°); Borneo and Malacca; Brazil in
the district of Serro do Frio in Minas Geraes; also in
Borneo, Malacca, the Ural, Georgia, and North Carolina,
and the Sierra Madre, south-west from Mexico.
Family III.—The Coals.
494. Graphite, Plumbago.—C.
Hexagonal or monoclinohedric; but only thin tabular or
short prismatic crystals of OP. co P. Usually foliated,
radiating, scaly, or compact. Cleavage, basal perfect;
very sectile, flexible in thin laminae. Feels greasy. H.=
O'o...!; G. = r9...2‘2. Opaque; metallic. Iron-black.
Leaves a mark on paper. Is a perfect conductor of
electricity. B.B. burns with much difficulty ; and heated
with nitre in a platina spoon only partially detonates.
Chem. com. carbon, but mixed with iron, lime, alumina or
other matter. Pargas, Arendal, Passau, Spain, Ticon-
deroga in New York, Ceylon, Borrowdale in Cumber¬
land, Glenstrathfarrer in Inverness-shire, Kirkcudbright, and
Craigman in Ayrshire. At the latter it is evidently com¬
mon coal altered by contact with trap. Is used for making
pencils, and to form crucibles.
*495. Anthracite.—Glance-Coal.
Massive and disseminated; rarely columnar, or fibrous
and pulverulent. Fracture conchoidal; brittle. H. = 2...
2-5; G. = P4...P7. Opaque; brilliant metallic. Iron-
black or grayish-black; streak unaltered. Perfect con¬
ductor of electricity. Burns difficultly with a very weak or
no flame, and does not cake ; in the closed tube yields a
little moisture, but no empyreumatic oil; detonates with
nitre. Chem. com. carbon above 90 per cent., with 1 to 3
oxygen, 1 to 4 hydrogen, and 0 to 3 nitrogen; and ashes Minera-
chiefly of silica, alumina, lime, and peroxide of iron. Very
common in some parts of the English, Scottish, and Irish v'—“v-"-
coal-fields; in the Alps, as the Valais, Piedmont, Savoy,
and Dauphine; in the Pyrenees, and in various parts of
France; in Silesia, Bohemia, Saxony, and the Harz; and
in the United States, as in Rhode Island, Massachusetts,
and above all in Pennsylvania. Used for manufacturing
metals, and for economic and household purposes.
496. Common Coal, Black, Stone, Bituminous Coal.
Compact, slaty, or confusedly fibrous; often dividing
into columnar, cubical, or rhomboidal fragments. Fracture
conchoidal, uneven, or fibrous; rather brittle or sectile.
H. = 2...2-5 ; G.= P2...P5. Vitreous, resinous, or silky in
the fibrous variety. Blackish-brown, pitch-black, or velvet-
black. Burns easily, emitting flame and smoke, with a
bituminous odour; heated in the closed tube with
powdered sulphur gives out sulphuretted hydrogen.
Chem. com. 74 to 90 carbon, with 0'6 to 8 or 15 oxygen,
3 to 6 hydrogen, O’l to 2 nitrogen, O'l to 3 sulphur, and
1 to 11 earthy matters or ash, in 100 parts.
Slate-coal has a thick slaty structure, and an uneven
fracture in the cross direction. Cannel coal, a resinous,
glimmering lustre, and a large or flat conchoidal fracture;
breaks into irregular cubical fragments, but more solid, and
takes a higher polish than the other varieties. It burns with
a bright flame, and yields much gas. Coarse ox foliated
coal, massive or lamellar, breaks into cubical or irregular
angular masses, with a more splendent lustre, and less com¬
pact texture than the former, and more easily frangible.
Earthy coal, loose powdery masses, often brown or dirty in
colour, and apparently semi-decomposed. Abundant in
many lands, as in England, South Wales, Scotland, and
Ireland ; in Belgium and France, in Germany and Southern
Russia. The United States possess immense fields in the
valley of the Mississippi. Also found in China, Japan, Hin¬
dostan, Australia, Borneo, and several of the Indian Islands.
Its uses are too well known to need notice.
497. Brown Coal.—Lignite, Jet.
Distinctly vegetable in origin, the external form, and
very often the internal woody structure, being preserved.
The texture is compact, woody, or earthy. Fracture con¬
choidal, woody, or uneven ; soft and often friable. G. =
05... 1*5. Lustre sometimes resinous, mostly glimmering
or dull. Brown, black, or rarely gray. Burns easily with an
unpleasant odour; colours solution of potash deep-brown ;
heated with sulphur evolves much sulphuretted hydrogen.
Chem. com. 47 to 73 carbon, 2-5 to 7'5 hydrogen, 8 to 33
oxygen (with nitrogen), and 1 to 15 ashes. Jet is pitch-
black, with conchoidal fracture and resinous lustre. Brown
coal occurs at Bovey Tracy in Devonshire, in Yorkshire,
Antrim, Brora, Mull,and Skye; Germany, Hungary, France,
Italy, and Greece. The Surturhrand of Iceland seems a
variety. Used as fuel, but much inferior to common coal.
*498. Peat.
A mass of more or less decomposed vegetable matter of
a brown or black colour, closely connected with coal, and,
like it, rather a rock than a simple mineral. Contains 50 to
60 carbon, 5 to 6 hydrogen, 30 to 39 oxygen, 0 to 2
nitrogen, and 1 to 14 ashes in 100 parts. Common every¬
where in the colder parts of the earth.
Family IV.—The Mineral Resins.
*499. Bitumen, Naphtha.—CH2.
Liquid. Colourless, yellow, or brown; transparent or
translucent. G. = 0-7...(>9. Volatilzes in the atmosphere
with an aromatic bituminous odour. Chem. com. 84 to 88
carbon, and 12 to 16 hydrogen.
Naphtha. — Very fluid, transparent, and light-yellow.
Tegern Lake in Bavaria, Amiano near Parma, Salies in
124
Minera-
logy.
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
the Pyrenees, Rangun in Hindostan, Baku on the Caspian
Sea, China, Persia, and North America. Used for burn¬
ing and preparing varnishes. Petroleum.—Darker yellow
or blackish-brown; less fluid or volatile. Ormskirk in
Lancashire, at Coalbrookdale, Pitchford, and Madeley in
Shropshire; St Catherine’s Well, south of Edinburgh; Isle
of Pomona; and in many other parts of Europe and the
United States.
*500. Elaterite, Elastic Bitumen, 1 q jp.
Mineral Caoutchouc. j ’
Compact; reniform or fungoid; elastic and flexible like
caoutchouc ; very soft. G. = 0‘8...1'23. Resinous. Black¬
ish, reddish, or yellowish brown. Strong bituminous odour.
Chem. com. 84 to 86 carbon, 12 to 14 hydrogen, and a
little oxygen. Derbyshire, Montrelais near Nantes, and
Woodbury in Connecticut.
501. Asphaetum.
Compact and disseminated. Fracture conchoidal, some¬
times vesicular ; sectile. H. = 2; G.= l*l...l*2. Opaque,
resinous, and pitch-black ; strong bituminous odour, espe¬
cially when rubbed. Takes fire easily, and burns with a
bright flame and thick smoke ; soluble in ether, except
a small remainder, which is dissolved in oil of turpentine.
Chem. com. 76 to 88 carbon, 2 to 10 oxygen, 6 to 10
hydrogen, and 1 to 3 nitrogen. Limmer near Hanover,
Seyssel on the Rhone; Val Travers in Neufchatel, Lob-
sann in Alsace, in the Harz ; Cornwall, Haughmond Hill,
Shropshire ; East Lothian, Burntisland in Fifeshire ; Dead
Sea, Persia, and Trinidad.
502. Piauzite.
Massive ; imperfect conchoidal; sectile. H. = L5 ; G.=
1*22. Dimly translucent on very thin edges; resinous.
Blackish-brown ; streak yellowish-brown. Fuses at 600°
Fahr., and burns with an aromatic odour, lively flame,
and dense smoke; soluble in ether and caustic potash.
Piauze in Carniola.
503. Ixolyte.
Massive; conchoidal fracture. H.= 1 ; G.= 1*008. Re¬
sinous. Hyacinth-red ; streak ochre-yellow. Rubbed be¬
tween the fingers it emits an aromatic odour, and becomes
soft at 119°, but is still viscid at 212°. Oberhart near
Gloggnitz in Austria.
*504. Amber, Succinite.—C10 Hs O.
Round irregular lumps, grains, or drops. Fracture per¬
fect conchoidal; slightly brittle. H. = 2...2*5; G.= l...
1*1. Transparent to translucent or almost opaque; resi¬
nous. Honey-yellow, but from hyacinth-red or brown to
yellowish-white ; also streaked or spotted. When rubbed
emits an agreeable odour, and becomes negatively electric.
It melts at 550°, emitting water, an empyreumatic oil, and
succinic acid; it burns with a bright flame and pleasant
odour, leaving a carbonaceous remainder; only a small
part is soluble in alcohol. Chem. com. 79 carbon, 10'5
hydrogen, and 10*5 oxygen. Derived from an extinct
coniferous tree, and found in the diluvial formations oi many
countries, especially Northern Germany and shores of the
Baltic, Sicily, Spain, and Northern Italy; rarely in Eng¬
land, as on the shores of Norfolk, Suffolk, and Essex, and at
Kensington near London. Used for ornamental purposes,
and for preparing succinic acid and varnishes.
505. Retinite, Retinasphalt.
Roundish or irregular lumps. Fracture uneven or con¬
choidal; very easily frangible. H.= L5...2; G. = l’05...1To.
Translucent or opaque ; resinous or glistening. Yellow
or brown. Melts at a low heat, and burns with an aromatic
or bituminous odour. Chem. com. in general carbon, hy¬
drogen, and oxygen, in very uncertain amount. Bovey,
Halle, Cape Sable, and Osnabriick.
506. Waechowite.—C12 H9 O.
Rounded pieces, with a conchoidal fracture. H. = 1*5...
2; G.= 1*035... 1*069. Translucent, resinous. Yellow with
brown stripes; and a yellowish-wdiite streak. It fuses at Minera-
482°, and burns readily; soluble partially (7*5 per cent.) in logy-
ether, and in sulphuric acid forms a dark-brown solution.
Chem. com. 80*4 carbon, 10*7 hydrogen, and 8*9 oxygen.
Walchow in Moravia.
507. Cop aline, Fossil Copal,) ^4o jqci q
Highgate Resin. )
Irregular fragments. H.= l*5; G. = 1’046. Translu¬
cent resinous, and light-yellow or yellowish-brown. Burns
easily with a bright-yellow flame and much smoke; alco¬
hol dissolves very little of it, which is precipited by water;
becomes black in sulphuric acid. Chem. com. 85*54 car¬
bon, 11*63 hydrogen, 2*76 oxygen. Highgate near London.
A similar resin from Settling Stones in Northumberland,
found in flat drops or crusts on calc-spar, is influsible at
500° Fahr.; G.= 1*16...1*54: and contains 85*13 carbon,
10*85 hydrogen, and 3*26 ashes; or C2 H3.
508. Berengelite.—C40 H62 O8.
Amorphous ; conchoidal fracture. Dark-brown, inclining
to green ; yellow streak. Resinous ; unpleasant odour,
and bitter taste. Fuses below 212°, and then continues
soft at ordinary temperatures; easily soluble in alcohol.
Chem. com. 72*40 carbon, 9*28 hydrogen, 18*31 oxygen.
St Juan de Berengela in South America.
509. Gdyaquillite.—C20 H26 O3.
Amorphous; yielding easily to the knife, and very friable.
G. = 1*092. Pale yellow. Slightly resinous. Fluid at 212°,
viscid when cold; slightly soluble in water and laigely
in alcohol, forming a yellow fluid with a bitter taste. Chem.
com. 77*01 carbon, 8*18 hydrogen, and 14*80 oxygen.
Guyaquil in South America.
JBogbutter, from the Irish peat mosses, is similar; melts
at 124°, easily soluble in alcohol, and contains /3*/0 car¬
bon, 12*50 hydrogen, and 13*72 oxygen.
510. Hartine.—C20 H34 O2.
Spermaceti-like masses. G.= 1T15. White; without
taste or smell. Becomes soft at 392°, and at 410° melts
to a clear yellow fluid; burns with a bright flame ; it is
not soluble in water, very little in ether, and less in alcohol.
Chem. com. 78*26 carbon, 10*92 hydrogen, 10*82 oxygen.
Oberhart in Austria.
511. Middletonite.—C20 H20 + HO.
Round masses or thin layers. Brittle, but easily cut
with a knife. G. = 1*6. Resinous. Reddish-brown by re¬
flected, deep-red by transmitted light; streaked, light-
brown. It becomes black on exposure to the atmosphere.
Chem. com. 86*44 carbon, 8*01 hydrogen, 5*56 oxygen.
In the main coal seam at Middleton near Leeds, and at
New'castle.
512. Ozokerite.—CH.
Amorphous, sometimes fibrous. Very soft, pliable, and
easily fashioned with the fingers. G. = 0*94...0*97. Glim¬
mering or glistening; semitranslucent. Yellowish-brown or
hyacinth-red by transmitted, dark leek-green by^i effected
light. Pleasant aromatic odour; fuses easily (at 144 , Schrot¬
ter ; at 183°, Malagutti) to a clear oily fluid, again becom¬
ing solid when cold, and at higher temperatures burns with
a clear flame, seldom leaving any ashes; readily soluble
in oil of turpentine, with great difficulty in alcohol or ether.
Chem. com. 85*7 carbon, and 14*3 hydrogen. Slanik and
Zietriska in Moldavia, and near Gaming in Austiia. Also
Urpeth coal mine near Newcastle-on-1 yne.
513. Hatchetine, Mineral Tallow.
Flaky, like spermaceti; or sub-granular, like bees wax ,
soft and flexible. G. = 0*6. Iranslucent; weak pearly.
Yellowish-white, wax-yellow, or greenish yellow. Greasy;
inodorous; readily soluble in ether. Chem. com. 85 J
carbon, and 14*62 hydrogen, or similar to ozokerite. Gla¬
morganshire (fusible at 115°); Loch Fyne near Inverary.
Also Merthyr-Tydvil (melts at 170°), and Sooldorl in
Schaumburg.
linera-
ogy-
MINERALOGY.
125
514. Fichtelite.—C4 Hfl.
Crystalline lamellae, which swim in water, but sink in
alcohol. White and pearly. Fuse at 115°, but again become
crystalline on cooling; very easily soluble in ether, and
precipitated by alcohol. Chem. com. 89’3 carbon and
10-7 hydrogen. In pine trees in a peat moss near Redwitz
in Bavaria.
515. Hartite.—C6 H3.
Resembles spermaceti or white wax; lamellar, and pro¬
bably monoclinohedric. Sectile, but not flexible. H. = 1;
G. = l,046. Translucent; dull resinous. White. Melts at
165°, and burns with much smoke ; very soluble in ether,
much less so in alcohol. Chem. com. 87’50 carbon, and
12T0 hydrogen. Oberhart in Austria.
516. Konlite.—C2 H.
Crystalline foliae and grains. Soft. G. = 0’88. Trans¬
lucent; resinous. White, without smell. Fuses at 120° to
137° Fahr ; soluble in nitric acid, and precipitated by
water in a white crystalline mass. Chem. com.92‘31 car¬
bon and 7'69 hydrogen. Uznach near St Gallen, Redwitz
in Bavaria.
517. SCHEERERITE.—CH2.
Monoclinohedric; tabular or acicular. Soft and rather
brittle. G. = TO... T2. Translucent; resinous or adaman¬
tine. White, inclining to yellow or green. Feels greasy,
has no taste, and when cold no smell, but when heated a
weak aromatic odour. Insoluble in water; but readily in
alcohol, ether, nitric, and sulphuric acid. Chem. com. 75
carbon, and 25 hydrogen. Uznach. Branchite, white,
translucent, feels greasy, and fuses at 167°, is similar;
Monte Vaso in Tuscany,
518. Idrialite.—(Idrialine = C42 H14 O).
Massive ; fracture uneven or slaty. Sectile. H.= T0...
T5 ; G.= T4...T6 (T7...3*2). Opaque ; resinous. Gray¬
ish or brownish-black; streaked blackish-brown, inclining
to red. Feels greasy. Burns with a thick smoky flame,
giving out sulphurous acid, and leaving some reddish-brown
ashes. Chem. com. idrialine ( = 9T83 carbon, 5-30 hydro¬
gen, and 2-87 oxygen) and cinnabar, with a little silica,
alumina, pyrite, and lime. The idrialine may be extracted
by warm olive oil or oil of turpentine, as a pearly shining
mass. Idria.
Family V.—Inflammable Salts.
519. Mellite, Honey Stone.—^A4 M3 + 18H.
Tetragonal; P 93° 6'. Crystals, P alone, or with OP,
Poo, and ocPoo, usually single ; also massive and granular.
Cleavage, P very imperfect; fracture conchoidal; rather
brittle. H. = 2,0...2,5; G.= T5...T7. Transparent to
translucent; distinct double refraction ; resinous or vitre¬
ous. Honey-yellow to wax-yellow or reddish; streak
whitish. In the closed tube it yields wrater. B.B. car¬
bonizes without any sensible odour, at length burns white,
and acts like pure alumina; easily soluble in nitric acid
or solution of potash. Chem. com. 40'53 mellic acid ( M =
C4 O3), 14-32 alumina, and 45T5 water. Artern in Thur¬
ingia, Lauschitz in Bohemia, and Walchow in Moravia.
520. Oxalite, Humboldtine.—2FeL3-f3H.
Capillary crystals ; also botryoidal or in plates, and fine
granular, fibrous, or compact. Fracture uneven or earthy j
slightly sectile. H. = 2; G. = 2*15...2*25. Opaque; weak
resinous or dull. Ochre or straw yellow. B.B. on char¬
coal becomes first black then red; easily soluble in acids.
Chem. com. 42‘7 oxalic acid, 4T4 iron protoxide, and 15’9
water. Kolosoruk near Bilin, Duisburg, and Gross Alme-
rode in Hessia.
521. Whewellite.—Ca G + 7 II-
Monoclinohedric ; C = 72° 4f, ocP 100° 36'. Cleavage,
basal perfect; very brittle. H. = 2'5...2'8 ; G. = T833.
Transparent to opaque; vitreous. Colourless. Chem. com.
49’31 oxalic acid, SS'Sb lime, 12-33 water. Hungary (?).
522. Conistonite.—Ca L + 7 H.
Rhombic; ocP 97° 5'. Slightly sectile. H. = 2;G. =
2,052. Transparent to translucent; vitreous. Colourless.
Soluble without effervescence in n. acid. Chem. com. 28T
oxalic acid, 2T8 lime, and 50T water. Coniston in Cum¬
berland.
Though properly not a simple mineral, the characters of
water in its two conditions may be noted here.
*523. Water.—HO.
Fluid and amorphous. G. = TOGO when pure, but sea¬
water T027 and T0285 at 62° Fahr. When pure it is
without taste or smell, and colourless in small quantities,
but in larger masses green or blue. Chem. com. hydrogen-
oxide, with 88*9 oxygen and 1T1 hydrogen. Attains its
greatest density at 39°T, boils at 212°, and at 32° Fahr.
freezes and changes to
Ice.
Rhombohedric; R 117° 23' (120°); usually six-sided
tables of OR . ooll; also acicular crystals, macled in deli¬
cate groups or stars with six rays. Cleavage, probably
basal. H. = T5 ; G. = 0'9268 (Ossann), 0'918 (Brunner
at 32° Fahr., and quite pure). Transparent; vitreous.
Colourless, but in large masses greenish or bluish. Refracts
double.
The wrater found on the earth is never pure, but contains
more or less of various substances,—atmospheric air, car¬
bonic acid, nitrogen gas; silica, alumina, and salts (car¬
bonates, sulphates, nitrates, phosphates) of lime, mag¬
nesia, soda, potash, protoxides of iron and manganese;
or chlorides, and fluorides of the metallic bases; and
in the sea and some saline springs also iodine and bro¬
mine. (j. N—L.)
ALPHABETICAL INDEX OF MINERAL SPECIES.
Acmite  110
Aeiculite  463
Aeschynite  357
Agalmatolite  133
Alabandine  479
Albite  4
Allanite  178
Allophane  125
Alluaudite  270
Alstonite  210
Altaite   445
Alum  225
Aluminite  219
Alunite  218
Alunogene  227
Amalgam  398
Amber  504
Amblygonite  34
Analcime  43
Anatase  353
Anauxite  86
Andalusite  149
Andesin  5
Anglesite  304
Anhydrite  215
Anorthite  8
Anthosiderite  172
Anthracite  495
Antigorite  90
Antimony   399
Ochre  374
Silver  396
Apatite  199
Apophyllite  51
Arcanite  250
Argentite  438
Arragonite   191
Arsenic   401
Arsenic-antimony 400
Arseniosiderite.... 277
Arsenite  389
Asphaltum...,  501
Atacamite  296
Augite  101
Aurichalcite  283
Automolite   157
Axinite   145
Azurite  281, 29
Babingtonite  Ill
Barytes   207
Baryto-Calcite .... 211
Berengelite  508
Berthierite  461
Berzeline  443
Berzeliite  222
Bieberite  236
Biotite  70
Bismuth  405
Bismuthine  462
Bismuthite  325
Bismuth-ochre .... 373
Bitumen  499
Bleinierite  316
Blende 477
Bole  127
Boltonite  103
Boracite  203
Borax   242
Bornite   428
Botryogene  230
Boulangerite  453
Bournonite   468
Braunite  365
Breithauptite  421
Breunnerite   188
Brewsterite   49
Brochantite   298
Bromite  330
Bronzite  105
Brookite  351
Brucite  99,169
Calaite   30
Calamine   259
Caledonite ......... 308
Calomel   327
Cancrinite  23
Cassiterite  342
Celestine  212
Cerite  180
Cervantite  388
Cerussite  303
Chabasite  55
Chalcolite   300
Chalcophyllite .. . 284
Chalcopyrite  427
Chalcotrichite .... 383
Childrenite  201
Chiolite    197
Chloanthite  424
Chlorite 75, 76
Chloritoid   73
Chlorophaeite   174
Chondrodite  169
Chonikrite  93
Chromite  335
Chrome-ochre  380
Chrysoberyl   159
Chrysocolla  280
Chrysolite   168
Cinnabar   487
Clausthalite   433
Clay  118
Clinochlore  77
Clintonite   83
Coal, Brown  497
Common  496
Cobalt, earthy 369, 371
Cobaltine   413
Minera-
logy-
126
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Minera- Cobalt-ochre   371
losrv. Coccinite  329
Columbite   344
v '■*- Conistonite  522
Copaline  507
Copiapite   231
Copper, Native... 406
Coquimbite  232
Cordierite  166
Corundum  158
Cotunnite   313
Couzeranite   7
Crednerite  367
Crocoisite  322
Cronstedtite  81
Cryolite   196
Cryptolite  268
Cuprite   382
Cuproplumbite ... 432
Cyanite   147
Cyanose  234
Eamourite  68
Datholite 206
Dechenite   318
Delvauxine  272
Dermatin   139
Diadochite  271
Diallage  106
Diallogite  255
Diamond  493
Diaspore  151
Dimorphine   489
Dioptase  279
Dipyr   21
Dolomite  187
Domeykite  429
Dreelite   208
Dufrenite   263
Dufrenoysite  458
Edingtonite   58
Ehlite  295
Elaterite  500
Embolite  331
Emerald  164
Enargite  457
Epidote   144
Epistilbite  50
Epsomite  253
Erinite  286
Erythrine    301
Euchroite  289
Euclase  163
Eudialite  42
Eukairite   442
Eulytine  176
Euxenite  348
Pahlore   466
Faujasite  57
Eergusonite  349
Fichtelite   514
Fischerite  31
Fluocerine  195
Fluocerite  194
Fluor-spar  192
Franklinite  336
Freieslebenite  470
Fuller’s earth  124
Gadolinite  177
Galena  431
Galmei  260
Garnet  140
Gaylussite  241
Gehlenite   24
Geokronite  454
Gersdorffite  419
Gismondine  63
Glauberite  217
Glaucophane  146
Glottalite  66
Gmelinite  56
Gold  394
Goslarite  235
Gotheite  340
Graphite  494
Green earth  121
Greenockite  481
Griinauite   418
Guyaquillite  509
Gymnite  95
Gypsum 214
Haematite   337
Haidingerite  221
Halloysite   123
Harmotome   59
Hartine   510
Hartite  515
Hatchetine  513
Hauerite  480
Hausmannite  364
Hauyne   38
Helvine   142
Herderite  200
Herschelite  61
Hessite   446
Heulandite  48
Hisingerite  171
Hopeite   198
Hornblende  100
Humboldtilite .... 25
Hureaulite  269
Hydrargillite  152
Hydroboracite .... 205
Hydroborocalcite 204
Ilydromagnesite.. 190
Hydrophite  91
Hypersthene  104
Idoerase  143
Idrialite  518
Ilmenite  341
Inverarite   426
lodite   328
Iridium    393
Irite  338
Iron  407
Isopyre   115
Ittnerite  40
Ixolyte  503
Jamesonite  450
Johannite  237
Kammererite  98
Kaolin  117
Karpholite  27
Keilhauite  184
Kastor  13
Kerate  326
Kermes  486
Kerolite  132
Kirwanite   28
Klinoelase  290
Kobellite  464
Kollyrite  129
Konlite    516
Krokydolite  H3
Kupferindig  441
Labradorite   6
Lanarkite   307
Eanthanite  257
Lapis-lazuli   41
Latrobite  10
Laumonite  64
Lazulite  29
Lead   403
Leadhillite  305
Lead-oehre  379
Leonhardite  65
Lepidomelane  72
Leucite   35
Leucophane   162
Leucopyrite   411
Levyne   54
Libethenite  293
Lievrite   170
Limonite  339
Linarite  309
Linneite  416
Liroconite   287
Lithomarge   130
Loweite   252
Magnesite    189
Magnetite   334
Malachite   282
Malakon  155
Manganese, Arse-
niuret of  430
Cupreous  368
Manganite  363
Manganocalcite... 256
Marcasite  409
Margarite   84
Mascagnine   249
Matlockite  312
Meerschaum   137
Meionite  18
Melanochroite .... 323
Melanterite   229
Mellite   519
Mendipite   311
Mengite 358,267
Mercury  397
Miargyrite  484
Mica, Lithia  69
Potash  67
Middletonite  511
Millerite  425
Miloschin   131
Mimetesite  315
Minium, Native... 378
Mirabillite  228
Mispickel   412
Modumite   415
Molybdena-ochre 372
Molybdenite   448
Monazite   267
Nagyagite  444
Natrolite  44
Natron   238
Naumannite   437
Nepheline   22
Nephrite  102
Nickeline 302,422
Nitratine  245
Nitre   244
Nitrocalcite   246
Nitromagnesite... 247
Nontronite  173
Nosean   39
Nuttalite  19
Obsidian  16
Oerstedtite ....155,183
Okenite   52
Oligoclase   9
Olivenite  288
Onkosin  135
Onofrite  435
Opal  2
Orpiment  490
Orthoclase  3
Osimium-iridium 392
Ottrelite  74
Oxalite  520
Ozokerite  512
Palagonite ' 20
Paladium   391
Parisite  258
Peat  498
Pechurane  359
Pectolite  53
Periclase  153
Perowskite  356
Peatlite   11
Pharmacolite  220
Pharmakosiderite 278
Phenakite  165
Phillipsite  60
Phlogopite  71
Pholerite   87
Phosgenite  310
Phosphorochalcite 291
Piauzite  502
Picrosmine  92
Pimelite  138
Pissophane  273
Pitticite  274
Plagionite   452
Platina  390
Plattnerite  360
Plinthite  120
Plombgomme  321
Plumosite  456
Polianite  362
Pollux  14
Polybasite  472
Polyhalite   216
Polykrase  355
Polymignite  354
Porcelain-spar.... 36
Prehnite  26
Proustite  483
Psilomelane  366
Pycnite  161
Pyrallolite  114
Pyrargyrite   482
Pyrite  408
Pyrochlore  182
Pyrolusite   361
Pyromorphite ... 314
Pyrope   141
Pyrophyllite  85
Pyrosclerite   97
Pyrosmalite   80
Pyrrhotine  410
Quartz   1
Rammelsbergite... 423
Realgar  488
Redruthite   440
Retitiite   505
Rhodonite   107
Ripidolite ......75, 76
Rock-salt   224
Rock-soap   119
Romeite  332
Rosellan  88
Rutile  352
Sal-ammoniac ... 248
Salt, Common ... 224
Samarskite  345
Sassoline   243
Scapolite  17
Scheelite  333
Seheeletine  320
Scheererite  517
Schiller-spar  79
Schrotterite   126
Scolezite  45
Scorodite  276
Seleneopperlead... 434
Selen-sulphur  492
Senarmontite  387
Serpentine   89
Siderite  254
Sillimanite  148
Silvanite  465
Silver  395
Bismuthic   476
Skleroklase  459
Smaltine  414
Soapstone  134
Sodalite  37
Sordawalite  112
Spadaite  94
Sphene   350
Spinel  156
Spodumene   12
Stannine  474
Staurolite  150
Steinmannite  455
Stephanite  471
Sternbergite  473
Stibine   449
Stiblite   375
Stilbite   47
Stilpnomelan  82
Stromeyerite  439
Strontianite   213
Struvite  223
Sulphur   491
Susannite   306
Syepoorite  417
Symplesite   275
Tachylite    116
Tagilite   294
Talc  78
Tantalite  346
Tcheffkinite  179
Tectizite  233
Tellurite  381
Tellurium   402
Tennantite  467
Tenorite  384
Teratolite   128
Tetradymite   447
Thenardite  251
Thermonatrite ... 239
Thomsonite   46
Thorite   175
Thrombolite   292
Tiemannite  436
Tin  404
Tirolite   285
Topaz  160
Tourmaline   167
Triphylline   266
Triplite   264
Tritomite  181
Trona  240
Tungsten-ochre... 376
Minera-
iogy.
Ullmannite   420
Uranite   299
Uranium-ochre... 377
Yalentinite  386
Vanadinite  317
Yauquelinite  324
Villarsite  93
Vivianite   262
Volborthite   297
Voltaite   226
Yoltzine  478
Wad   370
Wagnerite  33
Walchowite  506
Water  523
WavelUte   32
Whewellite  521
Willemite   261
Witherite   209
Wittichite   475
Wohlerite   185
Wolchite 469
Wolfram  343
Wolfsbergite  460
Wollastonite  108
Wulfenite   319
Xanthokon  485
Xenotime  202
Yellow-earth  122
Yttrocerite  193
Yttrotantalite ... 347
Zeagonite   62
Zincite   385
Zinckenite  451
Zircon  154
Zwieselite 265
Zygadite  15
127
II. GEOLOGY.
Oology. INTRODUCTION.
' It is not easy to give an accurate and comprehensive
definition of the science of geology; for its nature is so com¬
plex and various, that it is difficult, in a few words, either
to specify its object or to assign its limits.
It is, indeed, not so much one science, as the application
of all the physical sciences to the examination and descrip¬
tion of the structure of the earth, the investigation of the
processes concerned in the production of that structure,
and the history of their action.
We might, perhaps, without impropriety, classify all the
physical sciences under two great heads, namely, Astronomy
and Geology. The one would comprehend all those sci¬
ences which teach us the nature, the constitution, the mo¬
tions, the relative places, and the mutual action of the Astra,
or heavenly bodies ; while the other singled out for study
the one Astrum on which we live, namely, the earth.
Giving this wide meaning to geology, it would include all
the sciences which treat of the constitution and the distri¬
bution of the inorganic matter of our globe, as well as
those which describe to us the living beings that inhabit it.
These sciences are—first, that of chemistry and mineralogy
(which may be called one), which teaches us wffiat are the
elements of which terrestrial matter is composed, and what
are the laws which govern the combinations of those ele¬
ments into all the variety of known substances, solid, fluid,
or gaseous, and the forms, properties, and qualities of those
substances; secondly, the science of natural history or (bio¬
logy, the science of life), including botany and zoology in
their widest acceptation; and thirdly, that of meteorology and
physical geography (which may also be looked on as one),
which describes to us the form and disposition of land and
water, and air, and the distribution of the temperatures and
motions that affect them.
The sciences commonly included under the head of phy¬
sics, those which teach us the nature and laws of magnet¬
ism, electricity, light, heat, force, and motion, would be
common ground to geology and astronomy, serving to bind
together all human knowledge of matter and its laws into
one great whole.
Let it not be supposed that the giving this high place to
geology, arises from a wish unduly to exalt it at the ex¬
pense of the other sciences. Our object is to show that
this large view of geology is not only a true, but a neces¬
sary one, and that if we do not sometimes look at it from
this aspect, we cannot fully describe, nor can the reader
rightly understand and appreciate what geology is.
That it is true, is shown by the very fact of the late ap¬
pearance of geology in the world of science. It was not
till some very considerable advances had been made in all
the physical sciences which relate directly to the earth,
that geology could begin to exist in any worthy form. It
was not till the chemist was able to explain to us the true
nature of the mineral substances of which rocks are com¬
posed ; not till the geographer and the meteorologist had
explored the surface of the earth, and taught us the extent
and the form of land and water, and the powers of winds,
currents, rains, glaciers, earthquakes, and volcanoes; not
till the biologist (naturalist) had classified, and named, and
accurately described the greater part of existing animals
and plants, and explained to us their physiological and
anatomical structure, and the laws of their distribution in
space ;—that the geologist could, with any chance of ar¬
riving at sure and definite results, commence his researches Geology,
into the structure and composition of rocks, and the causes >
that produced them, or utilise his discoveries of the re¬
mains of animals and plants that are inclosed in them. He
could not till then discriminate with certainty between
igneous and aqueous rocks, or between living and ex¬
tinct animals, and was therefore unable to lay down any
one of the foundations on which his own science was to
rest.
Neither would it be a satisfactory classification if we were
to limit the range of geology to any period of the earth’s
history; to assign to it, for instance, all time previous to
the existence of the human race, and, uniting all the natu¬
ral sciences under it up to that time, consider it then to
be brought to an end, or to split up and diverge into the
many independent sciences that concern our contemporary
existences, whether organic or inorganic. For not only
is there no trace of any hard boundary line between the
human and the pre-human period of the earth’s natural his¬
tory ; but there appears in each one of the separate na¬
tural sciences a perfect blending and continuity from the
remotest geological era to the present time. The present
is but a part of the past. The inorganic objects we see
around us are the result ot processes going on in past time,
such as are still at work producing the same results; the
living beings around us are either the direct descendents
of those that lived formerly, or their substitutes and repre¬
sentatives, the living and the extinct forming parts of one
great connected series and chain of species, genera, and
orders, each of which parts would be incomplete without
the other. There is therefore no possibility of making
any division in geology such as we are now considering
it, or assigning any limit to its range from the earliest
period of the earth’s ascertainable history to the present
moment.
Moreover, as there is no natural science to which the
geologist has not to appeal for information upon some
point or other in his researches, so there is none which
can be fully and completely studied without the help of the
geologist, or without including facts or theories which are
commonly and rightly reckoned parts of his peculiar in¬
tellectual domain. If he has to call upon the professors of
each one of the physical sciences in turn, for assistance in
his own investigations, he is sure, sooner or later, to repay
the obligation by the discovery of a number of facts that
enlarge the boundaries of the science he has applied to, or
the statement of many problems whose solution throws light
upon parts of it that have been hitherto imperfect and
obscure.
It is not intended that the reader should infer from what
has been said, that in order to be a geologist, he must be
thoroughly acquainted with the whole circle of the physical
and natural sciences. Such universal acquirement few men
have the power to attain to, and of these still fewer retain
the ability and the will to make original advances in any
particular branch.
No man, however, can be a thorough geologist without
being acquainted, to some extent, with the general results
of the other sciences, and being able both to understand
them when stated in plain untechnical language, and to ap¬
preciate their application to his own researches. Such a
general acquaintance involves neither profound study, nor
requires any great power of mind above the average of hu-
128
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology, man intellect. It is, indeed, what every well-educated man
ought to possess.
The necessary preliminary to the science of geology is
not the possession of great and accurate knowledge of the
whole circle of the natural sciences by any individual per¬
sons, but that this knowledge must exist somewhere. Some
man or men must have this knowledge, and must be able
to combine it, either piecemeal or at once, with the spe¬
cial knowledge of the geologist, before the latter can hope
to solve the many difficult and profound problems that arise
in the course of his researches.
It may be said with perfect truth, that the geologist is
less able than any other student of science to pursue his in¬
vestigations alone, and independently of the assistance of
others; but this is, in fact, only saying in other words that
which we are insisting on, namely, that geology in its
highest and widest sense embraces all the physical and na¬
tural sciences, and is, as it were, made up of them.
If, however, this wide scope be properly given to the
term geology, and it be made to include every physical
science that treats of anything belonging to the earth, what,
it may be asked, is the special business to which the geo¬
logist devotes himself as distinct from the follower of other
sciences? What is that which he does, and the others
do not? Above all, what is that which he teaches to
the rest in return for the knowledge communicated to
him ?
The answer to these questions will show us that there is
another and a more restricted sense of the word geology
than the wide and general one in which we have been using
it. This sense is rather the one formerly attached to the
word geognosy, by which we may understand the know¬
ledge of the nature and position of the different masses of
earthy or mineral matter of which different districts and
countries are composed without reference to the history of
their production. This was the early and simple meaning
of the word geology, when considered as synonymous with
geognosy, namely, the examination and description of the
different varieties of rocks and the minerals they con¬
tained. Geology was looked upon in the light of a geogra¬
phical mineralogy, and even yet it is regarded more or less
under this aspect by many persons. No one, indeed, could
have anticipated, from the mere study of masses of stone
and rock, where, to a partial and local view, all seems con¬
fusion and irregularity, the wonderful order and harmony
which arise from more extended observation and the almost
romantic and seemingly fabulous history which becomes at
length unfolded to our perusal. To discover the records
on which this history is founded, and to understand their
meaning aright, frequent, long-continued, and wide-spread
observation and research in the field, and patient and con¬
scientious registration and comparison of the observed
facts in the closet, are absolutely necessary.
This collection and co-ordination of facts it is which is
the proper and peculiar business of the geognost. I he
ditch, the “ cutting,” the quarry, and the mine ; the cliff,
the gully, the mountain-side, and the river-bank ; these are
his “ subjects”—that which he has to study, to examine, to
dissect, to describe the minutiae of the structures they ex¬
pose, and to classify and arrange the facts they may afford,
depicting their lineaments on maps and sections, and re¬
cording them in w ritten descriptions. The business of the
geognost, then, is to make out, from indications observed
at the surface and in natural and artificial excavations, the
internal structure, the solid geometry, of district after dis¬
trict, and country after country, until the whole earth has
been explored and described. If, while so doing, he notes
all those facts which may enable him or others to under¬
stand and explain how that structure has been produced, he
then becomes a geologist.
It might at first be thought that in order to make out
the solid structure of lands and countries it would only be Geology
necessary to understand the nature of the mineral matters
of which they were composed, and that for this purpose no
knowledge of organic or living beings would be required.
It is, however, one of the most remarkable results of geolo¬
gical science that an acquaintance with organic, and espe¬
cially with animal forms, is at least as necessary for a geo¬
logist as a knowledge of minerals, and that a correct
knowledge of organic remains (portions of fossil plants
and animals) is a more certain and unerring guide in un¬
ravelling the structure of complicated districts than the
most wide and general acquaintance with inorganic sub¬
stances.
The cause of this necessity, puzzling and paradoxical
enough, perhaps, at first sight, may be briefly stated as fol¬
lows. When we come to examine the structure of the
crust of the globe, we find that its several parts have been
produced in succession, that it consists of a regular series
of earthy deposits (all called by geologists rocks) formed
one after another during successive periods of time, each of
great but unknown duration. Now, the mineral substances
produced at any one period of this vast succession of ages
do not appear to have had any essential difference from
those formed at another. We cannot, therefore, with any
certainty, discover the order of time in which the series of
rocks was formed, or the order of superposition which they
consequently preserve with regard to each other, from an
examination of their mineral character or contents only.
The animals and plants, however, living at one period of
the earth’s history were different from those living now, and
different from those living at other periods. There has
been a continuous succession of different races of living
beings on the earth following each other in a certain regular
and ascertainable order, and when that order has been as¬
certained, it is obvious that we can at once assign to its
proper period of production, and therefore to its proper
place in the series of rocks, any portion of earthy matter we
may meet with containing any one, or even any recognisable
fragment of one, of these once living beings.
Just as when we find under the foundation-stone of any
ancient building a parcel of coins of any particular sove¬
reign, we know that the erection of that building took place
during his reign ; so when we find a fragment of a known
“ fossil ” in any piece of rock, we feel sure that that rock
must have been formed during the period when the animal
or plant of which that fossil is a part was living on the
globe, and could not have been formed either before that
species came into existence or after it became extinct.1 In
cases, therefore, where the original order of the rocks has
been confused by the action of disturbing forces, or where
the rocks themselves are only at rare and wide intervals
exposed to view, their order of deposition and consequent
succession of place may be more easily and certainly ascer¬
tained by the examination and determination of their fossil
contents than by any other method.
Practically, it has been found that while a very slight
acquaintance with the most ordinary forms of some ten or
a dozen of the most frequently occurring minerals is all that
a geologist must inevitably learn of mineralogy, the number
of fossil animals and plants, with the forms and the names
of which he will have to make himself familiar, will often
have to be reckoned by hundreds.
This branch of geological knowledge is now known under
the name of Palaeontology.
Perhaps, however, the tendency of late years has been to
neglect to too great an extent the bearing of mineralogical
1 The very rare and exceptional cases in which ancient coins may
have been deposited in the foundation of a recent building, 01 fos¬
sils originally in one rock may have been washed out and buried
in another, need not more than a passing notice.
GEOLOGY.
frology. knowledge on geology. There are many subjects on which
we have still to ask the chemist and mineralogist to en¬
lighten us.
One deficiency which is particularly obvious in Britain is
the want of a good and precise nomenclature of rocks, and
especially of igneous rocks. Since the publications of
Jameson and Maculloch no attempt has been made in
English to supply this deficiency, and to bring up our litho¬
logical nomenclature to the present state of chemical and
mineralogical knowledge. Neither was the want succinctly
supplied in any other language till the appearance of the
Gesteinslehre of Bernhard Cotta. By the assistance of this
and other works we hope, to some slight extent, to supply
the deficiency in this treatise.
DISTRIBUTION OF THE SUBJECT.
In order to reduce the great subject of geology to some¬
thing like order, it appears advisable to divide it into three
heads, for which we may use the terms—1. Geognosy; 2.
Palaeontology ; and, 3. The History of the Formation of the
Series of Stratified Rocks.1
129
By Geognosy may be understood the study of the struc- Geology,
ture of rocks independently of their arrangement into a
chronological series, and it might be divided into two parts
—Lithology and Petrology. By Lithology is meant the
study of the internal structure, the mineralogical composi¬
tion, the texture, and other characters of rocks, such as
could be determined in the closet by the aid of hand speci¬
mens.
Under Petrology we may arrange the larger character¬
istics of rocks, the study of rock-masses, their planes of
division, their forms, their positions and mutual relations,
and other characters that can only be studied in “ the field,”
but without entering on the question of the geological time
of their production.
The subject of Palaeontology will be left for a separate
article, but under the head of “ History of the Formation
of the Series of Stratified Rocks,” a condensed abstract of
that history will be given, in the form of a chronological
classification, mentioning some of the principal and typical
groups of rocks known to have been produced at different
parts of the earth during each of the known great periods
of its existence.
PART I.—GE 0GN0 SY.
Sect. I.—LITHOLOGY.
Chap. I.—ON THE ORIGIN AND CLASSIFICATION
OF ROCKS.
Lithology, or the study of the mineral structure of rocks,
is based on mineralogy. The number of minerals, however,
which enter so essentially into the composition of rocks, as
to be called their constituents, is very few when compared
with the whole number of minerals known to the miner¬
alogist.
The principal rock constituents are the following,—One
simple substance, namely, carbon; one primary compound,
silica or quartz, to which, perhaps, rock-salt may be added ;
and the following secondary compounds, made up of two or
more primary compounds, namely, carbonate of lime (calcite
or calc spar), sulphate of lime (gypsum), and a number of
silicates, which may be grouped under four heads, as the
Felspars, the Hornblendes or Augites, the Micas, and the
Zeolites.
Crystallization.—One of the most obvious properties of
minerals is their crystallization. All crystals are, as it were,
built up of minute crystalline particles of like forms, and
have been produced by the successive external additions of
these minute particles.
It is clear, then, that these particles must have been free
to move and arrange themselves ; in other words, they must
have been in a Jluid, or nearly fluid state. But this fluidity
may have been the result either of solution in water or other
liquids, or of fusion by heat. Whenever, then, we find a
crystal or a mineral particle that has an internal crystalline
structure, we may feel assured that it has once been either
dissolved or melted.
But if this be true as regards individual crystals or crys¬
talline particles, it must be true also of rocks that are made
up of such crystals or such particles.
Now some minerals, as, for instance, carbonate of lime,
are readily soluble in water containing carbonic acid gas, or
in liquid acids ; if, therefore, we meet with a rock composed
of crystalline particles of carbonate of lime, we could easily
believe that it had once been dissolved in water and deposited
from that solution.
As regards the solid acid silica, it is also soluble in water
VOL. XV.
containing carbonic acid gas or some other substances, and
also when in certain chemical states, and in water at a high
temperature. We can therefore easily understand the
deposition of crystals of silica or quartz from aqueous solu¬
tions.
For the production of many silicates, however (as, for in¬
stance, the artificial silicates, porcelain, slag, and glass),
great heat is necessary, and the consequent fusion that takes
place. We know, also, with regard to many, if not most of
the natural silicates, that they are practically insoluble in
water, or in any other fluids which are found abundantly in
nature.
When, then, we meet with rocks composed altogether of
crystals, or crystalline particles, of such silicates, we are
compelled to conclude that those rocks were once in a state
of fusion from heat.
But in each of these cases we should find gradations
from some rocks in which the crystalline particles were
large and distinct, through others where they became less
and less, and were eventually only discernible with a lens,
into some at last which appeared quite compact and homo¬
geneous. The very fact of the gradation, however, would
teach us that what was true of the crystalline rocks might
also be true of compact rocks of the same mineral composi¬
tion, and that therefore crystalline and compact limestone,
quartz crystals and compact flints, might equally have been
dissolved'in water, and crystalline and compact silicates
equally been melted by heat. In the latter case the arti¬
ficial silicate glass again assists us, since we know that the
very same mass which, if cooled under given circumstances,
will form a perfectly homogeneous glass, will, if allowed to
cool more slowly, become opaque and stony, and that ulti¬
mately it will begin to granulate, that is, its constituents
will begin to separate from each other and form distinct
crystals in the mass.
Chemical Rocks.—These considerations at once prepare
us for the belief that many rocks have been chemically
formed, that is, have consolidated from fusion or solution in
obedience to chemical laws. Those that have become con¬
solidated from fusion we may call Igneous rocks; those
that have consolidated from solution Aqueous rocks.
1 Stromatology (from trreufjLu, stratum) might perhaps be used to
express this portion of geology.
R
130 MINERAL OGICAL SCIENCE.
Oeology. Chemically-formed aqueous rocks may be either crystal-
line or compact.
Chemically-formed igneous rocks may be either crystal¬
line, compact, or glassy.
Both kinds may have occasionally concretionary, nodular,
sparry, fibrous, or other textures, according to local modify¬
ing circumstances.
In chemical crystalline rocks, whether aqueous or igne¬
ous, the external forms of some of the crystals are often
very imperfect and sometimes even irregular. Crystals of
one mineral having been first formed, prevented the regular
formation of the crystals of the other minerals; or the whole
mass having crystallized together, the crystals were mutu¬
ally hindered from attaining their full development by the
growth of their neighbours, and all became thus locked and
interlaced together in a congeries of mutually imbedded
and intertangled crystalline particles.1
These crystalline particles, although not perfect crystals,
have yet some faces and angles of perfect crystals, being
evidently formed in the position where we now find them.
They are innate or ingrown crystalline granules.
Loaf-sugar, sugar-candy, crystallized alum, are familiar
examples of this structure, and will serve to explain what
is meant by the innate crystalline structure of marble or of
granite.
Mechanical Hocks.—When, however, we began to study
rocks with a view to examine into their mineral constitution,
we should soon become aware of another essential difference
in them. We should find some rocks the particles of which
were large and distinct, but not at all crystalline; or if
crystalline internally, we should see that their external form
was not regular like a crystal, but exhibited evident marks
of mechanical fracture and attrition, of wearing away, or
rounding.
The particles of the rocks which are now alluded to,
whether internally crystalline or internally compact, are not
mutually imbedded and interlaced, like those of chemical
rocks, and have no such appearance of having groivn where
we now find them, but have evidently been brought together
from different places, and adhere to each other either in
consequence of having been squeezed together by mecha¬
nical pressure, or because they are cemented by some other
substance which serves to bind and unite them to each
other.
In these rocks the particles are generally more or less
rounded and smoothed externally, as if water-worn.
This water-worn form and derivative origin is very obvi¬
ous with respect to some of these rocks, which consist of
pebbles or rounded fragments of other rocks, compacted
together in sand, which is clearly the result of the rounding
process.
In many cases the very rock from which the peebles
were derived can be pointed out, and the distance, there¬
fore, which they have been carried is known. In other
cases the fact of mechanical transport is equally obvious,
though the original site may be unknown.
From those cases where the particles are large and their
form distinctly visible, there is every gradation through
those where they become less and less, till at length they
are not discernible by the lens. We have, then, com¬
pact derivative rocks just as we have compact chemical
ones.
To all such derivative rocks we may with great pro¬
priety assign the term Mechanical, as showing that their
1 The paragenesis of minerals in chemically-formed rocks is a
subject that has not yet received the attention it deserves. The
peculiar association of minerals, and the relative order of their
crystallization, as shown by their mutual indentation and envelop¬
ment, would, if accurately observed and described, doubtless ex¬
plain much that is still obscure as regards the formation of such
rocks, as also that of the contents of mineral veins.
materials have been mechanically transported to their pre- Geology,
sent sites.
The machinery employed in this transportation must
clearly be either currents of water or currents of air, and
the mechanical rocks, therefore, must be all either Aqueous
or Aerial rocks, the latter being very few and unimportant
compared with the former.
Even Vvith regard to igneous rocks, which must in them¬
selves be purely chemical compounds, they still may have
their mechanical accompaniments whether they were formed
in the air or in the water, as we see in the case of the
ashes, cinders, and fragments blown from the mouths of
volcanoes.
Organic Hocks.—There is yet another source from which
some rocks are derived, inasmuch as some are found to be
wholly, or almost wholly, composed of fragments of animals
or plants. These rocks may be termed Organic, in the
sense of organically-derived rocks.
The portions of the plants or animals may be either
little altered from their original condition, or very much
altered and altogether mineralized. In the first case, they
belong perhaps more particularly to the mechanically, in
the latter, to the chemically, formed rocks.
Mixtures.—As, moreover, chemical precipitates are liable
from many causes to be adulterated with mechanical im¬
purities, and mechanical deposits to be impregnated with
chemically acting gases or liquids, and as both mechanical
admixtures and chemical actions and reactions may play a
part in the formation of rocks made of organic materials,
we can easily see how all three classes of rocks may occa¬
sionally be mingled together and pass into each other, and
how many aqueous rocks may have been formed by the
union of two or of the three agencies, and appear to belong
to one or the other class according to the point of view
from which we observe them.
We have now arrived, then, at the conclusion that dif¬
ferent rocks had an aqueous, an igneous, or an organic
origin, solely from the consideration of the nature of the
mineral particles composing them. This conclusion, how¬
ever, by no means depends entirely on such considerations.
The aqueous rocks are known to be so, not only from their
being composed of soluble minerals, or of minerals that have
been water-worn, or parts of plants and animals that have
either lived in water or been carried down into it, but also
because their materials are arranged in regular layers and
beds or strata, obviously the result of their having been
regularly strewed out over the bottom of the seas and lakes
in which they have been deposited. They are hence often
called Sedimentary and Stratified rocks.
The igneous rocks, on the other hand, are many of them
such as we see now to be poured forth from the mouths of
volcanoes in the state of molten lava; others again are
closely allied to these, and there is a regular chain of grada¬
tion from these through their whole series.
Those which least resemble actual lava are found some¬
times to have been injected, in the form of veins and tor¬
tuous strings, into the cracks and crevices of other rocks, or
to have cut through them in great wall-like masses called
“ dykes ” just as lava does. In many of these cases they
have exerted just such an influence on the rock they came
in contact with as great heat would have exercised. The
neighbouring rocks have in fact been burnt, and are some¬
times greatly altered from their original state as seen at a
distance from the igneous rocks.
' Metamorphic Hocks.—This fact, together with the con¬
sideration of the chemical actions and reactions that may be
set up in the mass of rocks by the percolation of various
fluids or gases, and the mechanical or chemical forces that
may be brought into play by the action of pressure and
other agencies, naturally disposes us to ask the question,—
Whether many rocks as we now see them may not be in a
GEOLOGY. 131
eology. very different state from that in which they were originally
formed ? We should ultimately find reason to answer this
question in the affirmative, and introduce another class under
the head of* Metamorphic (or transformed) rocks, to include
those which had, by means of subsequent alteration, acquired
any essentially different characters from their original ones.
Guided by these considerations, we may class all rocks
whatever under the four great heads of Igneous, Aqueous,
Aerial, and Metamorphic.
The Igneous are almost entirely chemically-formed rocks,
but some of their varieties have their mechanical accom¬
paniments.
The Aqueous rocks are either chemical, mechanical, or
organic, those of mechanical origin being far the most
abundant, although not the most important kinds.
The Aerial.axe all mechanical.
The Metamorphic are either those in which the original
structure and composition are still obvious, or those in which
those characters are altogether obscured and replaced by
others produced either by heat, or pressure, or both con¬
joined.
We shall commence with the description of the igneous
rocks, because these may be looked upon as those most
essentially original and self-subsisting, or most independent
of the others.
Before entering on the technical description of rocks,
however, it will be as well, perhaps, to define exactly, what
we mean by the term rock.
A mineral is an inorganic substance that has a definite
chemical composition, and a regular and symmetrical form ;
each of the particles of which it is made up exactly re¬
sembling all the other particles.
A rock is a mass of mineral matter consisting of many
individual particles, either of one species of mineral, or of two
or more species of minerals, or of fragments of such particles.
These particles need not at all resemble each other either
in size, form, or composition; while neither in its minute
particles, nor in the external shape of the mass, need a rock
have any regular symmetry of form.
Geologists are accustomed also to include under the term
rock, all considerable accumulations of mineral matter,
whether they be hard or soft, compacted or incoherent. In
this sense soft clay, loam, or loose sand, may be called “ a
rock.”
Chap. IL—IGNEOUS ROCKS.
The igneous rocks are divided by Sir C. Lyell and others
into two classes—the Volcanic and the Plutonic. Such a
classification is theoretically correct, as separating those
formed at the surface, in air or water, from those formed
deep in the earth ; but practically we often meet with rocks
that it is difficult to place with certainty in either class. It
is, moreovei’, often advisable to avoid terms that involve theo¬
retical or foregone conclusions. For these reasons we should
prefer, with Sir 11. I. Murchison and others, to arrange the
igneous rocks under three heads—Volcanic, Trappean, and
Granitic ; taking the middle term, Trappean, as one of con¬
venience only, to include some that are possibly volcanic,
some that are more essentially granitic, with many inter¬
mediate or undetermined rocks between the two.
Igneous rocks differ among each other—
]st, As being made up of different minerals.
2d, As having different textures.
The three principal varieties of textures are the crystal¬
line (or granular), compact, and glassy.
When a rock is distinctly granular, so that the crystals of
its mineral constituents are clearly discernible, they may be
determined by simple inspection. In the compact and
vitreous textures, however, the determination of the mineral
constituents of a rock can only be arrived at by chemical
analysis. This will enable us to find out of what substances Geology,
the rock consists, and what are their proportions; and the
consideration of these proportions, and the comparison of
them with those forming different minerals, will enable us
to determine with greater or less certainty of what minerals
the rock is composed, or, at all events, what minerals
it would probably form if they were allowed to develop
themselves.
It has been shown from the processes of the manufac¬
ture of glass, that the very same molten mass of silicates
would form transparent glass, opaque slag, or crystalline
stone, according to circumstances. As these different con¬
ditions of texture receive different names, so may the dif¬
ferent textures of natural substances receive different names,
notwithstanding that in some cases they consist of essentially
the same ingredients.
As some slags become porous, or vesicular, and thus pass
into cinders, so some igneous rocks likewise assume a vesicu¬
lar or cindery texture.
When the pores or vesicles become filled with a crys¬
talline nucleus or kernal of any mineral, either by subse¬
quent infiltration, or during the process of consolidation, so
that the dispersed crystalline patches look like almonds
stuck into the mass, the rock is said to be amygdaloidal.
When single detached crystals are disseminated through
a compact base, or large crystals through a fine-grained base,
the rock is said to be porphyritic. The term Porphyry,
then, which has been often used as a designation for a par¬
ticular class of rocks, will here be used chiefly, or solely, to
distinguish this variety of texture, which is one that may
occur in every kind of igneous rock.
From what has been said before, it may be inferred that
all igneous rocks without exception are composed of minerals
which are silicates.
These minerals may be said to belong to two great
classes,—silicates of magnesia and silicates of alumina,—the
species or varieties of each resulting from their various mix¬
tures with silicates of potash, soda, lime, iron, manganese,
&c. The silicates of magnesia, &c., constitute the horn-
blendic, or pyroxenic, or augitic minerals; the silicates of
alumina, See., forming the feldspathic ones. The micaceous
minerals, which we may look on as resulting from mixtures
of the two, or as holding an intermediate place between
them, are in j-eality of minor importance so far as unaltered
rocks are concerned.
The feldspars are the basis of all igneous rocks, those in
which no feldspar of any kind is present being very few and
unimportant, even if they exist at all. The hornblendic
and augitic minerals hold the next most important place;
and the volcanic and trappean rocks may be divided into
two great series depending on the amount of those minerals
which are mingled with the feldspars. Those rocks in which
feldspar alone occurs, or in which it greatly predominates,
may be called the feldspathic rocks; those in which the
hornblendic or augitic minerals play a considerable part may
be called hornblendic or pyroxenic rocks. It must, how¬
ever, be clearly borne in mind that feldspar in some form
or other is always the basis of the latter, while hornblende
and augite in any form are often entirely absent from the
former.
I.—THE VOLCANIC ROCKS.
These are often spoken of under the general term of
Lava. They include, however, some that would be more
commonly described as trap rather than lava, and others,
such as tuff and ashes, which could not strictly be called
by either name.
The volcanic rocks have been classified by Abich under
three heads,—Trachyte, Dolerite, and Trachy-dolerite.
Bunsen, also, in his Memoir on the Volcanic Rocks of Ice¬
land, gives a similar classification, describing his normal
132
MINER A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geoloc
trachytic rocks as one end of the series, and his normal
pyroxenic rocks as the other end, with many intermediate
varieties between the two.
Bunsen gives us the following as the mean value of the compo¬
sition of his two normal rocks:—
Normal Normal
Trachytic. Pyroxenic.
Trachyte. XJolerite.
Silica  76-67 48-47
Alumina and protoxide of iron... 14-23 30 16
Lime  1-44 11-87
Magnesia  0-28 6-89
Potash   3-20 0-65
Soda   418 1-96
100-00
100-00
He then shows that, by analyzing any intermediate variety of
rock, and determining the proportion of any one of these ingre¬
dients (taking the silica as the easiest and best), the proportion of
the other ingredients may be calculated, and thus may be deter¬
mined the quantities of these two normal substances which have
been mixed together to form the rock in question.
In the following descriptions of the volcanic rocks we
are largely indebted to Cotta’s Gesteinslehre, to the Intro¬
duction to Daubeny’s Volcanoes, and to the last chapter of
the third volume of D’Archiac’s Histoire des Progres de la
Geologic.
The Trachytes are so called from the Greek word rpa^vs,
rough, as they commonly have a rough prickly feel to the
finger. They are usually light-coloured, pale gray, or
white, but sometimes dark gray and nearly black. They
are composed principally of feldspar,—the feldspar being
one of the varieties that is rich in silica, such as orthoclase,
adularia, or albite, and not any of those in which the bases
are more abundant, such as labradorite or anorthite.
As Trachyte is made into a class as well as a species of
rock, we may similarly elevate Dolerite.
The Dolerites, so called from the Greek SoXcpo?, decep¬
tive, are usually of a dark green or black colour, weather¬
ing brown externally. They are commonly heavier than
the Trachytes, as containing a less proportion of silica and
a greater one of the heavier bases.
They are composed partly of a feldspathic and partly of
an augitic or pyroxenic mineral, the feldspar being com¬
monly, though not perhaps invariably, one of the more
basic silicates, such as anorthite or labradorite.
The Trachytes, or Feldspathic Lavas.
1. Trachyte, properly so called, has either a fine-grained
or quite compact texture, a harsh feel, and sometimes a cel¬
lular and scorified appearance. It varies in colour from a
pale gray to dark iron gray, and is sometimes reddish, from
the presence of iron. It is composed of a confused aggre¬
gation of crystals of feldspar, often minute and needle-
shaped, but with others larger and more distinct.
This feldspar is said to be commonly potash albite (or pericline),
and glassy feldspar (or adularia), in which some of the potash is
replaced by soda. Crystals of mica and hornblende are often pre¬
sent, and sometimes even of augite, the whole either confusedly
united without cement, or embedded in a feldspathic paste, either
cellular or compact.
2. Trachytic porphyry has seldom a scorified aspect,
looking often more like a plutonic than a volcanic rock, as
that of the Pic de Sancy, and the Roc de Cacadogne, of
Mont Dor, which at first sight resembles granite in exter¬
nal appearance.
Crystals of glassy feldspar, sometimes small, but some¬
times as much as half an inch long, white or flesh-coloured,
are set in a compact light-coloured feldspathic paste, with
brown mica, and sometimes also with crystals of quartz.
“ Many varieties of trachytic porphyry contain a number of very
small globules, which seem to consist of melted feldspar, having
often in their centre a little crystal either of quartz or mica. The
assemblage of these globules leaving minute cells between them, Geology
sometimes gives to the rock a scorified aspect.” (Daubeny.) Chal- , _ '
cedony occurs in small geodes,1 and sometimes intimately mixed v
with the paste in which the crystals are imbedded.
Trachytic porphyry passes sometimes by insensible gra¬
dations into—
3. Pearlstone, which is composed of a number of glo¬
bules from the size of a nut to that of a grain of sand, of a
vitreous or enamelled aspect, and pearly lustre, adhering
together without any paste.
These sometimes lose their lustre and size, and pass into a com¬
pact stony mass, or change into globules of feldspar, compact, or
radiated—the whole rock being composed of them. Many varia¬
tions occur; the whole sometimes becoming fibrous, cellular, spongyr,
and passing gradually into pumice.
4. Domite is a grayish white, fine-grained, compact,
earthy, and often friable variety of trachyte. It frequently
contains flakes of brown mica.
It appears to be a decomposed trachyte, in w-hich the feldspar is
affected, but the mica not. The passage of muriatic (hydrochloric)
acid is, by some, supposed to have affected this transformation. It
is a remarkable rock, but not one of general occurrence beyond the
district of the Puy de Dome, in France.
5. Andesite, a trachytic rock, found at Chimborazo and
other parts of the Andes; has white crystals resembling
albite in a crystalline base of a dark colour. It has various
degrees of compactness and consistency, and has a coarse
conchoidal fracture.
Small crystals of glassy feldspar occur, though rarely, but those
of hornblende are common ; and augite is also present sometimes.
From the predominence of hornblende it sometimes passes into a
diorite or greenstone.
6. Clinkstone or Phonolite is a compact homogeneous
rock, with a scaly or splintery fracture, sometimes conchoi¬
dal, of a grayish green, or ashy gray colour, both weather¬
ing tvhite externally. It is often rendered porphyritic by
scattered crystals of glassy feldspar, but these are commonly
not very distinctly separable from it, appearing only as
brilliant surfaces here and there in the mass. Hornblende,
augite, and magnetic iron are rare in it. According to
Gmelin it consists of a mixture of glassy feldspar, with a
zeolite in variable proportions. It may, therefore, be
formed from trachyte by the addition of sea-water; the
soda of which, combining with some of the orthoclase, would
make glassy feldspar, while the water, combining with the
other constituents, would form a zeolite. (Abich, in
F>'Archiac, vol. iii., p. 604.)
Clinkstone commonly splints into thin slabs, and is often so
finely laminated as to be used for roofing slate. The slabs give a
metallic sound when struck with the hammer, whence its name. It
is sometimes perfectly columnar ; the columns splitting across into
slabs, which are also used as slates. It may, however, perhaps be
doubted, whether many of the so-called volcanic clinkstones really
contain water according to the definition, and whether they are not
a flaggy, or laminated variety of compact trachyte.
7. Obsidian, or Volcanic glass, is the vitreous condition
of a trachytic rock. It is said to be necessary for its natu¬
ral production that the rock should be composed of mine¬
rals rich in silica, or “ trisilicatesthe simple “silicates”
or “ bisilicates” of alumina, being incapable of forming
obsidian.2 {Daubeny, p. 16, 2d edition.)
8. Pumice is the cellular and filamentous form of obsi¬
dian, and tlie same remarks as to origin will apply to it.
1 Geodes are rounded concretions, generally hollow, and contain¬
ing crystals. They are sometimes called “ potato stones” from
their size and shape.
2 Without disputing the truth of the origin here assigned to all
naturally formed obsidian, it is yet equally true, that basalt can be
artificially converted into obsidian, by simple melting and rapid
cqoling. Messrs Chance of Birmingham now melt the basalt of the
Rowley Hills by simple heat without the addition of any foreign
ingredient, and cast it into blocks and ornamental mouldings for
architectural purposes. Portions which are allowed to cool rapidly.
GEOLOGY.
133
>logy.
Abich divides pumice into two groups; the cellular, being dark
green, poorer in silica and richer in alumina, derived from clink¬
stone, trachyte, or andesite; and the filamentous, white, containing
more silica, and derived from trachytic porphyry.
The Dolerites, or Augitic Lavas.
9. Dolerite.—A crystalline, granular, distinct mixture of
labradorite and augite with some titaniferous magnetic iron
ore, and also often with some carbonate of iron and carbo¬
nate of lime. General colour dark gray.
The labradorite forms white or light gray tabular crystals, and
the augite black columnar ones. Both can easily be distinguished
by the naked eye, especially in the coarser varieties. The magne¬
tic iron forms small octohedral scarcely visible grains, which can be
recognised only by the magnet. (Cotta.)
Cotta mentions a variety from Aulgasse near Liegfried, which
contains 28 per cent of the carbonates, three-fourths of that being
carbonate of iron.
10. Anamesite is properly only a fine-grained dolerite, so
fine-grained that we can only distinguish the fact of the
granular texture, and no longer recognise the individual
minerals. Its colour is dark gray or greenish or brown¬
ish black. It forms the intermediate step between dolerite
and
11. Basalt, which is a compact, apparently homoge¬
neous, nearly or altogether black rock, with a dull conchoi-
dal fracture. It often contains crystals or grains of augite,
olivine, or magnetic iron, and is sometimes vesicular or
amygdaloidal.1
The knowledge of the composition of basalt dates from 1836,
when Gmelin showed that it was, like phonolite, an intimate mix¬
ture of one part that was decomposable in acid and another not de¬
composable. The decomposable portion is partly of the nature of
a zeolite, partly of that of labradorite; the undecomposable portion
is augite. (Cotta.)
Basalt, therefore, as it contains water in its zeolitic portion,
bears the same relation to dolerite that clinkstone does to
trachyte.
The three rocks above mentioned differ rather in tex¬
ture than in mineral composition. In the two following
rocks another feldspathic mineral is substituted for the
labradorite.
12. Nepheline Dolerite is a crystalline granular mixture
of nepheline, augite, and some magnetic iron. (Cotta.)
13. Leucite Rock is a crystalline granular, porphyritic-
like, or even a compact, aggregate of leucite, augite, and
some magnetic iron ; generally gray. (Cotta.)
Tr achy - dolerite, or Intermediate Lavas.
These rocks, from their very nature, do not admit of any
precise definition or nomenclature. The rocks already
named and described are mixtures of various minerals.
When those mixtures are in anything like definite pro¬
portions, and the minerals are well characterized, the
rocks assume a particular character, and are capable of
definition. When, however, the mixtures become inde¬
finite, and the minerals begin to pass one into another,
or are so intimately blended that they cannot be dis¬
tinguished, attempts at definition only lead to confusion
instead of order, and encumber the memory rather than
assist it.
Instead of separating these blending rocks, then,
and distinguishing them by different names, it is better
to follow the example of Abich, and unite them under
form obsidian, undistinguishable by any external character from
that of volcanic districts. Specimens may be seen in the Museums
of Jermyn Street, London, and Stephen’s Green, Dublin.
1 According to Cotta, the rock of the Giant’s Causeway, &c., in
the north of Ireland, ought to be called anamesite rather than
basalt.
one term, such as that proposed by him of—14. Trachy-
dolerite.
Neither is this a mere evasion of a difficulty, since the
things themselves are so similar, both in substance and
in origin, that the creation of distinct names would be
merely making distinctions where no real or essential dif¬
ference exists.
It may be useful, here, perhaps, to give Abich’s table of the spe¬
cific gravity, and the per centage of silica of some of the above
rocks, arranging them according to the latter character.
Specific Percentage
Gravity. of Silica.
1. Porphyritic trachyte  2,5783 69 46
2. Trachyte  2'682I 65-85
3. Glassy andesite  2-58ol 65.55
4. Domite  2'6334 fiS'SO
5. Andesite  3-7032 64-45
6. Phonolite  2-5770 57-66
7. Trachy-dolerite  2-7812 57-66
8. Dolerite  2.8613 53 09
From this it appears that the per centage of silica in porphyritic
trachyte is equal to that of albite; in trachyte and andesite, equal
to that of orthoclase ; and in dolerite, equal to that of labradorite.
Trachy-dolerite, intercalated among the rocks, as andesite and
oligoclase are between potash albite, and labradorite among the
feldspars, shows the passage from one to the other. Lastly, with
only tw-o exceptions, the above table shows us that the specific
gravity increases as the per centage of silica diminishes ; and Abich,
therefore, says that the determination of these two characters,
joined to the observation of the mineralogical constituents, will
suffice to determine with precision to which kind any volcanic rock
belongs.
There is yet another variety of volcanic rocks to be con¬
sidered, that, namely, called Tuff or Peperino.
15. Tuff (ash) is ordinarily the ashes, dust, and powder,
mixed with little lapilli and coarser fragments, blown from
a volcanic focus, and falling either on to the land or into the
sea. If it fall on the land it may become compacted into
a rock, either by the simple pressure of its own weight, or
in consequence of the percolation of water containing mi¬
neral matter in solution. This water may either be rain
falling with the ashes, or rain or other water subsequently
gaining access to them. If the ashes fall into the sea they
become subject to the conditions under which all other me¬
chanically-formed aqueous rocks are produced. In this
case tuffs often contain fossil shells.
Abich describes the trachytic tuff's of the neighbourhood of Na¬
ples as of two sorts,—one inferior, of a clear straw-colour, charac¬
terized by fragments of glassy feldspar, augite, and hornblende ; the
other, or upper tuff-, being white, in thinner beds, and with much
pumice.
Bunsen, in his description of the volcanic rocks of Iceland, seems
inclined to attribute a metamorphic origin to tuff's, and to derive
them from the decomposition or alteration of the pyroxenic rocks
of that island. He calls them palagonitic tuff's, the mineral pala-
gonite (a hydrated silicate of alumina and lime) being an essential
constituent of these tuff's both in Iceland and in Etna, as shown by
Walter hausen.
He refers to Darwin’s observations on a basaltic lava which has
flowed over limestone at Port Praya (0. de Verde Islands), and says
that the lava, when in contact with the limestone, possesses all the
characters of palagonite.
Without denying that some tuff's may have been formed from
the decomposition in situ of actual lava, we are still inclined to
look upon that as the exception rather than the rule, and to believe
that tuff- in general is a mass of volcanic “ ash,” deposited mecha¬
nically, however it may have been subsequently modified either by
igneous or aqueous agencies.
Some geologists confine the term tuff to trachytic masses, and
use the word “ peperino,” to designate those derived from pyrox¬
enic (or augitic) rocks.
Tuff and peperino, from the nature of their origin, must have a
great variety of character, from a fine-grained compact stone to a
coarse breccia or conglomerate, and from a loose incoherent accu¬
mulation to a hard tough stone.
Immense piles of volcanic sand and gravel, and great
breccias composed of large semi-angular fragments, also not
unfrequently occur, which would hardly be called tuff, but
Geology.
134 MINER ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology, which must not be altogether omitted in our enumeration
of volcanic rocks.
II.—TRAPPEAN ROCKS.
We have before said that we adopt this designation as a
convenient one only, and for the same reason we would ex¬
tend it. The word “ trap” has hitherto been considered to
be strictly applicable only to hornblendic or augitic rocks.
It is derived from the Swedish irappa, a stair,—those rocks
being supposed usually to assume a step-like form. The
term, as thus derived, is, however, no more exclusively ap¬
plicable (except from custom) to the hornblendic than to
the feldspathic igneous rocks, and has been often used
vaguely to designate any igneous rocks which could not be
said to be distinctly granitic on the one hand, or absolutely
volcanic on the other. In this vague and general
sense we shall here use it, its very vagueness being its
recommendation as best adapted to receive a class of rocks
that do not admit of any strict definition or circum¬
scription.
As thevolcanic rocks are divisible into threeheads,—Felds¬
pathic, Augitic, and Intermediate,—so we may conveniently
divide trappean rocks into three similarheads,—Feldspathic,
Hornblendic, and Intermediate. For the two first of these
the general designations, Felstone and Greenstone, may be
used,—felstone corresponding to trachyte, and greenstone
to dolerite. It is not easy to make a combination of words
answering to Abich’s trachy-dolerite, but the intermediate
rocks exist in abundance which would be comprised under
such a designation.
Felstone is a name taken from the German Feldstein, and
proposed by Professor Sedgwick to designate a class of
igneous rocks to which many titles have been given, but
w'hich have never, we believe, been yet properly examined
and described. Compact feldspar, petrosilex, and cornean,
are among these names, as well as the hornstone of some
geologists, though that name has also been applied to
chert.
Feldslone or Feldspathic Traps.
16. Felstone is a compact, smooth, hard, flinty-looking
rock.
It has two principal varieties,—the pale green, passing
into a greenish or yellowish white ; and the blue or gray,
varying from pale to dark gray. The gray or blue variety
weathers white, its external margin being white sometimes
to the depth of aline, sometimes to that of an inch or two.
Some blocks that appear wholly white have a small blue
patch in the centre. The green or greenish white variety
is often very translucent at the edges; the gray is com¬
monly opaque. The fracture is generally smooth and
straight, seldom conchoidal; but in some of the blue or gray
varieties it is rough and splintery. It often splits into small
slabs, and sometimes, especially the green kinds, into
laminae.
The fragments sometimes ring with a metallic sound like clink¬
stone, and many so called clinkstones (such as those of the Roche
Sanadoire and Tuilliere in the Mont Dor district, and those of the
Velay) are almost undistinguishable by any external characters from
many of the felstones of Wales and Ireland.
In many felstones, both in North Wales and South Ireland, lines
and striae, resembling lines of lamination or deposition, of slightly
different colours, can be traced through the mass of the rock, some¬
times straight, sometimes more or less wavy and tortuous, like the
variously hued lines and bands in a slag from an iron furnace, and
resulting, probably, like them, from the motion of the mass when
in a pasty and semi-fluid condition.
In the most smooth and compact varieties, the lens will often dis¬
close small shining facets of crystals of feldspar, and these become
larger and more numerous till we reach the completely granular
and crystalline felstones. Small crystals or crystalline portions of Geoloev
quartz also are occasionally present in most varieties.1 y
Sometimes the rock becomes nodular and concretionary, the no-
dules varying in size from that of a pea to that of a man’s fist,
either scattered in a compact or powdery base, or touching each
other and making up almost the whole mass of the rock. The sub¬
stance of these nodules is sometimes the same as that of the base,
but in some instances they are hollow, and contain crystals of quartz
and other minerals, and also a soft, dark green earth. In this
respect it seems to resemble the rock previously described as pearl-
stone, though it never has any pearly or other lustre.
Felstone as thus described is probably a mixture of a
feldspar with silica in a state of paste. We may look on it
as a compact form of trachyte, more or less altered by pres¬
sure, or other agencies, and containing a larger proportion
of silica.2 It passes from that state to one in which the mi,-
nerals are crystallized out more or less completely, becom¬
ing first a granular and crystalline felstone, and then a gra--
nular aggregate of crystals of feldspar and quartz, passing
into a quartziferous porphyry.
This latter is the rock known in Cornwall as elvan, and
we think, as a convenient designation, “ elvanite” might be
adopted as a name for it and its varieties.
17. Pitchstone appears to be a variety of felstone, having
a more vitreous character, and a resinous lustre; whence it
derives its name. It is of many colours, varying from black
to green, gray, and yellow. The black varieties look, how¬
ever, more like hornblendic or augitic mixtures than purely
feldspathic rocks.
Clinkstone is frequently spoken of as a trappean as well
as a volcanic rock, but it is probable that many of the rocks
so described would not come within the definition of clink¬
stone given before, and are only platy, flaggy, and lami¬
nated (perhaps even “ cleaved”) varieties of felstone. There
may, however, be other true trappean clinkstones, the hy¬
drated varieties of felstone, just as volcanic clinkstone is a
hydrated trachyte.
18. Felstone porphyry, or Feldspar porphyry, is a rock
consisting of a base of compact felstone, with distinct sca-
tered crystals of feldspar embedded in it. The base is
commonly either of a dull green, gray, or red colour, and
1 Felstone, as here described, is a very abundant rock among
some of the older formations in the British Islands, making up
whole mountain masses; but it appears to be little known or re¬
marked on the Continent, as Cotta speaks of it as only rarely seen
and in small quantity, and but two specimens of it occurred in a
collection of 660 igneous and altered rocks purchaced from Krantz
of Bonn.
* Professor Haughton has recently analyzed some specimens of
Irish felstone, and has found in them such an amount of silica as
confirms the view commonly entertained of this rock, that it is a
mixture of feldspar and quartz. His results, as given to the Geo¬
logical Society, Dublin, in a recent paper, are—
Felslone of Ballymurtagh, county Wicklow.
Quartz ... ... ... ... ... 4554
Feldspar ... ... ... ... ... 54-16
99-70
Felstone of Knockmahon, county Waterford.
Quartz ... ... ... ... ... 40-81
Feldspar ... ... ... . , ... 57-19
98-00
Felstone of Benaunmore, near Killarney.
Quartz ... ... ... ... .. 20-51
Feldspar ... ... ... ... .. 77"85
98-36
This superabundance of silica in these old igneous rocks, sc far
beyond that which is found in any trachyte, is certainly a very
curious subject for speculation.
Could they ever have flowed at the surface with their present
constitution ? Has their composition been changed, by aqueous me¬
tamorphosis or otherwise, since their formation ?
GEOLOGY.
ogy. the imbedded crystals are commonly white or flesh colour,
‘ or some other shade generally contrasted with the base by
being of a paler hue.
19. Quartziferous Porphyry (Elvanite) has the same
base, or a granular one of the same materials, with dissemi¬
nated crystals or crystalline grains of quartz.
Greenstone, or Hornhlendic Trap.
Greenstone is an old and well-known name for a nume¬
rous and important class of trappean rocks. It is a transla¬
tion of the German Grunstein, and synonymous with the
French Diorite.
20. Greenstone, or Diorite, consists of a mixture of feld¬
spar (orthoclase) and hornblende, varying in texture from
a fine-grained compact rock, in which the crystalline state of
the minerals is barely discernible with a lens, to a coarsely
crystalline aggregate. Its colour is generally a dull green,
varying from light to dark green, sometimes almost black.
In some varieties, on the other hand, where the feldspar is
very white and in great quantity, the rock might almost be
described as white, speckled with dark green spots. It wea¬
thers to a dull dark-coloured brown, the weathered blocks
being generally massive and well rounded, and covered with
patches of white lichen. On breaking open the weathered
part of a greenstone and testing the rock with acid, we
almost invariably find that it will effervesce along the inner
border of the weathered portion. Many Greenstones, also,
even when apparently unweathered, effervesce with acids
along the minute cracks and pores in the mass.
The feldspar of greenstones is commonly presumed to
be orthoclase, but is, perhaps, often albite ; and in some of
the rocks which come under this head augite or hyper-
sthene is substituted for hornblende. Mica, of a dark
brown colour, sometimes occurs (as in some of the
Wicklow greenstones), either in distinct plates, or as
coating the surfaces of small crevices or those of the other
crystals.
M. Delesse says that many rocks hitherto classed as greenstone
contain no hornblende, their green colour being the result of the
greenness of some of the feldspar composing them. These, then,
would probably come under the head of one of our crystalline'
felstones.
Greenstone, like felstone, becomes sometimes porphyri-
tic, in consequence of one or other of its constituents form¬
ing distinct crystals in a compact mixture of the rest, or
larger disseminated crystals in a granular crystalline base.
When the greenstone is quite compact and dark coloured,
it is not, perhaps, very easy to distinguish it from basalt by
any external characters.
21. Melaphyre is a name for a black porphyritic rock,
containing crystals of augite or oligoclase, in a base of
augite and labradorite or oligoclase.
Under the general head of Greenstones and Melaphyres,
Cotta describes the following rocks :—
22. Diabase.—A crystalline granular, sometimes porphyritic, or
even a slaty, mixture of augite and labradorite or oligoclase, mostly
with some chlorite.
23. Calc-diabase.—A finer-grained, or entirely compact diabase
with round grains of calcspar.
24. Gabbro, Euphotide, Diallage rock.—A crystalline granular
mixture of labradorite or saussurite, and diallage or smaragdite.
25. Hypersthenite, and Hypersthene rock.—A crystalline granular
mixture of labradorite and hypersthene.1 *
26. Augite rock, Lherzolite.—A coarse-grained to compact rock,
consisting essentially of augite alone. Eare. Lheherz in the Pyl
renees. J
27. Norite is a name of Esmark’s for a rock yet undetermined •
some of its characters seem to belong to diorite and some to gab¬
bro.
1 A magnificent mass of this rock, with crystals two or three
inches wide, forms a hill at the head of St George’s Bay, Newfound¬
land.
28. Diorite. A crystalline granular mixture of hornblende and
albite ; sometimes even slaty or porphyritic.
29. Globular Diorite, Orbicular Greenstone, Corsican Granite. A
crystalline granular mixture of grayish white feldspar (anorthite)
dark gray hornblende, and some quartz, in which alternating con¬
centric layers of hornblende and feldspar form globular concre¬
tions from one to three inches in diameter.
30. Micaceous Diorite.—A crystalline granular mixture of horn¬
blende and oligoclase, orthoclase, quartz, and mica. Mostly dark
or quite black. J ’
31. Hornblende rock, Amphibolite, consists essentially of horn¬
blende alone, which forms sometimes a crystalline granular, some¬
times a quite compact aggregate.
32. Kersanton.—A crystalline mixture composed essentially of
hornblende and mica, in which, however, some feldspar is often
mingled. Tn the latter case it effervesces slightly with acids.
33. Eclogite.—A crystalline mixture of green smaragdite and red
garnet. The garnet occurs as porphyritic crystals in the fine¬
grained base of smaragdite.
34. Disthene reel;.—Principally composed of disthene, with
which, however, some garnet, mica, or smaragdite is mingled.
35. Aphamte, Melaphyr.—A compact or fine-grained,
dark gray, brown, or black rock, which apparently consists
principally of a feldspathic mineral intimately mixed with
augite, hornblende, magnetic iron, and the like. Its exact
mineralogical composition is not yet determined. It is
sometimes vesicular, amygdaloidal, or porphyritic, and is
even said to be sometimes slaty.
36. Serpentine. A compact, mostly green or brown
rock, consisting essentially of the mineral serpentine only.
Fiactuie splintery and dull, easily workable and unctuous
to the touch. A variety of serpentine is Schiller rock,
which contains crystals of Schiller spar.
37. Garnet rock.—A crystalline granular, but very unequal mix¬
ture of garnet, hornblende, and magnetic iron.
38. Eulisite.—A mixture of olivine-like oxide of iron, green
augite, and brownish-red garnet.
. 3^’ Epidote rock.—A granular compact, or variolitic mixture of
pistacite (green epidote) and quartz.
Labradore rock.—A crystalline aggregate of labradorite
with interspersed crystals or crystalline particles of dark horn¬
blende. As a rule, it also contains small crystals of iron pyrites.
Basalt, like clinkstone, must also be enumerated among
the traps as well as among the lavas, since it may be very
difficult to say, with respect to some masses of basalt, tha't
they were ejected from what might be truly described as a
volcano.
Clay stone, or Wacke, is sometimes spoken of as a trap¬
pean rock. It is probably either a compact basalt or green¬
stone, in a decomposed and earthy state, or an ash partially
hardened and consolidated.
The traps, both felstone and greenstone, are accompa¬
nied, like the volcanic rocks, by their respective ashes or
tuffs.
41. Feldspathic ask1 is usually a rather coarse-grained
flaky-looking rock, of a pale green, pale gray, or white
colour. It has often a soapy feel to the touch, and would
be then called chlorite-schist by many persons. It is com¬
monly to be easily detached in flakes, which are quite trans¬
lucent, and can be as easily ground down into powder.
Other varieties are much harder and more compact; and
there is, in fact, every gradation from a soft ash into a com¬
pact felstone, undistinguishable from solid trap.
Some of these solid-looking traps, however, show casts
1 We have included serpentine among thetrappean rocks, as there
may doubtless be injected masses entitled to the name. Many ser¬
pentines, however, are only metamorphosed magnesian limestones,
a fact which was confirmed to us by Sir W. Logan in 1854 from'
his observations in Canada.
2 Professor Sedgwick uses the term “schaalstein” to designate
these ashes, translating it by “ trap shales” instead of ash. If
however, we use the term “ ash” in a technical sense as the transi
lation of tuff, there does not appear any valid objection to it. The
specimens of German schaalstein ’ which we have seen are not
the same as any ot the British tt ashes” we are acquainted with.
135
G eo.ogy.
136
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology.
of fossils, and contain angular fragments of slate and other
rocks, clearly betraying their mechanical origin. Some
even contain crystals of feldspar, making the rock look like
a porphyry, until closely examined, when the crystals are
found to have their angles worn, and to have been more or
less wreathered and rounded before they were included in
the base.
Along with these also, there generally occur angular or
rounded fragments of felstone, slate, or other rocks, of every
size up to blocks of 6 or 8 inches in diameter; the rock
then becoming a trappean breccia or conglomerate, with
either a hard and compact or a loose and flaky base.
Sand is sometimes mingled with this base; and there is
then a passage from ash, through sandy ash and ashy sand¬
stone, into pure sandstone.
It is rare to find a genuine ash that will not effervesce
slightly with acids. The nodular concretionary structure,
which we have previously mentioned as occasionally to be
seen in some felstones, likewise occur in felstone ash. At
least, the base in which the nodules lie is often of that flaky
slightly coherent character which is characteristic of ash.
42. Greenstone ash is perhaps still more various in com¬
position than that of felstone.
One well-marked variety is a quiet compact rock, of a
pale greenish brown hue, speckled with small black spots.
Another is a flaky coarse-grained ash, like that of fel¬
stone, but of a darker green or olive colour. This some¬
times contains embedded crystals of hornblende1 that have
had their edges rounded and worn, together with angular
or rounded fragments of other rocks.
Another variety of greenstone ash is a dark hornblende
slate, passing into hornblende schist; and it is very possible
that many hornblende schists, actinolite schists, &c. are
metamorphosed ash-beds.
It is obvious that rocks thus made chiefly or entirely of
igneous materials would more easily be metamorphosed
than purely siliceous, argillaceous, or calcareous rocks, and
would then be converted into rocks having all the appear¬
ance of trap. If they contained crystals of feldspar or
hornblende, such altered rocks could not be separated from
porphyries.
Greenstone ash often effervesces with acids as well as
felstone ash.
III.—THE GRANITIC ROCKS.
We have before said that all igneous rocks vrere com¬
posed of silicates, and pointed out that the varieties of the
volcanic and trappean rocks were characterized by the re¬
lative amounts of hornblendic or augitic minerals (silicates
of magnesia, &c.) which were mingled with their feldspathic
constituents (silicates of alumina, &c.) These silicates are,
in the volcanic and trappean rocks, generally one of the
more basic varieties. The bases, then, in the compound,
just previous to consolidation, must have been in compara¬
tively great proportion to the acid (silica), so that none of
the latter was left unused or uncombined, and consequently
none was allowed to crystallize out separately as quartz.
The granitic rocks, on the other hand, are distinguished by
the relative abundance of silica which they contain. Not
onlv are all the minerals composing them as highly silicated
as possible, but there was moreover a superabundance
of silicic acid (or silica) beyond that which could be taken
up by the basic substances present in the mass. This silica,
therefore, has been left uncombined, and on the cooling
and consolidation of the rock was compelled to crystallize
out by itself as quartz.
1 Near Black Ball Head, county Cork, is a cliff of such a green¬
stone ash, in which crystals of hornblende, 3 inches wide, have been
seen. They are dull and worn externally, but internally quite
bright and glistening.
So long as granite was looked upon as necessarily the Geology,
most ancient of rocks, this superabundance of silica and
occurrence of quartz was considered to indicate a difference
in the proportion or distribution of the constituents of the
globe, in the more ancient geological periods, from that
which exists at present. The mineral character of rocks
was supposed to depend upon age. We shall touch upon
this subject presently.
In the meantime we would observe that we have already
seen that some felstones contain distinct crystals of quartz,
and pass into quartziferous porphyry. Now, if a rock con¬
sisting of granular crystals of quartz and feldspar, in any¬
thing like equal proportion, began to contain flakes of chlo¬
rite, talc, or mica, it would then pass into a granite; if, in¬
stead of a micaceous mineral, it were to acquire any horn¬
blendic one, it would then become a syenite.
Again, if a greenstone containing granular crystals of
feldspar and hornblende were likewise to exhibit crystals of
quartz, it would pass into a syenite; and should the horn¬
blende give way to a mica, this also becomes a granite.
These transitions are not merely hypothetical, but have
been observed and described ; and we have, therefore, exist¬
ing in nature, every kind of gradation, from a trachytic or
doleritic lava, through a feldspathic or hornblendic trap, into
genuine granite.
43. Granite.—True granite in its most ordinary form is
one of the most easily described and certainly recognized of
all rocks. It is a granular, crystalline aggregate of the
three minerals feldspar, mica, and quartz. Its name is some¬
times said to be derived from its granular structure, but
Jameson derives it from 11 geranites” a term used by Pliny
to designate a particular kind of stone.
Ordinary granite varies according to the composition of
the feldspar and mica composing it,—according to the rela¬
tive proportions of those minerals to each other and to the
quartz—and according to the size of the crystals and the
state of aggregation of the several constituents.
The feldspar of granite may be either orthoclase or potash
feldspar, frequently flesh-coloured, but sometimes white;
albite or soda feldspar, generally dead white; an intermix¬
ture of those two minerals ; or lastly, a feldspar containing
both potash and soda, which may be called soda-orthoclase
or potash-albite, as the case may be. Other varieties of
feldspar, except, perhaps in some instances, oligoclase, are
seldom found in granite as constituents of the mass.
The mica of granite varies greatly in colour and lustre,
being sometimes dark coppery-brown, passing into black,
sometimes green, sometimes golden yellow, and sometimes
a pure silvery white. Whether its chemical constitution
be equally various is perhaps hardly yet sufficiently ascer¬
tained. The quartz is commonly colourless or white, but
sometimes dark gray or brown.
The proportions of the three constituents vary inde¬
finitely, with this limitation, that the feldspar is always an
essential ingredient, and never forms less than a third,
rarely less than half of the mass, and generally a still larger
proportion.1 Sometimes the mica, sometimes the quartz,
becomes so minute as to be barely perceptible.
1 Professor Haughton, in his paper on the Granites of Ireland
{Geological Journal, London, vol. xii., p. 180), gives the following
as the proportions of the Dublin and Wicklow granite:—
Mica ... ... ... ... ••• 1337
Feldspar   Ol'IS
Quartz ... ... ... ... ••• 2498
9953
A detached granite boss, near Enniscorthy, had
Mica ... ... ... ... ••• 3-60
Feldspar ... ... ... ... ••• 89-69
Quartz ... ... ... ... •••
99-73
GEOLOGY.
ology. The state of aggregation of the mass varies also greatly,
— J some granites being very close and fine grained, others
largely and coarsely crystalline. The colours of the rock
are generally either red, gray, or white; the first when the
feldspar is flesh-coloured, the latter when it is pure white,
the intermediate gray tints depending chiefly on the abun¬
dance and colour of the mica, but sometimes on that of
the quartz.
Large and distinct crystals of feldspar sometimes occur,
disseminated at intervals through the mass, giving the rock
a porphyritic texture. It is then called porphyritic granite.
Other minerals besides the three mentioned above, some¬
times occur in granite. Among these are hornblende, ac-
tinolite, tourmaline, schorl, chlorite, and steatite.
When hornblende is abundant in rock, and the mica
becomes scarce, or altogether disappears, it becomes a
syenite.
44. Syenite, in its true form, is a granitic rock. It is
named from the city of Syene, in Egypt, where it is formed
of a crystalline aggregate of the four minerals feldspar,
hornblende, mica, and quartz; the mica being in small and
uncertain quantity. We have already, however, had occa¬
sion to remark, that syenite may be formed from either
felstone or greenstone, and we may look upon it therefore
either as a local variety of granite, or as a passage or tran¬
sition rock between granite and the traps.
45. Protogine.—When talc occurs instead of mica, the
granite has been called Protogine, from an erroneous sup¬
position of its being always more ancient than granite.
The name, however, may be retained for the mineralogical
variety, independently of any foregone conclusion to be drawn
from it.
Instead of talc, chlorite sometimes occurs, as at Camaross,
county Wexford, either in regular flakes or as a greenish coating
to the surface of other crystals, but I am not aware of any name
having been proposed for this variety. The granites of Cornwall
and Devon sometimes contain so much schorl as to merit the name
of schorl rock, and would doubtless have been christened with two
or three different designations by continental geologists.
46. Eurite is a term applied to a fine-grained crystalline
aggregate of quartz and feldspar, where the mica is either
absent or occurs in such minute flakes as to be invisible.
It generally occurs as veins or as local masses in other granites,
and rarely as veins traversing other rocks at a distance from
granite. These, therefore, are probably veins of segregation or of
injection during consolidation, and not of subsequent formation.
47. Minette is a name for a fine-grained rock, con¬
sisting principally of mica, but not having a schistose tex¬
ture like mica schist.
48. Pegmatite is a crystalline aggregate of quartz and
feldspar, in which the crystals are arranged as if with a de¬
sign to produce a certain pattern, more or less resembling
letters or characters (from Trrjyfxa, a coagulation).
49. Granulite is a similar composition, in which the
quartz occurs in thin flakes, so as to give almost a schistose
texture to the mass.
50. Elvan or Elvanite.—Elvan is a Cornish term for a
crystalline granular mixture of quartz and feldspar, forming
veins that are either seen to proceed from granite, or occur
in its neighbourhood, and may thus be readily supposed to
proceed from it.
In the Newry and Mourne mountain district he found three gra¬
nites having the following proportions :—
1. Wellington Inn:
Mica  14 59
Feldspar 6198
Quartz  23-23
99-80
2. S. of Newry.
13-67
64-17
21-96
99-80
3. Carlingford.
22-86
50-76
26-08
99-70
It has three varieties :—
(a.) An equably crystalline mixture of quartz and feldspar: gene¬
rally fine-grained. This may either be considered as a granite
destitute of mica, or as a granular felstone.
(6.) A compact felstone base with dispersed crystals, or crystal¬
line particles of quartz, sometimes angular, sometimes rounded,
and amygdaloidal. This may be considered as a quartziferous fel¬
stone porphyry.
_ (c-) A crystalline granular base of quartz and feldspar, with
dispersed crystals of either quartz or feldspar.
The feldspathic portion of these rocks is often earthy, probably
from decomposition.
We would propose Elvanite as a good euphonious term, and as
being less cumbersome than the term of Quartziferous porphyry,
for these rocks which differ in texture from Eurite, or Pegmatite’
or Granulite.
Professor Haughton, in his paper in the Geological Journal be¬
fore quoted, gives the following as the composition of some rocks,
which we should consider Elvanites.
Croghan Kinshela, Wicklow.
Albite      62
Quartz    38
100
Mourne Mountains.
Albite  27-8
Orthoclase  44-2
Quartz   28 0
1000
The composition of the Carnsore granite is similar, being—
Felspar  78.5
Quartz  2l-5
100-0
But this, by its texture and coarsely crystalline grain, deserves to
be considered as a true granite; and it moreover does contain oc¬
casionally a small proportion of mica.
As the granite rocks are all hypogenous or nether-formed,
that is, have all been consolidated before reaching the sur¬
face of the earth, they are necessarily devoid of “ ash,” or
ot any mechanically-derived accompaniments whatever.
We have remarked above, that the relative quantity of
silica had a marked effect upon the nature of the rock ; that
among the lavas, quartz only appeared in these trachyte
porphyries which were beginning to resemble granite; and
that among the traps it only appeared among those feldspar
porphyries which were closely allied to, and passing into,
granite, while from the true granites it is never absent. It
has been attempted from this to prove that the more sili¬
ceous an igneous rock was, the more ancient it must be.
Even Abich says that we may, perhaps, thus deduce a scale
for the history of the formation of the earth those rocks
which contain, as essential constituents, “ trisilicates” of
both their protoxide and peroxide bases, being “ primitive;”
while those which contain quartz are called “ primitive Plu¬
tonic ;” and those without quartz, “ primitive volcanic.”
M. Riviere also supposes orthoclase to be confined to the
older, labradorite to the more recent rocks. The other
bases, too, as magnesia and lime, have been supposed to
characterise newer rocks than those of soda and potash, and
soda itself to be newer than potash.
We would venture to suggest that these mineralogical
differences depend upon space or locality rather than upon
time ; that the proportionate quantity of silica is referable
to the depth at which an igneous rock has been cooled or
consolidated, or to the nature of those it penetrated, rather
than to the time at which it was formed. At great depths
in the earth, pure silica itself may possibly be fused by the
intense heat there to be met with ; and the most refractory
silicates may be equally molten at a somewhat less depth,
and consolidate or crystallize on becoming cooler a little
higher; while those portions of molten matter containing a
greater quantity or variety of bases which act as more per¬
fect fluxes may be kept fluid till they reach the surface,
and thus consolidate only in the air or in the water.
Whether the whole quantity and variety of the more
fusible bases formed part of the original deepest-seated
molten mass, and were separated from it on the first cool¬
ing and crystallization of the simpler minerals, or whether a
s
VOL. XV.
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
larger proportion of those bases was acquired during the
passage of the molten rock through the higher part of the
earth’s crust, and thus the quantity of “ flux” increased in
proportion as the heat and pressure diminished, may be
matter for speculation. We will not now stop to consider
it farther than to warn the student not to take it for granted
that the mineralogical and lithological composition or struc¬
ture of any rock vrhatever has any necessary and ^et*3r'
minate relation to its geological age. Granite might be¬
come solid at a temperature that would keep felstone or
trachyte still fluid; and these might solidify at tempeia-
tures which would keep molten all greenstones, basalts, and
dolerites, so that from the very same stream of igneous
matter proceeding from the interior to the surface of the
earth, the more readily fusible portions might be succes¬
sively squeezed out, as it were, as the infusible ones soli¬
dified, and contracted in consequence of that solidification.1
This action might take place in spite of the greater specific
gravity of the more fusible minerals, since the difference in
the specific gravities would probably be small compared
with the power of the eruptive force.
It is true, indeed, that actual subaerial volcanoes, with
cones and craters and coulees, or streams of lava, are only
known as recent geological phenomena—as either now ac¬
tive or as having been so during a recent geological period.
But we shall see hereafter reason to believe that the pre¬
servation of any volcanic cones belonging to the more an¬
cient periods was not to be expected. The parts preserved
from destruction and denudation are the more deeply-seated
portions only, the roots, as it were, of the volcano, the very
parts which we do not see while the volcano is active or
entire, but which we do see in some (such as those of the
Mont Dor) that are half ruined, and we then find these old
lava roots to be essentially the same as the traps; and we
have already seen that deeply-formed trap is not to be
separated by any hard line from granite. If, therefore, we
could follow any actual lava-stream to its source in the
bowels of the earth, we should in all probability be able to
mark in its course every gradation, from cinder or pumice
to actual granite.
That this change of state from a granite into a trappean rock
does actually occur is well known, and has been proved in a most
interesting manner in Professor Haughton’s paper before quoted.
Near Carlingford (Ireland), a syenite, having the following com¬
position :—
Hornblende..  15'40
Orthoclase  bT'IS
Quartz -  17T6
99-74
comes in contact with, and sends veins into, a large district of lime¬
stone. The dykes proceeding from this syenite are converted into
a kind of greenstone or dolerite by taking up a large quantity of
lime from the adjacent limestone, which enters into combination
with the silica, and lets the potash go free, so that their mineral
composition becomes,—
Hornblende  14-16
Anorthite    85-84
100-00
Anorthite, or a lime felspar, is thus formed by the combination of
lime with the silica existing in the mass, which in parts not reached
by the lime can only form orthoclase and quartz. Anorthite had
not been previously mentioned as a constituent of any other rock
than a lava, and yet we see it here occurring in a mass proceeding
from a granitic syenite, and therefore we may well suppose lava in
many cases to have similarly proceeded from a granitic compound.
M. Delesse, in the Annales des Mines, 1849, has some
interesting observations on the magnetic power of the Geology,
igneous rocks, and some of their constituent minerals, as
also of some of the glasses formed from melting rocks. No
practical results, however, being yet arrived at, we shall
confine ourselves to this mention of the subject. (D’Ar-
chiac, vol. iii., p. 595.)
Bischof has some very important observations on the
contraction of igneous rocks, as they pass from a fluid to a
solid or crystalline state. (D’Archiac, p. 598.)
He experimented on basalt, trachyte, and granite, and
found the following results:—
Volume in the state
of Glass. In Crystalline state.
Basalt  1 0-9298
Trachyte...'  1 0-9214
Granite  1 0-8420
In the Fluid state. In Crystalline state.
Basalt  1 0-896
Trachyte  1 0-8187
Granite  1 0'7481
From this we see that granite contracts 25 per cent.,
or a quarter of its volume, in passing from a fluid to a
crystalline state, and 16 per cent, in passing from a glassy
to a crystalline state. These effects must have had a
great importance “ when the primary granites were first
cooling,” says M. D’Archiac ; but their importance seems
to us still greater to geologists who are examining the
broken and contorted rocks on the flanks of existing granite
chains,1 and the phenomena of intrusion which we shall
hereafter meet with in such situations. M. Deville and
M. Delesse arrive at results rather different from Bischof’s,
and the latter gives the following table as comprising the
limits within which the several rocks mentioned contract
on passing from a fluid to a solid state.
Granite, leptynites, quartziferous porphyries, &c. 9 to 10 per cent.
Syenitic granite, and syenite  ■_ 8 to 9
Porphyry, red, brown, or green, with or without
quartz, having a base of orthose, oligoclase,
or andesite  8 to 10
Diorites and porphyritic diorites (greenstones)... 6 to 8
Melaphyres  ^ t0 £
Basalts and trachytes (old volcanic rocks) 3 to 5
Lavas (volcanic and vitreous rocks)  0 to 4
M. Delesse sums up his results as follows:—
“ When rocks pass from a crystalline to a glassy state, they
suffer a diminution of density which, all things being equal,
appears to be greater in proportion to the quantity of silica
and alcali, and, on the contrary, less in proportion to that
of iron, lime, and alumina which they contain. In ai rang¬
ing the rocks in the order of their diminution of density,
those which we regard as the more ancient are generally
among the first, while the more modern are the latter;
and in each case their order of diminution of density is al¬
most exactly the inverse of their order of fusibility.’ . „
On this we would remark as before, that for “ ancient
and “ modern” might be substituted “ deeply formed” and
“ superficially formedthe most infusible and the most
contractible rocks being those produced at the greatest
depth and under the greatest pressure, while the highly
fusible compounds escape to the surface, and suffer little
contraction or solidification.
M. D’Archiac remarks, that if granite contracts on cool¬
ing only ten per cent., and that there be a thickness of
40,000 metres of it in the crust of the globe, crystallization
alone would diminish the terrestrial radius at least 143
metres, and consequently alter the form and rapidity of io-
1 The chemist is reminded of the fact, that if a mixture of metals,
as for instance tin, bismuth, and lead, be melted, they will, as the
mixture cools, have a tendency to solidify and crystallize separately
as the temperature of the mass reaches their respective melting-
points. This constitutes a great difficulty in large bronze castings.
1 We would just warn the student here, that, without altogether
denying that there may have been such a rock as a primitive gianite,
none of the granites now known at the surface can be shown o
have an antiquity greater than that of some of the aqueous roc is
with which they are associated.
GEOLOGY.
139
Mogy. tation of the earth. Such speculations are practically use-
ful only in a negative sense, as showing the great improba¬
bility of anything like a shell of 40,000 metres having
cooled and consolidated at once in the crust of the earth
during any of the known geological epochs.
Chap. III.—AQUEOUS ROCKS.
We are compelled to look upon the purely igneous rocks
as original productions. We can only speculate, and that
very vaguely, on what was the condition of the materials
which compose them, previously to their being placed, in a
molten state, in the positions where they subsequently con¬
solidated.
In our examination of the aqueous rocks, however, we
can go a step farther back, and learn, either accurately or
approximately, whence the materials composing them were
derived, and what was their previous condition. This is
true of all aqueous rocks, whether chemically, organically,
or mechanically formed.
We will examine the mechanically-formed rocks first.
I. MECHANICALLY-FORMED ROCKS.
Preliminary Remarks on their Origin.
The instruments used by nature in the production of
these rocks are,—moving water, whether fluid or solid (ice),
and moving air.
The Sea.—The sea is probably never and nowhere stag¬
nant. Currents, moving with greater or less rapidity, keep
the whole mass in circulation; so that we may look upon
the ocean, through all its depths, and in all its gulfs, bays,
and recesses, as one great slowly moving whirlpool.1
It is probable, however, that no currents produce any
marked or appreciable effects upon solid rock at great
depths of water. The mechanical powers of the sea are
principally brought into action by the motion of its surface
along the shores of all lands, and in its narrower and shal¬
lower channels. Sea-breakers along beaches, and at the
foot of cliffs, act like ever-moving jaws constantly gnawing
at the land. The currents caused by the ebb and flow of
the tides along shallow shores remove some of the eroded
materials; the great oceanic currents of circulation, where
they strike upon coasts, carry off others, and transport all,
either mediately or immediately, to greater distances.
In looking at the destructive action of water, however,
we must never forget that by destruction we do not mean
annihilation, but only re-arrangement. Rock forming
“ land,” that is, rock above the level of the sea, is destroyed ;
but its materials are carried off and deposited, either in
similar or in different combinations, to form rock below the
level of the sea.
For instances of the erosive and destructive action of the
breakers, and tbe abrading and transporting power of cur¬
rents, during historic times, we must refer the student to
Sir C. Lyell’s Principles of Geology, chapters 20, 21.
Rain.—The sea, however, is not the sole agent of the
destruction of that portion of rock at or above its level,
which we call land. All rain falling upon land, and either
running over its surface or draining through its interior, is
constantly abrading and carrying off* particles of pre-exist¬
ing rock in the shape of mud, silt, and sand. From the
gutters and the ditches, from the rills, the streams, and the
brooks, these materials for the building of mechanically-
formed rocks are almost unceasingly being carried into the
rivers, and by them transported to the beds of lakes and
seas. Rain soaking into ground, and issuing as springs on
1 See Maury’s Physical Geography of the Sea, and Johnstone’s
Physical Atlas, &c.
steep slopes or precipices, sometimes exerts a more whole- Geology,
sale destructive power, by gradually loosening and under-
mining very considerable masses of ground, and thus caus¬
ing them to be launched forward, down the slope, pro¬
ducing what are called “ landslips.”
Ice and Snow.—When rain falls as snow, on the other
hand, it exerts a conservative and protective effect as long
as it retains its solid form, but, on melting, acts like rain,
and even with greater intensity, inasmuch as a greater
amount of water is often set loose and in motion over the
land by the rapid melting of snow than would fall in the
same space of time in the shape of rain directly from the
clouds. The most extensive and powerful floods are those
o^ the spring in mountainous districts, when the snows melt
rapidly on the hills. If rain or other water soaks into rocks
and fills up their interstices, either the small pores, or the
crevices, joints, and fissures by which all rocks are tra¬
versed, and this water then freezes, this conversion into ice
is accompanied by an expansion which exercises an almost
irresistible mechanical force, the effect of which will be
either the disintegration of the particles in the one case, or
the breaking and rending asunder, and the displacement of
the larger masses in the other. On mountain summits and
sides subject to great vicissitudes of temperature, this
agency exerts no mean effect. The hardest rocks will be
broken up by it, and enormous blocks ultimately displaced
and toppled over precipices, or set. rolling down slopes to
suffer still further fracture, and produce still greater ruin in
their fall.
Glaciers.—When mountains are covered by perpetual
snow, all the part so covered is protected by this envelope
from all change. In such situations, however, the moving
power of water takes another form, that of the glacier, or
“ river of ice.” The lower border of the perpetual snow-
mass passes into ice, from the alternation of melting and
freezing temperatures, just as snow on the roof of a house
forms icicles at its lower edge, when partly melted and re¬
frozen. This ice accumulates in the valleys, and is frozen
into a solid or nearly solid mass, called a glacier. Glaciers
sometimes fill up a valley 20 miles long, by 3 or 4 wide,
to the depth of 600 feet. Although apparently solid and
stationary, they really move slowly down the valley, and
carry with them, either on the surface, frozen into their
mass, or grinding and rubbing along the bottom, all the
fragments, large and small, from blocks many tons in weight,
down to the finest sand and mud, that rain, and ice, and
the friction of the moving glacier itself, detach from the
adjacent rocks. The cause of this motion is now generally
believed to be that attributed to it by Professor J. Forbes,
namely, a slight degree of plasticity, a demise mi fluidity,
in the ice mass, by which it is enabled to actually flow down
the valley, just as a viscous substance, such as partially
melted pitch, would flow.1
The glaciers of the Alps, and probably those of other parts
of the world, descend to a vertical depth of nearly 4000 feet
below the line of perpetual snow, before they finally melt
away, and leap forth as rivers of running water. The con¬
fused pile of materials, of all sorts and sizes, which they
there deposit, is called the “ moraine.” This word is also
applied to the lines of blocks that are being carried along
on the surface of the glacier.2 The river of water that pro¬
ceeds from the end of a glacier is of course quite unable to
move the large blocks which had been carried with ease by
1 Professors Tyndal and Huxley have recently disputed this idea
of Professor J. Forbes’s, and shown the motion of glaciers to be the
result of the minute, almost molecular, fracture and regelation of the
ice particles, which move as if they were sand continually thawing
and re-freezing. {Philosophical Magazine, 1856.)
2 See Professor J. Forbes’s work on the Glaciers of the Alps, and
also Johnstone’s Physical Atlas; also the works of Agassiz, Char,
pentier, &c.
140
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology. tiiat 0f ;cej ancl only transports the finer particles, as mud
ancl sand.
Icebergs.—If, however, it so happen that a glacier come
down into a lake, or into the sea, before it melt away, large
fragments of it (icebergs) will be frequently floated off, with
all their freight of rock-fragments of all kinds ; and these
loaded icebergs may then be carried great distances before
they entirely dissolve. In this manner, large unworn an¬
gular blocks of rock may sometimes be dropped on the bed
of the sea even hundreds of miles from their original site.
The terminal moraine, instead of a pile at the foot of the
glacier, is disseminated far and wide over the bottom of the
surrounding seas.
River Valleys.—Rivers are not the producers of their
own valleys; they are the results of those valleys, but they are
their immediate results. The river could not be formed till
after the valley, with all its tributary branches, had been
marked out; but the valley could not even be marked out
without the river, in most cases, instantly springing into
existence, and commencing to modify, and deepen, and
complete the valley.
Action of Rivers.—The re-direction of draining water
into old channels will be more certain and frequent in pro¬
portion to the steepness of the ground and consequent rapi¬
dity of the flow of water ; and channels once selected will
there be more rapidly deepened, and more completely and
permanently formed. Such deep valleys (ravines, as we
should then call them) are scarcely to be obliterated, or
otherwise altered than from deepening and enlargement, by
any number or amount of changes, short of the removal of
the mass of high ground which they traverse. As long as
the mountains remain undestroyed, the valleys and ravines
must obviously be continually enlarged, either vertically or
laterally, by the action of the waters which traverse them.
The temporary damming up of rivers, and subsequent
breaking down of the barrier and escape of the lake formed
above it, produces sometimes the most remarkable instances
of the power of moving water. Rocks as big as houses are
thus set in motion, and carried sometimes for very consider¬
able distances down the valleys. (See Lyell as above ; also
Jameson,s Mineralogy, vol. hi., where all these causes of
mechanical destruction, including that of ice and icebergs,
are distinctly pointed out.)
We shall be able better to understand how rapidly the
size of water-borne fragments increases in proportion to the
velocity of the moving water, when we learn from Mr W.
Hopkins, that the power of water to move bodies that are in
it increases as the sixth power of the velocity of the current.
Thus, if we double the velocity of a current, its motive power
is increased sixty-four times ; if its velocity be multiplied
by 3, its motive power will be increased 729 times ; if by 4,
2048 times ; and so on.
In studying the mechanical force of water upon rock, also,
it is necessary to bear in mind that all earths and stones
lose fully a third of their weight when suspended in water.
These considerations enable us to understand more readily
the fact of blocks of rock many tons in weight having been
removed from breakwaters and jetties, and carried some¬
times many yards during great storms, as also of still larger
blocks hurried along by floods, &c.
The rolling power of water upon stones lying in its bed
depends greatly on their shape also, the same current being
easily able to roll along pieces of rock in the form of rounded
pebbles that it would be quite unable to move if they were
in the shape of flat slabs; while, reversely, flat slabs or
flakes would float more easily, or sink more slowly, than
rounded or square-shaped fragments of the same weight
and cubic contents. Flakes of mica, therefore, might be
floated and transported onwards where grains of quartz, even
though lighter than the mica, would sink; and, on the other
hand, rounded quartz pebbles might be rolled forward where
smaller and flatter pieces, in the shape of shingle, would be
brought to rest.
Geology.
Mr Babbage has lately treated of this subject, in a paper of which
an abstract appeared in the Journal of the Geological Society, No¬
vember 1856.
He there supposes the case of a river, the mouth of which is 100
feet deep, delivering four varieties of fine detritus into a sea which
has a uniform depth of 1000 feet over a great extent, which sea is
traversed by one of the great ocean currents, moving with a cer¬
tain given velocity.1
He takes for granted that the four varieties of detritus are such
as, from their size, shape, and specific gravity, would fall through
still water, the first 10 feet per hour, the second 8 feet, the third 5
feet, and the fourth 4 feet. The combined effect of the downward
motion of the detritus, and the onward motion of the water, would
then bring the first variety to the bottom of the sea, at a distance
of 180 miles from the river’s mouth, and strew it over a space 20
miles long ; the second variety would only begin to reach the bot¬
tom 225 miles from the river’s mouth, and would be spread over
25 miles, and so on, as in the following table :—
No.
Velocity of fall
per hour.
Feet.
10
Nearest dis¬
tance of deposit
to river mouth.
Miles.
180
225
360
450
Length of
deposit.
Miles.
20
25
40
50
Greatest dis¬
tance of deposit
from river
mouth.
Miles.
200
250
400
500
We should thus have, proceeding from the same river, and poured
into the sea, either simultaneously or at different times, four differ¬
ent and widely separated patches of mud or clay formed on the
sea bottom.
Mr Babbage says, that this subject was suggested to him from his
observing the extreme slowness with which a very fine powder, even
of a very heavy substance, such as emery, subsides in water, and
speaks of mud clouds being suspended in the depths of the ocean,
where the density of the water increases, for vast periods of time.
The amount of mechanical work done by rivers can be
estimated by examining their waters at different periods, and
determining their solid contents. If this be done by simply
evaporating the water, the result will be not only the me¬
chanically suspended mineral matter, but also that which
was chemically dissolved in the water. As the separation
of these two, however, is rather troublesome, and not very
important, it is not often attempted; neither, as a measure
of the work done, would it be often necessary, since the
chemical solution of mineral matter is perhaps more fre¬
quently than not the consequence of the mechanical erosion
of it by the water.
Sir C. Lyell, in his Principles, gives the following as the
results of various observations :—
The total mineral matter carried down by the Ganges into the
sea, according to Everest, is 6,368,077,440 cubic feet per annum,
part of which has been deposited at its mouth, forming a gentle
submarine inclined plane of 100 miles long, and sloping from 4
fathoms to 60 fathoms in depth. Lyell says, that for the transport
of this quantity, it would require a fleet of 2000 Indiamen, each of
1400 tons, to start every day throughout the year. This mass of
matter w'ould cover a square space 15 miles in the side every year
with mud a foot deep, or would raise the whole surface of Ireland
1 foot in the space of 144 years. The Brahmapootra probably car¬
ries an equal quantity.
Mr Barrow calculated that the Yellow River (Hoang Ho) in
China, carried down into the Yellow Sea 48,000,000 of cubic feet of
earth daily ,• so that, assuming the Yellow Sea to be 120 feet deep,
an English square mile might be converted into dry land every
seventy days, and supposing its area to be 125,000 square miles,
the whole would be made into terra firma in 24,000 years.
Herodotus remarked that “ Egypt was the gift of the Nile,”
and that the sea probably once flowed up to Memphis, the old
gulf having been filled up by the Nile mud, as the Red Sea would
be filled up if the Nile were turned into it. The edge of the pre¬
sent delta is, however, now swept by a powerful current, which
carries off all detritus delivered into it, and thus future increase is
1 The supposed velocity of the river and ocean current is not
stated in the abstract.
GEOLOGY.
leolcgy. prevented. Otherwise the Nile would by this time have formed a
long tongue of land projecting into the Mediterranean, just as the
Mississippi has projected a tongue of land 50 or 60 miles long, into
the Gulf of Mexico, having previously filled up the inlet which for¬
merly penetrated from that sea deeply into North America, and re¬
ceived the rivers more than 100 miles inland from the present
coast. According to Dr Riddell, the solid matter contained in the
Mississippi is about 80 parts in the 100,000 of water by weiofit, or
about 33 by volume; and Sir O. Lyell calculates, that it brings
down 3,702,758,400 cubic feet annually, and that the present delta
has required 67,000 years for its formation.
If we turn to the European rivers, Bischof states that Chandel-
lon, bY daily experiments during December 1849, found in the
Maes, at Leige, a maximum of 47-4 parts of suspended matter
alone, a minimum of D4, and a mean of 10 parts, in the 100,000 of
water.
In the Rhine, at Bonn, Mr Leonard Horner found, August 1833,
when it was unusually low and turbid, 3D02 of suspended and dis¬
solved matter; and in November, when swollen, 5D45. Bischof
found in March 1851, 20-5 of suspended matter alone ; and at an¬
other time, when it was clear, only 1-73 of such parts ; while Stief-
ensand, near Uerdingen, after a flood, found 78 parts of suspended
matter in the 100 000 of water.
In the Danube, August 5, 1852, there were found 9-23 of sus¬
pended, and 14-14 of dissolved matter—total solids, 23-37 in the
100,000 ; while in the Elbe at Hamburgh, there were in June 1852
only found 0 9 of suspended, and 127 of dissolved matter.
In these experiments much depends on the state of the river, and
also on the part of the river where the water is taken from, whether
far from the bank, at the surface, or near the bottom; and so on.
Whether the matter thus carried down by rivers is depo¬
sited at their mouths, and forms a delta, or is carried off to
a greater or less distance, depends on the tidal or oceanic
currents which are to be met with at the mouth of the
river. In lakes, deltas or flats are almost invariably met
with at the mouths of rivers. In sheltered bays and gulfs,
where there is no great rise and fall of tide, and conse¬
quently no great scour of the river’s mouth, deltas are also
formed; witness the Po, the Rhone, Nile, Mississippi, Ori¬
noco, Indus, Ganges, Brahmapootra, &c. Where, however,
there are strong ebb tides, or where the river mouth is
swept by a strong oceanic current, the detritus is carried off
directly into the sea, as in the case of the Amazon, the Rio
dela Plata, the St Lawrence, and of most of the rivers of
Britain and Western Europe.
It results from even such a hasty and rapid glance as we
have just thrown over the principal mechanical powers of
moving water that are daily and hourly at work around us,
that we begin to acquire the notion that we are living in a
vast workshop, and that all the earthy matters we see about
us, the mud, the clay, the soil, the dust, the sand, the gravel,
and the boulders, are only so much raw material in process
of manipulation. They may be likened to the refuse and
the chips of some vast manufactory. They are the building
materials of stratified rocks, which are being carried from
the quarry to the place of construction, much being
dropped and scattered by the way. Every pebble, every
grain of sand, every atom of mud, is a fragment of pre¬
existing rock, removed at some period of past time, and
destined ultimately to enter into the structure of some other
rock in the future.
This building metaphor might be carried still farther
when we come to speak of the chemically-formed rocks,
since many of the mechanical deposits are bound together
by cements and mortars which are more or less identical in
Composition with those used in architecture.
Description of Mechanicalli/-Formed Rocks.
51. Conglomerate, Puddingstone, Breccia.—In the pre¬
ceding paragraphs, we have mentioned the method of for¬
mation of pebbles, gravel, and shingle, in rivers and alon<>-
the sea-coasts. When those materials are compacted too-e-
ther into stone, they are called conglomerate or pudding-
stone if the pebbles are round, breccia if the fragments
are sharp and angular
.The degree of induration or consolidation in conglome- Geology,
lates varies greatly. Some seem to have been consolidated
by simple pressure ; and from these the pebbles may often
be removed by a slight blow with the hammer, or even by
the knife, the form or mould of the pebble remaining in
the little film of sand which fills up all the interstices be¬
tween the laiger fragments. Sometimes the conglomerate
has been bound or cemented together by calcareous, ferru¬
ginous, or siliceous infiltrations, the matrix in which the
pebbles lie being as hard and indestructible as the pebbles
themselves, a blow with a hammer breaking the pebbles as
easily as the mass of the rock in which they are embedded.
The size of the fragments in conglomerates and breccias
varies greatly. In some rarer cases, blocks of as much as
two feet in diameter occur; but the more ordinary sizes
are from that of a man’s head to that of walnuts. Below
that size, the rock begins to pass into the coarser varieties
of sandstone.
52. Sandstone and Gritstone.—The very process by
which fragments of rock are rounded produces sand, as the
waste resulting from their attrition. Pebbles themselves
aiso are gradually broken or diminished into grains of sand.
Sandstone is nothing else but sand, formerly loose and inco¬
herent, subsequently compacted into solid stone. The
grains both of sand and sandstone generally consist of
quartz, sometimes clear and colourless, sometimes dull white,
sometimes yellow, brown, red, or green. The red colours
are usually the result of the covering of each little grain
with peroxide of iron, which sometimes acts as a sort of
cement to the stone, serving to bind the particles together.
I he green colours are commonly derived from silicate of
iron ; and the green and red are often intermingled, in con¬
sequence of the change of the iron from the condition of a
silicate to that of an oxide or peroxide.
_ •*- lie size of the grains varies from that of a pea to the
minutest particle visible to the naked eye ; many sandstones
and gritstones even requiring a lens in order to distinguish
the particles of which they are composed.
I he materials are equally various, as, along with grains
of quartz, may occur grains and particles of any mineral
substance whatever. Grains of feldspar, distinguishable by
their dull white colour and peculiar appearance, occur
abundantly in some sandstones, which may then be called
feldspathic sandstones. Flakes and spangles of mica are
rarely altogether absent; and in many sandstones they
occur so abundantly, and in such regular seams, as to cause
the rock surfaces to glitter, and the rock itself often to
split into thin plates and slabs. These are called micaceous
sandstones. When grains of limestone occur in any re¬
markable proportion, the rock may be called a calcareous
sandstone, though this designation is often applied to sand¬
stones the quartzose or other grains of which are bound
together by a cement of carbonate of lime, either invisible
to the eye or occurring as a network of little veins and
strings of crystalline carbonate of lime running throughout
the stone. Other varieties of sandstone are similarly named
from the prominent character of some part of their con¬
tents.
Argillaceous sandstone is a term not often used, nor is
it very often applicable, though many rocks contain various
mixtures of sand and clay. In many sandstones, too, little
flat rounded patches of clay, more or less indurated, often
occur. Similar little patches of clay may be seen on sandy
shores, either originally deposited there in little hollows, or
rolled as clay pebbles from some bed of clay. In quarry¬
ing sandstone, these clay patches are commonly called
“ galls” by the workmen. In highly indurated grits, they
sometimes assume the form of pebbles of slate, though the
slaty structure may often have been assumed in consequence
of the subsequent induration, and not before they were em¬
bedded in the sandstone.
142
GEOLOGY.
Geology.
There are many local terms used by quarrymen and miners
for different varieties of sandstones, such as—
Rock, used generally in South Staffordshire to denote any hard
sandstone.
Rotch, or roche, is generally used for a softer and more friable
stone.
Rubble, means either loose angular gravel, or a slightly compacted
brecciated sandstone.
Hazel is a North of England term for a hard grit.
Post is a similar term for any bed of firm rock, and is generally
applied to sandstone.
Peldon is a South Staffordshire term for a hard, smooth, flinty grit.
Calliard, or galliard, is a northern term for a similar rock.
Freestone is a term in general use, which is often applied to sand¬
stone, but sometimes to limestones, and even to granite, as in
the counties of Dublin and Wicklow. It means any stone
which works equally freely in every direction, or has no ten¬
dency to split in one direction more than another.
Flagstone, on the contrary, means a stone which splits more freely
in one direction than any other, that direction being along
the original lines of deposition of the rock. These stones
are ordinarily sandstones, though often very argillaceous, and
some flagstones are perhaps rather indurated clay in thin beds
than sandstone. Thin-bedded limestones may likewise often
be called flagstone.
Sandstones, like conglomerates, may have been consolidated either
by simple pressure continued for a long period of time, by pres¬
sure combined with an elevation of temperature, by the infiltration
of mineral matter in solution, or by the aqueous or igneous solution
and subsequent reconsolidation of some of the particles composing
it, or lastly, by a combination of two or more of these actions.
Some of the loose tertiary sands of the North of France, such as
the Sable de Fontainebleau, and the Sable de Beauchamp, exhibit
these actions in a very remarkable way. The Sable de Fontaine¬
bleau is a pure white siliceous sand. It is covered in some places
by beds of a freshwater limestone called the Calcaire de Beauce.
Water containing carbonate of lime in solution, derived either from
this limestone, or from other sources, percolates through the sand,
and deposits the lime, binding the sand either into globular con¬
cretions, or even into rhombohedral crystals, such as carbonate of
lime ordinarily forms.
Besides these smaller concretions, other large parts of the sand
have been compacted together, either at the time of deposition, or
subsequently, into a very hard white gritstone, which is extensively
used as a paving-stone in the district where it occurs. This gres
de Fontainebleau forms picturesque crags and precipices, all the
more striking perhaps, from the loose and easily removed sand in
which the beds and other irregularly formed masses of the consoli¬
dated rock occur. The cementing substance of the sandstone may
in some cases be carbonate of lime, equally diffused through the
mass. In other cases, however, the quartzose grains appear to be
bound together by a siliceous cement, as if the percolating water
had contained dissolved silica. This is obviously the case in one
variety, a glittering rock being produced, greatly resembling or¬
dinary quartzite, only more white and lustrous; this variety is
called “ gres lustrge,” or lustrous grit.
The gres de Beauchamp consists of similar locally consolidated
and semi-concretionary lumps of sandstone, occurring here and
there in loose sand. On the plains north of Meulan, these lumps
of gritstone are discovered by “ sounding” or piercing the loose
sands with an iron rod, and they are then extracted and broken
into square blocks, and used for forming the roads of the country.
These tertiary grits are often as hard and intractable, and break
with as splintery a fracture under the hammer of the geologist, as
the grits he is accustomed to meet with among the oldest rocks of
the British mountains.
When among the materials of a sandstone there occur
any containing a notable proportion of alumina, which may
be known by the earthy odour given out when the rock is
breathed upon, we have the constituents for the formation
of clay, and it only remains for those materials to be ground
down into fine powder and mixed with water, either natu¬
rally or artificially, for clay to be produced.
53. Clay.—Perfectly pure clay is a hydrated silicate of
alumina. This is the substance known as “ kaolin,” or
“ porcelain clay,” derived from the decomposition of ortho-
clase, albite, or other feldspars, from which the silicates of
potash, soda, &c., have been washed out. In some granitic
districts, the granite being decomposed yields this substance,
which is carried down by water, and deposited in hollows,
the quartz and mica being often left behind in the state of Geology,
loose sand.
Common clay, however, is often largely coloured with
oxide of iron, and mingled with many impurities, besides
being mixed in variable proportions with sand. Any very
finely divided mineral matter, which contains from ten to
thirty per cent, of alumina, and is consequently “plastic,”
or capable of retaining its shape on being moulded and
pressed, would commonly be called clay.
These clays have a number of varieties, of which the
following are the principal:—
Pipe-clay, free from iron, white, nearly pure.
Fire clay, nearly free from iron, and from all alkalies, often con¬
taining carbon, but this does not prevent its forming bricks
that will stand the heat of a furnace.
Shale, regularly laminated clay, more or less indurated, and split¬
ting into thin layers along the original laminae or planes of
deposition of the rock. The colliers’ and quarrymen’s terms
for shale are Bind, or Bluebind, Metal, Plate, &c. When very
fine, and containing a large proportion of carbonaceous matter,
the collier calls it Batfl- or Bass, the geologist carbonaceous
or (bituminous) shale, and the coal merchant often “ slate.”
In Scotland the collier’s term for shale appears to be “ blaes,”
or “ blues,” the shales being often bluish gray. When lumpy,
they are called “ lipey blaes.” Black, argillaceous shales (or
batts) are called “ dauks ;” “ fekes,” or “ gray fekes,” seem
to be sandy shales such as would be called “ rock binds” in
South Staffordshire. (See William’s Mineral Kingdom.) In
the South of Ireland carbonaceous shale is called “ kelve,” and
indurated slaty shale is termed “ pinsill,” or “ pencil,” as it
is used often for slate pencils.
Clunch is a common name for a tough, more or less indurated clay,
often very sandy.
Loam is a soft and friable mixture of clay and sand, enough of the
latter being present for the mass to be permeable by water,
and to have no plasticity.
Marl is properly calcareous clay, which, when dry, naturally breaks
into small cubical or dice-like fragments. Many clays, how¬
ever, are commonly but erroneously called marls, which do
not contain lime.
Argillaceous flagstone is an indurated sandy clay or clayey sand¬
stone, which splits naturally into thick slabs or flags.
Clay slate is a metamorphosed clay, differing from shale in having
a superinduced tendency to split into thin plates, which may
or may not coincide with the original lamination of the rock.
It will be more particularly described among the metamorphic
rocks.
II.—CHEMICAL AND ORGANIC ROCKS.
Preliminary Observations on their Origin.
Before entering on the description of these rocks, it will
be useful briefly to consider the nature and action of the
forces concerned in their production. We shall take as
our principal guide in this examination Bischof’s Chemical
and Physical Geology, as translated for and published by
the Cavendish Society. *
Carbonate of Lime.—Carbonate of lime is nearly in¬
soluble in pure water, but if the water contain carbonic
acid gas, the mineral is easily dissolved by it, either in con¬
sequence of some special solvent power in water so impreg¬
nated, or in consequence of the carbonate being converted
into a soluble salt (never yet seen in a solid state) in the
form of a bicarbonate of lime.
Rain water and snow contain small quantities of carbonic
acid derived from the atmosphere, and acquire more in sink¬
ing through the soil.
If water, in sinking into the earth, meets with carbonic acid
gas rising from the interior, it becomes saturated with it, and
1 This term of “ batt”—commonly applied in South Staffordshire
to a lump of shaly coal which will not continue to burn in the fire,
and therefore soon becomes ash, and is consequently of little worth
has gone out of general use in the English language except in com¬
position, where it is retained in the word “ brick-bat” for the
broken end of a brick.
GEOLOGY.
143
fcology. carbonated springs are produced. The waters of springs,
S-V*'' rivers, and lakes, therefore, always contain some, and pro¬
bably a very variable amount of carbonic acid gas. The
waters of the European seas, according to Vogel and Bis-
chof, contain from 7 to 23 parts by weight of carbonic acid
gas in the 100,000 of water. But from experiments made
in the French ship “ Bonite,” in the Indian Ocean, only
from 0-4 to 3'0 parts by weight in the 100,000. {Bischof
vol. i., p. 113, &c.)
The quantity of carbonate of lime thus held in solution
by water containing carbonic acid gas is likewise very va¬
riable. In springs it may occasionally reach the point of
saturation, which is about 105 parts in the 100,000.
In the rivers of Great Britain and Western Europe, the
quantity of mineral matter held in solution varies from 4 to
55 parts in 100,000 parts of water, the mean quantity being
22. Of this mineral matter one half is commonly carbo¬
nate of lime, the least proportion, or 35 per cent., being
found in the Loire; the greatest, 82 to 94 per cent., in the
Rhone at Lyons. The quantity of mineral matter in the
Thames, near London, is 33 in the 100,000 parts of water,
15 of which, or 46 per cent., are carbonate of lime. Bis¬
chof calculates that if the mean quantity of carbonate of
lime in the Rhine be assumed as 9'46 in the 100,000 of
water, which it is at Bonn, then, according to the quantity
of water estimated by Hagen to flow at Emmerich, enough
carbonate of lime is carried into the sea by the Rhine, for
the yearly formation of three hundred and thirty-two thou¬
sand millions of oyster shells of the usual size.
Notwithstanding the vast quantity of carbonate of lime
thus carried down into the sea, observation shows that the
quantity to be found in sea-water is commonly very small.
In most analyses of sea-water it is not mentioned at all.
Sea-water from Carlisle Bay, Barbadoes, contained 10 parts
The purely chemical processes now open to our observation, Geology,
in which limestone is being formed, are the following:—
54. Stalactites and Stalagmites, Travertine and Calc
Sinter, are formed in places where water containing car¬
bonate of lime in solution suffers from evaporation, and
deposits the carbonate in a solid form. Each drop of water
loses by evaporation both water and carbonic acid gas, thus
becoming more saturated with the carbonate of lime, at the
same time that it loses some of its solvent power. It is
therefore forced to part with some of this carbonate of lime,
which adheres in a solid form to the nearest part of the
solid substance over which the water passes. In the case
of stalactite and stalagmite, a coating of solid matter is thus
formed, with long icicle-like pendants hanging from the roof
of caverns or arches, and columns rising from the floor
wherever the water continues to drop long enough in one
particular spot. Vertical sheets of it may even be formed
when the water oozes from a long joint or crevice in the
roof. The part hanging from the roof is called stalactite;
that on the floor stalagmite. The limestone thus formed
is commonly white or pale yellow, subcrystalline, often
fibrous, and when thin, semitransparent or translucent.
Stalactites may often be seen under the arches of bridges,
vaults, or aqueducts, especially if the stone of which they
are built be limestone. Sometimes they are even derived
from the carbonate of lime contained in the mortar or
cement used in their construction.
Travertine, or Calcareous Tufa, is deposited by exactly
the same process on the margins of springs or on the banks
of rivers and the sides of waterfalls, or wherever water con¬
taining carbonate of lime in solution is brought into circum¬
stances where rapid evaporation can take place. Sticks and
twigs hanging over brooks often become coated with it;
and the incrustation of bird’s nests, wigs, medallions, and
m 100,000; sea-water from between England and Belgium.,^ other matters, by the action of what are called petrifying
only 5 7 parts in 100,000. In the open sea, at a distan6e wells, is commonly known. In Italy large masses of solid
from any land, it is said to be rarely if ever discoverable by and beautiful travertine are deposited by some of the springs,
analysis.
The smallness of the quantity to be found in sea-water,
compared with that in almost all rivers, is doubtless owing
to the quantity of carbonate of lime constantly abstracted
from sea-water by marine animals, in order to form their
shells and other hard parts.
Bischof states that the quantity of free carbonic acid gas
contained in the sea, is five times as much as is necessary
to keep in a fluid state the quantity of carbonate of lime to
be found in it. He argues, therefore, that it is impossible
for any carbonate of lime to be precipitated in a solid form
at the bottom of the sea by chemical action alone.
Carbonate of lime is deposited on land by springs and
rivers, in consequence of the evaporation of the water, and
the consequent extrication of a portion of the carbonic acid
gas that previously held the carbonate of lime in solution.
But it is clearly impossible for any evaporation of water
and gas to occur to a sufficient extent in the sea for this
precipitation to take place. We are almost compelled,
therefore, to conclude with Bischof, that all our marine
limestones have been formed by the intervention of the
powers of organic life, separating the little particles of car¬
bonate of lime from the water and solidifying them, in order
to enable them to form part of a solid rock.
There is of course the possibility that the sea once con¬
tained a much greater proportion of carbonate of lime than
it does now, though this does not appear likely when we
recollect that in the earliest and least fossiliferous of our
foi mations there is a much smaller proportion of limestone
than in later and more fossiliferous rocks; and that even in
the oldest1 limestones organic remains are to be found.
so that it is used as a building stone. The Colosseum at
Rome is built of stone thus formed. The name travertine
is derived from the Tiber, meaning simply Tiber-stone.
Pipes to convey water, especially water from boilers,
frequently become choked up by the deposition of lime¬
stone. Bischof says that there are fifty springs near Carls¬
bad giving out 800,000 cubic feet of water in twenty-four
hours, from which, according to Walchner’s calculation, a
mass of stone weighing 200,000 pounds could be deposited
in that time.
Marine Limestones.—The marine depositions of carbon¬
ate of lime now taking place are best studied in coral reefs.
In almost all tropical seas, incrusting patches or small banks
of living coral are to be found along the shores, wherever
they consist of hard rock, and the water is quite clear. In
the Indian and Pacific Oceans, however, far away from any
land, huge masses of coral rock rise up from vast and often
unknown depths just to the level of low water. These
masses are often unbroken for many miles in length and
breadth; and groups of such masses, separated by small
intervals, occur over spaces sometimes of 400 or 500 miles
long, by 50 or 60 in width. The barrier-reef along the
N.E. coast of Australia is composed of a chain of such
masses, and is more than 1000 miles long, from 10 to 90
miles in width, and rises at its seaward edge from depths
which in some places certainly exceed 1800 feet. These
reef masses consist of living corals only at their upper and
outer surface; all the interior is composed of dead corals
and shells, either whole or in fragments, and the calcareous
portions of other marine animals. The interstices of the
mass are filled up and compacted together by calcareous
1 In the highly altered limestones associated with gneiss and mica
slate, we could hardly expect to find traces of fossils, even if they
once contained them. Organic forms have, however, lately been
discovered in altered limestone from the gneiss of Scotland.
144
M INERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology.
sand and mud, derived from the waste and debris, the wear
and tear of the corals and shells, and by countless myriads
of minute organisms, mostly calcareous also. The surface
of a reef, where exposed at low water, is composed of solid¬
looking stone, which is often capable of being split up and
lifted in slabs, bearing no small resemblance to some of our
oldest limestones. These slabs and blocks, when broken
open, are frequently found to have a semicrystalline struc¬
ture internally, by which the forms and the organic struc¬
ture of the corals and shells are more or less disguised and
obliterated. The “bottom” in and among the reefs com¬
posing the great Australian barrier, at a depth of some
twenty fathoms, often looked, when brought up in the
dredge, very like the unconsolidated mass of some of the
coarse shelly limestones to be found among the oolites of
Gloucestershire. At other times the dredge came up com¬
pletely filled with the small round foraminiferous1 shells
called orbitolites, and these organisms seemed in some places
to make up the whole sand of the beach either of the coral
islets or of the neighbouring shores. In the deep sea
around, and in all the neighbouring seas, from Torres Straits
to the Straits of Malacca, wherever “ bottom ” was brought
up by the lead, it was found to be a very fine-grained im¬
palpable pale olive-green mud, which was wholly soluble in
dilute hydrochloric acid. This substance, when dried,
would therefore be scarcely different from chalk, though it
commonly was of a greener tinge. Raised coral reefs, in
the islands of Timor and Java, were often internally as white
and friable as chalk, though they had frequently a rougher
and grittier texture, and weathered black outside. The
weathered surfaces of these limestones, often at a height of
200 or 300 feet above the sea, with their embedded shells
of all descriptions, including a tridacna of one or two feet
in diameter, differed in no respect from some of the surfaces
of the Great Barrier Reef, where exposed at low water.
{Voyage of H.M.S. Fly.)
On the upper surfaces of some of the existing coral reefs
small islands are formed; the coral sand being drifted by
the winds and waves till it forms a bank reaching above
high-water mark. In some of these islands the rounded
calcareous grains are bound together into a solid stone by
the action of rain-water, which, containing a small quantity
of carbonic acid, dissolves some of the carbonate of lime as
it falls, but being shortly evaporated, redeposits it again in
the form of a calcareous cement. Some of this stone pre¬
sented very distinct examples of the oolitic structure pre¬
sently to be mentioned, little minute grains and particles
being enveloped in one or two concentric coats, like the
coats of an onion. That this stone was not consolidated
under water was proved by nests of turtles’ eggs being
found embedded in it, evidently deposited by the animal
when the sand was above water, and was loose and inco¬
herent.
Guided by these facts and observations, we may form
tolerably accurate notions of the mode of origin of all our
marine limestones, and attribute to them an organic-chemi¬
cal origin, taking into account, at the same time, how easily
they may have been subsequently altered in texture by the
metamorphic action either of water or of heat.
We must also bear in mind that, although the carbonate
of lime may have been secreted and brought into a solid
form from its aqueous solution by the action of animal life,
yet that the original form it thus received has been retained
in only a small part of it; the great mass having been sub¬
jected to the mechanical actions of erosion, trituration, and
transport, to a greater or lesser extent, in the process of its
conversion into calcareous sand and mud, and deposition as
beds of limestone.
1 See Dr Carpenter’s papers on these creatures in the Philosophical
Transactions.
Fresh-water Limestones.—Those limestones which have Geology,
been formed in fresh-water lakes, and are called fresh-water
limestones, may more nearly resemble travertine in their
mode of origin, since there is nothing to forbid the supposi¬
tion of the waters of lakes becoming so highly impregnated
with dissolved carbonate of lime as actually to deposit it as
a chemical precipitate. At the same time, most fresh-water
limestones look more like the result of the deposition of a
highly calcareous, rather clayey mud, than of a precipitate
of pure carbonate of lime. They become then the extreme
term of marl or calcareous clay, and may be the result of
either the disintegration of shells, &c., or of the mechanical
action of rivers on previously existing calcareous rocks, the
calcareous mud thence derived being perhaps mingled with
the detritus of other rocks in greater or less quantity.
Silica.—The aqueous deposition of silica is sometimes a
purely chemical one, as in the case of the siliceous sinter
deposited round the Geysers, or hot springs, of Iceland;
and round the hot springs of St Miguel and Terceira, in
the Azores ; and the chalcedony round those of New Zea¬
land. Cold-water springs also, in some instances, deposit
siliceous matter; but in these the silica is generally com¬
bined with alumina, oxide of iron, and other bases. In all
these cases, evaporation of the water takes place; and Bischof
attributes the formation of quartz crystals in cavities, and
of compact quartz in veins, to the total evaporation of water
containing silica in solution, and trickling down the sides
of such cavities. He shows the impossibility of ascending
springs depositing the quartz, inasmuch as those must be
full of water, and therefore total evaporation of successive
films of water could not take place. He attributes the for¬
mation of quartz crystals in drusy cavities to a similar
evaporation of water containing silica, that has filtered
through the adjoining rock. Agates, chalcedony, &c., show
very distinctly the successive deposition of films of silica.
Marine Flints.—To account for the deposition of silica
on the bed of the sea, where evaporation is not possible, we
are compelled, as In the case of limestone, to call in the aid
of the powers of animal life. The minute shells of many
of the infusoria are almost entirely composed of silica, which
they have extracted from the water of the sea. Some kinds
of rock, such as the tripoli, or polishing slate, are entirely
made up of these microscopic substances, some beds thus
formed being many fathoms in thickness and many miles
in extent.
All seas, from the equator to the poles, abound with these
minute organisms. They have been found living even in
ice. The phosphorescence of the sea, also, is due to the
presence of organic beings, a large proportion of which are
siliceous-cased animalcules. The bottom of the mid-Atlantic,
at a depth of 2000 fathoms, was found, in some of the late
hydrographic surveys of the United States, to be covered
by what appeared to be a fine clay; but this, on examina¬
tion, was discovered to be entirely composed of the siliceous
shells of infusoria.1 According to Ehrenberg, there are
formed annually in the mud deposited in the harbour of
Wismar, in the Baltic, 17,946 cubic feet of siliceous organ¬
isms. Although it takes a hundred millions of these ani¬
malcules to weigh a grain, Ehrenberg collected a pound-
weight of them in an hour. So prolific are they, moreover,
that “ a single one of these animalcules can increase to such
an extent during one month, that its entire descendants can
form a bed of silica 25 square miles in extent, and If foot
thick. As a parallel to Archimedes, who declared he could
move the earth if he had a lever long enough, we may say,—
Give us a mailed animalcule, and with it we will in a short
1 Maury’s Physical Geography of the Sea, p. 210. The student is
reminded that this fine clay is not formed of the debris of these
shells, but of the unbroken shells themselves. This will give him
an idea of their minuteness.
I
GEOLOGY.
Oology, time separate all the carbonate of lime and silicia from the
ocean.”1 The silica thus rendered solid, may either be
deposited alone, or may be associated, as will most probably
be the case, with the debris of calcareous matter forming
marine limestones, and having an equally organic derivation.
When thus diffused in the finest particles, pretty equally
perhaps through the mass of calcareous mud, it may either
be consolidated in this equally diffused state, producing a
more or less siliceous limestone, or it may, in obedience to
certain chemical laws, segregate itself from the calcareous
matter, and form either distinct layers and veins, or concre¬
tionary balls and nodules. The presence of any body itself
consisting largely of silica, such as many sponges, will faci¬
litate and determine this process, affording a centre of attrac¬
tion for the siliceous particles to collect around it from the
adjacent matter.2
These views of the organic origin of most marine lime¬
stones and flints are corroborated by the fact, which w^e
shall presently describe, of almost all great masses of lime¬
stone being accompanied by siliceous portions of a peculiar
character, such as are not found in any other rocks except
limestone.
Carbonate of'Magnesia.—Magnesia occurs in sea-water
in the form of chloride of magnesium and sulphate of mag¬
nesia. Of the solid salts dissolved in sea-wrater, 8 to 15 per
cent, consists of chloride of magnesium, and 6 to 16 per cent,
of sulphate of magnesia. (Bischof, vol. i., p. 99-105.)
From the quantity of free carbonic acid in the sea, it is
plain that these might be converted into carbonate of mag¬
nesia, but that if so, it would be kept in solution as a bi¬
carbonate (sesqui-carbonate), as in the case of carbonate of
lime. All that has been said, therefore, as to the necessity
for calling in the aid of organic life to solidfy carbonate of
lime from the waters of the sea, “ holds good in regard to
carbonate of magnesia, and the more so since this salt always
separates later than carbonate of lime, even from fluids which
have undergone a very high degree of evaporation.” (Bis-
chof, vol. i., p. 117.)
There is, however, this difficulty in this view,—the
carbonate of lime is largely separated from the sea-water
by being made to enter into the composition of the hard
parts of marine animals in overwhelming proportion, whereas
the per centage of carbonate of magnesia to be found in the
hard parts of corals and mollusca does not exceed 1 or 2
per cent.3 Neither do we know any class of animals that
secrete any much greater quantity of magnesia as some of
the infusorial animals secrete silica. Yet in many widely-
spread magnesian limestones the quantity of magnesia is
almost equal to that of lime, and the proportion is frequently
as much as 20 to 30 per cent. According to Forchammer,
the fucoid marine plants contain more than 1 per cent, of
magnesia; but the remains of such plants are rarely if ever
found in magnesian limestones. Magnesian limestones are,
moreover, generally poor in organic remains, though this
may be the result of their more perfect crystallization and
mineralization in various ways, by which the organic struc¬
ture has been obliterated, rather than of the absence of
organic beings from the original deposit.
In whatever way effected, it is true that magnesian lime¬
stones, containing various proportions of lime and magnesia,
have been deposited originally as magnesian limestone at
the bottom of the sea, sometimes in large quantities, and over
considerable areas.
It is equally true that pure carbonate of lime has in many
1 Bischof, p. 188.
3 Mr Bowerbank has proved the presence of sponge particles in
many flints and cherts, and refers them all to that origin.
8 It was stated by Professor Rogers, at the meeting of the British
Association at Cheltenham, that Silliman junior had recently found
a very large per centage of magnesia in the composition of corals.
VOL. XV.
cases been subsequently converted into dolomite or magne- Geolo
sian limestone by chemical metamorphic action.
The resemblance which magnesian limestones, even
where the carbonate of magnesia is in comparatively small
proportion, bear to true dolomites, and their likeness to a
chemical precipitate rather than to a mere sedimentary de¬
posit, induce us to pause before denying altogether that
such precipitation of carbonates, whether of lime or mag¬
nesia, have taken place on the bed of the sea without the
intervention of organic life.
Sulphate of Lime and Rock-salt {chloride of sodium)
arc undoubtedly chemical precipitates, and we are here
again met by the same difficulty as before, in assigning a
proximate cause for that precipitation in the open sea. If
we could imagine a portion of sea-water separated from the
ocean, and left as a shallow lagoon to gradually dry up, there
would be no difficulty in the case.
Bischof gives the following as the average composition
of the salts of the sea-water (vol. i., p. 379) :—
Per cent.
Saline contents of sea water 3-527
Consisting of—  
Chloride of Sodium (common salt) 75-786
Chloride of Magnesium  f  9-159
Chloride of Potassium   3-627
Bromide of Sodium   1,184
Sulphate of Lime (gypsum)   4-617
Sulphate of Magnesia (Epsom salts)   5-597
100-000
He tells us too, that when sea-water is evaporated, the
point of saturation for sulphate of lime is much sooner
reached than that for rock-salt; 37 per cent, of the water
being required to be removed in the one case, and 93 per
cent, in the other. Gypsum, therefore, must always be de¬
posited before rock-salt, and it is possible for the point of
saturation to be reached for gypsum in many cases without
that for rock-salt being attained. This may be the reason
why, although the sea contains sixteen times as much salt
as it does gypsum, that the latter more frequently occurs
as a mineral deposit than the former, though not often in
such great masses.
In isolated seas, such as the Dead Sea, where the water
is entirely saturated with salt, evaporation doubtless causes
a precipitation on its bed {Bischof, p. 400). Here, and in
shallow lagoons, such as the limans of Bessarabia, south of
Odessa, that dry up in summer, we have the formation of
rock-salt going on before our eyes.
In fresh-water lakes, sulphate of lime may be deposited,
either directly, the water becoming saturated with that sub¬
stance, or in consequence of springs or rivers containing
sulphuric acid, which convert into sulphates the carbonates
of the marls and calcareous muds already deposited. In
some instances chemical reactions, such as the oxidation of
iron pyrites (bisulphuret of iron), and that of sulphuretted
hydrogen, may be supposed to take place, producing sul¬
phuric acid, which immediately acts on any carbonate of
lime that it can reach.
Carbon may be looked upon as essentially an organic
element. Wherever we find carbonaceous matter in rocks,
therefore, we may suspect it to have been derived from or¬
ganic substances. Even the diamond is now believed to be
a crystallized gum, or other vegetable product; and graphite
may in like manner be looked upon as a possible, if not a
probable, result of the metamorphosis of either animal or
vegetable substance into a mineral. Even the purest gra¬
phite contains traces of earthy matter, diminishing its claims
to be considered an original independent substance.
Carbon enters into the composition of animal matter,
but its most abundant source is the vegetable kingdom.
Again taking Bischof as a guide in the explanation of
the conversion of the organic substance wood into the rock
x
146 MINER A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology.
which we call coal, we abstract some of his results in the
following remarks :—
Table of the Composition of Carbonaceous Substances.1
Wood  
Peat  
Lignite 
Coal  
Anthracite
Carbon.
49'1
54-1
693
82'1
940
Hydrogen.
6-3
5’6
6-6
5-5
3-0
Oxygen and
N itrogen.
44-6
40-1
25-3
12-4
3-0
In addition to these elements, however, the four latter
substances given above contain variable quantities of earthy
impurities, which are given, as in
Peat from 4‘6 to 10'0 per cent.
Lignite   0-8 to 47-2
Coal  0-24 to 35-5
Anthracite  0'94 to 7'07
Looking on these earthy matters as accidental and un¬
essential, we learn from the examination of the above table,
that the rocks anthracite, coal, and lignite, and the inter¬
mediate substance peat, consist of the same constituents
as the organic substance wood, the differences between
them being in the proportions in which these constituents
occur.
No other rocks except the coals have a composition at
all similar to this.
If we abstract from wood some 30 per cent, of its oxygen
and nitrogen, and compress the remainder till it becomes
more dense and compact, it must form coal.
If, therefore, we suppose wood (or vegetable matter)
buried under accumulations of more or less porous rock, such
as sandstone and shale, so that it might rot and decompose,
and some of its elements enter into new combinations, either
gaseous or liquid, those combinations always using up a
greater quantity of oxygen and nitrogen than of carbon and
hydrogen, or of oxygen and hydrogen than of carbon, w’e
should have the exact conditions for the transformation of
vegetable matter into coal.
This process might naturally take place in four ways:—
1st. By the separation of carbonic acid gas (consisting of two equi¬
valents of oxygen and one of carbon=C02) and carburetted
hydrogen (consisting of four equivalents of hydrogen to two
of carbon = C9 H4) from the elements of the wood.
2d. By the separation of carbonic acid from the elements of the
wood, and the oxidation of some of the hydrogen (i.e., its con¬
version into water~HO) by combination with external oxy-
gen.
3d. By the separation of both the carbonic acid and the water from
the elements of the wood.
4j/i. By the separation of all three substances, carbonic acid, car¬
buretted hydrogen, and water, from the elements of the wood.
The loss of carbon is greatest in the first case, and least in the
third, being always greater in proportion to the quantity of car¬
buretted hydrogen which is disengaged.
The great quantities of carbonic acid gas (choke damp)
and carburetted hydrogen (fire damp) met with in coal
mines, shows the fact of the large extrication of these sub¬
stances, and corroborates, if need were, this explanation.
Reservoirs of these gases in a highly compressed state are
often found to be pent up in the crevices and cavities of
coal beds, and are the cause, when tapped, of many of the
accidents which take place. Some beds of coal are so sa¬
turated with gas, that, when cut into, it may be heard ooz¬
ing from every pore of the rock, and the coal is called
“ singing coal” by the colliers.
Bischof shows, that “ under circumstances otherwise simi¬
lar, the conversion of vegetable substances into coal takes
1 See also a very clear explanation of this subject in Ronald’s and
Richardson’s Chemical Technology, vol. i., p. 31.
place in the same way, whether they are mixed with much
or little earthy matter.” He also believes, from Kremer’s
and Taylor’s investigations into the nature of the ash of
coal, that there was an intimate mixture of vegetable and
earthy substances, and that coal containing earthy matter
could not be formed from compact wood without previous
decay having taken place (vol. i., p. 269). He seems to
suppose that, in many instances, this decay has gone so far
as to convert the vegetables into “ mould,” which has been
drifted as a kind of vegetable mud, and when mixed with
earthy matter, deposited under water in the place where we
now find it as coal.
From these preliminary considerations, we learn that
plants living in the air extract from it the invisible carbonic
acid and other gases, and by the hidden processes of life,
compel them to enter as solid and visible substances into
the composition of their own bodies; and that animals1
living in the sea, in like manner extract from it the invisible
solutions of lime and other substances, and similarly compel
them to become solid and visible parts of their own bodies.
In each case the substances thus rendered visible and solid
by the action of organic laws, become, after the death of
the organism, subject to the ordinary laws governing inor¬
ganic matter, and after undergoing more or less alteration,
are used as materials for assisting in the construction of the
external crust of our earth.
Description of the Chemicalhj and Organically formed
Aqueous Rocks.
55. Limestone may be hard or soft, compact, concretion¬
ary, or crystalline, consisting of pure carbonate of lime, or
containing silica, alumina, iron, &c., either as mechanical
admixtures, or as chemical deposits along with it.
Different varieties of limestone occur in different localities, both
geographical and geological, peculiar forms of it being often con¬
fined to particular geological formations over wide areas, so that it
is much more frequently possible to say what geological formation
a specimen was derived from, by the examination of its lithological
characters, in the case of limestone, than in that of any other rock2.
Compact limestone is a hard, smooth, fine-grained rock, generally
bluish gray, but sometimes yellow, black, red, white, or mottled.
It has either a dull earthy fracture, or a sharp, splintery, and con-
choidal one. It will frequently take a polish, and when the colour
is a pleasing one, is used as an ornamental marble.
Crystalline limestone may be either coarse or fine-grained, vary¬
ing from a rough granular rock of various colours, to a pure white,
fine-grained one, resembling loaf sugar in texture. This latter
variety is sometimes called saccharine, sometimes statuary marble.
The crystalline structure of limestone is either original, when it is
often found that each crystal is a fragment of a fossil; or it has
been superinduced by metamorphic action on a limestone formerly
compact.
Chalk is a white, fine-grained limestone, sometimes quite
earthy and pulverent, sometimes rather harder and more
compact, as the chalk of the north of Ireland, and some of
that of the north of France.
Oolite is a limestone in which the mineral has taken the
form of little spheroidal concretions, and the rock looks like
the roe of a fish, from which its name, signifying egg, or
roe-stone, is derived. These little concretions have se¬
veral concentric coats, sometimes hollow at the centre, some-
1 Although coral-reefs were dwelt on as the most obvious and
abundant source of limestone at the present day, it was not intended
to infer that they had always been so. The older limestones have
none of the huge reef-making corals in them ; the small corals they
contain merely contributed to their formation, together with other
animals that secreted carbonate of lime.
a No experienced British geologist would be likely to confound
characteristic specimens of the limestones of the Silurian, Carboni¬
ferous, Oolitic, and Cretacious formations of Britain and Western
Europe; while any one might easily mistake the argillaceous or are¬
naceous rocks of those different formations.
GEOLOGY.
147
G«logy.
times enclosing a minute little grain of siliceous, or calca¬
reous, or some other mineral substance. It is commonly
of a dull yellow colour, but gray oolitic limestone is not
unfrequent. Its peculiar structure gives it the character of
a freestone, working easily in any direction; whence its
value as a building stone.
Bath stone, Portland stone, Caen stone, are well-known
examples of oolitic limestone.1
Pisolite is a variety of oolite, in which the concretions
become as large as 'peas. It is a structure not confined to
limestone, however, as other rocks or minerals occasionally
assume it.
Many limestones are named from their containing some
peculiar variety of fossil, as nummulite, clymenia, crinoidal
limestone, and shell limestone, or muschelkalk.
Others have local names given them, as the calcaire
grossier of Paris, a coarse limestone, some beds of which are
used for building, while others are a mass of broken shells.
Cipolino, a granular limestone containing mica; majo¬
lica, a white, compact limestone; scaglia, a red limestone
in the Alps. (Murchison and Nicol, in Johnston’s Physi¬
cal Atlas.)
Ireland especially abounds in a great variety of limestones
used for ornamental marbles, such as the green serpentine-
marble of Ballynahinch in Galway; the black marble of
Kilkenny; the brown, red, and dove-coloured marble of Cork
and Armagh ; and many others less known, and some of
them unworked, but equally beautiful with those that are.
In Derbyshire and North Staffordshire, we have a similar
abundance of ornamental marbles.
Fresh-water limestones have commonly a peculiarity of
aspect, from which their origin may sometimes be suspected,
even before examining their palaeontological contents, or
petrological relations. They are generally of a very smooth
texture, and either dull white or pale gray, their fracture
only slightly conchoidal, rarely splintery, but often soft and
earthy.
Flint and Chert.—The association of flints with chalk is
well known. Chalk flints occur as rounded nodular masses,
of very irregular, and sometimes fantastic shape, and of all
sizes, up to a foot in diameter. They are commonly white
outside, but internally are of various shades of black or
brown, sometimes passing into white. They have sometimes
concentric bands of black and white colours internally, and
exhibit markings derived from organic bodies round which
they have often been formed. Flint occurs in chalk not
only in nodules, but also in seams or layers, sometimes
Fig. L
Sketch of some beds of limestone containing nodules of white chert, at
Middleton Moor, in Derbyshire, in which the irregular and fantastic shapes
assumed by these nodules are well exhibited, as also their likeness to flints
in chalk.
1 This oolitic structure is by no means confined to what is known
as the Oolitic formation. We have already mentioned its occurrence
in coral limestone. It occurs also largely in the carboniferous
limestone of Ireland, and may recur in the limestones of any forma¬
tion.
short and irregular, sometimes regular, over a distance of Geology,
several yards. Ihese seams vary from half an inch to two
inches in thickness, and are commonly black in colour.
Almost ail large masses of limestone have their flints or
siliceous concretions. Ihese are frequently called chert, as
in the carboniferous limestone, where the nodules and layers
of chert exactly resemble the flints in chalk.
Fig. ?.
Sketch of part of a scam of black clicrt in tbo limestone near Dublin.
-These seams, like those in chalk, are sometimes quite regular for some dis¬
tance, and then either suddenly terminate, split up, or are subject to other
irregularities like those in the figure.
Even the tertiary limestones around Paris have their
flints, the melanite of that locality being nothing but a sili¬
ceous concretion, found in the Calcaire St Ouen, and pos¬
sibly other places.
Pure siliceous concretions occur even in the freshwater
limestones and gypsum beds of Montmartre.
This invariable, or nearly invariable accompaniment of
limestone and siliceous deposits,—those siliceous parts
having a chemical, and not a mechanical formation,—
strengthen the hypothesis of the organic origin of both, as
previously described.
The silica diffused through the calcareous mud, of which
the limestone was composed, has sometimes remained so
diffused, instead of separating as nodules or layers, producing
a cherty or siliceous limestone.
Clay, or argillaceous matter, has frequently been deposited
with the calcareous, producing argillaceous limestone, which
may be known by the earthy odour given out by it when
breathed upon.
Carbonaceous matter, derived either from decaying ve¬
getables, or perhaps more frequently from the decomposing
animals of whose hard parts the rock is composed, produces
in like manner the black limestones, which are in some in¬
stances called bituminous limestones. Little nests of pure
anthracite, or other variety of carbonaceous matter, are
sometimes found in the hollows of shells buried in limestone.
The fetid smell, like that of sulphuretted hydrogen gas,
given off by many limestones when struck with a hammer,
is probably another result of the decomposition of animal
matter, producing what is called “fetid limestone,” or, by
the Germans, “ stinkstoin.”
When the argillaceous has been mingled with the calcareous
matter in very large proportion, a subsequent separation of the two
has often taken place, the lime having segregated itself from the
mass in this case, as the siliceous separated from the calcareous
matter in the case of flints and chert. Nodular lumps of limestone
are then produced, divided from each other by little, often irregular,
seams and layers of shale or clay. These concretionary lumps of
limestone are sometimes merely scattered through the clay, but
they often form regular seams or beds, the upper, or under, or both
surfaces being uneven and nodular. It is sometimes ditficult to
say whether the little parting films and small seams of clay which
occur between the beds have been deposited at different times from
the calcareous matter, or having fallen together wfith it as an ar-
gillo-calcareous mud, have had their calcareous particles sucked
out of them, as it were, by the segregating influence of chemical
affinity.
It is by no means intended to infer that alternate deposits
of thin layers of calcareous matter and purely argillaceous or
arenaceous matter have not frequently occurred ; we only wish to
put the student on his guard against taking particular structures
as proofs of original deposit, wdiich, especially in so active and un¬
stable a substance as carbonate of lime, may in many instances be
the result of subsequent agency.
143
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology. Jt }s comparatively rare to find such a mingling of quart-
zose sand and lime as could be called arenaceous limestone,
though we have already seen that calcareous sandstones are
not uncommon. Scattered pebbles, however, are some¬
times found in chalk and other limestones; and a curious
instance, first noticed by Proiessor Haughton, occurred at
Crumlin, near Dublin, of angular fragments of granite,
several inches in diameter, accompanied by granitic sand,
being found embedded in limestone, four or five miles from
any known granitic mass in situ. Such fragments may
perhaps have been floated in the roots of trees and other
vegetables, just as in the present day pebbles of hard stone,
highly valued by the natives, are found in the roots of trees
cast up upon the shore of archipelagoes of coral islands in
the Pacific, as mentioned by Chamisso and Darwin.
Magnesian limestone.—Carbonate of magnesia is often
found in marine limestones, mingled in various proportions
with the carbonate of lime. Its occurence in small quantity
frequently gives a sandy appearance and gritty feel to an
otherwise smooth and compact limestone. When examined
with a lens, this apparent sand is found to be made up of
minute dolomitic crystals, commonly of a yellowish brown
colour, and with a pearly lustre.
In a true magnesian limestone the crystallization and
the pearly lustre is generally very distinct, though some¬
times the crystals are minute. Its colour is commonly
some shade of brown or yellow, occasionally tinged with
red; gray and black varieties, however, occur sometimes
over very large areas.
Magnesian limestone is very variable in lithological cha¬
racter. It is sometimes of a powdery, earthy, and friable
texture ; sometimes splits into thin slabs, some of which are
flexible ; sometimes forms singular concretionary masses, a
number of balls touching each other, either like bunches of
grapes, when it is called botryoidal, or like musket balls, or
great piles of cannon shot. Many of these balls, on being
broken open, are found to have a radiated structure. That
all these curious forms have been produced subsequently to
the deposition of the mass is shown by the fact of the lines
of deposition or stratification proceeding through them re¬
gularly, without regard to the spherical outlines or radiated
structure of the balls.
Magnesian limestone occurs in two forms, original and metamor-
phic. In some limestones the carbonate of magnesia has clearly
been deposited together with the carbonate of lime, the whole
having been originally formed as a magnesian limestone.
In other instances, it can be shown, from the geological condi¬
tions, that whether the rock originally contained magnesia or not,
its present distribution and mode of occurrence, and its highly
crystalline structure, are the result of agencies operating subse¬
quently to the original formation of the rock, and affecting a num¬
ber of different beds simultaneously, along certain narrow lines of
fissure, to the neighbourhood of which the dolomatized condition of
the rock is confined.
57. Gypsum occurs as a rock in various ways. It some¬
times forms regular beds, sometimes irregular concretionary
masses, sometimes veins and strings in the mass of other
rocks.
Compact Gypsum ox Alabaster^ is one variety; granular,
finely crystalline gypsum another. The thin beds and the
veins and strings of gypsum are commonly fibrous, the fibres
being at right angles to the beds. The gypsum of Mont¬
martre, from which plaster of Paris is derived, is chiefly
granular gypsum, each bed being composed of many layers
of little crystals, slightly differing in colour and texture, and
thus assuming a regularly laminated appearance. This
w ould lead us to suppose that this rock, which is associated
with fresh-water limestones and marls, was formed by the
1 Alabaster is derived from Alabastron, a towrn of Egypt, where
it was manufactured into boxes for ointment. The term “ alabas¬
ter” was then applied to carbonate of lime, as well as sulphate of
lime.
periodical deposition of layers of small crystals of sulphate
of lime at the bottom of the water.
In August 1855 we observed in the quarries north of Montmartre
one or two beds, six or eight inches in thickness, of beautifully
crystallized sulphate of lime, in large perpendicular plates, inter-
stratified with these little layers of crystals. All the beds were
horizontal; and the layers of small crystalline grains were quite
parallel to the stratification; but in the beds above mentioned,
large tabular crystals and broad flakes of selenite, of rather irregular
form, had struck directly across the bed, more or less nearly at right
angles to it, the original horizontal lamination not being obliterated,
but being in some places waved, as if slightly disturbed by the
formation of the crystalline plates, the angles of these waves having
evident relation to the faces and angles of the superinduced crys¬
talline plates.
а. Layers of small crystalline granules of gypsum.
б. Crystalline plates of gypsum, traversed by the faintly seen and displaced
original layers of granules. These lines are not sufficiently oblique in the
woodcut; on the faces of some of the crystals they form angles of 30° with the
plane of the beds.
This formed a good case, like that before-mentioned as occurring
in the spheroidal concretions of magnesian limestone and other
rocks, of a molecular change of structure having taken place in the
mass of the rock subsequently to its formation. It yet remains for
the chemist to explain to us the exact method of operation by which
these changes are produced.
58. Hock-salt commonly occurs in Britain as a rudely
crystalline, irregularly bedded mass, commonly stained of a
dirty red by the mixture of feruginous clay and other im¬
purities. Perfect cubical and transparent crystals occasion¬
ally occur, and curious spheroidal bands, oi a white colour,
are sometimes observable in the roof of a salt-mine. Bed¬
like masses of rock-salt are often 60 or 90 feet thick, thin¬
ning out probably in all directions, and thus taking the
form of large cakes. In other countries, more numerous
beds occur, but not making up larger masses. In some of
these the salt is perfectly pure and white; but in all coun¬
tries, and in all geological formations, the association of salt
with gypsum, and with green, red, and variegated marls, is
a frequent if not invariable occurrence. We have already
seen how natural and almost inevitable is the occurrence of
gypsum with rock-salt; but the accompaniment of red and
variegated clays has not yet been explained. When it is,
it will probably throw great light on the circumstances
under which the rock-salt itself has been deposited. Dolo¬
mite is also often found in connection with rock-salt.
59. Coal is a rock the general aspect and nature of which
is familiar to everybody. Its chemical composition has
been spoken of above, and the resemblance of that compo¬
sition to that of wood, and the way in which, by a slight
alteration in the proportion of its component parts, and an
accompanying physical consolidation, the one may be con¬
verted into the other. Coal is very commonly divided into
bituminous and non-bituminous. Now bitumen is rather a
vague term, including several combustible substances, such
as asphalt or mineral pitch, elastic bitumen or mineral
caoutchouc, naphtha, petroleum, &c. These bituminous
substances are all either fluids, or are readily soluble in
naphtha. It is, however, impossible to dissolve any appre¬
ciable portion of coal in naptha, which shows that it does
not contain any actual bitumen, though it may contain the
GEOLOGY.
149
G<tlogy. constituents of it. The natural and artificial bitumens are
the result of the decomposition of vegetable matter, and may
be extracted also from coal by subjecting it to distillation.
They always contain from 7 to per cent, of hydrogen,
combined with carbon and oxygen. The so-called bitumi¬
nous coals, then, are those in which the mineralizing pro¬
cess has only proceeded to a certain extent, leaving a
considerable proportionate amount of hydrogen and oxygen
in their composition ; while those called non-bituminous are
those from which a greater quantity of the latter substances
have been extracted, and a larger proportion of carbon left
behind. If the decomposition of wood results in the forma¬
tion of carbonic acid gas, which takes away both carbon and
oxygen, or of carburetted hydrogen, which takes away a
large proportion of carbon, the carbon in the remainder vvill
not be in such excessive proportion, and the constituents of
the resulting coal will more nearly resemble those of bitu¬
men. In this sense they may be called bituminous coals.
If, however, a large portion of the oxygen and hydrogen be
extracted, either as water or in any other form, the propor¬
tion of carbon in the remainder becomes excessive com¬
pared with that in the composition of bitumen; and hence
the coals may be called wo^-bituminous.
Coals vary greatly, not only in the proportions of their
essential constituents, carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen, but
also in the amount of earthy matter (forming ash) which
has been accidentally and mechanically mingled with those
constituents. We have seen that the per centage of ash is
sometimes as much as 35 per cent, in coals that have been
regularly analysed. In poorer varieties of coal, however,
such as are never brought to market, but which are occa¬
sionally used in particular localities, this per centage is
doubtless still greater; and we have in nature every grada¬
tion, from pure coal into a mere carbonaceous (commonly
called bituminous) shale or “batt,” which often contains
enough inflammable matter to give out flame and support
combustion for a time when burnt with better coals, but
soon passes into a lump of ash, unaltered in form, and not
retaining heat longer than a brickbat would under similar
circumstances. These batts, shales, or slates, often accom¬
pany coal, being found not only either just above or just
below it, but in it, in the form of thin seams, layers, or cakes,
which are often not to be separated from it without some
trouble.
Just as limestone is often mingled with clay, and passes
through argillaceous limestone and calcareous clay (or marl)
into clay itself, so coal passes through earthy or ashy coal,
and carbonaceous shale, into common shale or clay, no very
hard boundary-line being to be drawn between the many
minor graduating varieties of the different substances.
Discarding the impure or imperfect coals, the recognis¬
able varieties of true coal are sufficiently numerous. They
may be grouped under three heads:—Anthracite, ordinary
or pit-coal, and brown coal or lignite.
Brown coal or lignite sometimes shows the structure of
the plants from which it is derived but little altered from
their original condition ; stems with woody fibre “ crossing
each other in all directions. It is of a more or less dark
colour, soft and mellow in consistence when freshly quar¬
ried, but becoming brittle by exposure, the fracture follow¬
ing the direction of the fibre of the wood.” {Chemical
Technology, Ronalds and Richardson, vol. i., p. 32.)
“ Other kinds present only occasional distinct indications
of vegetable structure, and appear throughout as a stratified
mass of a dark, nearly black colour, with an earthy fracture ;
while in some varieties the structure is still more dense, and
the fracture is conchoidal.”—lb.
The latter varieties, as in the case of the Bovey coal of
Devonshire, are often scarcely distinguishable by any ex¬
ternal characters from some varieties of ordinary coal.
Ordinary or pit-coal has many varieties; indeed these
are often as numerous as the different seams of a coal-field, Geology,
and even the different beds of a compound seam are readily
distinguished from each other by the colliers, who give
particular names to them ; and even small blocks of these
varieties can be recognised by them, and identified with the
seam, or part of a seam, from which they are derived.
Neither are these distinctions, which are only to be perceived
after long practice, unimportant, since these varieties have
distinct qualities, some of them being better adapted to
smelting, and said to be “ good furnace coalsome of them
to blacksmith’s work, or “good shop coalothers to various
uses; while only a few, comparatively, are best fitted for
domestic purposes, and are brought to market by the coal-
merchant.
Some idea of the immense varieties of coal may he gained from
an inspection of the report of the Admiralty coal Investigation
(Mcms. Qeolog. Survey, vol. i.), as well as from the varying quali¬
ties of those which we are in the habit of using daily in our houses.
“ As many as seventy denominations of coal are said to be imported
into London alone.” (Chem. Tech.)
All these minute varieties are commonly included under four
principal heads :—1. Caking coal; 2. Splint, or hard coal; 3.
Cherry, or soft coal; and 4. Cannel, or parrot coal.
Caking coal is so named from its fusing or running together on
the fire, so as to form clinkers, requiring frequent stirring to pre¬
vent the whole mass being welded together. It breaks commonly
into small fragments with a short uneven fracture. The Newcastle
coal, and many others from different localities are caking coals.
They leave many cinders and a dark dirty ash.
Splint or hard coal is well known in the Glasgow coal-field. It
is not easily broken, nor is it easily kindled, though, when lighted,
it affords a clear, lasting fire. It can be got in much larger blocks
than the caking coals.
“ Cherry or soft coal is an abundant and beautiful variety, velvet
black in colour, with a slight intermixture of gray. It has a splen¬
dent or shining resinous lustre, does not cake when heated, has a
clear shaly fracture, is easily frangible, and readily catches fire.”
(Chem. Tech.) It leaves comparatively few cinders, and its ash is
white and light. It requires little stirring, and gives out a cheer¬
ful flame and heat. The Staffordshire coals principally belong to
this variety.
Cannel or parrot coal is called cannel from its burning with a
clear flame like a candle, and parrot in Scotland from its crackling
or chattering when burnt. Cannel coal varies much in appearance,
from a dull earthy to a brilliant shiny and waxy lustre. It is always
compact, and does not soil the fingers. Its fracture is sometimes
shaly, sometimes conchoidal. The bright shining varieties often burn
away like wood, leaving scarcely any cinders and only a little white
ash. The duller and more earthy kinds leave a white ash, retain¬
ing nearly the same size and shape as the original lumps of coal.
Cannel coal often takes a good polish, and can be worked into
boxes and other articles. Jet is an extreme variety of cannel coal
in one direction, as batt or carbonaceous shale is in another.
Anthracite is heavier than common coal, with a glossy,
often iridescent lustre, and a more completely mineralized
appearance. It rarely soils the fingers, has a distinctly
sharp-edged conchoidal fracture, or else breaks readily into
small cubical lumps. It is not easily ignited, but when
burning gives out an intense heat, so as to sometimes melt
the bars of the grate or furnace in which it is used. It does
not flame, and gives off but little smoke, being in this re¬
spect similar to coke or charcoal.
In many ordinary coals, little flakes of mineral charcoal
occur, retaining that part of the vegetable structure called
the vascular tissue. They are called “mother of coal” by
the colliers in some places. “ It is frequently seen in the
form of a thin silky coating, covering some of the surfaces
of the coal.” (Professor Harkness on Coal, Edinburgh
New Philosophical Journal, July 1854. Microscopical
examination exhibits not only the vascular but the cellular
tissue of plants in the substance of many coals, as was
shown by Mr Witham in his work on the structure of fossil
plants, and by many observers since.
All coals have a peculiar structure, which bears a slight
analogy to crystallization. They break or split not only
along the bedding, but across it, along two set of planes
150
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology, at right angles to the bedding and to each other. The
smooth, clean faces produced by one of these division
planes are more marked and regular than that produced by
the other, as may be seen by examining any lump of coal.
The principal of these division planes are called by the col¬
liers the/ace of the coal, the other being called the back or
end of the coal. They preserve their parallelism some¬
times over very wide areas ; and the mode of vyorking or
getting the coal, and the direction of the galleries, is go¬
verned by the direction of the face. In some places these
division planes are called “ cleat,” in others “ slines.
It is a structure which is probably the result of the
mineralizing process undergone in passing from an orga¬
nic to an inorganic state, and may be likened perhaps to
the “ cleavage ” of a mineral rather than to either the
true <( slaty cleavage of rocks, or to theii foliation or
“ jointing”—structures that will be hereafter described.
III.—AERIAL ROCKS.
Although the amount of rocks, or accumulations of
earthy matter, formed of materials which were brought
into their present situation by the action of the wind, is
comparatively of small importance, it is not expedient
wholly to overlook this action. Along all low sandy coasts
hills are formed of drift sand, which sometimes attain a
considerable altitude, as much, for instance, as 200 or 300
feet. These hills are commonly called “ dunes.” They
have been described as advancing on the low shores of
France, in the Bay of Biscay, at the rate of 60 and 70
feet per annum, overwhelming houses and farms in their
progress. Similar accumulations take place on the coast
of Cornwall, where the sand, composed largely of fragments
of shells and corals, becomes converted sometimes into a
hard stone by carbonate of lime or oxide of iron. (De la
Beebe’s Manual.
Lieutenant Nelson has described similar aerial accumu¬
lations in the Bermuda Islands, giving them the name of
iEolian rocks.
Along the south coast of Wexford, as also in Smerwick
harbour (county Kerry), and other parts of the British
Islands, similar accumulations are in progress.
On the eastern coast of Australia, about Sandy Cape,
this process is going on on a still larger scale. In Port
Bowen, in the same neighbourhood, we once saw a very
good instance of it. The rise and fall of the tide there
is as much as 16 feet; and at low water great sand-banks
are exposed, derived from the shallow sea outside and the
waste of the porphyritic rocks on the coast. These sand¬
banks rapidly dry under the hot sun ; and the trade-wind,
which blows home upon the shore, then drifts the sand up
upon the beach, and piles it into hills 50 or 60 feet high.
Behind these hills is a large mangrove swamp, which is
being gradually buried under the advancing sand, some of
the mangrove trees only just peering above it, others half
covered, and so on. The drift of sand through the gaps of
these dunes was exactly like a snow-drift in a heavy storm
whenever the wind blew freshly.
Large districts, with hills of 200 or 300 feet in height,
are found also on the coasts of Western Australia, stretch¬
ing sometimes 10 miles inland, formed of loose incoherent
sand, once apparently drifted by the wind, though now
brought to rest by the growth of a wide-spread forest of
gum-trees. Parts of these sands, which consist greatly of
grains of shells and corals, are compacted together into a
stone, hard enough to be used for building, by the action of
the rain-water dissolving some of the carbonate of lime, and
redepositing it on evaporation. Curious cylindrical stems,
frem 1 inch to 18 inches in diameter, are there seen pro¬
jecting from the soil, and have been taken for petrified
trees, which they greatly resemble; but w7e observed, in
1842, a number of these supposed trees exposed in a little
cove, south of the entrance of Swan River, ending down¬
wards in tapering forms like stalactites; and we believe
them, therefore, to have a stalactitic origin, due to the per¬
colation of water down particular pipes and channels in the
sand.
Nor is it along the coast only that such accumulations
are taking place. In the interior of great dry continents,
there are vast spaces covered with sand and sand-hills, which
are shifted and carried about by the wind, just as some
sand-banks are deposited now here, and now there, car¬
ried about by the water. We have but to recal to the mind
of the reader the well-known stories of caravans crossing
the desert being met and sometimes overwhelmed by mov¬
ing columns of sand, and the way in which many of the
temples of Egypt have been buried under such accumula¬
tions, for him to see that this action cannot be altogether
overlooked. Egypt would probably have been long ago
obliterated by drift-sand if it had not been for the Nile, and
the strip of vegetation that accompanies and defends it. In
the interior of Australia, Captain Sturt reports the exist¬
ence of vast deserts of sand, with long lines of great sand¬
hills, 200 feet high, the base of one touching that of its
neighbours, and all stretching in straight lines each way to
the horizon.
It would be quite proper also to class among aerial rocks
such accumulations of tuff as were derived from volcanic
ashes falling on the land, and also the masses of pebbles,
cinders, and fragments so dei'ived, were it not more con¬
venient to describe them in connection with the volcanic
rocks, so as not to separate in our account those falling on
the land from those deposited in water.
Soil.—The accumulation of decayed vegetable matter,
mingled sometimes with animal, always with earthy mine¬
ral matter, which is called “ soil” or “ mould,” is also an
aerial process, deserving of more attention than it has yet
received. Soils sometimes occur as distinct rocks, inter-
stratified with other rocks.
Chap. IT.—THE METAMORPHIC ROCKS.
Preliminary Observations.
In the course of the foregoing descriptions we have
mentioned the segregation into concretionary lumps and
nodules, of siliceous from calcareous matter, and of calca¬
reous from argillaceous; and we have described the radi¬
ated and concretionary forms assumed sometimes by mag¬
nesian limestone and the re-arranged crystallized beds of
gypsum. These, however, are not the only instances of
such separation of parts, and assumption of new forms and
combinations, by the particles of rock after their deposition,
and after their more or less complete consolidation. Any
mineral diffused in a state of minute division through a mass
of different nature from itself, seems to a have tendency to
segregate itself from the mass, and collect together upon
certain points or centres. Iron, either in the form of iron
pyrites (bisulphide of iron), or ironstone (clayey carbonate
of iron), or haematite (oxide of iron), frequently forms such
concretionary lumps. Iron pyrites, either in cubical crys¬
tals, or in balls with an internal radiated structure, is fre¬
quent in all argillaceous and calcareous rocks, and in
many trap rocks. Ironstone forms regular layers of round
nodules, sometimes as much as a foot or 18 inches in dia¬
meter, in many argillaceous rocks. These nodules, when
broken open, are often found to be traversed by cracks
in all directions, more or less filled up with crystalline spars
(carbonate of lime, &e.), together with crystals of galena,
blende, iron pyrites, and other minerals.
In other clays, carbonate of lime, mingled perhaps with
iron, produces similar stones, called septaria or cement
GEOLOGY.
151
Gklogy. stones in some places. They often take a polish, and the
sparry veins produce a variously ornamented appearance.
In these septaria and ironstone balls the external crust
is generally smooth and compact, the internal cracks be¬
coming larger and more numerous as they proceed towards
the centre. As the cracks are obviously the result of de¬
siccation and consequent contraction, and as the external
crust would naturally be the first part to consolidate, it
does not at first seem obvious why the cracks should not
occur outside rather than in.
Professor Hennessy, however, remarked to us, that in the
case of volcanic bombs, which have a similar structure, the
fact of the preliminary consolidation of the external crust
was the cause of the internal Assuring, since, when that
was formed, no farther shrinking or contraction of the
W'hole body could take place; and the internal parts being
thus relieved from external pressure, would shrink and
contract among themselves, being rather attracted towards
the dense external crust than towards the centre. If con¬
solidation commenced at the centre, the whole nodule
would have contracted towards the centre, and thus have
shrunk into a less size and a denser state, without the oc¬
currence probably of either external or internal cracks.
Haematite, whether red or brown, affects a kidney-shaped
concretionary form, often hollow, with a minutely radiated
structure at right angles to the surface of the mass.
Other minerals, such as galena and blende (the sulphides
of lead and zinc), occur in small balls or nests in some
rocks, evidently formed as concretions, and not rolled frag¬
ments or pebbles.
This separation of one matter from another, and subse¬
quent assumption of a condition more or less different from
that possessed by rocks at the time of their original forma¬
tion, leads us naturally to consider the next great division
of our subject, the metamorphic or transformed rocks.
The mere physical force of pressure, as aqueous rocks
after their formation become gradually covered by subse¬
quent accumulations, must produce change in them in the
way of consolidation and induration. The pressure may of
itself be sufficient in some cases to cause the hitherto inco¬
herent particles of sand or clay to cohere and be compacted
into a solid stone. It will, however, be greatly assisted,
either by the infiltration of water containing mineral matter
in solution, or of pure water dissolving and rearranging
the soluble materials which it may find in the rocks.
Heat may, in like manner, modify the effects of pressure,
either by its mechanical power of expansion producing
pressure in every direction, and subjecting rocks to alternate
expansions and contractions according to its own variations,
or by setting in action chemical forces of decomposition
and recomposition, and thus altering the chemical combin¬
ations in the materials of rocks.
Heat may also be joined with water, either raising it to
various temperatures or actually converting it into steam,
and we may thus get changes produced which neither cold
water nor dry heat would be able or likely to effect of them¬
selves. It has been stated that it is impossible to maintain
the bulb of a thermometer in the boiler of a steamer at very
high temperatures, since the glass is dissolved by the che¬
mical action of water heated under pressure. (Sedgwick’s
Introduction to Synopsis of Classification, See., 3d Fasicu-
lus, p. 29, note.) Now, it may not unfrequently happen
that we may have all the forces of pressure, heat, and the
dissolving pow’er of water combined in the interior of the
earth.
The presence of water in rocks is known by experience,
since no stone is ever quarried which will not part with
some water on being dried, either naturally in the air or
artificially. Bischof says, that he has observed, on breaking
blocks of basalt, “ wet patches, like rain drops, upon the
fractures, and sometimes quite in the centre of the mass,
affording positive evidence of the permeability even of so
compact a rock as basalt.” He says also, that almost all
water contains both carbonic acid, and often a slight pro¬
portion of silica (silicic acid) in solution, that the silicates
in which the silica is in its soluble modification are decom¬
posed by weak acids, and that those also in which it is in
its insoluble modifications are unable to resist the long-con¬
tinued action of acids.
This gives us the explanation of the brown spots and
patches found in many rocks containing silicate of lime,
such as basalt and greenstone, and also their brown and
weathered surfaces. Along the internal margin of the
brown part of basalt and greenstone a mineral acid will al¬
most always cause effervescence, as also along the minute
cracks and crevices and pores by which the water gains
access to the interior. It is plain that the silicate of lime
is converted into carbonate in the first place, and this being
removed by subsequent solution from more carbonic acid
and washed out, the protoxide of iron left behind is con¬
verted into peroxide, and the brown colour produced.
Limestone containing much silica or silicate of alumina,
and some protoxide of iron diffused through its mass, is, in
a similar way, converted into rotten stone, while pure lime¬
stone is wholly dissolved and washed away.
The decomposition of those rocks which do not contain
any lime proceeds in the same way, though it is not so easy
to detect it by the occurrence of effervescence with acids
along the margin of the decomposed part. Feldspar rocks
have their silicates of potash, soda, &c., converted first into
carbonates and then into bi-carbonates, which are dissolved
and washed away. Their decomposed portions are gene¬
rally white rather than brown, from the absence of iron,
though shades or streaks of red and brown occasionally
occur, showing its presence in small quantities.
In the examination of these changes, the study of pseudo-
morphic crystals of minerals is of great importance. A
pseudomorph is one mineral occurring in the crystalline
form of another. These are either “ alteration pseudo-
morphs,” in which the first mineral has been gradually
changed into the other, or “ displacement pseudomorphs,”
in wFich the first mineral having been gradually removed
particle by particle, another has gradually, and particle by
particle, taken its place. This action is a very important
one; for it is precisely that of “ petrifaction,” as it is called
—that by which organic remains are mineralized, and their
external form, and more or less of their internal structure,
preserved.
Animals and plants, by means of their fluids, take up and
convert into their own substance certain minerals, such as
silica, lime, magnesia, soda, potash, phosphorus, carbon,
iron, &c. This they do in obedience to the organic forces,
those chemico-biological actions, the assemblage of which
we call life. When life no longer exists, and its forces cease
to act, the substances of animals and plants become obe¬
dient to inorganic laws, and their mineral portions are acted
on just in the same way that other mineral matters are
affected. Wood may either, as we have already seen, lose
certain proportions of its constituents and become more and
more carbonized; or it may lose the whole of them par¬
ticle by particle, and as each little molecule is removed, its
place may be taken by a little molecule of another sub¬
stance, as silica, or iron pyrites, and it may thus become
entirely silieijied or pyritized.
Bones and shells, and other hard parts of animals, con¬
sisting mainly of phosphate and carbonate of lime, may in
like manner have the proportions or the state of asraree-a-
tion ot their constituents altered more or less completely,
or may have their substance gradually but entirely replaced
by another substance more or less different from the former.
Bischof combats the opinion that this pseudomorphous
and petrifactive process is ever the result of dry heat or of
Geology.
152
M IN E li A L 0 G IC A L SCIENCE.
Geology, sublimation, and shows, with what appears conclusive rea-
soning, with regard to many substances at all events, that
whether it occur in the mass of rocks, or in veins and fis¬
sures, it must be the result of water (temperature uncer¬
tain) containing some acid, chiefly carbonic acid, in solu¬
tion in the first place, and afterwards by means of that
acid becoming impregnated with the solutions of other
minerals.
Some of Bischof’s remarks are so very instructive that we do
not hesitate to quote several passages at length. “ Stein converted
a crystal of gypsum into carbonate of lime by leaving it for several
weeks in contact with a solution of carbonate of soda, at a tem¬
perature :of 122* F.” The sulphuric acid of the gypsum uniting
with the soda to form sulphate of soda, which was dissolved and
carried away by the water, and the lime uniting with the carbonic
acid. “ All the striae upon the curved surfaces of the crystal were
perfectly retained, as well as the cleavage in the direction of the
T-planes. In these artificial pseudomorphic processes, the form of
the original substance is retained only under certain conditions,
the most essential being slow action; and the same holds good in
nature. If these conditions are not fulfilled, the original form is
lost.”
“ In the analysis of a mineral in which changes have already
commenced, especially by the addition of new constituents in very
minute quantities, it is not unlikely that they may be considered as
accidental and deducted. Since, however, alterations seldom take
place merely by addition, but more frequently by loss of consti¬
tuents, it is likewise requisite that the quantities lost should be
added to the analytical results.
“ There are sufficient grounds for considering andalusite to be
a pure silicate of alumina, although previous analyses have pointed
out, besides these two essential constituents, potash, lime, magnesia,
oxides of iron, and manganese and water. Andalusite is converted
into mica, in which change a part of the alumina is removed;
potash, magnesia, and peroxide of iron, being introduced into its
place. One of these bases is always found in andalusite, sometimes
several of them together; and it may therefore be inferred that
this mineral, as usually met with, is already in a state of incipient
alteration. No other alteration of andalusite is known besides that
into mica, except that into steatite. The latter change presupposes
not only a partial but a complete disappearance of the alumina,
and its replacement by magnesia. These examples will suffice to
show the importance of the minute quantities of substances pre¬
sent in minerals, and generally considered as accidental. These
substances, which are troublesome to the chemist, because he can¬
not introduce them into the chemical formula, acquire significance
when compared with the constituents of the pseudomorphs, result¬
ing from the alteration of the mineral in question. They then no
longer appear as accidental, but indicate the transition of one
mineral into others, and lay before us clearly the greater part of
the conversion process.
“ It is possible that several changes may frequently have taken
place before the last product was formed. In the alterations of
complex minerals, especially silicates containing several bases,
there are, certainly, transitions in most cases, and sometimes a long
series. Thus Cordierite is the starting point of a whole series of
alterations, finally ending with Mica ; while Fahlunite, Chloro-
phyllite, Bonsdorfite, Esmarkite, Weissite, Praseolite, Gigantolite,
and Finite, are remains of Cordierite in pseudomorphic conditions.
Inasmuch as the minerals between Cordierite and Mica are only
transition products, they cannot be regarded as individual species.”
“ As petrifactions are important and in many cases indispensable
aids in recognising the sedimentary formations, so likewise pseudo¬
morphs are important, and frequently the only means of tracing
the processes of alteration and displacement which have taken place
and are still going oi in the mineral kingdom.
“ Pseudomorphs furnish us with a kind of knowledge which we
have no opportunity of deriving from any other source. It will
scarcely ever be possible to convert augite, olivine, or hornblende,
<&c., into serpentine in our laboratories. But when we find ser¬
pentine in the forms of these minerals, this fact is a sufficient evi¬
dence that such a conversion can take place; and if in any given
instance there are geognostic reasons for the opinion that one or
other of these minerals, or even several together, have furnished
the materials for the formation of serpentine, there is a high de¬
gree of probability that such a change has actually taken place.
“ If a crystalline mineral can, under certain conditions, be con¬
verted into another, whether with or without retention of form,
then the same mineral in an amorphous state would certainly suffer
the same change when placed in the same circumstances.” From
this he shows that amorphous masses of serpentine may be formed
from amorphous masses of augite, &c., and also that in some in¬
stances the original form of a crystalline mineral may be destroyed
together with its substance, and the new mineral occur in its own
crystalline form. He concludes the subject thus:—
“ The importance of the pseudomorphic processes, and the error
of those who regard them as having but little connection with the
changes of rocks, is sufficiently shown by the total disappearance
of previously existing substances in veins. I consider that the
entire removal of fluor and calc spar from a whole series of veins,
and the introduction of an equal quantity of quartz in their place,
is a matter of vast importance. To what enormous spaces of time
do we come when we reflect upon the periods during which the
fluor and calc spar were introduced into these fissures, and then
the periods during which they were again removed by water, and
quartz substituted in their place ! And yet this happened after
the formation of the rocks in which these fissures occur. If we
imagine similar processes to have taken place in the rocks them¬
selves, and extending over not only both these periods, but the
entire space of time since their formation, we shall be compelled
to admit that inconceivably stupendous changes have taken place.
After such considerations, the conversion of extensive masses of
rock by the action of water alone into steatite, talc, serpentine,
kaolin, &c., cannot appear in the slightest degree strange.” (Bisckof,
chap, ii.)
Geolojv.
If we allow so large an amount of metamorphic action to
the infiltration of water, it becomes no longer difficult to
understand the conversion of limestone into dolomite, sub¬
sequently to the deposition of the original carbonate of
lime. Such cases as those described by Von Buch, and
more recently by Mr Andrew Wyley, in the journal of the
Geological Society of Dublin (vol. vi., part 2), in his paper
on the Dolomitic Rocks of Kilkenny, where dolomite is
found traversing ordinary limestones in dyke-like masses
running through a great number of beds in a straight line
across the country, becoming explicable on the supposition
of springs of water containing much carbonic acid and
magnesia rising up through fissures, and the consequent so¬
lution of some of the carbonate of lime and its replacement
by carbonate of magnesia.
If, again, such great changes as those just alluded to may
be expected to result from the simple action of water, we
may reasonably conclude still greater to be the consequence
of the action of water combined with a high temperature, or
of a still more intense heat, which first converts into steam
the water contained in rocks, and effects great changes
perhaps, or, at all events, prepares the wray for great changes
by that agent, and then proceeds to act upon the minerals
contained in rocks with its own powers. We have already
seen that some sandstones and gritstones may have probably
been cemented by silica held in solution, either in the water
in which they were deposited, or in that which subsequently
gained access to them. We know that hot wTater can con¬
tain at least a tenth more silica in solution than cold water.
If, therefore, a sandstone became penetrated by hot water,
or still more by steam, a portion of the silica of which each
grain was composed might be dissolved, and as the water
ultimately evaporated, this silica would be redeposited, and
act as a siliceous cement to the mass. We should thus
have a quartz rock or quartzite produced.
It would appear, however, that dry heat alone is able,
under favourable conditions, to produce this effect, since
the sandstones that have been used as the bottoms of iron
furnaces are, in some cases, altered into a kind of quartz
rock. It is true that bases, calculated to act as a flux to
the quartz, may have gained access to the sandstone in the
latter instance, but then they may, on the other hand, have
been present in sufficient quantity for that purpose in many
sandstones that have been naturally altered into quartz
rock.
While we give full allowance to the importance and
magnitude of the metamorphic effects produced by water
at whatever temperature, there are yet still greater and
more general changes, which we must believe can only have
been effected by the action of heat, too great to allow of
the presence of water.
G*logy
GEOLOGY.
When we see whole mountain ranges, and whole districts
^ of country, consisting of rocks that have more or less ana¬
logy in structure and constitution to rocks known to be of
igneous origin, we cannot help feeling convinced that igne¬
ous action must in some way have been concerned in their
production.
When we find that these rocks have every gradation,
from such as might have been once molten, into rocks which
we know to have been mechanically deposited under water,
we are compelled to conclude with' Lyell that these rocks
are altered or metamorphosed by heat from their original
aqueous and mechanical formation into a state more or less
nearly approaching true igneous rocks.
Our belief in the truth of this metamorphism becomes
certainty when we see these rocks always occurring on the
flanks of masses of granite, and examine a district (such as
Wicklow and Wexford) where both large and small masses
of granite appear, and find these metamorphic rocks, not
only always accompanying the granite, but occurring no
where else except in the neighbourhood of granite or gra¬
nitic rocks, and their extent always porportioned to the size
and extent of the particular granite mass they mantle round.
It is by no means intended to assert that the neighbour¬
hood of granite or igneous rock is the only source of heat
from which this metamorphosis can arise. Should any mass
of rock, capable of alteration, be so deeply buried in the
earth as to be brought within the reach of any centre of
heat whatever, the same effect would result; and it is quite
possible that a far greater intensity and wider range of heat
may be thus reached, than could proceed from the mere
intrusion of a more or less isolated mass of igneous matter
into spaces which were naturally of a lower temperature.
But as an intrusive mass of granite must be a source of
great heat, and as the metamorphic effects in question are
found always to accompany it, we are obliged to look upon
heat as the cause of the effect.
This effect of intense heat may doubtless be variously
modified by the previous presence or absence of water, and
by the various mixtures of mineral matters occurring in the
different rocks before alteration.
The very general appearance of mica, either in distinct
flakes or crystals, or as a mere glaze upon the surfaces of
laminae,1 may perhaps be explained by the very various
composition of the different varieties of mica, and the con¬
sequent number of sources and combinations from which
micaceous minerals could be derived. Mr Sorby has shown
by the help of the microscope that many ordinary clay-slates
are in reality made up of minute mica flakes. Dr W. K.
Sullivan also has remarked to us the possibility of several
different minerals, or at least many chemical combinations,
putting on the micaceous form as a consequence of pecu¬
liarity in physical structure rather than of identity in chemi¬
cal composition.
The metamorphic development of mica, then, offers no
difficulties ; and we may perhaps suppose that in mica schist,
where there are alternate layers of mica and quartz, this
development took place in such a way that the basic sub¬
stances segregated themselves into alternate layers, leaving
the silica of the intermediate layers free ; these layers being
determined by the original lamination or sedimentary layers
of the mass, except where that mass was very homogeneous,
or greatly affected by “ transverse cleavage.”
In gneiss, where we have the triple alternation of quartz,
feldspar, and mica, a similar action, similarly directed, must
be supposed to have occurred under the modifying influence
of a different composition in the original rock.
We shall have occasion, under the head of Petrology, to
153
recur to this subject in describing the “cleavage” and Geology,
“foliation” of the metamorphic rocks. “Cleavage” is,
indeed, a purely petrological structure, whatever may have
been its origin, since it rarely, and only to a slight extent,
produces any lithological change in a rock beyond that of
simple induration. A highly indurated shale has no litho¬
logical difference from a true clay slate, it being often im¬
possible, from an inspection of a mere hand specimen, to
say whether it be one or the other.
DESCRIPTION OP THE METAMORPHIC ROCKS.
The metamorphic rocks may be divided into two sub¬
groups, those in which the original mineral structure is still
recognisable—the particles, however they may have altered
their form and state, not having entered into new combina¬
tions—and those where such new combinations have been
produced.
The former sub-group will accordingly consist of arena¬
ceous, argillaceous, and calcareous rocks, while the members
of the latter have a general similarity of structure and com¬
position which enables us to speak of them under one general
term, such as the schistose rocks.
Metamorphosed Arenaceous Rocks.
60. Quartz Rock or Quartzite1 is a compact, fine-grained,
but distinctly granular rock, very hard, frequently brittle,
and often so divided by joints as to split in all directions
into small angular but more or less cuboidal fragments. Its
colours are generally some shade of yellow, passing occa¬
sionally into red, and at other times into green. When
examined with a lens it may be seen to be made of grains,
which appear sometimes as if they had been slightly fused
together at their edges or surfaces, and sometimes as if
imbedded in a purely siliceous cement. This cementation
or semi-fusion of the grains shows at once that it is a sand¬
stone which has been altered and indurated by the action
either of heat alone or of heat and water. It has either
been baked or steam-boiled.
Metamorphosed Argillaceous Rocks.
61. Clay Slate is a fine-grained fissile rock, differing
from shale in being invariably highly indurated, and split¬
ting into plates that are altogether independent of the ori¬
ginal lamination or bedding of the rock, and frequently cross
it at all angles. This fissile structure or “cleavage” is a
superinduced or metamorphic one. The original bedding
or lamination of the rock may frequently be traced, even in
hand specimens, by means of parallel lines or bands of dif¬
ferent colour and texture traversing the slate. These bands
are called by Professor Sedgwick the “stripe” of the slate.
Clay slate is generally of a dull blue, gray, green, or
black colour, sometimes “striped,” sometimes irregularly
mottled. J
Metamorphosed Calcareous Rocks.
62. Altered or Crystalline Limestone.—This was for-
1 See postea, under the head of Petrology, remarks on the pro¬
duction of mica-schist and gneiss on the flanks of the oranite of
Wicklow, &c. °
VOL. XV.
1 The student must carefully distinguish between quartz rock or
quartzite, as here described, and pure vein quartz, which occurs
sometimes, as a white compact flint rock, in considerable mass. The
“ quartz rock,” so often spoken of in Australia, is rarely, if ever,
true quartz rock, but commonly vein-quartz; not an altered bed of
sandstone contemporaneous with the rocks in which it lies but a
deposition in a vein or fissure produced subsequently to the con¬
solidation of the rocks it traverses.
The Continental geologists seem frequently to fall into the same
mistake, and confound two things essentially distinct. In a collec¬
tion of European rocks purchased lately from Krantz of Bonn, among
seven specimens of so-called quartzite, at least five were undoubt¬
edly vein quartz and not quartzite.
V,
154 MINER A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology, merly called Primitive, and is even at the present day often
called Primary Limestone. Since, however, it is known
that many crystalline limestones are not primary, that some
of the statuary marbles of Italy and Greece, for instance, ai e
even tertiary limestones in a metamorphosed state, it would
seem better to disuse the term primary as a mere lithological
designation. ..nr i
It is probable that some limestones were originally formed
as crystalline limestones, inasmuch as many parts of a coial
reef are even now crystalline internally. Others, however,
have certainly been only made to assume the crystalline
structure at a period subsequent to their formation. In the
well-known experiments of Sir James Hall, it was shown
that even chalk could be converted into a hard crystalline
marble, by being heated under such a pressure as should
prevent the escape of the carbonic acid gas.
Saccharine, or statuary marble, is a white, fine-grained
rock resembling loaf-sugar in colour and texture, woi king
freely in any direction, not liable to splinter, slightly trans¬
lucent, and capable of taking a polish. Concealed flakes of
mica or chlorite sometimes exist in it, as may be seen on
examining the weathered surfaces of some of the ancient
statuary in the British Museum and elsewhere.
Other varieties of altered limestone are variously coloured,
and more largely and coarsely crystalline.
63. Dolomite.—Some magnesian limestones are clearly
altered or metamorphic, forming a true dolomite or highly
crystallized aggregate of nearly equal parts of carbonate of
lime and carbonate of magnesia. Its metamorphic character,
however, can only be certainly ascertained by its geological
relations, and not by its lithological structure.
We had long suspected that some serpentines, or verde
antique marbles, were nothing but highly altered magnesian
limestones. This suspicion has been confirmed by Mr
Logan,1 director of the Geological Survey of Canada, who
assures us he has traced in that country serpentines ending
gradually in unaltered beds of magnesian limestone.
The Schistose Metamorphic Rocks.
The term “ schist” is used here in a restricted sense, as
applicable to the fissile structure of “ foliated” rocks.
“ Foliation ” is a term applied by Mr Darwin2 to those
rocks which have had such a subsequent structure given to
them as to split into plates of different mineral matter, either
with the bedding or across it. “Cleavage” indefinitely
splits a rock, either with the beds or across them, without
altering its mineral character, and thus produces “ slate.”
“ Lamination ” will then be the remaining term appli¬
cable to “ shale,” and signifying the splitting of a rock into
the original layers of deposition.
When, therefore, we wish to be precise, we can speak
of the foliation of schist, the cleavage of slate, and the lami¬
nation of shale.
64. Mica schist consists of alternate layers of mica and
quartz, the mica generally consisting of a number of small
flakes firmly compacted together, and the quartz more or
less nearly resembling vein quartz. Many mica schists,
however, contain comparatively little quartz, and seem
scarcely to differ from clay slate or shale, except in the
shining surfaces of their plates or folia.
Many mica schists have a minutely corrugated or crumpled
structure, the layers being bent into sharp Vandykes of one,
two, or more inches in height and width. Others, how¬
ever, are quite smooth and straight
1 Now Sir William Logan.
2 The term u foliated,” however, as applied to schistose rocks,
such as mica schist, and distinguished from “ cleaved” as applied to
slate, was first suggested by Professor Sedgwick in his paper on the
“ Structure of large Mineral Masses.” {-Geological Transactions,
vol. iii., pp. 47'9 and 480.)
The separation into layers, or “ foliation ” of mica schist, Geology,
sometimes coincides with the original bedding of the mass,
and sometimes is independent of it. In the latter case, it may
in some cases have taken the direction of a previously
existing “ cleavage.” (Prof. Ramsay, Geological Journal,
vol. ix., p. 172.)
Instead of mica, other minerals are sometimes found,
such as chlorite or talc, when the rock would be called
chloritic schist, or talcose schist.
Hornblende schist, again occurs, though we believe, in
this case, the whole mass consists of flakes of that mineral
without any alternation of quartzose layers. The same
remark holds good with respect to the rarer rock called
actinolite schist. As far, indeed, as our own observation
goes, we should doubt the existence of these rocks in any
other form than as the result of a partial metamorphosis of
some hornblendic “ ash,” or of some other mechanically-
formed rock, derived from the wear and tear of a green¬
stone or a syenite.
65. Gneiss is probably of all others the most completely
metamorphosed rock that retains any mark of its original
mechanical structure.
Some gneiss can only be distinguished from granite by
the regular arrangement of its component crystalline par¬
ticles in a certain parallelism, so as to give it a slightly
schistose structure, or “ grain,” as it is called by Professor
Sedgwick. Other varieties of gneiss, again, can only be
separated from mica schist by the occasional occurrence of
little plates of feldspar in addition to the layers of mica and
quartz. In hand specimens, indeed, it is often very diffi¬
cult to draw any sharp line of separation between mica
schist and gneiss, the more fissile specimens being called
mica schist, while the firmer ones would be called gneiss.
Even in the field they are often so blended together, and
alternate with each other so frequently, that their separa¬
tion is impossible. There is therefore almost every grada¬
tion from dull ciay-slate through glossy and so called talc¬
ose slate into mica schist and gneiss, and thus into actual
granite.
Gneiss might, indeed, in its purest and most typical
form, be termed schistose granite, consisting, like granite,
of feldspar, mica, and quartz, but having those minerals ar¬
ranged in layers or plates, rather than in a confused aggre¬
gation of crystals. In speaking of it as schistose granite,
however, we must never forget that true gneiss was never
really a granite, with a peculiar laminated structure, but
that it was originally a laminated mechanically-formed rock,
—a sandstone more or less argillaceous, containing, indeed,
the elements of quartz, feldspar, and mica, but not exhibit¬
ing any more appearance of those minerals at its first de¬
position than is exhibited by any of the ordinary unaltered
sandstones with which we are familiar. We by no means
intend, however, to assert that all sandstones could be con¬
verted into gneiss, for it is obvious that purely siliceous
sandstones could not, but purely siliceous sandstones are
much more rare than is often supposed. I he great mass
of sandstones and of clays do contain the elements of feld¬
spar and mica as well as quartz,—that is to say, they con¬
tain alumina, iron, potash, soda, magnesia, &c., as well as
silica.
We must also never forget that the extreme term of me¬
tamorphism by heat is actual fusion and reduction into the
state of an igneous rock, and that it is possible therefore
that some igneous rocks, nay, even some granites, may be
metamorphosed rocks—aqueous rocks that have been com¬
pletely melted down again. If we look upon all aqueous
rocks as in some shape or other derivative rocks, and this
is a conclusion from which we cannot escape,—we must re¬
gard them as either mediately or immediately derived from
igneous rocks. With regard to the mechanically-formed
aqueous rocks this is obviously true, because if we trace to
GEOLOGY.
feology. their original source the silica and alumina, the quartz, the
feldspar, and the mica of which they are composed, we
must eventually arrive at some igneous, most probably some
granitic rock as their parent.
But even as regards the lime and the soda and mag¬
nesia of all the chemically and organically-formed aqueous
rocks (setting aside the carbonaceous rocks), we are com¬
pelled to suppose that the water first derived those minerals
from the decomposition of such igneous rocks as contained
them. I he carbonates of lime and magnesia, and the sul¬
phates of lime, must have acquired their bases primarily
fiom the decomposition of the silicates of lime and mag¬
nesia, which are to be found in the igneous rocks; carbon
itself being the only element which does not seem primarily
derivable from igneous rocks. Speaking generally, then, it
need not surprise us to find materials that had once been
fused reduced again to that condition. It is true, that in
our purest sandstones and clays the matters that once acted
as a flux to the silica and alumina may have been washed
out and removed more or less completely from their former
combinations; but these pure deposits of silica or silicate
of alumina are, as just now said, comparatively rare and in
small quantity, and if the rocks around them and inclosing
them were once to be remelted, they would soon become
mixed up and mingled with the rest, and reduced to the
same condition.
There can therefore be nothing either unphilosophical
or improbable in regarding, with Sir C. Lyell, the whole
crust of our globe as consisting of materials passing through
an endless cycle of mutations—existing at one time as igne¬
ous locks; then gradually decomposed, broken up, separated
out, sorted, and deposited as aqueous rocks, whether che¬
mical, mechanical, or organic ; at a subsequent period meta-
morphosed; and ultimately reabsorbed into igneous rocks.
In this view, the most highly metamorphosed rocks
would be those most nearly hovering upon the brink of re¬
absorption and gneiss accordingly on the point of passing
into granite, and in some cases almost undistinguishable
from it.
One thing is quite certain, that many rocks which are
now undistinguishable from true igneous rocks, may have
been formed by a comparatively slight metamorphism of
“ ashes,” or other mechanical accumulations of materials de¬
rived directly from igneous rock, and subsequently brought
within the influence of heat. It is probable that many
amygdaloids may be altered tuffs or ashes, and possible per¬
haps that some clinkstones, whether volcanic or trappean,
may have a like origin. Some felstones, again, may be but
baked and slightly altered feldspathic ash.
Some real and originally-formed igneous rocks may in
like manner undergo metamorphoses, more or less complex.
Some felstone or greenstone porphyries, for instance, may
have acquired their porphyritic structure by long-continued
and comparatively gentle heat, acting on previously com¬
pact trap rocks. The same comparatively slight action of
heat may have caused many once compact or porphyritic
igneous rocks to have become completely crystalline, and
possibly may in some cases have generated new combina¬
tions, and produced mineral forms that did not exist in the
original rock. Trappean rocks may thus have become gra¬
nitic. These possibilities should be borne in mind when we
are endeavouring to explain phenomena that otherwise are
often difficult to understand.
IGNEOUS ROCKS.
Essentially Feldspathic.
Trachyte.
Trachytic Porphyry.
Pearlstone.
Andesite.
Clinkstone.
Obsidian.
Pumice.
Tuff.
Siliceo-feldspathic.
Felstone.
Pitchstone.
Clinkstone.
Feldspar Porphyry.
Feldspathic Ash.
VOLCANIC.
e. ■
o
-v 's-. .
2 k a?
1 9. B
155
Geology.
^ -a
S
Feldspar and Augite.
Dolerite.
Anamesite.
Basalt.
) Nepheline Dolerite.
Leucite Rock.
Amygdaloid.
Peperino.
TRAPPEAN.
Feldspar and Hornblende, dee.
Greenstone or Diorite.
Melaphyre.
Diabase.
Dabbro.
Hypersthenite.
Aphanite.
Serpentine.
&c., &c.
Quarteo-feldspathic.
Pegmatite.
Elvanite.
Eurite.
GRANITIC OR SUPER-SILICATED ROCKS.
Quarto-feldspathic with Horn¬
blende or Mica, <L'c.
Syenite.
Protogine.
Granite.
AQUEOUS ROCKS.
MECHANICALLY-FORMED.
{Gravel or Rubble.
Conglomerate or Pudding-stone and Breccia.
Sand.
Sandstone and Gritstone, and their varie¬
ties.
{Clay and Mud.
Clunch.
Loam.
Marl.
Shale or Slaty Clay.
CHEMICALLY-FORMED.
Calcareous / Stalactite and Stalagmite, Travertine, &c.
I Some Dolomites.
Siliceous  Sinter.
Gypseous  Gypsum.
Saline  Rock Salt.
ORGANICALLY-DERIVED.
Calcareous, ( IJfmestone and its varieties, compact, crys-
mostly from animals | t^line, chalky, oolitic, pisolitic, some
f magnesian, &c.
Siliceous, I .
probably from animals j an^ Chert.
{Peat.
Lignite.
Coal.
Anthracite.
Graphite.
Carbonaceous,
mostly from plants
AERIAL OR AEOLIAN ROCKS.
Blown Sand on coasts.
Sandhills of deserts.
Calcareous Sands compacted by rain, &c.
Debris at foot of cliffs.
Volcanic Ashes, &c., falling on land.
Soil.
It will, perhaps, be useful if we give here the foregoino-
classification of rocks in a tabular form :—
1 Such speculations as those in the text may be useless enough as
far as any practical result to be derived from them, and may by
many persons be thought uncalled for. The old ideas, however, of
the original independent origin of mica eshist and gneiss still
linger in some men’s minds, and are even, as we are informed,
coming more and more into favour with some continental geologists!
METAMORPHIC ROCKS.
THOSE IN WHICH THE ORIGINAL STRUCTURE IS STILL APPARENT.
Arenaceous  Quartzite or Quartz rock.
Argillaceous  Clay Slate.
{Primary, Crystalline, or Saccharine Lime-
stone, or Statuary Marble.
Serpentinous Limestone, Verde Antique, &c.
Some Dolomites. ’
THOSE IN WHICH THE ORIGINAL STRUCTURE IS MORE OR LESS
COMPLETELY OBSCURED OR OBLITERATED.
{Mica Schist.
Chlorite do.
Talc do.
Hornblende do., &c.
Gneiss.
156
Geology.
MINER A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
Sect. II.—PETROLOGY.
By that division of Geognosy here called Petrology, we
may understand the study of rock masses; that is to say,
the examination of those characters, structures, and acci¬
dents of rocks which can only be studied on the large scale,
and only be observed in “ the field ” This study will com¬
prise the modes of stratification, of separation by divi¬
sional planes, those of fracture and disturbance, and those
of denudation, as well as the composition o groups or
“ formations,” and the relations of igneous to aqueous
rocks.
Chap. Y.—PETROLOGY OF THE AQUEOUS ROCKS.
 lamination and stratification.
The lamination and stratification of the aqueous rocks is
the very foundation of geology,—that on which all the more
important deductions of the science are based. It is there¬
fore necessary to describe these structures m some detail.
We have already mentioned the very fine laminae (plates
or layers) of which some beds of shale are made up. Each
of these little layers of earthy matter is obviously the re¬
sult of a separate act of deposition. The whole bed of
shale being formed by the gradual settlement of fine sedi¬
ment, film after film, upon the bottom of some tranquil or
very slowly moving water, we may suppose this sediment
to have been carried into the water by successive tides
bringing matter from some neighbouring shore, by frequent
or periodical floods of some river, by the gradual action of
some current, or any other agent by which we could ima¬
gine fresh materials to have been transported at different in¬
tervals into the water. Or we may perhaps suppose that the
supply being continuous, and the water more or less turbid
throughout, the act of settlement took place at intervals by
little successive fits and starts. Whatever may have been
the exact nature of the action, it was clearly a gradual, and
not a sudden one; and some time must be allowed for the
deposition of a bed even one foot thick, when we find it,
as we often do, made up of distinct lamina?, fifty 01 a hun¬
dred of which do not exceed an inch in thickness.
Still, although some time was required, and although the
acts of deposition were distinct, yet they were not so widely
separated in time as to allow of any great consolidation of
one layer before the next was deposited upon it.
The whole set of laminae were made to cohere together,
so as ultimately to form one bed, which may be quarried
and lifted in single blocks. . . , . c
Now the planes of stratification differ in this respect from
the planes of lamination, that they mark a total want of co¬
herence between two contiguous layers of rock. It would
be impossible to get a block consisting of a part of two
beds ; there would obviously be two blocks.
It follows from these facts, that as the coherence of the
laminae of a bed is the result of the comparative shortness
of the intervals between their deposition, so the want of
coherence between one bed and another is the result of the
length of the interval between the deposition of the beds.
Each bed had time to become consolidated, to a greatei or
less extent, before the next was deposited upon it, so that
the latter could not at all coalesce with the former.. 1 he
planes of stratification, then, mark an interruption in the
act of deposition, a pause during which nothing was depo¬
sited ; the duration of that pause being very considerably
longer than that of the intervals between the successive
laminae.
Laminae or layers, then, are the parts of which a bed is
made up. Strata or beds are the distinct sheets or wide
tabular masses of aqueous rock which are completely and
naturally separated from each other. The planes of lami¬
nation often refer only to the direction in which the laminae Geology,
are arranged, whether the laminae are separable or not.
The planes of stratification are actual planes of separation
between one bed and another.
If we are at a loss to estimate the length of the interva.
between the deposition of the successive laminae of a bed,
still less have we in general the means of calculating the
time which elapsed between the formation of one bed and
another. When two or more beds are of precisely similar
character, as two beds of the same kind of shale or sand¬
stone, we should naturally be led to suppose that the inter¬
val between bed and bed was not indefinitely greater than
that between lamina and lamina. If we assigned hours to
the one, we might assign days to the other; if days to the
one, weeks to the other ; and so on. Still we should have
no certain grounds to go on, and the interval between bed
and bed might be years or centuries for anything we could,
in the majority of instances, show to the contrary. When,
moreover, the two beds were of totally different characters,
as, for instance, where a bed of sandstone or limestone
rested on a bed of shale, or vice versa, we should generally
be right in allowing a larger interval between their deposi¬
tion than where the beds were similar. Some tiip^ must
be required for a change to take place in the conditions of
the neighbourhood. In the case of a bed of sandstone,
destitute of all argillaceous matter, resting on a bed of shales,
we should be obliged to suppose some alteration in the
strength or direction of the currents, so that all the finer
matter was swept away, and only the coarser or heavier de¬
posited. In the case of a shale resting on a sandstone we
should suppose that the current had diminished in velocity
compared with that formerly acting. In either case the
current might come from a new quarter where only one kind
of material was to be got.
The same current of water, charged with a mixture of
gravel, sand, and mud, and having strength enough to
carry it all on together, will, as its strength lessens, sort
and separate the materials from each other, depositing
them in the order of their coarseness, the pebbles first,
chiefly by themselves, next the sand by itself, and lastly,
the mud bv itself.1 Three different kinds of rock, then,
may be deposited at the same time by the same current;
but in order that either sand or gravel may be thrown
down at a subsequent period on the top of the mud, a
fresh current either of greater velocity or from a nearer
source will be required, while an interval will be neces¬
sary for the mud to consolidate so far as either not to
be removed by the new current, or not to allow the fresh
pebbles or sand to sink into it.
In the case of a limestone occurring either on shale
or sandstone we are still more forcibly compelled to the
supposition of a great change of conditions. If the lime¬
stone be a pure carbonate of lime without much admix¬
ture of mechanical detritus, it is obvious either that all
currents had ceased in the water which had previously
deposited the sandstone or the shale, or else that they
were no longer able to get any earthy matter and tran¬
sport it to that place. If, indeed, as seems necessary in
the case of all marine limestones, we assign an organic
origin to this rock, we are compelled to allow a period
prior to its production sufficient for the animals nopj
which it is derived to grow and to secrete their solid
materials from the adjacent water.
It is possible, indeed, in some cases, by the aid o
the remains of animals and plants found fossil in the rocks,
to arrive at something like a rough approximation to t it
time which has elapsed between the formation of succes¬
sive beds. There are cases, for instance, in which we find
1 Just as was previously shown for mud of different degrees of
coarseness in Mr Babbage’s observations.
GEOLOGY.
157
eology. on the surface of a bed of limestone the roots or attach-
ments of a particular class of marine animals, called en-
crinites, which when alive were fixed to the rock by a
solid calcareous base. These attachments belong to ani¬
mals of all ages, and are in great numbers ; and in a
bed of clay or shale which rests immediately on the lime¬
stone, there are found a multitude of the remains of the
upper portions of these animals, likewise of all sizes and
ages. Now it is plain that in this case, after the lime¬
stone was formed and consolidated, there was an inter¬
val during which the sea was quite clear and free from
sediment, and therefore well adapted for the growth of
these animals ; that they, after a time, settled accordingly on
the hard limestone at the bottom of the sea, and grew and
flourished there for a sufficient period to allow of succes¬
sive generations arriving at maturity undisturbed, before
the time when a quantity of mud, having been carried
into the water, was deposited upon them, and killed them,
and at the same time buried their remains. Here, then,
we have an interval of many years, if not of centuries,
between the formation of two beds of clay and limestone
which rest directly one upon the other. (Buckland’s
Bridgewater Treatise, vol. i., p. 429.)
Many instances similar to this occur to the geologist when
pursuing his investigations, although not often admitting of
such clear illustration and description. (See Lyell’s Ele¬
ments for other examples.)
On the other hand, we have instances of fossil trees
passing through several beds of sandstone, in such a way
as to show that the whole number of beds were accu¬
mulated after the tree had sunk, and before it had time to
rot entirely away. These trees evidently became water¬
logged, and sunk to the bottom, where they rested in an
inclined position, anchored by their roots, while succes¬
sive deposits of sand were accumulated round them. But
a tree thus wholly buried in water will last many years
before it is entirely decomposed, so that it might very well
have become enclosed in several beds of sandstone, espe¬
cially when we recollect that it forms an obstacle to the
currents flowing by it, and checks their force, and thus
causes the deposition of sand around it more rapidly than
would otherwise take place. Still, whatever number of
years we assign to the accumulation of the whole mass of
sandstone, we cannot in this case suppose any great inter¬
val to have elapsed between the deposition of one bed and
that which rests upon it.
It is possible in some cases, even without the aid of
organic remains, to discover that the interval between two
adjacent beds was a comparatively long one. For instance,
we not unfrequently find that two beds, which in one
place are contiguous, do in another place let in one, two,
or more separate beds between them, as in fig. 4. It is
B
obvious that if we observed the beds a, e at the spot marked
A, we should only suppose an ordinary interval to have
elapsed between the times of their deposition; while on
tracing the beds to B, we are compelled to enlarge that
space of time sufficiently to allow for the formation’of the
beds b, c, and d, and the intervals between them. It ap¬
pears, then, that while we are able to assign a sort of rough
limit to the time required for the deposition of one bed, com¬
posed of a number of laminae, we are rarely able to assign
any approximate limit to the time required for the forma¬
tion of a number of beds. Not only have we to multiply
the first period by the number of the beds, but to allow
for an equal number of intercalated intervals, of altogether
uncertain duration, to represent the pauses that occurred
between the formation of each two contiguous beds.
In some cases, if not in most, these intercalated intervals
would be probably much greater than the periods of de¬
position, because we cannot very well imagine any set of
circumstances that can keep up a continuous or rapid
deposition of earthy matter, whether chemical or mechani¬
cal, for a very long and indefinite period of time, in any
one particular locality. All we know, or can conceive, of
the accumulation of earthy matters in the seas or lakes of
the present day points to a discontinuous and interrupted
action, a bed of sand being formed here, a patch of mud
deposited there, a bank of pebbles accumulated in one place,
a bed of oysters or other shells growing in another, so that
the bottom of the sea becomes gradually covered by several
unconnected and partial patches of deposition of different
kinds, lying side by side. All our experience shows that
for any great thickness or vertical succession of beds like
these to be formed, in other words,—for the depth of water
to be materially diminished (except in narrow bays and
inlets),—a great length of time is required.
Ihe soundings in shallow seas, such as those round the
British islands, do not alter very rapidly, though they do
alter; and the bottom at one period is found to be very
various, “ mud,” “ sand,” “ sand and shells,” “ small stones,”
and similar terms, being scattered over the charts. These
“ bottoms” remain constant for a sufficient number of years
to be used as a guide in navigation. In other words, great
intervals commonly occur between the deposition of very
different deposits at any particular spot on the bottom of
the sea.
Moreover, if we take the whole earth generally, and
limit ourselves to the consideration of any given instant of
time, we must look upon the deposition of mineral matter
as the exception, not the rule. Of many hundred thousand
square miles of sea, only one perhaps is receiving, at any
given instant, the accession of any mineral matter on to its
bed. The next successive depositions may either be in
adjacent or in widely separated localities ; and a vast number
of these partial and detached acts of formation will be re¬
quired before the whole of any particular area will be covered
with one or more beds of rock. In reasoning on the methods
of production that have been concerned in the formation of
our great series of stratified rocks, we are compelled to
suppose a similar gradual, partial, and interrupted action to
have taken place.
When we rise from the consideration of single beds to
that of groups of beds, we find instances, on a still larger
scale, of intervals having taken place in the deposition of
rocks which at first appear perfectly continuous. Mr Prest-
wich, in his paper on the “ Correlation of the Eocene Ter-
tiaries of England, France, and Belgium” {Journal of the
Geological Society, August 1855), shows that on examin¬
ing the rocks called tertiary above the chalk in France,
they appear to have a regular continuous sequence of beds
of sand and clay, &c., in which there is no sign of any
interval having happened, while in reality a group of the
English tertiaries, known as the London clay, having a
thickness of 400 feet near London, was deposited in an in¬
terval between the formation of two of the French beds.1
Mr Prestwich’s words are “ It would nevertheless seem that
there is a very important interval between the ‘ Lignites of the
Soissonnais’ and the ‘ Lits Coquilliersf and that at so short a dis¬
tance as from tvent to the Department of the Oise, there is intro¬
duced, wedge-shaped, between these two deposits, the large mass of
the London clay, with its multitude ot original organic remains.
\ et there is not only no evidence either of the groat lapse of time,
Geology.
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
158
Geology. \ye cannot conceive the London clay to have required less
^ v"*1 ^ than some thousands of years for its formation, and it may
more probably have been many tens of thousands, dm ing
which interval no corresponding deposition was taking
place over parts of the north of France, though deposition
did take place both before and after this period, equally in
the seas which covered what is now France and what is
now England. , . , .
Such instances compel us to raise our estimate of the time
required for the formation of a great series of stratified
rocks to a perfectly illimitable extent.
These considerations, although they may appear some¬
what speculative, are important, as leading us to a true
interpretation of many of the appearances which the geo o-
gist meets with in his course of observation ; and the stu¬
dent will do well if he accustom himself to look upon single
beds of shale, &c., as the possible representative of a century
or two, and upon small groups of beds as the product of
thousands, or perhaps even millions of years.
u.—extent and termination of beds.
In fig. 4 it is shown that, of a set of five beds at B,
only two continue so far as A, the other three having thinned
out and come to an end before reaching that part,
leads us to another conclusion respecting beds of stratified
rock, namely, that although sometimes very widely spread,
they are not of indefinite extent, but must end somewheie.
This ending is generally a gradual one, the bed becoming
thinner and thinner, till at last it disappears. Sometimes,
however, though rarely, the termination is much more
abrupt. Whether we reason from our own experience, or
from the nature of the case, we should never be led to be¬
lieve that the deposition of sediment in wTater, whether it be
a chemical or a mechanical one, could, except in very rare
instances, be coextensive with the whole water. With
respect to the sea, we cannot conceive any natural causes
which could produce such an universal and simultaneous
deposition, and should never expect to find a marine bed,
the area of which at all approached in extent that of the
water in which it was formed, lire wonder perhaps is,
that single beds sometimes extend over such very wide
areas as w'e really find them to occupy.
The extent of single beds is most certainly ascertained
in coal mining, in which the horizontal (or lateial) exten¬
sion of beds is followed. Particular beds of coal, or of shale,
or other rock having remarkable and recognisable chaiac-
ters, are sometimes known to spread throughout a whole
district. For instance, in South Staffordshire a bed of
smooth black shale, a little below the thick or ten-yard
coal, is known as the “ table batt.” It has a thickness of
from two to four feet, and extends over all the gi eater por¬
tion of the South Staffordshire coal field—places where it
is known being ten or twelve miles apart from each other
in straight lines and in different directions. Its original
extension was probably much greater, since the beds now
disappear in one direction by “ cropping out, and are bui let
in others at too great a depth to be followed. Known
beds of coal, with a particular designation, such as Heathen
coal,” extend over still wider areas, and similar facts occui
abundantly in most coal fields.
When from a single thin bed we come to the examination
of a group of a few beds, the instances of mineral identity
over very wide areas become still more frequent. I his is
especially observable when the group of beds is of a cha¬
racter quite different from the larger mass of rocks in which
they lie ; provided that difference points to a state of greater Geology,
tranquillity or quietness of action, as would a bed of clay
occurring in a group of sandstone beds, or a bed of lime¬
stone or coal occurring in others having a purely mechani¬
cal origin.
On the other hand, some beds, even of a considerable
thickness, have a remarkably small extension, being mere
cakes, thick in the middle, and thinning out rapidly in every
direction. This happens sometimes with all kinds of aque¬
ous rocks; but is the more usual characteristic of the
coarser mechanically-formed rocks, being more common in
sandstones than in clays and shales, and more frequent in
conglomerates than in sandstones.
Beds of sandstone in the coal districts are sometimes
found to thicken or thin out very rapidly. This is easily
observable where sandstone beds are known to the colliers
by specific names, and where the coal pits are near together.
The miners are occasionally thrown out in their calculations
as to the depth at which particular coals will be found by
these irregularities, which are sometimes so great and rapid,
as to be called “ faults” by men not accustomed to precision
in the terms they use. Such an instance occurs near Wed-
nesbury in South Staffordshire, where a bed of sandstone,
known by the name of the “ New Mine-rock,” thickens out
from 9 feet to 78 feet in the course of a few yards’ hori¬
zontal distance. In other parts of the district this sand¬
stone varies from 15 to 60 feet, and in some places is
entirely wanting.
In examining sandstones and conglomerates, the conglo¬
merates or old gravel beds are often found to be very partial
and irregular, forming steep-sided banks and mounds en¬
veloped in sand. .
In these cases, although it was obviously a work of time
for the pebbles to have been worn and ground down from
their original large and angular condition to then present
small rounded form, and although we may very well suppose
them to have been washed about from place to place, and
thus to have eventually travelled far from their original
site, yet their final deposition in the place where we now
find them was probably a rather rapid and sudden action.
Conglomerates, then, may be quoted as examples either
of the length of time required for their formation, or of its
shortness, according as we look to the preparation of their
materials or the actual deposition of them. This remark
holds good, too, with respect to all other coarse mechani¬
cally-formed rocks.
m.—irregular and oblique lamination and
STRATIFICATION.
In shales the laminae are remarkably thin and regular,
or of the important physical changes which such a formation indi¬
cates, hut there is even no cause for suspicion of such a fact in the
apparently complete and continuous series of the ‘ Sables Infeneurs
of the north of France.”
Fig. 5.
all parallel to each other, and parallel also to the planes of
logy.
GEOLOGY.
stratification. In many fined-grained, and in some coarse¬
grained sandstanes, this regularity and parallelism likewise
prevails. In other sandstones, however, great irregularity
is observable in the laminae of which the beds are made up,
the layers of different-coloured or different-sized grains beino-
oblique to the planes of stratification, and various sets of
layers lying sometimes at various angles and inclining in
different directions in the same bed, as in fig. 5.
This structure is a proof of frequent change of direction,
and probably of strength, in the currents which brought the
sand into the water. If we suppose a current of water
running over a surface which ends in a slope, as at o, in
fig. 6, it is clear that any sand which is being drifted alon<>-
Pig. 6.
the bottom from b, will, on reaching a, roll down into the
comparatively still water of the deeper part, and remain
there probably undisturbed. Layer after layer of sand may
thus be deposited in an inclined position according to the
slope of the bank.1 On the other hand, if any obstacle ar¬
rests the sand which is being drifted along the bottom of any
water, some of it will be piled up into a heap, and a bank
will be then formed having laminae more or less inclined.
If the current shifts its direction, another bank may be
formed with its laminae inclined at a different angle or in a
different direction. Moreover, after one bank has been
formed, a subsequent change in the velocity or the direc¬
tion of the moving water may cut off and remove a portion
of it, or excavate a channel through it, and this hollow or
fresh surface may be again filled up or covered over by
layers having a different form from the first. In this way
water subject to changes of current, especially shallow
water full of eddies, will throw down or heap up materials
in a very confused and irregular manner.
It is a modification of this action probably which has pro¬
duced what are called “ rolls,” “ swells, or “ horses’ backs,”
in tiie coal measures, and probably in other rocks where
they remain less noticed.
Pig. 7.
In this fig. a is hlack clunch containing halls of ironstone ; bb beds of coal.
A long x-idge, and sometimes one or two parallel ridges,
of clay or shale are occasionally found rising from the floor
through one or more beds of coal, “ cutting them out,” for
a certain distance, to use the miners’ terms. The crest of
such a ridge is sometimes 8 feet above the floor of the coal,
with a very gentle inclination on either side, the beds of
coal ending smoothly and gradually against it. (See Re¬
cords of School of Mines, vol. i., p. 2.) Its formation was
obviously anterior to that of the coals which it “cuts out;”
those coals and the “ swell” itself being regularly covered
either by a higher bed of coal, or by the “ roof” of the seam,
1 A very pretty little machine has been invented by Mr Sorby for
producing this oblique lamination. Sand poured into a small trough
is carried forwards by means of a screw, and falling down into a
narrow space between a board and a sheet of glass, arranges itself
in inclined layers, according to the rapidity with which the screw
is worked and the angle at which the instrument is held.
without any interruption or disturbance. The swells are
sometimes 200 or 300 yards long, and 10 or 12 yards wide
at the base. (See fig. 7.)
IV.—CURRENT MARK OR RIPPLE.
Another effect of current is to produce a “ripple” or
“ current mark” on the surface of a bed of sandstone or
sandy shale. This rippled surface is exactly the same as
that which is seen on the sands of the sea-shore when left
dry by the tide, and which may occasionally be seen at the
bottom of any clear water where a current is moving over
a sandy surface. It may be observed also sometimes on
sand-hills on dry land, being produced by the drifting action
of the wind. Either wind or water, as they roll before them
the little grains of sand, tend to pile them into small ridges,
which are perpetually advancing one on the other, in con¬
sequence of the little grains of sand being successively
pushed up the windward or weather side of the ridge, and
then rolling over and resting on the lee or sheltered side.
It is produced on the sea-beach, not in consequence of
the ripple of the wave impressing its own form on the sand
below, which would be an impossibility, but because the
moving current of water, as the tide advances or recedes,
produces on the surface of the sand below the same form
as the moving current of air produces on the surface of the
water above. A rippled surface therefore to a rock is no
proof of its having been necessarily formed in shallow water,
though rippled surfaces are perhaps more frequently formed
there, but simply a proof of a current in the water sufficient
to move the sand at its bottom gently along, at whatever
depth that bottom may be from the surface of the water.
Sandstones of all ages, from the oldest known rocks to
the most modern, have occasionally rippled surfaces. Mag¬
nificent examples are sometimes shown in the cliffs of the
S.W. of Ireland, where highly inclined beds exhibit such
markings over spaces frequently of 160 feet in each direc¬
tion. The size of the ripple, or the distance from crest
to crest of the ridges, varies from half an inch to 8 or 10
inches, with a proportionate variation in depth between
them.
Mr Sorby has lately shown that inferences may be drawn
from the examination of these “ current-marks” as to the
strength and direction of the currents that caused them,
and that we may thus reason back to some conclusions as
to the physical geography of particular districts in former
geological periods. One important conclusion certainly may
be derived from these, as from other structures in rocks,
namely, that the strength, velocity, and mode of action of
moving water in the old geological periods was precisely of
the same kind and intensity as those with which we are
familiar at the present day.
In places where the current was troubled and confused,
a modification of these rippled surfaces is sometimes pro¬
duced, the bed being irregularly mammillated on its sur¬
face, which is pretty equally, although irregularly, divided
into smaller hollows and protuberances of a few inches dia¬
meter. This surface structure may be seen in process of
production now, on shores where spaces of sand are in¬
closed by rocks, so that as the tide falls it is made to run in
different directions among the rock channels; but it would
probably be caused at any depth at which a current could
be similarly troubled and confused. It is not unfrequently
seen among gritstones, even those of the very oldest rocks.
It might be called “ dimpled current mark.”
V.—CONTEMPORANEOUS EROSION AND FILLING UP.
Instances are not unfrequent in which it appears that a
bed, not only of sand, but of clay, coal, or other soft rock,
after being formed, has had channels or hollows cut into it
160 MINER A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geoiogy. , currents 0f water, and these hollows have been filled up neighbourhood of Hobart Town, Tasmama, where a bed Geology
v—' by a plrt of the bed next deposited. of soft brown unctuous clay, about a foot th.ck, b, lying
y (X u v/x     1 y ^ ,
In fig. 8, taken from a road-cutting in the new red sand¬
stone at Shipley Common, near Wolverhampton, 1 is abed
of red and white marl or clay ; 2 is a chocolate-brown sand¬
stone with irregular beds and patches of marl; 3 is a bed
of red marl like 1, but which seems at one time to have
been thicker than it now is, and to have had some part ot
its upper surface carried off before the deposition ot 4,
which is a brown sandstone, that in like manner seems to
have had its upper surface eroded and the hollows filled up
by the deposition of 5, which is a mottled red-brown and
white calcareous sandstone, or cornstone.
In the tertiary beds near Paris, which are believed to
have been deposited in a shallow bay or gulf, receiving
rivers, and therefore traversed by currents, this structure is
frequent. Two remarkable examples are observable m the
large excavation near the terminus of the Rouen railway.
In a cliff about 40 feet high, in the fresh-water limestone
formation, called the Calcaire St Ouen, two trough-hke
hollows may be seen about 50 yards apart; the beds pre¬
viously formed having been excavated for a depth of 20 feet
and a width of 15, and the hollows thus formed being filled
up by irregular meniscus-shaped1 expansions of the upper
beds. (See fig. 9.)
Fig. 10.
Eroded termination of bed of ciay, with sandstone formed against it
(Hobart Town, Tasmania).
between two beds of hard white sandstone, a and d, sud¬
denly ended, and its place was occupied by sandstone,
c, similar in character to the beds above and below it.
We must in this case suppose that after the formation of the
bed of sandstone aa, a bed of clay b was deposited over a
certain portion of the area, and that then a current of water,
bringing in sand, wore back the little bed of clay, eating
into it so as to form a small cliff or step, and depositing die
sand c afterwards against it, as represented in the diagram.
The two beds, thus exactly on the same level, but not ex¬
actly contemporaneous, were finally covered by the bed ot
sandstone dd, which spread equally over both of them.
We see in this case proof, that although the bed c is ex¬
actly on the same level as the bed b, both reposing on, and
both covered by, the same beds, yet they are still not ex¬
actly of the same age, but that c was formed subsequently
to b, inasmuch as b was not only formed, but partially de¬
stroyed previously to the formation of c. Such facts give
us farther proof of the length of the interva s which may
elapse between the formation of two beds such as a and a,
and also caution us not in all cases to infer strict synchron¬
ism from the fact of beds occupying the same geological
horizon.
yj.—CONTEMPORANEITY OF BEDS ON SAME HORIZON.
If a group of beds, whether large or small, have the ar¬
rangement shown in fig. 11, the order of the formation o
Fig. 9.
„0„.w in SIS “P ’,y ‘“ek“'''8 0,
We are not aware how far the French geologists make
a distinction in time between the beds thus eroded and
those which fill up the hollows.
Similar trough-like hollows are met with in coal mining,
traversing beds of coal, the coal being eaten away, and the
hollows filled up by the matter which composes its root,
such as clay, shale, or sandstone. Mr Buddie has described
very fully one met with in the forest of Dean, wiere ie
miners gave the name of “ the horse to the stuff which
thus seemed to come down and press out the coa . ns
trough was found to branch when traced—as in coal-mining
it was necessarily traced—over a considerable area, an to
assume all the appearance of a little stream with small tri¬
butaries falling into it; the channels of the stream being
afterwards filled up by the subsequently deposited materials
that were spread over the whole coal.
Another modification of this erosive action is represented
in fig. 10, taken from a sketch made in a quarry in the
1 A meniscus is a lens concave on both surfaces.
the beds is clear enough as regards a, b, and c ; but a ana
d2 mav either have been deposited contemporaneously, or
one before the other ; e is clearly subsequent to them both ;
but f1 and again, are uncertain in relative age, while
there is no doubt about that of g and h. If we wished to
estimate the whole time consumed in the formation ot such
a set of beds, it would be obviously wrong merely to take
their mean thickness, as shown at A B, for the measure o
that time. The whole thickness of a had been deposited
before b had been begun, and both were complete betore c
was formed. If, therefore, we assume thickness, or quan¬
tity of material deposited, as the measure of time occupie
• .1—if ic. /->ir>ai. tViat wp should add together the
tity or material ueposueu, as me —    i
in deposition, it is clear that we should add together t le
maxima of a, b, c, and not take their mean. Similarly ot
the whole set, we ought to search out for the maximum
GEOLOGY.
161
(Eology. thickness of each bed, and add those thicknesses together;
and in doing this, we should feel some doubt as to whether
we ought not to reckon dl and c?2, and similarly fx and/2,
as two separate and consecutive beds, instead of supposing
them to have been formed at the same time. If in the set
of beds under examination we found many beds thus end¬
ing without overlapping, we should clearly be right in
making allowance for the probably successive deposition of
some of those which appeared to be contemporaneous.
We have already seen that this irregularity of deposition
is most frequently met with in rocks that we supposed to be
most hastily accumulated, while those which spread very
regularly over extensive areas appeared to be most tran¬
quilly and quietly, and therefore most slowly, deposited.
We see now, however, that this very irregularity carries
with it, in the long run, its own compensation, and that,—
what with partial erosion and removal of some beds, and
intervals of greater or less length between the formation of
others, together with want of synchronism between beds
that seem at first sight to possess it,—although any one bed,
or small set of beds, may have been deposited in a com¬
paratively hasty manner, yet the whole amount of time to
be allowed for the accumulation of a great series of coarse
beds would, if properly estimated, probably not be less
than for an equal mass of more gradually and tranquilly
formed rocks.
VII,—INTEftSTRATIFICATION, ASSOCIATION, AND ALTER¬
NATION OF BEDS.
m studying the formation of aqueous rocks, we should
soon perceive that no general rule can be laid down as to
their association with one another.
Limestones, sandstones, and clays occur either separately
or interstratified one with the other in every imaginable
variety of disposition.
We have sometimes a series of beds, many hundreds of
feet in aggregate thickness, of pure limestone, with scarcely
a single seam of mechanically-deposited matter, even so
much as an inch thick. Instances of this are shown in the
chalk of the south-east of England, and the carboniferous
limestone of Derbyshire, and of large portions of Ireland.
Series of beds of sandstone, almost entirely devoid of
calcareous or argillaceous matter, and having a total thick¬
ness of many hundred feet, likewise frequently occur. Old
gravel beds, now compacted into conglomerate, are often
associated with these; and the sandstones exhibit every
variety of texture, from lines of small pebbles to the finest
possible grains. In such masses of sandstone it is rare to
find any foreign bodies, and mineral concretions or chemical
deposits hardly ever occur in them.
Groups of beds of almost pure clay also occur, with a
thickness of several hundred feet, with hardly a single bed
of sandstone or limestone to be found in them.
While cases of this accumulation of one particular kind
of matter, of great thickness, and therefore through long
periods of time, are by no means rare, it is perhaps more
usual to find different beds of rock alternating one with the
other, sometimes so interstratified that there is never a
greater accumulation than twenty or thirty feet of any one
sort without others interposed between them.
Beds of limestone are frequently separated by beds of
clay or shale, which is most commonly black or brown.
These shales are themselves sometimes calcareous, and
there seejns occasionally to have been such an equal mingling
of the two kinds of matter, that it is hard to say whether it
would be most proper to call the rock a shale or a limestone.
Such are some of the beds known as calp shale or calp lime¬
stone in the middle districts of Ireland.
Beds of sandstone, again, often alternate with such shales ;
so that we get a series of beds consisting of alternations of
VOL. xv.
all these kinds. Beds of limestone sometimes alternate Geology,
with sandstones, some of which may likewise be calcareous ;
but it is more rare to find pure limestone and pure sand¬
stone interstratified with each other, than to have argilla¬
ceous beds alternating with either or with both. Speaking
generally, indeed, we find, in examining the vertical suc¬
cession of beds of rock, an approach to the same kind of
passage or gradation that we sometimes perceive in their 11
lateral extension. Beds of very fine and very coarse mate¬
rials rarely rest directly one upon the other* Conglomerates
are generally covered and underlaid by sandstones, and not
by clays or shales. Coarse sandstone, in the same way, has
usually a bed of finer
Coal measures on top of
Quarry
material, either above
or below, before shale
or clay occurs.
The transition from
the conditions favour¬
able to the deposition
of one kind of rock to
those conducive to an-r
other has generally been
gradual rather than
abrupt. The tranquil
water of the open sea,
which seems to be the
general producer of
limestone, becomes first
invaded by gentle cur¬
rents, bringing in finely
suspended mud, before
it is traversed by those
of sufficient strength to
carry out the coarser
material of sand. When
a single bed varies in
grain, we generally find
the coarser part at the
bottom, as we should
expect; for when a
quantity of variously
sized detritus is de¬
livered into any water,
the larger and rounder
grains or fragments will
be the first to sink. Not
unfrequently, however,
alternations of finer and
coarser grained laminae
occur in one bed, prov¬
ing that the bed was
formed by a succession
of actions, and by as
many different deli¬
veries of matter into the
water as there are sets
of alternations.
We will give here
two instances of alter-,
nation of beds, taken
from actual observation
and measurement. The
first is a section supplied '3410
by Mr G. V. Dunnoyer, Fig-12.
and represents the top beds of the upper limestone (car¬
boniferous), where they are observed to pass into the lower
coal measures, in county Carlow, from a quarry close to Old
Loughlin.1 (Fig. 12.)
1 In this section the rule as to numbering is not observed, as tho
numbers refer to the woodcut.
X
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
No.
Feet. Inches.
1. Hard earthy black splintery shale   ^
2. Earthy rotten black shale  “
3. Hard black shale   0
4. Brown earthy layer  
5. Crystalline gray crinoidal limestone   • ^
6. Soft brown earthy shale, containing abundance ot
fossils, and very numerous layers of black chert 11
7. Hard gray shale, encrinite stems, and shells   0
8. Gray compact limestone  ^
9. Chert layer, black   ^
10. Gray compact limestone   
11. Thin irregularly bedded shaly limestone, with ^
gray sliale on top    ^
12. Compact limestone .... —    ^
13. Light gray compact limestone •••••••• 
14. Black chert layers in hard black shale   
15. Gray compact limestone, forming floor ot quarry.
The following is another example of the alternation of
the Bristol coal-fields {Mem. Geol.
be of similar character to those which had died away, or
altogether different.
We might, for instance, in one locality, have a series ot
limestones of 1000 feet in thickness, resting one upon the
other, without the intervention of any other beds. As we
traced this group across a country, we should perhaps find
that little “ partings ” of shale began to make their appear¬
ance between some of the beds of limestone, and that as we
proceeded these shales became thicker and more numerous,
while the limestones became thinner in proportion. Some
of the limestones would perhaps then altogether disappear,
and the series be split up into two or more groups ot lime¬
stone, with one or two intermediate sets of shale-beds.
Geology.
1
2
64
beds, derived from
Survey, vol. i., p. 210).1
No Feet.
23. Argillaceous shale  185
22. Sandstone    ^
21. Coal  
20. Underclay  
19. Argillaceous shale
18. Coal and shale   ^
17. Coal     ^
15. Argillaceous shale  ^
14. Sandstone   ^
13. Argillaceous shale   23
12. Coal   ^
11. Underclay  ^
2
10. Coal  
■9. Underclay 
8. Argillaceous shale   ^
7. Sandstone
6. Argillaceous shale   2
5. Sandstone   ^
4. Argillaceous shale  4
3. Coal   ^
2. Underclay      ^
1. Sandstone   ^
Inches.
0
0
6
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
. 0
6
6
0
0
0
0
0
0
4
0
0
Fig. 13.
The whole section, of which this is a portion, enumerates
294 similar alternations, having a total thickness of 5084
feet, below which is a series ot beds, 1200 feet thick, prin¬
cipally composed of hard sandstone.
It is to be specially noted, as regards the occurrence ot
coal, that it almost invariably rests on a fine argillaceous
bed, often what is called “fireclay.” This fact is familiar
even to the miners, so that it has received the name ot
“underclay” in the South Welsh district, and in others is
called “coal seat” The general order of superposition (or
of time of formation, for these are convertible terms), .s
1. Sandstone ; 2. Clay; 3. Coal; 4. Clay . If we disregard
the minor alternations, we should see this rule carried out
in almost all sections of coal measures, the clay above the
coal (the roof) being generally thinner and stronger (more
shaly) than that immediately below. In some few instances
the coal seat is arenaceous, and still more frequently a san
stone or “ rock ” roof may be found.
VIII.—lateral variation op beds.
We should in many cases find that, of the beds which we
had noted at one locality, many, or most, or all gradua y
thinned out and died away as we followed their lateral ex¬
tension, and that their places were supplied by others which
as gradually came in. Now, these new beds might either
In this diagram the white hands are meant for limestones, the black tor
shales, and the dotted for sandstones.
Still farther on, the limestones might be more and more
subdivided by beds of shale, and the shales themselves split
up bv beds of sandstone, until at length we should find our
series consist almost entirely of sandstones and shales, with
only one or two very subordinate beds of limestone, at one
or two levels, to represent the purely calcareous group with
which we commenced. The diagram (fig. 13) gives a rough
representation of this lateral change but requires to be
drawn out to twenty or thirty times its length before it could
be taken as a proximate delineation of the facts as t ley
occur in nature. . . . n f
In the same way, groups that consist principally ot sand¬
stone and conglomerate in one district, may in anotier e
composed chiefly of limestone and shale or clay, with or
without any beds of sandstone. ,
The scale upon which these lateral changes of character
are carried out is altogether indefinite. We see it some-
1 In all tabular lists of beds or formations in this article, the
series will be arranged on the page in their order of superposition,
but they will be numbered in order of age, beginning with the
oldest or first formed.
times take place with respect to a small group ot beds wit
the limits of a single quarry ; in other cases, a distance ot a
few hundred yards or a few miles is requisite before the
alteration is apparent. Some groups of beds, indeed, pre¬
serve their mineral characters but little altered over w
countries or across whole continents. Still, judging trom
what we know, we must always hold ourselves prepared tor
change even in the rocks that seem most constant in their
characters; and as a matter of fact, we know of no one
group of aqueous rocks that preserve the same mineral
characters in all parts of the earth.
Combining thus actual observation with probaWe spec
lations, we should be quite ready to understand that the
same set of beds may, within the space even of the Brdis
Islands, put on very variable characters. us w
now advantageously examine some instances. Let us com¬
pare the two following sections, which are descriptive ot the
beds which intervene between the two great continuous
groups of argillaceous rock, called respectively the Oxford
clay, and the Lias. These intervening beds are called
generally the Lower or Bath oolite, because the oolitic
limestones contained in them near Bath and e sew ere are
the most striking and valuable portions ot them, iue
section near Bath is taken from Conybeare and Phillips,
that for Yorkshire from Professor Phillips s Geology oj
Yorkshire:—
GEOLOGY.
163
ttology- NEAR bath and in gloucester-
SHIRE.
Oxford clay.
Feet
16
91
-Cornbrash  16
Clay  11
Calcareo-siliceous sand 10
Forest marble  18
Sand  2
Clay  50 )
3.—Great oolite  130 130
Blue Clay  141
Fuller’s earth  81
Bastard Fuller’s
earth with a band
of shelly sand¬
stone 
Inferior oolite  30
2.J
>122
100 I
Calcareous sand  50
Total.
Lias 
80
469
YORKSHIRE.
Oxford clay.
Feet.
5.—Cornbrash  10
f Sandstone, shale, 'i
4. < ironstone, and l 200
(. coal J
o f Impure, often ooli-l ^
' | tic, limestone.... J
Sandstone, shale, 1
2. { ironstone, and J. 500
coal J
Sub-calcareous, ^
1. { ferruginous l 60
sandstone J
Total  800
Lias 
We see that, while in the south of England these beds are
largely characterized by the presence of oolitic limestones,
those in the north are almost destitute of them, but contain
instead great beds of sandstone and shale, together with
thin beds of coal, which are equally wanting in the south.
If we examined the fossils they contained, we should find
an equal change, as the beds in the north are full of carbon¬
ized plants and vegetables, which are almost altogether
absent in the south, where the fossils consist of the re¬
mains of mollusca and other marine animals that are rare
or wanting in the north. It seems as if in proceeding from
the south to the north, we were approaching the shore of
the old sea, and therefore get a greater quantity of mecha¬
nically-formed rocks, together with the products of the
land, in the shape of plants that had been drifted from it,
while the marine products proportionably decreased.
Had the Yorkshire rocks been those which were first
examined and described, the term “ oolitic” would never
have been applied to them, although they may now be
called “ oolitic,” as having been formed at the same time
with those which had previously received the name of
“ oolitic” rocks in Gloucestershire, and other parts of the
world.
Similar results would be arrived at if ive traced over a
large area another group of rocks, which are called carboni¬
ferous, from their containing in some places beds of coal.
1 hese rest upon certain beds of red sandstone, called old
red sandstone; and if we compare them as they occur in
the south of England and South Wales, in central and
northern England, and in Scotland, we shall find that, while
essentially made up of the same kind of materials through¬
out, these materials are differently arranged in different
places.
W e have in South Wales and the border counties—
4. Coal measures, alternations of sand¬
stones, clays, and shales, with occa- Feet.
sional beds of coal  7,000 to 12,000
3. Millstone grit, chiefly white quartzose
sandstone  200 ... 900
2. Limestones with thin shaly partings,
called carboniferous, or mountain
limestone  400 ... 1,800
1. Lower limestone shale, alternations
of shales, with thin limestones  180 ... 500
Old red. sandstone.
(Memoirs of Geological Survey, vol. i.)
In Derbyshire and some adjacent counties, and in North
'•'ales, this series becomes —
Feet.
4. Coal measures, as before  3000 to 6000
3. Millstone grit, as before, about........... 800
2. Upper limestone shale, dark shale with
occasional beds of limestone  500
1. Carboniferous limestone, as before  800 ... 1000
Old red sandstone.
The chief difference between these two sections is the
occurrence of a group of beds of black shale above the car¬
boniferous limestone in the north, while there is little
or none underneath it, the reverse being the case in the
south.
In tracing these beds, however, from Derbyshire through
Yorkshire and Durham to Northumberland, we find a gra¬
dual change coming in, so that while No. 4, the coal
measures, retain their character of a multiform alternation
of beds, No. 3, the millstone grit, becomes split up by shales
with beds of coal, thus blending with the coal measures,
while No. 2 acquires many beds of limestone and some of
sandstone, and eventually also of coal, and even No. 1, the
great limestone series itself, becomes interstratified with
shales, sandstones, and coals; so that instead of the un¬
broken succession of beds of limestone which we have in
Derbyshire, we get such sections as the following in Dur¬
ham and Northumberland for the composition of No. 1.
Feet.
g. Main limestone  70
/. Various alternations of shales, &c  80
e. Underset limestone   24
d. Various, including one coal-seam, one or
more limestones, several shales, one or
two principal grit rocks, flagstones, &c. 150 to 350
c. Scaur limestone  15 ... 40
b. Various alternations, including a bed of
coal, and one or more beds of lime¬
stone  125... 225
a. Tyne bottom limestone  25 ... 50
489 to 839
(Aldstone Moor, as given by Mr Forster.)
In Scotland we have nothing above the old red sand¬
stone but one great series of alternations throughout, con¬
taining beds of coal from the top of the series to the bot¬
tom, so that the great carboniferous formation is no longer
separable into distinct groups as in the south. All that
can be said of the Scotch carboniferous series is, that it is
all coal measures, beds of limestone being more frequent
in the lower than in the upper part of the formation, where
they are commonly altogether wanting.
General Conclusions.—As general conclusions from
what we have hitherto said, we may state the following:—
For the production of mechanically-formed aque¬
ous rocks the existence of dry land is absolutely ne¬
cessary, since such rocks are the result, almost entirely, of
the wear and tear of other previously existing rocks at or
above the level of the sea.
2d. For the production of calcareous rocks animal life
was necessary; for that of carbonaceous rocks vegetable
life was necessary. The animal life may have been entirely
aquatic, the vegetable life may have been either aquatic or
terrestrial.
ix.—JOINTS,
We should not long have studied the laminated and stra¬
tified stiucture of locks, and paid attention to their separa¬
tion into beds by planes of division which were obviously
the result of distinctness and succession in the acts of de¬
position, without being struck by the occurrence of other
planes of division, which cut the first at various angles, and
assist them in dividing the rocks into regular or irregular
blocks.
We should, indeed, very soon perceive that all rocks,
stratified or unstratified, igneous, aqueous, and metamor-
Geology.
MINEK.ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
164
Geology, phic, were traversed by numerous planes of division of tins
v-^ kind. They may be seen in any quarry, or in any natural
or artificial excavation in any solid rock, traversing the rock
in various directions, and separating it into blocks of cor¬
respondingly various shapes and sizes. „
These divisional planes are called “joints.
Without natural joints the quarrying of stratified roc s
would be very difficult, and that of unstratified rocks almost
impossible. If beds of sandstone or limestone were undi¬
vided by natural joints, each block would have to be cut
or split bv artificial means on every side from the rest ot
the bed ; but in rocks, such as granite or greenstone, which
have no beds, the blocks would not only have to be cut
away on each side, but underneath also. It would ob¬
viously be a most impracticable task to dig out a large
block of granite from the midst of a solid mass untraversed
bv any natural planes of division of any kind.
' For the production of natural blocks of rock there must
clearly be at least two sets of joints in stratified, and three
sets in unstratified rocks, each set more or less nearly at
right angles to each other. (See figs. 14 and 15.)
fig. 14.
Joints in granite. (Large quarries in Killiney Hill, near Dublin. G. V. D.)
Fig. 15.
Joints in limestone. The planes of stratification are ^e1P*Ta11^
lines dipping from the spectator and towards the left. The other lines ate
the ends of ioint planes, which also form the smooth surfaces of the rock
nearly at right angles to each other, as shown by the projecting corners.
(Quarry near Mallow, Co. Cork.—G. V. D.)
Professor Phillips tried many years ago, in his Geology
of Yorkshire, whether the directions of the principal joints
were not related in some way to the magnetic meiidian, and
arrived at results showing a tendency in the two principal
sets of the joints of the Yorkshire rocks to arrange them¬
selves according to certain magnetic bearings. 1 liis, how¬
ever, seems to be only another way of stating that there
are two principal sets of joints in the district, those of each
set being parallel to each other.
Professor Sedgwick refers the directions of joints chiefly
to the lines of upheaval and disturbance in rocks, calling
those which run along or parallel to the “ strike” of the
beds, “ strike joints,” and those parallel to the “ dip,” “ dip
joints.”1 All other joints he calls “ diagonal” joints.
1 For the explanation of the words “ strike” and “ dip,” see
posted, chap, vi., § 2.
These are useful terms, whether the two things be or be Geology,
not related in the way of cause and effect. _
It is certain that some joints have been produced in all
rocks anteriorly to, and independently of, the action of the
forces of upheaval which have elevated them ; but it is very
likely that the direction of the lines of upheaval may have
been governed or modified by that of the principal joints,
and that other joints may have been the result of the action
of these disturbing forces.
In some localities, very widely extended planes of divi¬
sion may be seen traversing a great series of beds in per¬
fectly parallel lines, running at wide intervals down whole
mountain sides, so as to be visible at a distance of several
miles, but without producing any dislocation or shifting of
the beds.1 Such unlimited joints were very propably pro¬
duced, not from any internal shrinking on the mere conso¬
lidation of the beds, but from a simultaneous yielding of
the whole mass to a great expansive or stretching force.
When we come, however, to examine the joints of igneous
rocks, more especially those of the highly crystalline kinds,
such as granite, we see an amount of irregularity and want of
symmetry in their arrangement which would make it diffi¬
cult to attribute their origin to any widely spread polar
force or any mechanical power acting in one or two given
directions.2 It is true that over small areas, as, for instance,
in single quarries, the regularity of the arrangement of the
joints in granite is often very remarkable. One set ot
planes will be seen to run at such equal distances, and so
strictly parallel, that if they be horizontal, or nearly so, they
produce the appearance of stratification in the rock, and the
workmen frequently speak of the beds of rock between
such planes (fig. 14). In very large quarries, however, or
in long cliffs, this appearance of regularity is found to be
very inconsistent and deceptive. One set of joints will
most resemble stratification at one spot, and anothei set at
another, each set being gradually obscured by the occur¬
rence of other sets of joints cutting them irregularly and
promiscuously.
The shape and the width of joints of stratified rocks
vary much according to the nature of the rock. I hey are
generally close, regular,* and symmetrical, in proportion to
the fineness of the grain and the compactness of the rock,
being most irregular and uneven in coarse sandstones and
conglomerates. The power of the force which produces
them is, however, well shown in hard and well consolidated
conglomerates, since the hardest pebbles of pure white
quartz are often cut as clean through by the joints as the
compacted sand in which they lie. In sandstones, joints
are frequently open ; in shales, they are closer, but more
smooth and regular, being frequently perfect planes. In
limestones, there are both close and open joints; but the
open joints have frequently been widened by the action of
water percolating through them, and dissolving a portion of
the rock. Great fissures are sometimes formed in this way;
and this has doubtless been the origin of many of the ca¬
verns which occur so abundantly in limestone rocks.. In
highly argillaceous limestones, the joints are often beautifully
smooth, regular, and close.
In some cases, it would seem as if each bed had its sys¬
tem of joints formed before the other was deposited upon
it, inasmuch as the joints formed in one do not penetrate
the other. In other cases, a set of joints is seen to be com¬
mon to a whole set of beds, and to have been produced ap
1 The peninsula that runs out from Glengariff to Berehaven,
along the north side of Bantry Bay, is especially remarkable for
these vast joints.
2 We are aware that some great parallel joints may in. some
localities be traced coursing through granite and other adjacent
rocks; but we should class such joints among those subsequent ones
just spoken off, and not among the original structural and congeni¬
tal joints of granite and other rocks.
G E 0 L
ieology. pai Gntly in the whole simultaneously. It is not uncommon
—for j°.ints>in passing from one bed to another, to shift a little,
or slightly change their angle. In such cases it may be
doubtful whether a joint previously formed in the one bed
may not have given rise to the formation, or at least have
modified the position, of the other, in the bed above.
There does not seem either to be any reason why all the
joints traversing any bed or any set of beds should neces¬
sarily be of one age, but the contrary, inasmuch as we may
imagine the process of solidification to take place at inter¬
vals, being at first incomplete, and afterwards becoming
more perfect. Subsequent contraction would not have been
so likely perhaps to widen the old joints as to produce new
ones, since the shrinkage could hardly exert such a force as
to overcome the effects of friction, and cause any large
masses of rock to move and slide one over the other even
to the most trifling extent.
.Joints then may be caused, first, by the consolidation of
each bed separately ; secondly, by subsequent acts of con¬
solidation, common to several beds ; and thirdly, to widely
spread mechanical force, affecting whole formations at
once.
In the gypsum quarries of Chaumont, near Montmartre,
Paris, two thick beds of granular gypsum occur, which, in¬
stead of being divided by two principal sets of joints into
quadrangular blocks, are traversed by three equally strong
sets crossing each other at equal angles; and the whole
mass is accordingly split into triangular and hexagonal
blocks, giving the beds a columnar appearance like that so
well known in basaltic rocks. (See fig. 16.)
Joints in beds of granular gypsum. (Chaumont, near Paris.)
The hexagons and triangles are frequently quite regular
and perfect, and the result very curious, and, as far as I am
aware, unique in unaltered aqueous rocks. If three sets of
equidistant planes cross each other at equal angles, the
angle of intersection between any two will of course be 60°.
If all three planes meet at the same points, triangular forms
only would be produced ; but if they be so arranged as that
no more than two sets should ever intersect each other at
the same point, and that each point of intersection be ex¬
actly half way between the other set of planes, as in fig. 16,
alternate triangles and hexagons of perfectly regular form
will be the result.
These conditions seem to have been exactly fulfilled in
the quarries near Paris, and the symmetry of arrangement
has not been disturbed or obscured by additional irregular
joints, which may possibly mask this, or some other sym ¬
metrical arrangement of joints in other places.
We have already said that in massive igneous rocks there
must necessarily be at least three sets of planes, all more
0 G Y.
or less nearly at right angles to each other, for the mass to
be separated into blocks, while in stratified rocks there must
be at least two sets of joints cutting across the beds. If
the planes be equidistant and exactly at right angles, the
blocks would be perfect cubes. This exact regularity how¬
ever, is not to be expected as common, nevertheless the
approach to it is frequent, and it would be still more so if
it were not for the occurrence of other irregularly disposed
diagonal joints. We may, therefore, in practice look upon
such blocks as more or less universally cuboidal, and speak
of the joints producing them as cuboidal or quadrangular
joints. We have just seen that, even in aqueous rocks,
other symmetrical arrangements of joints may exist, pro¬
ducing regular forms other than cubes ; but this is more es¬
pecially remarkable in those igneous rocks which occur in
comparatively thin sheets, whether as beds or as “ dykes,”
that is, as wall-like sheets traversing other rocks. In these
the joints often divide the mass into long prisms.
The sides of these prisms are sometimes regular and
equal, producing either hexagonal, pentagonal, or other
forms. Sometimes, however, they are unequal and ii’regu-
lar, dividing the rock into uneven and wrinkled prisms like
those exhibited by the common substance “ starch.”
That this prismatic arrangement is the result of contrac¬
tion on consolidation is shown by the prisms usually being
at right angles to the greatest extension of the mass, being
vertical in a horizontal bed, horizontal in a vertical dyke,
proving that the Assuring commenced at the cooling sur¬
faces, and struck thence directly towards the centre of the
mass.
Sometimes it is found that the two sets of prisms thus
originating at each surface did not exactly fit when they
met in the centre, as is shown in fig. 17. At other times,
however, they proceed uninterruptedly from one side to
the other, the two sets either having coalesced, or one
surface having cooled before the other, and given rise to
divisions that were carried right across to the other.
Dyke of columnar basalt, the columns not continuous across.
In addition to these prismatic joints, other h-regular joints,
more or less nearly at right angles to the prisms, also occur;
and in very regularly columnar basalt and greenstone the
columns are articulated, or separated at regular or irregular
intervals into short blocks, by divisions, which are some¬
times quite flat, sometimes curved into concave and convex
surfaces, forming a kind of approach to a ball and socket
joint. The origin of this structure is explained by the ce¬
lebrated observations of the great Gregory Watt. If a
mass of basalt be melted in a furnace, and allowed to cool
again, the following results may be observed. If a small
part be removed and allowed to cool quickly, a kind of
slag-like glass is obtained, not differing in appearance from
MINER A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
obsidian. If it cool in larger mass more slowly, it returns
to its original stony state. During this process small glo¬
bules make their appearance, which, very small at first, in¬
crease by the successive formation of external concentric
coats, like those of an onion, and the simultaneous oblitera¬
tion of the previously formed internal coats, so that ulti¬
mately a number of solid balls are formed, each envelope!
in several concentric coats. As these balls increase in size,
their external coats at length touch, and then mutua y
compress each other. Now, in a layer of equal-sized ba s,
each ball is touched by exactly six others (see fig. 18), and
if these be then squeezed together by an equal force
Fig. 18.
acting in every direction, every ball will be squeezed into a
regular hexagon. But the same result will follow from an
equal expansive force acting from the centre of each ball,
or from the tendency to indefinite enlargment in their con¬
centric coats. Each spheroidal mass, therefore, will be con¬
verted into a short hexagonal pillar. But if there are many
piles of balls one above another, each ball resting directly
and centrically on the one below it, we should have a long
column of these hexagonal joints, and the top and bottom
of each joint either flat, concave, or convex, according to
variations in the amount and direction of the pressure at
the ends of the columns.
There is no apparent reason why, in a cooling mass of
basalt, the balls should be so arranged as that their centres
should be in straight lines, and that the hexagonal vertebrae
should form straight continuous pillars rather than separate
discontinuous pavements. This, however, is probably the
result of the simultaneous tendency in the mass to split
into prisms in consequence of the joint-forming contraction
on consolidation, the two tendencies acting together to pro¬
duce the columns with the short ball and socket articula-
tions.
In the case of curved columns, it is probable that the
accidental arrangement of the centres of the balls over¬
powered the tendency to produce straight prismatic joints.
Many other irregularities, resulting from the unequal action
of one or the other tendency, may frequently be observed,
since there are not only curved, but oblique and radiating
columns; not only hexagonal, but pentagonal, triangular, and
other irregular shapes; and in some instances, small uncom¬
pressed, or nearly uncompressed balls, may be found in the
interstices between unequal and irregular columns. The
pillars of basalt are usually from 6 to 18 inches in dia¬
meter, and vary in length from 5 or 6 to 100 or 150 feet.
Columnar greenstone is commonly on a larger scale, the
pillars being sometimes 5 or 6 or even 8 feet in diameter,
and the columnar form of the rock is often only to be per¬
ceived at a distance. Almost all greenstone exhibits the
tendency to decompose into rounded spheroidal blocks, on
which we have just seen the columnar structure partly to
depend. Felstone is sometimes also beautifully columnar ;
of which an admirable example may be seen in a small
pass to the southward of Lough Gitane, near Killarney.
(See papers by Messrs Dunoyer and Foot in the Journal of
the Geological Society of Dublin, in 1856.) Neither is this Geology,
tendency confined to basalt, greenstone, and felstone, since
it is sometimes perceptible even in granite, producing in
that rock the logging stones,” or “rocking stones,” the
“ cheese wrings,” the “ tors,” as well as the “ pots and
pans,” and “ sacrificial basins,” and other curious natural
forms occurring in that rock, of which many have been at¬
tributed to ancient artificial processes.
The study of joints and the other divisional planes of
rocks, and the different forms assumed by them in conse¬
quence, both when freshly exposed and when modified by
“ weathering,” is as necessary for the landscape painter who
wishes to reproduce nature, as is the study of anatomy to
the figure painter. Mr Ruskin has handled this subject in
his usual masterly style.
Chap. VI.—FORCES OF DISTURBANCE.
I.—ELEVATION OF AQUEOUS ROCKS.
In the preceding chapter we have been principally en¬
gaged with the facts relating to the deposition and consoli¬
dation of those rocks that have been formed under water.
It will be convenient now to examine the problem of the
elevation of these rocks into dry land.
It is clear that all rocks which were formed at the bot¬
tom of the sea, and which are now dry land, must have
gained their present situation either by the sinking of the
sea level or by the uplifting of the sea bottom. If, how¬
ever, the level of the sea be materially lowered in any one
part of the globe, it must be equally lowered over its whole
surface. But we find aqueous rocks on the summits of
some of our highest mountains, and if these had been laid
dry solely by the sinking of the sea, it is difficult to under¬
stand what can have become of a shell of water ten or
twenty thousand feet deep enveloping the whole globe..
Partial floods and inundations are out of the question.
Laplace determined that though the sea is often agitated
by storms and earthquakes which raise it into, great waves,
and make it locally and temporarily overstep its limits, yet
the equilibrium of the ocean is stable if its density is less
than the mean density of the earth. Now, experiments on
the attraction of the mountains of Schehallion in Scotland,
and Mount Cenis in the Alps, as well as those made by
Mr Cavendish, and Reich and Baily, with balls of lead,
demonstrate that the earth has a mean density at least five
times that of water, and hence the stability of the sea and
the invariability of its level is beyond a doubt.1 fBrew-
ster’s Life of Newton, vol. i., p. 363).
We must therefore look upon the level of the sea all
over the surface of the globe as absolutely invariable, un¬
less by very great changes taking place in the form of its.
bed,—the elevation of some parts, or the depression of
others. To effect either relative or absolute change of
level, then, in the surface of the sea, it is the solid part of
the earth’s crust that must first move. Even then we shall
not effect absolute change of level in the upper surface of
the sea, unless the elevation of its bed in one place be ma¬
terially greater than its depression in another, or vice versa.
But this we have no reason to suppose probable, and no
right to assume as having taken place.
Wherever, then, we find that a change has occurred in
the relative levels of land and sea in any portion of the
globe, we must believe that the elevation or depression has
taken place in the land,—in the solid rock, and not in the
More recent observations by the Astronomer Royal on the pen¬
dulum at the surface and at the bottom of deep mines, give a mean
of 6-809 for the earth’s specific gravity, while those made by the
Ordnance Survey on the deflection of the plumb line at Edinburgh
Ordnance Survey
give it as 5 14
GEOLOGY.
167
eology. fluid ocean. The very fluidity, indeed, of the ocean, which
might at first lead us to look to its motion and change of
place as the cause of the appearance of dry land, renders
any permanent local or partial change in its level impos¬
sible, while a local change in the level of solid rock is more
easily possible than a general or universal one.
If, therefore, we can prove that elevation has occurred
in one place while depression happened in another, or if we
can prove that any alteration of level whatever took place
that was not common to the whole globe and equal all over
it, it must necessarily have been the rock that moved, and
not the sea.
We may arrive at this conclusion in another way. We
could not continue our observations upon stratified or aque¬
ous rocks very long without perceiving that their beds were
not invariably horizontal, but were, on the contrary, gene¬
rally inclined to the horizon. Now we have already seen
that in certain cases beds of stratified rock may be formed
on a considerable slope, or may have an original inclination
due to the very circumstances of their deposition. These
cases, however, are by their very nature limited to small
areas. A steep slope cannot be of indefinite extent in every
direction, and could not have strictly parallel beds depo¬
sited on it over its whole area if it were. Whenever, then,
we have very widely spread beds maintaining an equal
thickness and strict or approximate parallelism over a large
extent of ground, we may feel perfectly sure that those
beds when first formed were horizontal. If such beds are
now found in an inclined position, we may be equally cer¬
tain that they have been moved since their formation, and
moved more in one direction than in another. They must
have been tilted, either by being lifted up at one end or
depressed at the other. In many cases we find this motion
to have been very great; the beds have been tilted and
set on edge so as to rest at very great angles, and in some
cases to be absolutely vertical. Beds consisting of alterna¬
tions of clay and sand, with their seams of round pebbles
that must clearly have been deposited horizontally, have
been tilted up till they are now perpendicular (see fig. 19).
Fig. 19.
Beds containing layers of round pebbles, which must therefore have been
deposited horizontally, now in a vertical position.
No one could look at a cliff exhibiting these facts without
feeling certain that in this case, at all events, some subter¬
ranean and internal forces had acted upon previously hori¬
zontal beds, and lifted them into their present position.
If we still hesitated to believe such motion in the solid
frame-work of the earth possible, our scepticism must at
length give way before the knowledge of the fact that it is
still going on even in our own day in various parts of the
earth. For a compendious account of movements of ele¬
vation and depression in the lands of the present day, either
occurring within the times of history or still in progress, we
must refer the reader to Sir C. Lyell’s Principles of Geo-
logy, chapters xxix., xxx., and xxxi. He will there find
r-n account of the gradual rise of Sweden and Norway,
which is now going on at the rate of about three feet in a Geology,
century ; of the frequent elevation of land along the west
coast of South America1 simultaneously with the occurrence
of earthquakes ; of the depression of the coast of Greenland,
and of both the elevation and depression of the temple of
Jupiter Serapis and its neighbourhood in the Bay of Naples,
and other similar facts in other parts of the globe.2
It must suffice here to say, that these movements seem
to be very slow, and to require immense periods of time
before any great permanent change is effected. They may
either be continuous and insensible in small periods of
time, with no earthquake movement, or they may occur
simultaneously with earthquakes in little shocks and starts
of a few feet or a few inches at a time. It is probable that
no earthquake ever occurs without being accompanied by
some change of level in some part of the rock shaken by it.
For the cause of these movements we must look to fluc¬
tuations of temperature in the heated interior of the earth,
—great accessions of heat rising nearer the surface in one
part than another, causing expansion of the rocks affected
by it in every direction, and thus producing an outward
bulging or elevation of these rocks, accompanied by injec¬
tion of molten matter among them ; depression, on the
other hand, being due to local refrigeration, and consequent
shrinkage and contraction. As to the cause of the fluctua¬
tions of temperature, we are perhaps not in a condition to
give even a guess.
To such movements as these, operating thus slowly and
gradually, we must ascribe the elevation of the whole of
the present lands of our globe above the waters of the sea.
We say the whole of our present lands, because by far the
greater portion of the dry land is covered by or made of
rock that has been deposited on the bottom of the sea;
and of the remainder, where igneous rocks now prevail at
the surface, we have every reason to believe the greater
part at least, if not the whole, was once covered by aque¬
ous rock. With the exception, then, of those spots which
are composed of matter actually ejected from the mouth of
a recent volcano, we either know or must believe that the
whole of our present lands have been once beneath the sea,
and have been gradually elevated above it.
To such gradually acting forces as those we have men¬
tioned we must ascribe not merely the elevation of all
land, but all those effects of unequal elevation, of tension,
of disturbance, and of great pressure resulting in fracture
and contortion, which I am about to describe. If we know
that such is the character of the forces now in action, and
if such forces be capable of producing the effects, provided
only a sufficient amount of time be allowed them, we have
no right to assume that these forces have ever had a differ¬
ent character or a different intensity, unless good reason
1 Mr Mallett, in his Report on Earthquakes in the Proceedings
of the British Association, points out that these movements are not
caused by the earthquake, which is a mere undulation, but accom¬
pany it; and that it would probably be more correct to say, that
the earthquake was caused by the movement.
s More recent movements still were mentioned by Sir C. Lyell, in
a lecture to the Royal Institution in 1856, as having occurred in
New Zealand simultaneously with the earthquake of January 1855.
A step of rock, bared of earth, nine feet high, was traceable for
ninety miles at the edge of a plain along the foot of a range of hills.
An elevation of five feet took place on the north side of Cook’s
Straits, so as almost to exclude the tide from the river Hutt, and
a corresponding depression on the other side of the straits allowed
the tide to flow up the river Wairua several miles higher than be¬
fore.
That these permanent changes of »evel have not been more often
observed is probably in great part owing to the want of a natural
standard of level. A change of level diffused over a considerable
area could only be detected on the sea-coast, or by accurate mea¬
surement referring to some standard of level which had not itself
been disturbed. Our only natural standard of level is that of the
upper surface of the sea.
MINERALOGIC AL SCIENCE.
168
Geology, can be given why the amount of time could not have been
v—^ large enough. If, however, it is proved from other sources
that the time occupied by geological action is practically
illimitable, we are not warranted in diminishing the amount
of time and increasing the intensity of force simply to suit
our preconceived ideas. This caution is necessary because
errors in estimating the nature of the forces in operation
not only lead to false theoretical reasoning, but occa¬
sionally even to practical mistakes based upon that rea¬
soning.
II. INCLINATION OF BEDS.
The inclination of beds downwards into the earth is
technically called their “ dip.” It is measured by the angle Geology,
between the plane of the beds and the plane of the horizon.
In fig. 20 the beds dip to the south at an angle increasing
from 35° to 50°. When we speak of the opposite of “ dip,”
we use the term “rise.’’ For instance, in fig. 20 the beds
dip to the south and rise to the north. The place where
each bed rises out to the surface of the ground is called its
“outcrop” or “basset.” We say that such and such beds
“crop out” to the surface, and we speak of the “basset”
edges of the beds. Miners use these and other terms, such
as “ coming out to the day,” “ rising up to the grass,” when
speaking of the “ outcrop ” of any bed or beds. The line
at right angles to the dip, that is, the line of outcrop of a
bed along a level surface, is called its “ strike,” a term in-
Fig. 20.
troduced from the German by Professor Sedgwick. It is magnetic.1 It may be called the “ range ” of a bed or beds
described by its line of compass bearing, either true or across a country. Coal miners commonly speak of this as
Fig. 21.
the “level bearing” of a bed, seeing that if you draw a “strike” will be due east and west. If we know the di-
line or drive a gallery along a bed exactly at right angles rection of the “ dip ” of a bed accordingly, we also know
to its line of dip or inclination, it must of necessity be on a      "
true level, or have no inclination either way. 1 Geologists generally use true compass bearings, a practice that
If, then, a bed “dips” due north or due south, its ought to be adopted universally in all land operations.
GEOLOGY.
iology. the exact bearing of its “strikebut if we only know the
strike, we do not necessarily learn either the direction or
amount of its “ dip,” because it may incline to either side
of the line of strike, and to any amount from the horizon¬
tal plane. In making observations, then, in field geology,
it is most important to observe accurately the direction of
the dip of all stratified rocks. It is also important to know
its amount; but this need not be observed with such mi¬
nute accuracy, since it is apt to vary continually to the
amount of 3° or 4°. In figs. 20 and 21 we have a rough
map and section of a piece of country, which will explain
these terms. In fig. 21, let A A be a rocky beach exposed
at low water ; B B a line of cliff about 100 feet in height;
and C C the surface of a country above the cliff, with the
rock bared of grass and soil, and exposed in several places,
either on the summits of eminences or the bottoms of quar¬
ries. The arrows point out the direction of the dip, the
figures showing its amount. This amount increases from
35° on the north to 50° on the south; and we may assume
this increase to be quite gradual, or that the beds are parts
of curves and not of perfectly straight planes. Then let
D D be a line of section, or supposed cutting, at right angles
to the strike of the beds, and let this section (fig. 20) be
drawn so as to give the true outline of the ground across
which it passes, and representing the beds in the true posi¬
tion they would be seen to occupy were such a cutting or
cliff really formed. Being drawn at right angles to the
strike, it runs of course along the line of the direction of
the dip, and its bearing, as here drawn, is about 28° west
of north, and 28° east of south. The latter, then, is the
direction of the dip. The bearing of the strike marked by
the ranges of the beds across the map will consequently be
28° north of east if we look in one direction, 28^ south of
west if we look in the other. In such a locality as this, if
we marked out the boundaries of the beds correctly on our
map, we should feel sure of the correctness not only of the
map, but of the section, and we should know the position
of the beds not only above the level of the sea, but for a
considerable distance below it. If, for instance, at the
point d in the map it was of importance to sink a shaft, so
as to come down upon the bed b, we should see at once
that the depth of b under d would be, according to the
scale, rather more than 425 feet. If we wished to reach
the bed a in the same way, it would be easy, either by con¬
struction or calculation, to ascertain the depth at which it
would be found in a perpendicular shaft under d.
It would be easy for us also to ascertain the total actual
thickness of the whole set of beds shown on the map, either
by actual measurement of each bed along the shore, or by
constructing a section founded on the observation of their
angle of dip and the width of their outcrop. The actual
thickness of the beds cut by the sea-level line in the section
Fig. 20, for instance, would be a little over 850 feet. That
is to say, those beds, if they were horizontal, would be 850
feet from top to bottom; if they were vertical, it would be
850 feet directly across them; while, in their present in¬
clined position, a straight line across their outcrop measures
1200 feet.
If we proceeded to trace those beds into the country
along their strike, however much the direction of the strike
or the angle of the dip might vary, or however they might
be concealed by grass, soil, or superficial covering, we
should always have to recollect that there was a thickness
of 850 feet of beds to be found or allowed for somewhere;
and if in the course of a few miles we came to a quarry or
a cutting where the bed x, for instance, was shown, and we
were able certainly to identify it, we should expect there
to find all the other beds above and below it that we had
found above and below it where they were clearly exhi¬
bited. We should feel sure we were right in this, if in the
expected spots, at the requisite distance on either side of it,
VOL. xv.
169
we found one or more of the beds a, b, or c, shown in other Geology,
quarries, or cuttings, or cliffs in the neighbourhood.1 It is
in this way, by getting a knowledge of the true sections of
a series or group of beds where they are well exhibited, and
following them across a country, picking out one of them
here, and another of them there, in ditches, brooks, river
banks, cliffs, or ravines, wells, mines, road or railway cuttings,
and quarries, that geological maps are constructed, showing
the boundaries of the several groups of rock, their range or
strike across a country, and the area of surface they occupy
with their outcrops or “ basset edges.”
III.—CONTORTIONS.
Where the dip and strike of the rocks are very steady,
or where they run in nearly straight lines across a country,
and their edges are not too much concealed by superficial
covering, this is a task of no great difficulty. In many in¬
stances, however, neither the dip nor the strike of a set of
beds remain constant over any considerable spaces. The
beds are bent and contorted, and twisted about, so that, in¬
stead of running in straight lines, the basset edges, or out¬
crops of any set of beds, follow crooked and curved lines,
often doubling back and running altogether out of their
former course. Moreover, after dipping down in a certain
direction for some distance, such beds are frequently curved
up again, and rise to the surface at some other locality,
forming basin or trough-shaped hollows; or, again, after
cropping out to the surface, the beds underneath them are
bent over in a ridge-like form, so that the first beds come
in and take the ground again, dipping in an opposite direc¬
tion.
These bendings and twistings of the beds occur on every
possible scale, from mere little local crumplings on the side
of a bank, to curves of which the radii are miles, and the
nuclei are mountain chains. When on the small scale, they
are commonly called “ contortions,” as in fig. 22.
There are in some instances wonderfully regular curves
visible in beds even of the hardest stone, such as beds of
limestone, arches both upwards and downwards, succeeding
each other with all the regularity of masonry, as in fig. 23.
Contortions in limestone and shale (borders of Staffordshire and Derbyshire).
In other cases, especially where there are alternations of
1 In diagram fig. 21, the supposed quarries or exposures of rock
in the interior of the country are thickly grouped together ; but
if the reader will imagine them separated by much wider inter¬
vals, and scattered over a far larger space, he will have a truer
notion of what usually occurs in nature.
Y
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
softer and more yielding beds with hard ones, the softer are
seen to be puckered and crumpled, as if they had been
subjected to lateral pressure and squeezed back, while the
harder ones are less broken. This is shown at one part of
%• 22- . . ,
Very curious and almost inexplicable contortions rnay be
seen occasionally, but we must recollect, that the conditions
under which they were produced, were such as it is not
often possible for us to imitate, nor easy even to imagine.
When the rocks were thus contorted, they were buried
under vast thicknesses, often many thousands of feet, of
other rock; the rocks above and below them were also of
unequal densities, and oflPering unequal resistances to force ,
the forces of disturbance, therefore, even if uniform in their
origin, would become complicated in direction, and unequal
in intensity, by reason of these inequalities in the structuie
and position of the rocks, and inequalities in the pressure of
the superincumbent masses. We might expect a prion,
therefore, to meet sometimes with results not capable of
any ready or simple explanation.
iy.—anticlinal and synclinal curves.
When the curves of the rocks are of greater extent, we
cease to speak of them as mere “contortions.” If the
curves have longly-extended axes, that is to say, if the beds
are bent up into "ridges, or down into troughs, which con¬
tinue for considerable lengths, in proportion to their widths,
we speak of them as “anticlinal” and “synclinal” curves.
If, on the contrary, no diameter of the curved area be much
longer than another, we call them either dome-shaped eleva¬
tions, or basin-shaped depressions, as the case may be.
In fig. 24, A is an anticlinal, and B is a synclinal
curve, the beds numbered 6, 7, 8, being repeated on each
side of both. At A, the lower beds 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 are seen
rising out from underneath them in the form of an arch.
At B, the upper beds 9 to 13 repose upon them in the
form of a trough. It matters not whether we suppose the
spaces 1, 2, 3, &c., to represent single beds, and the hill at
A a slight elevation, or whether they be taken as groups of
beds, and A be supposed to be a mountain chain. The
straight line which may be supposed to run directly from
the eye of the spectator along the top of the ridge A, or the
bottom of the trough B, is called the “ axis” of the curve
in each case. This axis may be either horizontal or inclined;
if horizontal, the section across it will cut the same beds
Fig. 24.
wherever it be taken, the variations in its outline only re¬
sulting from those in the outline of the ground. If, how¬
ever, the axis be inclined, different sections will cut different
beds, even should the outline of the ground remain the
same. This will be best shown if we look at fig. 24, which
is a supposed plan of the ground of which fig. 25 is a sec¬
tion, and suppose the axis AA1 and BB1 to incline down¬
wards to the north, or from the line of section to the other
end of the map, as shown by the arrows, it is obvious that
the bed 4, which forms the apex of the ridge in the section,
will slope downwards along the inclined axis, and if the
ridge of the hill be kept up to the same height, the beds 5,
6, 7, 8, will necessarily arch over it. In the same way, if
the synclinal axis BB1 slope in the same direction, there
must either be a corresponding slope and hollow in the
surface of the ground, or fresh beds, 14, 15, 16, &c., must
come in, resting in the hollow of 13.
Geology,
In countries traversed by many lines of disturbance, such
forms as these are by no means unfrequent. They neces¬
sitate great labour in tracing them out, and making an
accurate map of them, especially where the ground is itself
lofty, broken, and uneven, and the complexity underneath
obscured by perplexing irregularities on the surface.
Sometimes the axes of the curves slope both ways from a
central point, producing long oval forms like that of an in¬
verted boat, and there is a regular gradation from these to
the circular elevations or depressions mentioned before, in
which the beds are said to have a quaquayersal dip from
or to a central point, according to whether it be a dome or
a basin that is produced.
These flexures are in some instances carried out so far,
both on the large and small scale, as to produce actual in¬
version (see fig. 26) of the beds, so that the lower surfaces
appear to be the upper ones.
This inversion may be seen in some cases in cliffs among
highly contorted beds; in other cases it requires a more
widely extended observation in order to show that the
apparent order of superposition of any set of beds, in any
particular locality, is the inverse of that order which is to be
observed generally, and where the beds are undisturbed.
Inversion of beds is occasionally to be detected by means
of the “ ripple,” or “ current mark,” or other structure pro¬
duced on the surface of beds, when the peculiarities in the
forms of these marks are of such a kind as that a “ cast of
them shall be plainly distinguishable from the original form.
In these cases the “cast” may sometimes be seen on the
now upper surface of a bed, dipping under what appears to
be the bottom of the superincumbent bed, but which was
originally the really upper surface or “ mould” on which the
materials were deposited that formed the “ cast” at the
bottom of the succeeding bed.
The inversion of beds is likewise occasionally detected in
coal mining, as in Belgium and the south-west of Ireland,
where beds of coal are sometimes found with the “ coal-
GEOLOGY.
seat” uppermost, and the “ coal-roof” undermost. In a dis¬
turbed part of the South Staffordshire coal-field also, the
same bed of coal was passed through three times in the
same vertical shaft, first in its right position, then inverted,
and then again right side uppermost. It must accordingly
have been bent into the shape of the letter S or Z.
We shall see presently that no mere “fault” can thus
bring part of the same bed twice into a vertical shaft.
V.—FAULTS OR DISLOCATIONS.
It may easily be conceived, that the force which was
sufficient to raise vast masses of solid rock, of unknown but
immense thickness, from the bottom of the sea high into
the air, in order to form the dry land, and to bend them
into the folds and contortions we have just described, was
also sufficient to crack and break them through. We find,
accordingly, very frequent instances of cracks and fissures
running through great thicknesses of rock. Sometimes
these are mere fissures ; but quite as frequently there is not
only a severance but a displacement of the rocks that have
been severed. Beds that were once continuous are now
not only broken through, but are left at very different levels
on opposite sides of the fissure, many feet, or many hun¬
dreds of feet above or below the parts with which they were
once continuous. When this is the case, these fractures
are called “faults” or “dislocations” by geologists, for
which miners in different districts use in addition the terms
“slip,” “slide,” “heave,” “dyke,” “thing,” “throw,”
“ trouble,” “ check,” and other expressions.
Ihe amount of dislocation, measured in a vertical direc¬
tion, produced by a fault, is called its “ throw,” a fault be¬
ing said to be an “upthrow” or a “downthrow” or an
“ upcast” or “ downcast,” according to the side from which
we view it. Its amount is stated in fathoms, yards, or feet,
measured perpendicularly from the surface, provided the
surface be horizontal, from a given horizontal plane if it be
not. If, for instance, a bed of coal, where it is cut by a
fault, as at A (fig. 27), be 100 yards from the surface, and
A p.
Fig. 27.
the other part of the bed immediately on the other side of
the fault, as at B, be 200 yards from the surface, or from
the assumed horizontal datum, the throw of the fault is said
to be 100 yards, without regard to the distance measured
laterally from A to B along the surface,1 or from a to 6
along the fault.
Faults vary in character and in effect,—
1^, According to the nature of the rocks which they
1 In taking accounts from miners as to the characters of faults
it is necessary to be on one’s guard, and be quite sure that the*
sense in which they use these terms is properly understood. In
some districts they would speak of the distance AB, measured
along the surface of the ground, or the horizontal distance between
the ends of the beds, as the “ width” of the fault, looking only to
the extent of “ barren ground ” as to that particular bed, and pay¬
ing no attention to the real width of the actual fissure itself, which
might be not more than a few inches, or perhaps even not more
than one.
171
traverse, whether they be hard or soft, or an alternation of Geology.
2dly, According to the position of the beds which they
traverse, whether these be horizontal, inclined, or contorted.
3d/y, According to the number of lines of fracture, their
direction, inclination, and combination.
1. When faults traverse a mass of rather soft and yield¬
ing rocks, such as shales and thin sandstones, the fissures
themselves are often mere planes of division, just as if the
rock had been cut through with a knife. Very frequently,
in this case, the two contiguous surfaces of the fault are
found to be quite smooth and polished by the enormous
friction that has taken place, producing the appearance
well known to geologists under the name of “ slickenside.”
In some cases, although the fracture seems quite clean and
sharp, yet the beds on each side are found to be traversed
by a great number of small, irregular, and discontinuous
“slickenside” surfaces, as if a jarring and tremulous grind¬
ing motion had been produced in the mass of the beds.
Sometimes the beds end abruptly without any distortion
(fig. 28) ; but sometimes they seem to have bent and pulled
down along the plane of the fault to a certain extent, as in
fig. 29.
In fig. 29 the beds wculd be said to “rise towards the
upthrow,” and “ dip towards the downthrow;” and this is
naturally the most usual occurrence, though we believe not
invariable, as there are said to be instances where the very
opposite of this takes place, and the beds seem to “rise” to
a downthrow fault.
When faults traverse very hard and unyielding rocks, such
as thick hard gritstones, hard limestones, or hard siliceous
Fig. 29. \
Section of hard beds with faults.
slates, and still more, if they penetrate igneous rocks such
as granites and felstones, the fissures are apt to be much
wider, and often very irregular. If the original fracture
shall have taken place not in one plane, but so as to pro¬
duce two jagged, and broken, or uneven and irregular sur¬
faces, with cavities and protuberances as in fig. 30, and these
two surfaces slide one over the other, it is very unlikely
that they would ever, unless restored to their original posi-
172
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology.
I
tion, be made to fit exactly, so as to close again upon each
other throughout their extent. Protuberance might rest
Section of hard beds with irregular fault.
against protuberance, or come against a hollow not large
enough, or not of the requisite form, to receive it, and thus
the two walls of the fissure would be kept partially and
irregularly apart, the fissure being closed in some places
and open in others. In fig. 30, an uneven fracture having
traversed the hard beds A, B, C, D, and dislocation taken
place, the result would be the irregular fissure EF.
It is true that the grinding process, as the surfaces moved
upon each, would often greatly diminish this irregularity,
and in soft rocks probably obliterate it; but in hard rocks
it is much more usual to find the irregular openings above
described still remaining.
Where alternations of hard and soft beds occur, there
may be a combination of the two effects, the fissure being
quite closed where soft beds are brought together, or even
where soft beds are brought against hard, but more or less
open where two hard beds come in contact.
When we speak of open fissures, however, we by no
means intend to assert the frequency of fissures now open
and empty. They are almost invariably filled with ma¬
terials either derived from the ruins of the adjacent rocks
at the time of the fracture occurring, or accumulated there
afterwards.
Some fissures, even in the most soft and yielding rocks,
have similarly been kept open, or rather the sides of the
fault kept apart by fragments and debris that were dragged
into them at the time of their occurrence. Such fragments,
often of large size, are found along the lines of faults both
vertically and laterally, for it is not unfrequent, in tracing
the line of a fault along the surface of the ground, to find
lumps and patches, some yards in diameter, of the broken
beds caught and resting in the gaps of the fracture.
2. As it is comparatively rare to find beds in a strictly
horizontal position over any considerable area, it is neces-
tion, or in both. If any bed or set of beds “striking” in a Geology,
given direction, and “ dipping” at a given angle, be broken
through by a fault, the effect of the vertical “throw” is to
produce at the surface the appearance of a lateral “shift.”
Let Us suppose fig. 31 to be a horizontal plan of the out¬
crop of a set of beds, of which we may suppose aa to be a
limestone interstratified with sandstones and shales, and that
they all dip steadily to the N. at an angle of 25°, and that
these beds are traversed by the limit bb, causing a “ down¬
throw” to the E., or an “upthrow” to the W\, which is
the same thing. It is evident, then, that the outcrop of the
beds will be farther S. on the E. side of the fault than they
are on the W.
To render this more evident, let fig. 32 be a diagram¬
matic section along the direction of the line of fault, show-
Fig. 32.
Diagrammatic section of Fig. 31.
ing the beds on both sides of it, and let us look only at the
limestone aa, disregarding the other beds. If we suppose
the part b dropped vertically down to c, and the part
d in the former continuation of the bed down to e, it is
clear that a vertical throw of the bed aa on one side of the
fault will place it in the position a a' on the other side of the
fault, the respective outcrops of the two pieces of the same
bed being, at the present surface of the ground, at the points
be. In other words, the apparently lateral shift of the outcrop
of aa in the plan (fig. 31), has been produced by the verti¬
cal throw of the inclined beds on opposite sides of the fault.
It follows, also, that the higher the angle at which the beds
dip, the less will be the apparent shift at the surface pro¬
duced by the same amount of throw. In fig. 33 the angle
b
b
Fig. 31.
Fault traversing inclined beds, and producing apparent lateral shift. (Plan.)
sary to study the effect of faults on inclined beds, and on
beds with an inclination varying either in angle, in direc-
Fig. 33.
of inclination is increased to 60°, the vertical throw, or the
distance between b and c, remains the same as in fig. 32 ;
but it is obvious that the apparent lateral shift or distance
between b and e is greatly diminished. This diminution
would continue with the increase of the angle of inclina¬
tion, until the beds were actually vertical, when it is plain
that no amount of vertical throw could produce any ap¬
parent lateral shifting, for the ends of the beds on the oppo¬
site sides of the fault would merely slide up or down along
each other. In a set of vertical beds, then, it would be al¬
most impossible to detect a fault, however great may have
been the real fissure and dislocation. On the contrary,
when the beds lie at a very low angle, a very small dislo
cation shifts the outcrop of the beds in a very remarkable
manner.
It is obvious, from an inspection of figs. 32 and 33, that
if we know the inclination of the beds, and the amount of
GEOLOGY.
(Xology. the vertical “ throw” of the fault, we may easily calculate
wiiat will be the apparent shift of their outcrop at the sur¬
face ; and if, therefore, we find the outcrop of one, it will
be easy to discover the outcrop of the other.
On the other hand, if we know the distance between the
outcrop of the beds on opposite sides of the fault and their
angle of inclination, it will be easy to calculate the amount
of the vertical “ throw,” or to discover the depth (or dis¬
tance, be) at which the one part of the bed will be found
lower than the corresponding point on the other side of the
fault.
. ^ piactice, allowances have to be made for irregularity
m the surface of the ground, and for variations in the an^le
of inclination of the beds, and also for changes in the
amount of “ throw” in the fault, but in the above consider-
ation of the simplest case lie the elements of much practi¬
cal utility in mining and other operations.
1 hat this apparent lateral shift at the surface is really
due to vertical elevation or depression, may be shown further
by examining its effect on beds thrown into anticlinal and
synclinal curves.
Let fig. 34 be a plan in which aaa is a bed having a
synclinal or basin-shaped depression at SS, and an anticlinal
173
in fig. 35 than in fig. 36, or the whole of the bed a a is Geology,
more nearly out of the ground in fig. 35 than in fig. 36.
Fig. 34.
Fault across synclinal and anticlinal curres.
(Plan.)
form at AA, dipping, as shown by the arrows, at an an°Je
of 60 in each direction, and let it be traversed by the fault
FF. It is clear that no lateral shifting will account for the
places of the broken ends of aa on opposite sides of the
fault, since they are shifted in opposite directions; while
their piesent positions are easily and obviously accounted
for on the supposition of a vertical elevation on the side of
the fault marked uu, or depression on that marked dd,
and a subsequent planing down of the whole to one level
surface. If we draw two sections parallel to the fault, and on
opposite sides of it, one, as in fig. 35, along mm, the upcast
\ ///
\ *>•// /
^\609 / ✓
\ \ v
V'\
Fig. 35.
side, and the other, as in fig. 36, along dd, the downcast
side, putting in the beds with a dip of 60°, as directed by
the arrows in the plan, we should at once see that, in fig.
35, on the upcast side of the fault, the beds will meet below
S, at a point much nearer the surface than they do in fi<r.
36 on the downcast side; in other words, that the bottom
of the synclinal is at a higher level in the first than the last
case. In the same way the point A, where the anticlinal
lines would meet if produced, is higher above the surface
Fig. 35.
It is plain that these appearances are the result of the ver¬
tical elevation of the beds on one side of the fault FF in
fig. 34, or their vertical depression on the other side of it.
The greater the throw on the downcast side the more widely
will the outcrops of a synclinal curved bed be separated,
and the more nearly will the outcrops of an anticlinal curved
bed be brought together, while on the upcast side of the
fault the reverse is the case, the outcrops of a synclinal
curve will be brought together, and those of an anticlinal
will be separated. When either the angle of the dip or
diiection of the strike of the beds vary along the course of
a fault, its effect upon the position and form of their out¬
crop becomes equally various. This effect may be still
farther complicated by a change in the amount of the
“ throw” of a fault in different parts of its course.
3. W e have hitherto supposed the fault to run directly
across the beds, or nearly so, but some faults may either,
in whole or in part of their course, run obliquely to the
stiikeof the beds, instead of directly across it, and instances
may occur of dislocations even running along the strike, so
as to entirely conceal some of the beds, as in fig. 37, which
North.
South
Fig. 37.
Fault along strike. (Plan.)
JS a plan, where the fault FF, running directly along the
strike of the beds, conceals part of No. 2, the whole of 3
and 4, and part of No. 5, as may be seen by the section,
fig. 38. ’
Fig. 38.
Section of Fig. 37.
If the magnitude or throw of the fault diminishes in one
direction, we should have some of these beds coming out in
that direction, as in fig. 39, producing a slight variation in
the strike of the beds.
174
Geology.
' v '
MIN E R ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Many other modifications may arise according to the
variations in the direction of the faults, with respect to the
strike of the beds, or in the amount of their “ throw.”
4. The number and association of faults also requires
consideration in order to properly understand their effects.
If we suppose a single line of fault only to exist, it in¬
volves the assumption that the beds have been bent or
bulged either upwards or downwards on one side of the
fault, or upwards on one side and downwards on the other.
If in fig. 40 we suppose the line ab to be a crack or
fissure traversing a set of beds, or if we suppose it to be a
crack in a plank of wood, or any other flexible substance,
ending each way without meeting with any other crack or
fissure, it is obvious that although the parts wdl be severed
along it, they will not be shifted vertically unless some force
be applied to push or bend upwards or downwards, as in
fig. 41, the part on one side of the fissure, while the other
part is held fast, or pushed in the opposite direction.
Single line fault, produced by bending of beds on one side of fissure.
In fig. 41 some beds are supposed to be cracked by the
fissure ab, and the part c to have been bent down, but we
might just as easily have supposed the part d bent up, or
both operations to have taken place simultaneously. W ith-
out some such bending, no dislocation could have occurred.
Such “ single line faults” have been produced, as is
proved in coal-mining. They generally have one, but some¬
times more points of maximum “ throw” near the centre,
and gradually diminishing each way till they die out. Not
unfrequently they split towards one or both extremities, as
is shown in the plan, fig. 42, in which the main fault ab is
seen to be split into three at one end and two at the other.
The figures represent the amount of the downthrow at
each point in feet, yards, or fathoms, as the case may be.
Geology.
Fig. 42.
Plan of fault splitting at the ends.
It is possible that this bending of the beds along the line
of fault may occur more than once, so that they may be
thrown into undulations, and thus more than one maximum
throw may be produced. This undulation, too, may also
become so great that the downthrow may change sides, as
is attempted to be shown in fig. 43. This actually occurs
Fig. 43.
Single-lined fault, with alterations of throw produced by undulations of
beds along it.
in nature sometimes, the fault appearing to die away when
the beds come together, and then to set on again with a
dislocation in the opposite direction. The fig. 43, how¬
ever, is to be taken as a mere diagram to help the explana¬
tion, and not as an actual representation of nature, where
the undulations are rarely if ever so rapid. Single lines of
fracture are probably in general much more extensive than
the actual dislocated spaces, since such bendings and bulg-
ings as are here shown to be necessary to cause dislocation,
would be more likely to occur near the central portions of
a fracture than near its extremities.
When there is more than one line of fracture, the fact
of dislocation becomes more easy to understand, since there
is no difficulty in conceiving that the angle, or corner of
ground included between the
intersection of two faults, has
been dropped down below, or
squeezed up above the cor¬
responding beds on the out¬
side of them. In the plan
fig. 44, let ab and cb be two
faults meeting in the point b,
the included part d may be
either depressed below, or
raisfed above abc. Even in
this case, however, the beds
on one side or other of the
faults must be bent up or ,
down in the direction of ed, because, as the two faults end
or die out at a and c, the whole of the beds must be on the
same level there, and one part or other must change that
level in proceeding in the direction ed. _
There is a modification of this case shown in fig. 4h,
where we have one long continuous fault AB, with one or
more lateral branches, cd, ef, ik, &c., proceeding out ot
it, or leading into it, as we may choose to considei t lem,
and either on one or both sides of it. In this case, w u e
the whole mass of ground is thrown down on one si e o
AB, with respect to the other, the particular portions
between cd, ef, or the corners between any one of them
and the main fault may have additional minor dislocations
of their own.
Fig. 44.
Dislocation by two fissures.
GEOLOGY.
Gslogy. A long powerful fault is often composed in the whole, or
part of its course, of a number of parallel fissures very close
h
g-
rig. 45.
Great fault with lateral branches. (Plan.)
together, along a narrow band of country, breaking the rocks
into a corresponding number of steps,'as in fig. 46, which
Fig. 47.
Varied inclination of faults.
In speaking of the inclination of a fault, it is better not
to use the term “ dip,” as if it were a bed, but to adopt that
of “ hade” or “ underlie.” In inclined faults,—and it almost
always happens that faults are inclined,—there is one nearly
invariable rule, which is, t/iat the fault “ hades” or “under¬
lies” in the direction of the downthrow.
As a corollary of this rule also, another equally important
one may be stated, namely, that however inclined may be
the fault, no part of any bed ivill ever be brought vertically
under another part of it, and therefore superior beds can
never be brought by any fault under those originally below
them.
Small exceptions to these rules may sometimes occur in
rare instances; when they do, the fault that produces them
is called a reversed fault.
In fig. 47, for instance, the fault between B and C hades
under the downcast piece of the bed aa; and it is ob¬
1 In the neighbourhood of Bunmahon, in county Waterford, de¬
tached masses of old red sandstones are let in among the Silurian
rocks, so as to be entirely inclosed by them on every side.
viously impossible for a vertical fault, or one inclining in
the proper direction, to bring any part of the bed aa ver¬
tically beneath another part, and consequently no part of
the beds above aa can ever be brought underneath it.
We have never met with any exception to this rule,
except on a very small scale, and where it might easily
happen that the exception was more apparent than real, the
apparent inclination of the fault being merely a local bend
or indentation in a vertical or nearly vertical fault.
The reason of this rule is sufficiently easy to understand
when we come to look at faults on the large scale. Suppose
that in diagram fig. 48 we have a portion of the earth’s
Fig. 46.
Step faults.
steps in opposite directions, produce a balance of “ throw”
in one direction, so that it is treated as one wide fault.
In order to have any mass of beds entirely cut off on all
sides from those that surround them, and wholly depressed
below, or raised above them on every side, it is obviously
necessary that we should have at least three straight faults,
or one or two curvilinear faults surrounding the fractured
piece of ground. Such dice-like masses of ground let in
bodily among a strange set of beds do occur in nature,
though they are very rarely met with.1
Faults and fissures are sometimes vertical, as at A, fig.
47, but more commonly inclined at various angles, even so
low in some instances as 20°, as at B, fig. 47.
Fig. 48.
crust, of which AB is the surface, and CD a plane acted
on by some wide-spread force of expansion tending to buDe
upwards the part A BCD. If, then, a fracture take place
along the line EF, it is obvious that the expanding force
will, on the side of AC, have the widest base CF to act
upon, while it will have a proportionately less mass to move
in the part AECF, which grows gradually smaller towards
the surface, than on the other side of the fault, where, with
the smaller base FD, the mass FDBE continually grows
larger towards the surface. 4 he mass G will consequently
be much more easily raised into the position AeCf, than
the mass H into the position Df Be, the elevation of
which could hardly take place without leaving a great open
gap along the line of fault between FE and f'e, and, more¬
over, without leaving the projecting piece e overhanging
without any support.
This is yet more clearly perceptible if we suppose two
such fissures, as in fig. 49, inclining towards each other,
since, if we suppose the included piece I to be elevated into
the position indicated by the dotted lines, it becomes utterly
unsupported unless we suppose huge dykes or ejections of
igneous rock to issue out along each fault. But this would
remove the case from the class of fractures we are at pre¬
sent considering.
In another case which we might imagine, that of two
parallel faults inclining in the same direction, as in fig. 50;
Fig. 50.
the included piece I might be elevated without leaving an
open fissure, but still the part I would overhang in an un¬
supported condition, and the enormous friction along two
175
Geology.
176
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology, sides of the piece I, would have to be overcome. We are
not aware, indeed, of any case similar to this having been
even supposed by any one.
Professor H. D. Rogers, in his paper on the “ Laws of
Structure of the more disturbed Zones of the Earth’s Crust,”
{Trans. Royal Soc. Edin., vol. xxi., p. 3), in describing
faults along the axes of anticlinal curves, where inversion
has taken place on one side of the anticlinal, speaks of the
uninverted part of the anticlinal having been thrust up the
inclined plane of the fault, over some of the inverted beds,
as in fig. 51.
latter case we may see that the bed X on the outside of Geology,
the trough B is on the same level on both sides.
The mode of explanation of these trough faults that seems
to us the most probable, if not the only one, is the following:
Fig. 51.
Inversion, with reversed fault.
Professor Rogers does not allude to the fact of this form
producing a reversed fault, nor is it quite clear in his paper
whether the structure thus described has been absolutely
observed in sections, or is merely introduced hypothetically
as an explanation of certain puzzling phenomena. If actually
observed, a detailed description of the locality would be
very interesting, neither are we prepared to combat the
hypothesis, if it be one, since it is just in such greatly dis¬
turbed districts that “ reversed” faults are likely to occur.
Another published example of a reversed fault on a large
scale is given in the Rev. Professor Haughton’s paper on
the “ Mining District of Kenmare” {Journal Geological
Society, Dublin, vol. vi., p. 2). In this case also, no notice
is taken of the fault, as drawn, being a reversed one; and
though it is in a highly disturbed district, and running
parallel to the axis of a synclinal curve, yet as its plane
does not coincide with that axis, but cuts across it obliquely,
and buries some of the upper rock under the lower in a
very peculiar manner, it appears to us a far less probable
form of fault than that described by Professor Rogers.
Faults ordinarily extend indefinitely downwards. We
cannot comprehend the possibility of fracture and displace¬
ment having taken place in any uncontorted set of beds
without all those below having been equally disturbed,
unless we come to a part where another fracture occurs,
producing an equal amount of displacement in an opposite
direction. This junction between two opposite faults pro¬
duces what is often called a £< trough,” the faults being called
a “ pair of trough faults.” The opposite faults of a trough
mav be either unequal in “ throw,” as ac and he, in the
trough A, or equal, as de,fe, in trough B. In the former
case, the displacement affects the whole mass of the sur-
Fig. 53.
Suppose the beds AA, BB, &c., to have been formerly in
a state of tension, arising from the bulging tendency of an
internal force, and one fissure, FE, to have been formed
below, which on its course to the surface splits into two,
ED and EC, as in fig. 53. If the elevatory force were then
continued, the wedge-like piece of rock W between these
two fissures, being unsupported, as the rocks on each side
separated, would settle lown into the gap, as in fig. 54. If
the eievatory action were greater near the fissure than far¬
ther from it, the single fissure below would have a tendency
tc gape upwards, and swallow down the wedge, so that
eventually this might settle down, and become fixed at a
point much below its previous relative position. Gonsidei-
able friction and destruction of the rocks, so as to cut off
the corner gh (fig. 54) on either side, would probably take
place along the sides of the fissures, and thus widen the
gap, and allow the wedge-shaped piece \\ to settle down
still farther.
Fig. 52.
Trough faults.
rounding rock, as may be seen by tracing the bed X
through the dislocations; in the latter case, it only affects
he mass B, M'hich is included between the faults. In the
Fig. 54.
When the forces of elevation were withdrawn, the rocks
would doubtless have a tendency to settle down again, but
these newly included wedge-shaped, and other masses, would
no longer fit into the old spaces, so that great compression
and great lateral pressure might then take place.
The reader must recollect that the figs. 53 and 54 are
mere diagrams to assist his comprehension, and not actual
representations, in which there would necessarily be intro¬
duced a much greater amount of irregularity and complexity.
This may be seen by an inspection of fig. 55, which re¬
presents the commencement of a trough fault, on the
small scale, in the middle of the thick coal of South Staf¬
fordshire. This was carefully drawn to scale by a compe¬
tent observer, Mr Johnson of Dudley, and will show that
fractures similar to those just spoken of actually occur in
nature, and what are the circumstances attending them.
(See Records of the Geological Survey, vol. i., part 2, p.
313.) In this fig. the coal CC has apparently once been
more completely arched, and on the cessation of the eleya-
tory action, has tended to settle down again. Ihe insertion
of the wedge-shaped piece of the upper beds A has pre¬
vented its gaining the original horizontal position; but the
GEOLOGY.
Geology, pressure of the superincumbent mass has caused it to
   ' crack in various places, and the part of the coal next the
wedge BB was completely crushed, and its grain or lami¬
nation and internal structure destroyed by the compression
under winch it suffered, being reduced to a state as if made
of a paste of coal-dust and very small coal ”
Examples of‘‘ trough faults” are by no means uncom¬
mon in disturbed coal-measure districts, and are doubtless
equally common elsewhere, where they cannot be detected.
1 heir study is instructive, as giving us often more accurate
ideas than we should otherwise possess as to the nature of
faults.
We have already seen, in tracing faults superficially
along what may be called their lateral extension, that it is
impossible to conceive displacement to occur except in
consequence of a second fault meeting the first, or in con¬
sequence of a bulging of the beds along a part of the line
of the fault-
Similar reasoning will apply to the vertical extension of
a fault.
ITT
Geology.
Fig. 55w
Mr W. Hopkins has shown us that fractures in the crust
of the globe have taken place in obedience to certain me¬
chanical or physical laws. If a tract of country of indefinite
length and breadth, composed of a set of nearly homoge¬
neous beds, supposed to be originally horizontal, and nearly
equally tenacious all over, be acted on by an expansive force
from below, such as an elastic gas or a molten fluid would
exert, those beds will be strained so as to tend towards
bulging upwards, until a number of parallel fissures are
formed, commencing at points below the surface, and run¬
ning up to it. They may be crossed either then or subse¬
quently by another set of parallel fissures at right angles to
the first set. These are the normal results which may, in
actual fact, be complicated by many irregularities arising
from conditions different from those which were assumed.
It seems to follow from these results, that for displace¬
ment to have taken place among the fractured masses, two
or moie faults should meet below, so as entirely to sever
the masses from each other, and allow of unequal motions
being communicated to them, or that faults should gradually
end downwards on the surfaces of highly-curved, undulated,
and contorted beds.
. The intrusion of igneous rock will in some instances
inciease the dislocations; but the student must be on his
guard against attributing to local intrusion of igneous rock
effects of elevation, or contortion, or fracture, which are due
probably to very widely-extended accessions of heat expand¬
ing large masses of rock of all kinds simultaneously over
great countries, and the subsequent contractions when that
heat is diminished or taken away. Small local intrusions
of igneous rock act principally as stays and wedges to pre¬
vent the dislocated beds settling back into their former
places, but can rarely be looked on as the actual causes of
disturbance. When we come, indeed, to consider laro-e
intrusions of great granitic masses into the rocks above them,
we see a fertile source of dislocation, first, by the expansion
of the superior rocks from the mere prolusion of the bulk
of the molten mass, and afterwards from contraction in con¬
sequence of the cooling of that mass which contraction a«
we have already seen (chap, ii., §. 3.) might amount to even
one-fourth of its bulk.
Where any large mass of matter, too, has been ejected
oyer the surface of the ground, the withdrawal of its bulk
will have tended to leave a void space in the interior, which
if it were not filled up with other igneous matter, would be
followed by subsequent sinkings and dislocations of the rocks
over it.
VI.—MINERAL VEINS, THE RESULT OF CAVITIES FORMED BY
DISLOCATIONS.
In studying faults, our object was principally to describe
theii effect in dislocating the beds which they traverse; the
form, the width, and the extent of the fissures themselves
was only noted as affecting the beds ; and the contents of
the fissures, when any spaces or cavities existed between
their walls, was scarcely spoken of at all.
It was shown, however, that when faults traversed hard
rock, they must necessarily, unless, the fissure be a perfect
plane, be more or less open in places* some portions of their
walls being kept apart by the protuberances of other parts.
It was said also, that fragments of the fractured rocks were
often found in the fissures, and these fragments must neces¬
sarily contribute to keep the sides of the dislocated portions
apart from each other.
Now, in some districts, these more or less open faults and
fissures have become the repositories of minerals that have
been subsequently introduced into them.,
1 hese minerals are usually in a crystalline form, and
consist commonly of quartz, calc, heavy, floor, and other
spars, together with the ores of one or more metals, such
as lead, copper, tin, iron, zinc, antimony, mercury, silver,
gold, and platina.
Fissures containing minerals in this form are called “ mi¬
neral veins,” or “ lodes,”
Spars and ores, however, are not confined to fissures such
as we have been describing. They are found occasionally
in all kinds of cracks and cavities, whatever may have been
the cause of the hollows, and even in little nests, lining de¬
tached holes, often no larger than the fist, and entirely sur¬
rounded by solid rock. I hey are found also in long pipe¬
like hollows in limestone, which are due apparently to the
corroding action of acidulous waters ; in the interstices be¬
tween beds and joints similarly or otherwise enlarged, as
well as in cracks, resulting from desiccation in the middle
of nodules. I hose in pipe-like and irregular cavities are
called “ pipe veins,” as distinguished from “ lodes,” which
are also called “ rake veins.” Wherever, indeed, perma¬
nent hollows and interstices of any kind, size, shape, or
origin, exist in hard rocks, and where they are kept open
for great periods of time, there appears to be a possibility,
and, in particular districts, a probability, of crystallized mi¬
nerals, spars, and ores, being formed in them.
That they occur most frequently and in most abundance
in such fissures as we have described under the head of faults
and dislocations, is due, probably, to the great range and
extent of those fissures, and to the fact of their necessarily
having many hollows and cavities throughout that extent
wherever they traverse hard and solid rocks.
There is also another reason why the quantities of ervs-
tallized minerals should be greater in such fissures than
elsewhere, and that is, that any subsequent disturbances
in the mass of the rocks will tend to produce subsequent
motions along the lines of the old fissures, and thus form
z
178
Geology.
MINERALOG1CAL SCIENCE.
additional cavities, which may be filled up by fresh acces¬
sions of spars and ores. (See Geological Report on Corn¬
wall, fyc., by Sir H. T. De la Beche, p. 344, &c.)
We have already said that faults, and therefore mineral
veins, are sometimes perpendicular, but more often inclined.
This inclination, however, is generally a high one more
often above than below an angle of 45°. Nowr, any subse¬
quent fractures and dislocations which may traverse the
original faults or veins, will shift or displace their com se
at the surface of the ground, just as if they were similarly
inclined beds. What has been said, therefore, at p. 1 / 2 as
to the apparent lateral shifting of inclined beds being due
to vertical elevation or depression, will also t*6 tru® with
regard to the intersection and shifting of veins. If, in figs.
31, 32, and 33, aa be a vein instead of a bed, the explana¬
tion of the positions at the surface of the various parts of it
will equally hold good.
In studying the intersection of fissures or veins, however,
it may happen that the apparent shifting at the surface may
not be due to any dislocation w
of one vein by the other at 'C
all. They may both have \
been produced simultane- \
ously, one or the other not  X
having been continued ex- \ a
actly in the same straight \
line. It may happen, too, \
that instead of bli having cut \
through and shifted ad (fig. \
56), bb4 may have been the \
first formed, and that when v
ad wTas subsequently pro- Fig. 55.
duced, it ran along bU fora certain space before it was con¬
tinued into the “ country ” on the other side of it.
Great care, therefore, is necessary in examining the in¬
tersections of mineral veins before deciding on the relative
age or on the exact nature of the dislocations that have
caused or affected them. Having said so much here as to
the connection of mineral veins with faults and disloca¬
tions, w e shall defer their further consideration to a future
place.
VII.—cleavage: another result of the physical
FORCES BROUGHT TO BEAR ON ROCKS SUBSEQUENT TO
THEIR CONSOLIDATION.
We have now described three kinds of divisional planes
traversing rock—those, namely, which we might call con¬
genital, or planes of lamination and stratification; those
which are necessarily resultant on consolidation or joint
planes; and those which we may term accidental, such as
fissures, faults, and veins. There is yet another kind to be
described, which w'e may call superinduced planes of divi¬
sion ; and these are planes of “ cleavage” and “ foliation.”
By “ cleavage,” or “ transverse” or “ slaty cleavage,” as
it is sometimes called, we understand a tendency in rocks
to split into very thin plates, having a certain given direction
over wide areas independently of any original lamination or
stratification of the rocks. It is a structure which is most
especially remarkable in clay slate, but is sometimes ap¬
parent in sandstones and limestones. Where it exists it is
always most perfect in the finest grained rocks, splitting
them into an indefinite number of thin leaves or plates,
perfectly smooth and parallel to each other. The coarser
the rock, the fainter, the wider apart, and the more rough
and irregular do the cleavage planes become.
This cleavage may either coincide with the original lami¬
nation of the rock, or cut across it at any angle. When it
cuts across the bedding of the rock, the original lamination,
or tendency to split along the planes of deposition, is gene¬
rally obliterated, the laminae being sealed up, or, as it were,
welded together This cementation of the original plates Geology,
of lamination is not quite invariably the case. I have met
Sketch of a block of variegated slate from Devil’s Glen, county Wicklow.
The crumpled horizontal bands are the beds, the fine perpendicular striai in
front are the cleavage planes; the fine lines on the darkened side nieiely
represent shadow, and must not be taken for planes of division in the rock,
like those in the front, which do not pass through the white bands.
with at least one instance where the rock, an indurated
shale, split as readily along the original lamination as along
the cleavage planes, and was thus minced into long, needle-
shaped spiculae of slate. {Report of Geological Survey of
Newfoundland, p. 75.)
Transverse cleavage in sandstone usually divides the
rock into coarse slabs only, the upper and under surfaces of
the sandstone often breaking into dog-toothed indentations.
In traversing conglomerates, the cleavage planes leave the
pebbles standing out in relief, and do not cut through them
as joint planes do, {Professor Sedgwick.)
Cleaved limestone generally has the original bedding
greatly obliterated and obscured ; the slabs are thick and
uneven, and their surfaces often coated by argillaceous films,
sometimes giving to the cleavage the exact appearance of
bedding. Among trap rocks, some very fine-grained fel-
stones are occasionally effected by cleavage, and fine¬
grained feldspathic and hornblendic ashes are often so
affected.
The direction of cleavage planes is generally constant
over considerable areas, retaining the same compass bearing
through whole mountain chains, or across large countries,
without paying any regard to the contortions and convolu¬
tions of the rocks. One of the hest examples of this steady
direction in the strike of the cleavage planes is the south of
Ireland, over the whole of which, from Dublin to tlm
Mizen Head and the Dingle Promontory, the direction of
the cleavage never varies 10° from E. 25 N., whatever
rocks it traverses, and however different these rocks may be
in lithological character and geological age.
This steady direction generally coincides with that of the
main lines or axes of elevation and disturbance which tra¬
verse the district, and consequently with the “ strike of
the beds.
The inclination of the cleavage planes varies from per¬
pendicularity to within a few degrees of horizontally, but
has no apparent reference to the dip or inclination of the
beds.
In passing through beds of different texture, the cleavage
planes often vary their angle a little, having a tendency to
strike more perpendicularly across the coarser than the finer
grained beds. When the inclination of the cleavage planes
GEOLOGY.
Reology. and that of the original planes of lamination become nearly
‘ 1 coincident in any locality, they sometimes appear to coin¬
cide entirely, as if the cleavage went a little out of its way,
as it were, to coincide with the bedding.
The finest and largest roofing-slates seem to be those of
a bluish gray or pale green colour. Where they become
either very red or quite black, they are more brittle, and
more readily decompose, owing probably to the presence of
peroxide of iron in the one, and carbonaceous matter in the
ot ler. Bands of colour, such as faint red, green, white, or
gray, may sometimes be observed on the sides of slates,
often coinciding with slight changes of grain or texture.
1 hese, which are called the “ stripe” of the slate by Pro¬
fessor Sedgwick, mark its original stratification. The bands
in the block, about 18 inches in height, which is figured in
fig. 57, show this stripe very well. The white bands are
pale greenish, or grayish fine-grained grit—the interme¬
diate parts being purple slate of various tints and degrees
of colour. I hey are the original laminae of deposition of
the rock. Irregular blotches, however, of different colours,
occasionally occur; and sometimes even pretty regular
broad bands of colour are to be seen, which do not coincide
with the bedding, but go sometimes directly across it, as
proved by beds of sandstone interstratified with the slate.
Care must be taken, therefore, in field observations, not to
rely too implicitly on mere bands of colour in slate colours.
Professor Sedgwick was the first to systematically ob¬
serve and describe the phenomena of slaty cleavage. His
observations will be found in the Transactions of the Geo¬
logical Society, vol. iii., on The Structure of large Mineral
Masses, and also in his Introduction to a Synopsis of the
British Paleozoic Rocks, 3d Fasciculus, p. 33. In the
latter, he gives the following as the results at which he had
arrived:—
“ 1^. I hat the strike of the cleavage planes, when they
were well developed, and passed through well-defined moun¬
tain ridges, was nearly coincident with the strike of the beds.
2d. d hat the dip of these planes (whether in quantity
or direction) was not regulated by the dip of the beds, in¬
asmuch as the cleavage planes would often remain un¬
changed, while they passed through beds that changed their
prevailing dip, or were contorted.
“ 3(7. I hat where the features of the country or the strike
of the beds were ill-defined, the state of the'cleavage be¬
came also ill-defined, so as sometimes to be inclined to the
strike of the beds at a considerable angle.
“ Ath. Lastly, that in all cases where the cleavage planes
were well developed among the finer slate rocks, they had
produced a new arrangement of the minutest particles of
the beds through which they pass.
One of the most striking effects of cleavage is the dis¬
tortion it produces on fossils or other small bodies em¬
bedded in the rocks, lengthening and pulling them, as it
were, in the direction of the cleavage, and contracting them
in the opposite direction. Relying on these facts, which
were first distinctly noticed by Professor John Phillips, Mr
Shaipe attributed the production of cleavage to the action
of great forces of compression squeezing the particles of
rock in one direction and lengthening them in the oppo-
site. (Quarterly Journal Geological Society, vol. iii., p, 87.)
Mr Sharp believed that the fossils were lengthened in the
direction of the dip of the cleavage, but Professor HauMi-
ton believes this to be impossible, and that the lengthenmo-
must always be in the direction of the strike of the cleavao-e.
Mr Darwin also, from his observations in South America
formed similar ideas as to the origin of cleavao-e, and
speaks of cleavage planes as being probably parts of great
curves, of such large radius as that any portions of them
that can be seen at one view appear to be straight. More
recently, Mr Sorby, resting on the fact of beds of sand
, stone wlnch occur m slate being contorted, and their dimen
sions being contracted at the sides, and expanded ar the
tops and bottoms of the curves, the axes of which curves
coincide in direction with the cleavage planes, while the
beds of slate above the sandstone are little or at all bent
shows that the particles of the slates must have been com¬
pressed at right angles to the cleavage planes, and leno-th-
ened along them, so as to allow of their being squeezed
into the same contracted space as the sandstones, without
much bending of the surfaces of the beds. (See Neiv
Philosophical Journal, 1853, vol. Iv., p. 137; or LyelVs
Manuel, 5th edition, p. 611.)
By microscopical examination, Mr Sorby found that the
minute particles of clay-slate were either lengthened in
the direction of the cleavage planes, or that those minute
particles, which were of unequal dimensions, were so re¬
arranged as that their longer dimensions coincided with the
planes of the cleavage.
Professor Sedgwick at one time thought that he could
perceive a tendency to a symmetrical arrangement of the
inclination of the planes of cleavage with respect to the
axes of lines of elevation, the dip of the cleavage beino-
inwards on each side of the mountain ranges. He after¬
wards, however, saw reason to abandon this conclusion. Mr
Darwin speaks of the fan-like arrangements of the cleavao-e
planes winch have been described by Von Buch, Studor
and others; and Mr Sharpe says that this apparent fan-like
arrangement is due to parts of two contiguous curves meet¬
ing where their adjacent sides become perpendicular. But
we must refer the reader to his papers on this subject, in
the third and fifth volumes of the Journal of the Geoloqi-
cal Society before quoted, and in the Philosophical Trans¬
actions for 1852. A second cleavage plane cutting across
the first at right angles, and also across the bedding, is de¬
scribed by Mr Sharpe in his second paper on cleavage in the
Ireological Journal, vol. v., p. 3, and was also long before ob-
served and mentioned by Professors Sedgwick, Phillips, and
otheis. Mr Sharpe attributes this likewise to compression.
Ihe subject has recently been investigated by Professor
1 yndal, who, in a paper in the Philosophical Magazine,
vol. xii., distinctly refers the origin of cleavage to the same
force of compression, acting at right angles to the cleavage
planes, that Mr Sorby and Mr Sharpe had referred it
Professor Haughton, in a paper in the same volume, has
deduced mathematically a value for the compression of the
rocks, from examining the amount of distortion suffered by
fossils in some particular instances in consequence of this
compression.
There seems, indeed, now little doubt that mechanial com¬
pression is the true cause of cleavage ; but the whole subject
requires still more accurate and detailed observations than
have yet been made on it. We have seen reason to sus¬
pect—in some districts of North Wales, for instance—that
subsequent movements and dislocations have affected lar^e
Fig. 58.
Surface-bending of cleavage planes.
- cleaved districts in such a way as may have altered both the
179
Geology.
180 MINER ALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology, dip and strike of the cleavage from their original position.
Only direct observation, then, will now lead us astray, un¬
less it be corrected by a more accurate knowledge than we
yet possess of the amount and direction of these disloca¬
tions, and of their relative age compared with that of the
cleavage. The dip of the cleavage, especially, is very easily
mistaken, unless it be observed in very clear and deep ex¬
cavations. Superficial causes have frequently affected, and
sometimes completely reversed it, to very considerable
depths, as may be seen in fig. 58.
When these superficial bendings of slate occur on deeply
inclined ground, they may perhaps be referred to the action
of gravitation on substances loosened by weathering, or the
“ weight of the hill,” as it has been called. In other cases
their origin is more obscure, and we have seen one instance
in North Wales, where, on the horizontal surface of an
isolated boss of rock, the slates were so sharply and abruptly
bent back and laid nearly flat, and partly consolidated in
that position, as to give the idea of its being due to some
sudden and great force, such as the grounding of an iceberg.1
Thoroughly to work out the subject of the “ cleavage ”
of any district would require months of continuous and
laborious observation in a country the geological structure
of which had in other respects been thoroughly and accu¬
rately surveyed; and, with the exception, perhaps, of North
Wales, no country has yet been surveyed with anything
like an approach to such accuracy.
VIII.—FOLIATION.
The foliation of the schists appears to be equally a super¬
induced structure with the cleavage of slates. It is, how¬
ever, quite clear that even if the cleavage of slates have a
mechanical origin, the foliation of schist cannot be due to
such a cause alone. Mechanical pressure may be readily
supposed to communicate a certain mechanical texture, but
cannot by itself cause a difference in chemical composition.
Now, “ foliation” is defined by Mr Darwin, to whom we owe
the recent technical use of the term, first introduced by
Professor Sedgwick, to mean “ a separation into layers of
different chemical composition;” while “ cleavage” means
only a “ tendency to split” in a mass of the same com¬
position.
Nevertheless, the folia of schist are in some districts
arranged in certain given directions by compass over very
wide areas. Mr Darwin says that the gneiss and mica
schist of South America, for instance, have their layers or
folia always arranged in a certain given direction, even for
hundreds of miles. For 300 miles, at least, in the Chonos
and Chiloe islands, it does not vary a point of the compass
from N. 19° W. and S. 19° E. Over the eastern parts of
Banda Oriental the foliation strikes N.N.E. and S.S.W.,
and over the western parts W. by N. and E. by S. In
Venezuela, according to Humboldt, it is uniformly N.E. and
S.W. (Darwin, Volcanic Islands, p. 163.)
According to Mr Sharpe (Transactions Geological So¬
ciety), the foliation of the gneiss and mica schist strikes
across Scotland in directions varying from N. 50° E. in
the south of the Highlands to N. 25° E. in the north. 1 he
dip of the folia of schist resembles that of the dip of cleav¬
age planes, in being much more uncertain in direction and
quantity than that of the strike.
Some geologists have held that gneiss, mica schist, &c.,
were originally formed nearly as they are now, being the
direct result of the erosion of granitic rocks, of which the
quartz, feldspar, and mica were arranged in regular layers as
we now find them, the only change having been a mere
1 Without intending to impeach the accuracy of any recorded
observations, we yet cannot feel sure that many even of our own
registered observations on cleavage in different localities may not
be affected by errors of the kinds alluded to above.
consolidation or induration. The perfect parallelism of these Geology,
layers, however, over such wide areas as those before men-
tinned, would of itself be against this supposition, and in
favour of the rearrangement of the particles of the rocks,
in obedience to some wide and general force.
As to the nature of this force, Mr Darwin and Mr
Sharpe, as well as Professor Sedgwick, agree in looking on
foliation as the extreme term of cleavage,—“ that foliation
and cleavage are parts of the same process; in cleavage,
there being only an incipient separation of the constituent
minerals; in foliation, a much more complete separation
and crystallization.” If, however, this be true, we do not
see how this process can be the merely mechanical one to
which we have just seen reason to assign the production of
cleavage.
Mr Darwin even appears to look upon many of the great
divisions of foliated rocks, which are ordinarily termed beds
or strata, as merely farther results of the process, different
mineral substances having been segregated from each other
on the large scale.
In large greatly -altered districts, however, the very
amount of the alteration has so completely changed the
character and texture of the rocks, that it is more difficult
to detect that it is a change than in other districts, where
the alteration having taken place on a smaller scale, and
to a less extent, its nature may be more readily grasped.
In the S.E. of Ireland, one great mass of granite has
been erupted through the clay-slates of the district, form¬
ing a continuous range of granite hills from Dublin Bay
to the neighbourhood of New Ross, a distance of 70 miles.
Between this range and the coast, other smaller intrusive
bosses of granite make their appearance at the surface
through the clay-slate rocks. The clay-slates are dark-
gray, blue, or black, but sometimes pale-green, or greenish-
gray, with occasionally red or purple bands. They are
generally of a dull earthy texture, and without lustre. Small
bands of gray siliceous grit frequently occur in them.
Wherever the granite comes to the surface, a belt of
slates surrounding it is converted into mica schist, with, in
some few places, beds of perfect gneiss. Crystals of garnet,
schorl, andalusite, staurotide, &c., make their appearance
in these altered slates in greater and greater abundance as
they approach the granite. The width of the metamorphosed
belt is generally proportioned to the size of the granite
mass which it surrounds. Hound the smaller granite
bosses it is sometimes not more than 50 yards wide ; round
the main granite mass it sometimes reaches to two miles.
It matters not through what part of the slate rocks the
granite rises, or which beds strike toward the granite; they
are all found to be affected in the same way as they ap¬
proach it.
In going towards the main granite ridge, it is found some¬
times at a distance of 2 miles from the outcrop of the gra¬
nite (which is, however, much nearer probably in a vertical
direction), and that the slates have acquired a “glaze,”as it
were, or micaceous lustre, with a soapy feel. This lustre is
apparent throughout the mass when the slates are broken,
and even when they are ground down into sand or powder.
This micaceous resemblance increases as we approach the
granite, till at last distinct plates and folia of mica are to be
seen, and the whole assumes the ordinary character of mica
schist, occasionally passing into a kind of gneiss.
Together with the micaceous lustre on the surface of the
slates, the rocks often assume the puckered and corrugated
structure of mica schist. We at one time thought that this
corrugated structure might be a metamorphic one, like the
foliation ; but on examining localities where the small bands
of siliceous grit were interstratified with the slates, we found
these grit bands to be equally corrugated and puckered. The
structure, then, must be ascribed simply to a mechanical
force compressing the reck laterally.
GEOLOGY
Joology. In the majority of instances, too, the folia of the mica
schist, whether straight or puckered, were parallel to the
grit bands, and therefore to the original lamination and stra¬
tification of the rock. In these instances, the micaceous
folia were largest and best developed. In other cases, the
foliation ran across the bedding, coinciding apparently with
the cleavage, as^ remarked by Professor Ramsay in a similar
case in North Wales. In these instances we generally found
the micaceous folia short and discontinuous, being appa¬
rently interrupted by the changes of texture or composition
in the original lamination of the rock. W^e could, however,
easily conceive that where the rock was quite homogeneous,
the folia of mica schist might be almost as extensive as the
planes of clay-slate.
Some of the beds of gneiss in this district are obviously
beds of sandstone, originally interstratified with the shales,
the rocks having all the appearance of interstratified beds of
shale and sandstone at a distance, and until they are broken
open and found to be perfect mica schist and gneiss. Other
gneiss beds are massive and thick-bedded, and containing
large crystals of feldspar (apparently orthoclase) becoming
quite porphyritic and completely mineralized, but still hav¬
ing a foliation parallel to what is apparently the original
stratification of the mass, which in one conspicuous instance
(near Graiguenamanagh), is nearly horizontal.
We do not think that the person most sceptical as to
the fact of the metamorphic origin of mica schist and gneiss
could examine the rocks bordering the southern end of the
granite range in Carlow, Kilkenny, and Wexford, without
becoming a complete convert to the theory. For ourselves,
we can no longer feel the slightest hesitation in accepting
the metamorphic origin of all those which have been de¬
scribed under that head in Lithology.
IX.—DENUDATION : A CONSEQUENCE OF THE ELEVATION
OF ROCK.
In a previous section we have spoken of the erosive ac¬
tion of moving water upon aqueous rocks while in course of
formation ; and in treating of the formation of mechanically-
formed aqueous rocks, we have tacitly assumed the fact of
great disintegration and erosion of previously existing rock,
in order to afford the materials of which these mechanically-
formed rocks were composed. We have now also con¬
sidered the general effects of disturbing forces in elevating
aqueous rocks from the bottom of the sea into dry land, so
far as regards the new positions into which these rocks
have been thrown, and the divisional planes and disloca¬
tions which have been produced in them. It yet remains
to study some other of the less immediate results of these
elevating forces.
In examining the outcrop of a set of beds along the sur¬
face of the ground, either in “the field” or by aid of geolo¬
gical maps and sections, we must be often struck with the
fact that the present terminations of the beds are not their
former or original terminations. Beds rise successively to
the surface, and end there abruptly, that were once obviously
continued beyond or above the present surface of the ground.
In fig. 20 the beds on the beach and those in the cliff are
the same. It is clear that they have been cut down on
the beach to their present level, and that before they w ere
so cut down they rose upwards to the same height as those
in the cliff. In the same way, those in the cliff itself, and
which stretch from it into the land, formerly extended* up¬
wards to a greater height than they now do. Now in many
instances we can tell how far they formerly extended up¬
wards. In figs. 24 and 25, the anticlinal and synclinal
curves into which the beds are thrown enable us to estimate
the amount of this cutting down or denudation for the beds
there drawn. In fig. 24 we see that beds 2, 3, 4, bend con¬
tinuously over No. 1 ; and we should naturally conclude
181
that beds 5, 6, 7, 8, &c., once equally extended continuously Geology,
over the anticlinal A. If we doubted the fact, we should
be convinced of it when we traced them in the map (fig. 25),
and found them gradually meeting and continuous over the
anticlinal farther towards the north.
Similarly in the synclinal curve B, though we might
suppose by the section that No. 13 was the highest bed, we
should find that towards the north it was overlaid by beds
14, 15, &c.; and we should be compelled to conclude that
the latter had once been continuous over the whole. The
dotted lines in fig. 24 would, if completely carried out, and
bed 13 were represented as arching continuously over A,
give us the measure of the amount of solid rock removed
by denudation from above the present surface of the ground
Eh, so far as the beds there drawn are concerned.
It makes no material difference in this reasoning whether
we suppose the spaces 1, 2, 3, &c., to represent single small
beds of a foot or two in thickness, or groups of such
beds, and suppose the whole series, 1 to 15, to represent a
vertical thickness of many hundreds or many thousands of
feet.
Neither would it make any difference in our reasoning,
so far as the amount of denudation is concerned, if we were
to modify our conclusions by supposing, in all those cases
in which great thicknesses are concerned, that the whole
mass of beds were never continuous over the anticlinal
curves after the total amount of elevation had been reached.
We may suppose that soon after the elevation commenced,
and simultaneously with the first arching of the beds, the
denuding forces began to act, that they took advantage of
the very first cracks that were formed to commence the
erosive process, and that long before the bed No. 1 attained
its present position on the axis of the curve, more or less
of the higher beds 7, 8, or 12, 13, &c., had been removed,
and a surface given to the rocks more or less approximating
to the surface they at present possess.
Another very clear case in which we can estimate the
amount of denudation is that of an “outlier,” as it is called.
It often happens that a number of beds, rising at a slight
angle from beneath the surface, end in a steep slope or
escarpment, as at A in fig. 59. In front of this escaro-
Fig. 59.
Escarpment and outlying hill.
m€nt there often rises a.n isolated hill as B. In descending*
the escarpment, we pass over the edges of the beds 11, 10^
9, 8, &c., in regular succession, and find 4 coming out from
beneath them, and stretching continuously across the inter¬
mediate flat or valley, and forming the base of the hill B
and on ascending the side of B, we find the very same beds
5, 6, 7, 8, resting on each other in the same order as we saw
them in the escarpment A, and at the same angle of incli¬
nation, so that the conclusion becomes irresistible that they
were once continuous across the intervening space C. This
space, then, is due to the erosive action which has removed
the upper beds, and denuded or laid bare the lower bed
No. 4, across the valley C, and for an indefinite distance on
the other side of the hill B. We should feel quite certain
that not only the beds 1, 2, 3, 4, but also 5, 6, 7, &c\, had
stretched across this space formerly, and had also extended
beyond the hill B for some indefinite distance in the direc¬
tion of 1). I his latter conclusion we should in many cases
find confirmed by the occurrence, at a distance perhaps of
many miles beyond B, in the direction of D, a locality
where the beds dipping in an opposite direction from that
182 MINERALOGTCAL SCIENCE.
Geology, in fig. 59, these very same beds (1 to 8 of fig. 59) are
brought in again in the very same order and with exactly
the same character as before (fig. 60). In some cases, such
a little isolated basin forms the only remaining patch of
the beds left in this new district, by having been dipped
down below the level of the surface formed by the denuding
agent, and remaining as a monument of their former exten¬
sion over the wide intervening space between this new
locality and that of the escarpment and outlier before
mentioned.1
Geological maps of large countries often enable us to
prove by such reasoning as this the former extension of a
great mass of beds over very wide areas, and consequently
the very large amount of denudation that has taken place.
In many instances we can show the geological date of this
denudation ; that is, we can prove it to have taken place be¬
fore the time when such and such beds were deposited, the
age of which is known, and which we find lying across the
edges of the denuded beds. This leads us to the next sub¬
ject of unconformability. We must, however, always guard
ourselves against attributing to the last period of denudation
that occurred, with respect to any set of beds, effects, a large
part of which perhaps took place at previous periods. Al¬
most all lands have risen from the bed of the sea, not once
only, but many times, having passed through many periods
of alternate elevation and depression, suffering denudation
at each passage through the upper surface of the sea, and
during each period of existence as dry land. It appears
probable, from the observations of Mr Darwin and others,
as also from the very nature of the case, that a period of
slow and gradual elevation is the one most favourable to
the action of the destruction of pre-existing rock, or to de¬
nudation, while a period of depression is that most favour¬
able to the deposition and formation of new rocks on the
surface of the old. Many districts, however, might be de¬
pressed without being covered by the deposition of new
rock, or by so thin a skirt of it, that it might be easily
stripped off during a subsequent elevation; and in every
new period of elevation the erosive forces would most pro¬
bably act again upon their old lines, deepening former hol¬
lows, and thus intensifying the previous features of the old
lands on their re-emergence from the sea.
X.—UNCONFORMABILITY : THE RESULT USUALLY OF ELE¬
VATION, DENUDATION, AND SUBSEQUENT DEPRESSION.
When one set of beds have been elevated and denuded,
and another set of beds are deposited on this denuded sur-
Fig. 61.
Unconforma'ble beds.
face, the two sets are said to be unconformable to each
1 For some striking details on the subject of denudation, see
Professor Ramsay’s paper on the Denudation of South Wales, &c.,
in Memoirs of the Geological Survey of Great Britain, vol. i.
other. In fig. 61 the arched and denuded set of beds A Geology,
are covered by the unconformable set of beds C. When-
ever two sets of beds lie at different angles of inclination,
they are apparently or obviously unconformable. In fig.
61 this discordance of inclination is seen strikingly at either
end of the figure, but if we confined our attention to the
central part e?, we should not perceive any unconforma¬
bility.
Beds, then, may repose apparently at the same angles
over considerable spaces, and yet be unconformable in
reality. In fig. 62, again, two sets of beds, A and C, are
Fig. 62.
Unconformability in horizontal beds, in consequence of denudation of lower
group.
shown, which are both horizontal, A ending in a broken
cliff, with C abutting directly against it in that part, al¬
though it rests in apparent conformity on A at the point d.
The essential point in unconformability is, that the upper
group of beds shall rest upon different parts of the lower
group at different places, and this could not happen with¬
out previous elevation and consequent denudation having
affected the lower group. It proves, then, the lapse of a
considerable interval between the deposition of the two sets
of beds.
Now, although this interval may have been occupied by
the process of destruction going on in one locality, there is
no reason why production may not have been taking place
at the same time in another locality. Whenever, then, we
find two sets of beds unconformable to each other, we must
suppose that there is a set of beds wanting there which
may elsewhere be found, and that where they are found
there will be probably no unconformability. If fig. 63 re-
Fig. 63.
Three conformable sets of beds, A, B, C.
present the state of things at one locality, where the three
sets of beds ABC were deposited in regular continuous
succession, figs. 62 or 61 may represent the other localities,
where the interval here occupied by the deposition of B
was there employed by the forces of elevation and denuda¬
tion in the destruction of a previously existing part of A.
It is even quite possible that the materials which were used
in the locality represented in fig. 63 in the composition of
B, were partly derived from this destruction and breaking
up of a portion of A in one of the other localities, and that
we may accordingly find in B pebbles or angular fragments
of A.
/
XI.—OVERLAP : THE RESULT OF DEPRESSION, WITH OR
WITHOUT PREVIOUS DENUDATION.
There is a minor degree of unconformability to which
the term overlap is applied. This consists in a greater ex-
GEOLOGY.
sology. tension of the superior set of beds than that possessed by
—1 those on which they rest, so that they overlap and conceal
theii edges. In fig. 64 the beds 1, 2, 3 are successively
oveilapped by those above them. "Ibis may in some in-
183
Fig. 64.
Overlap.
stances have been the result of a more partial deposition in
the lower beds, from the defect of materia! or other cause,
but in other cases it has been the result of the gradual de¬
pression of the old land, and the consequent extension of
the area of water in which alone deposition can take place.
While unconformability, therefore, proves an elevation
and denudation, and an absence of continuous deposition,
overlap may take place in a perfectly continuous series,
merely proving the fact of a depression of the area con¬
temporaneously with that deposition.
Chap. YII.—PETROLOGY OF THE IGNEOUS ROCKS.
We will now consider the general forms and modes of
occurrence of the principal kinds of igneous rock, and their
relations to the aqueous rocks. We have previously spoken,
under the head of Lithology, of the different kinds of igne¬
ous rock, and shown that these differences partly depended
on the difference of their chemical composition, and partly
on the texture resulting from the physical circumstances—
as pressure and rate of cooling—under which their conso¬
lidation took place. The granitic rocks, or those which are
most completely crystalline and most thoroughly saturated,
as it were, with silica, cooled slowly and under great pres¬
sure, that is to say, at some considerable depth in the in¬
terior of the crust of the globe.
The volcanic rocks, on the other hand, were consolidated
at the surface, while the intermediate and variable class
which we have called trappean may have been solidified
under various and intermediate conditions.
I. FUNDAMENTAL GRANITE.
As a matter of fact, it has been found that in all parts of
the globe, wherever the base of the aqueous rocks has been
brought up to the surface and exposed to view, that base
rests upon granitic rocks. By the “ base of the aqueous
rocks” is meant the lowest aqueous or sedimentary rocks
known in the particular locality, whatever may he their age,
whether they be some of the oldest known rocks, or whether
they be of a much later date than those, and whether they
retain their original characters unaltered, or have been me¬
tamorphosed into mica-schist, gneiss, or any similar rock.
It is by no means intended to assert that the converse
of this is true, and that wherever granite is found at the
surface, there the lowest of all known rocks, or even the
lowest rocks of that particular locality, will be found
reposing on it. On the contrary, we shall show presently
that granite frequently comes through great masses of rock
without bringing them up along with it. But at every
place where any rock does make its appearance at the sur¬
face from underneath the lowest of the stratified rocks
known in that locality, that rock is a granitic one, and
wherever any large mass of granite comes to the surface
we have no reason to believe that any other rock but gra¬
nite would be found underneath it. We do not here speak
of any veins, or intrusive dykes or sheets of granite, but of
large, widely extended masses. In short, we have every
reason to believe that if we pierced vertically downwards Geology,
into the earth at any part of its surface whatever, we should
eventually come either to granite or to yet molten and un¬
consolidated rock, which on cooling would form granite.
Again, in many parts of the world granite is found occu-
pying large areas of the surface ; and we have no reason to
suppose that any other rock but granite would be found
under those surfaces, although, if we sank deep enough,
we might perhaps come eventually to red-hot granite, and
ultimately to yet molten granite. These facts and these
opinions have naturally led many early geologists to the
conclusion that the earth was once a molten globe of fiery
matter, and that on cooling there was formed about it a
primaeval crust of granite; and they hence inferred that
much of the granite now to be found at or near the surface
was actually part of this primeval crust. At one time, in¬
deed, it was held that all granite had this primaeval charac¬
ter ; but this notion has long been exploded, since intru¬
sive, and therefore subsequently consolidated masses of
granite, have been found penetrating rocks of almost all
ages in different parts of the earth.
Now the hypothesis of the earth having once been a
molten globe of fiery matter is one for which more or less
good argument may perhaps be brought forward ; but it is
one with which the geologist has properly little or nothing
to do. The geologist may grant the probability or possibi¬
lity of this molten globe having existed, of its having cooled
down till a granitic1 crust was formed about it, of the temper¬
ature having been gradually lowered till the existence of
water and air become possible upon it, and yet maintain
that no part of this primaeval crust is now in existence, and
that none of the rocks now open to our observation can
date back their formation to this quasi-fabulous and mythi¬
cal age of the earth, this pre-historic or pre-geological
period of its duration.
Whatever may have been the nature of the primaeval
crust of the globe, that crust had been more or less com¬
pletely destroyed and remodelled by the erosive action of
water, and the remelting action of' heat, before the com¬
mencement of even the earliest of our geological periods.
The very lowest of the unaltered stratified rocks of which
the age is known, namely, the Cambrian of North Wales
and Ireland, are made up of indurated clays, sands, and
gravels, which were derived from the waste of previously
existing stratified rocks, exactly like themselves. {Profes¬
sor Ramsay^ The crust of the earth, then, was, before
that earliest of our periods, made up of stratified and un¬
stratified aqueous and igneous rocks, as it is now made up
of them. Just so much of these earlier rocks are preserved
to us as have not been since destroyed by the action either
of fire or of water. Over very large areas, very early rocks,
having been attacked from above, have been eroded and
destroyed by the action of water; and the old base on
which they rested has been denuded, and is either now ex¬
posed at the surface, or has been re-covered by other rocks
subsequently deposited upon it. Over very large areas,
very early rocks having been attacked from below, have
been so baked, so altered and metamorphosed by the action
of heat, and by the many physical and chemical forces which
heat has set in motion, as to have been altogether trans-
fbimedfiom their original state, and many of both aqueous
and igneous origin actually remelted down perhaps, and re-
absoi bed into the molten masses of the interior, in which
they either still remain as molten rock, or from which they
1 If we were inclined to speculate on such a state of things as
the first cooling of the crust of a molten globe, in which the ex¬
pansive power of heat must hav been acting intensely even at the
surface, we might perhaps reasonably doubt the possibility of so
dense a rock as granite being formed upon that surface. Porous
trachyte, pumice, and obsidian, would occur to us as more probable
productions than granite. 1
184
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology. may have been subsequently reconsolidated as newer ig-
neous rock. Some ancient rocks have been in other areas
spared by both these processes ; but as these processes are
continually going on, and continually shifting their areas of
action, it is clear that, in proportion to their antiquity, all
rocks must have been more or less affected by them, and
that we can reason back to a period in the earth’s history,
the coeval rocks of which have only one or two unde¬
stroyed or unaltered areas still left upon the globe; and
going one or two steps still farther back, we arrive at a
period of which none of the coeval rocks can remain in
their original recognisable state.
Dismissing, then, all speculations as to the primaeval
crust of the globe, and the primitive character of granite,
let us come to what we know to be true.
II.—INTERNAL HEAT OF GLOBE.
That the earth has a great internal heat, is rendered al¬
most certain by the following facts :—
1. The specific gravity of the globe is, according to the
old observations, about S’O, or according to the recent ex¬
periments of the Astronomer-Royal, Mr Airey, about 6*7.
Now, the specific gravity of granite varies from 2'6 to 2'9 ;
that of basalt is about 3'0 ; that of rock in general is from
2,5 to S'O. The earth, therefore, is more than twice as
heavy as it would be if made of any known rock, such as
that rock appears at the surface. The pressure of gravity,
however, would render any such rock, as granite, for instance,
much more than twice as dense as it is at the surface long
before it reached the centre.1 We should expect, then, that
the globe would have a much greater specific gravity than
5 or 6, if it were not for some expansive force in its inte¬
rior counteracting the pressure resulting from gravitation.
We know of no such force except that of heat.
2. As a matter of direct observation, it is found that in all
deep mines the temperature of the rock increases as we de¬
scend, at the rate of 1° of Fahrenheit for every 50 or 60 feet
of descent after the first 100. This is the case in every
part of the globe, and in all kinds of rock.
Deep springs also, and wells, such as the deep Artesian
well of Grenelle, at Paris, are always found to have a high
temperature. At Grenelle, the water brought from a
depth of 1798 feet has a constant temperature of 8]°*7 of
Fahrenheit, while the mean temperature of the air in the
cellar of the Paris Observatory is only 53°. Very accurate
and careful observations have lately been made by M. Wal-
ferdin on the temperature of two borings at Creuzot, within
a mile of each other, commencing at a height of 1030 feet
above the sea, and going down to a depth, the one of 2678
feet, the other about 1900 feet. The results, after every
possible precaution had been taken to ensure correctness,
gave a rise of 1° Fahrenheit for every 55 feet, down to a
depth of 1800 feet, beyond which the rise of temperature
was more rapid, being 1° Fahrenheit for every 44 feet of
descent. {Cosmos, May 15, 1857.)
Hot springs are usually found to proceed from great
faults or fissures which penetrate deeply into the crust of
the globe.
3. As another result of direct observation, we may state
that all igneous rocks proceed from below upwards, com¬
ing out of the interior of the earth; and that, as just ob¬
served, whenever we are able to see the actual base of the
aqueous rocks in any district, we find them reposing upon
1 According to Leslie, water would be as heavy as mercury at a
depth of 362 miles, air as heavy as water at 34 miles. At the
centre of the globe, steel would be compressed into one-fourth of
the dimensions it has at the surface, and most stone into one-eighth,
if the law of compression be supposed to be uniform from the sur¬
face to the centre.
cooled igneous rocks, generally granite, and that cceterispari¬
bus, the lower the rocks, or the deeper they have formerly
been buried, the more marks do they bear of having been
subjected to a great heat.
We may look, then, upon the great internal heat of the
globe generally as a fact pretty well established ; and it ap¬
pears that if the increase of heat towards the centre goes
on at the same rate that it does near the surface, all water
would be boiling at a depth of 9000 feet under the British
Islands, and that at the comparatively small depth of 20 or
30 miles, the heat would be sufficient to fuse any of the
substances we know at the surface.
There are said to be, however, certain general astronomi¬
cal and physical considerations which make against the sup¬
position of the earth’s being a molten fluid mass, with only
a slight external crust, and render it probable, that, however
intense the temperature, the mass is still solid, either en¬
tirely or in part, to a very great depth into the interior.1
In this case, it appears that the molten masses which have
formed, on cooling, the igneous rocks we are acquainted
with, either proceed from detached lakes of fiery liquid, or
were rendered fluid by some special and locally acting cir¬
cumstances.
Speculations, however, on the general state of the inte¬
rior mass of the globe, although interesting, have, like those
on its primaeval condition, little theoretical and no practical
importance; and as we shall be for ever probably con¬
demned to remain in ignorance concerning it beyond a few
general facts such as those before mentioned, they need
not occupy more of our attention.
Geology.
III.—POSITION AND FORM OF GRANITE.
Granite generally makes its appearance at the surface in
large masses, occupying considerable areas, and extending
for a great but unknown depth into the interior. Veins of
granite, often branching and crossing each other, sometimes
proceed from these masses, penetrating the adjoining rocks ;
and dykes, or wall-like sheets, of granite-rock are frequently
found in their neighbourhood, running sometimes for
several miles in straight lines through other rocks.
Smaller bosses of granite are likewise not unfrequent in
such districts, apparently the tops and eminences of larger
masses that are still concealed below.
Granite generally forms high mountainous ground, and
hills composed of it have commonly a heavy rounded outline
and sombre aspect. Sometimes, however, granite is found
as the surface rock over considerable spaces of low gently
Fig. 65.
Supposed position of granite.
undulating ground, in which case the plain is commonly
diversified by small rounded knobs and bosses of rock.
Granite is also found not unfrequently as the rock form-
1 Mr W. Hopkins gives 800 miles as the minimum thickness of
the solid external crust of the globe. Professors Henessy and
Haughton, however, and also, I believe, Professor Jellett, dissent
from a part of the reasoning on which that conclusion is based, and
think that no certain conclusion can as yet be arrived at respecting
the thickness of the solid crust of the globe. (See Papers in Phil.
Trans., and in Trans, of II. I. Academy').
3eology
ing the axis of mountain chains, or the nucleus of moun¬
tain masses.
When it forms the true axis of a mountain mass, the rocks
which rest upon it dip from it in every direction, and the
lowest of the stratified rocks are found nearest to the granite
as in fig. 65, where G is a mass of granite forming the axis
of a range, and 1, 2, 3, are the stratified rocks dippino- from
it in each direction, the lowest or oldest, No. 1, beino- next
to the granite, and the highest or newest, No. 3, the fur¬
thest fi omit. d his central and fundamental position is the
one usually assigned to granite where it appears in a moun¬
tain chain. Without attempting to deny that it frequently
does hold this position, we are yet rather inclined to doubt
whether it lias not in many cases been assigned to it as a
mattei of course, without adequate investigation. We are
disposed to suspect that the rocks nearest the granite hav¬
ing been most altered, and the most altered rocks havino"
been assumed to be the oldest or lowest, this position
may often have been taken for granted instead of proved.
We know, at all events, that in many cases granite, where it
occurs as the constituent of a mountain range, and as the
geographical axis of such a range, is not the true geological
axis, inasmuch as it does not bring up with it the lowest
rocks of the country, and has not the central and funda¬
mental position, nor has it exercised the elevatory action
assigned to it in fig. 65.
1 he granitic district in the S.E. of Ireland, extending from
Dublin Bay to near New Ross in county Wexford, is one of
the largest and most persistent masses of granite in the Bri¬
tish islands, being 70 miles long, and from 7 to 17 miles wide.
There were in this district at least two great geological for¬
mations, each consisting of slates or shales and sandstones,
and each several thousand feet thick, at the time of the intru¬
sion of this granite. These two formations are known as the
Cambrian, which is the lowest or oldest, and the Lower Silu¬
rian, which rests unconformably upon the Cambrian. Now
in no instance is any part of the lower or Cambrian forma¬
tion found reposing on or coming against the granite at
the sui face, though it does come to the surface in some
places within 2 or 3 miles of the granite, as shown in fig. 66.
GEOLOGY.
g. Granite.
Fig. 66.
Section near Douce Mountain, county Wicklow.
c, Cambrian, S( Silurian.
r0<i'k;S’ h°wever> have been broken into, and
1 fted and altered by the granite, which has sent veins into
icm, as in fig. 67 ; and we are compelled to suppose, there-
kT tht gyamt? rmist have come through the Cambrian
t below before it can have penetrated into the Silurian
rocks which now rest upon it. Neither, although the main
direction of the granite is parallel to the general strike of
tne locks and principal lines of disturbance in the district
does the eruption of the granite seem to have had much
effect on the general elevation of the country, but simply
WpT ?a!’tak?n of.lt} alonS with the other rocks, and to
i 6 had its direction governed by the direction of the
trusion^ dThersTC- ^ i^i^ at the time of its in-
trusion. i he Silurian slates, which are frequently vertical
and greatly contorted over all the district, iften appear to
dip at or towards the granite, at a distance of about^ or 3
rn. es from its present surface boundary, and to We been
nly so far affected by the proper elevatory action of the
granite as to be crumpled up or dog-eared against it for a
short distance close upon its flanks (see fio- 66)
VOL. xv. °
If we passed from Ireland into Cornwall and Devon
similar conclusions could be drawn from the relations of the’
granitic masses there with rocks of a still newer date, namely,
with those called Carboniferous and Devonian. The granite
penetrates and alters rocks of both those periods, and is
therefore newer than both. It has not, however, by its
irruption brought up the lowest rock, namely, the Devonian
everywhere on its flanks. On the contrary, where it cuts
into and alters the Carboniferous rocks, we are compelled
to suppose that it has passed though and left behind the
Devonian. Neither does the granite of Cornwall and De¬
von appear to have acted in any sense as a geological axis
or centre of elevation, but simply to have partaken with the
rocks of the district of whatever disturbances occurred
during or since its intrusion ; and the granitic veins appear
to have been shot into the cracks and crevices of the rocks
which were opened for them by those disturbances, and
themselveT6 ^ °f th°Se CmckS and fissures for
In other parts of the world, as has been said before,
granite is found in the same way bursting through, sending
veins into, and altering rocks of still newer date, rocks of
whut are called the Secondary periods, and rocks of what
are called the Tertiary periods; and granite must be form¬
ing now wherever molten rock of the proper chemical com-
position is coohng under the requisite physical conditions,
other rockeP y ^ pressure of,great masses of
It is doubtless true that granite is found more frequently
associated with the older rocks than with the newer; in other-
words, with the lower rather than the higher rocks. The
reason of this, however, is clear from the very fact of the
source of granite being in the interior of the earth. Granite
in order to reach the higher, must pass through whatever
lower rocks there may be in the way. Many eruptions of
granite may have proceeded a certain distance from the
interior, penetrating only the lower rocks; but none can
have reached the upper without penetrating the lower.
)at granite should be most frequently associated with the
lowest rocks follows, too, from the very nature of granite.
Molten rock that reached or came near to the surface
would not, on consolidating, form granite, but some other
ind of igneous rock—a felstone trap or a trachytic lava,
as the case might be. There is also still another reason why
granite is found principally in connection with low rocks
that have formerly been deep-seated, and that is, that all
granite now found at the surface must be there in conse¬
quence of vast denudation having taken place, bv which
great masses of other rocks have been removed, together
perhaps with much of the granite that once existed above
the present surface. This denudation of course exposes
the lower rock to view, while the parts of the higher rocks
that were perhaps equally penetrated by the granite have
been swept off and removed (see fig. 67) ; the other parts
185
Geology.
Fig. 67.
The dotted lines represent the former extension of strnOfWi „
penetrated by the granite, but the penetrated parts removed by
which remain being now at a distance from the granite
and showing no signs of such penetration. ’
It is therefore where the lowest or oldest rocks come up
to the sin face that we should expect most frequently to
meet with surface granite, as we find to be the case. ^
2 a
186
(ieology.
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
iy.—AGE OF CONSOLIDATION OF GRANITES, AND OF PRO¬
DUCTION OF SURFACES OF LAND.
There is a remarkable class of results which follow from
this deep-seated origin of granite, and from the necessity
of great denudation having taken place before it can appear
at the surface. .
In the first place, it proves the fact of this denudation
having occurred. Wherever we find granite forming the
surface of the ground, however lofty may be the summits
of the granite mountains, or however widely spread the
extent of the granite plains, we may feel sure that at the
time of its consolidation it was covered with a thickness of
at least several thousand feet of other rock, and that this
thickness has been removed by the gradual action of erosion
by moving water.
2dh/, We may in many cases ascertain the date of this
denudation, namely, that it took place and was completed
before such and such a geological period ; and thus we get a
geological date for the production of the present outline of
the surface of the ground.
3<%, We get a date for the formation or consolidation
of the granite itself, since we know that this must have
occurred previously to the denudation.
In the case, for instance, of the granites of the west of
England and the S.E. of Ireland, mentioned before, we are
able to prove that the granite of Wicklow, &c., is older than
the granite of Cornwall. We saw, indeed, that the Wick¬
low granite penetrated older rocks than did that of Corn¬
wall ; but, so far, there was nothing to tell us when the
Wicklow granite penetrated those rocks. It might have
been that the granites were produced at the same time, that
of Wicklow only reaching so far as the Silurian rocks, while
that of Cornwall burst through into the rock above, namely,
the Devonian and Carboniferous.
If, however, we follow the Wicklow granite into the
adjacent counties of Carlow and Kilkenny, we should find
that rocks of nearly the same age as those of Devon and
Cornwall, namely, those called Old red sandstone and Car¬
boniferous limestone, reposed directly upon the granite in
such a way as to show that not only had the granite been
cooled and consolidated, but that it’had been denuded and
brought to the surface in that locality before the Old red
sandstone had commenced to be deposited.
For a space of about 25 miles, the Old red sandstone
first, and then the Carboniferous limestone, overlap the Silu¬
rian, and come across it on to the granite. They are quite
unaltered by the granite. The granite sends no veins into
them, and moreover the lower rock, namely, the Old red
sandstone, is more or less made up of sand derived from the
materials of the granite, as in fig. 68, when the sandstone
Sandstone t resting upon granite g, and made out of the sand derived
from it.
s is partly, or entirely made up of the debris of the granite
g. It is clear, then, that the bare granite formed the
bottom of the sea in which those rocks were deposited ; in
other words, that all the vast mass of Silurian rock which
had covered the granite at the time of its consolidation had
been removed by denudation before the period in which
the lowest of those newer rocks came into existence.
But the granite of Cornwall and Devon penetrates rocks
which were deposited at the same time, or nearly so, with
the Old red sandstone and Carboniferous limestone of Car- Geology.,
low and Kilkenny, and is therefore newer than those rocks,
and consequently much newer than the Wicklow granite.
But we may draw this yet further conclusion. The sur¬
face upon which the Old red sandstone of Kilkenny re¬
poses is of course older than that rock; but that surface is
continuous, with only slight modifications, over all the ad¬
jacent granitic and Silurian district of Wexford and Wick¬
low. The conditions as to denudation and form, &c., of the
surface covered by the Old red sandstone and Carboniferous
rocks, are obviously, by inspection of the map, nearly the
very same conditions as those of the adjoining surface,
which is uncovered by those rocks. Moreover, there is
reason to believe that those rocks did once extend over
much more of that surface than they do now, because de¬
tached patches of them are found here and there resting
upon it. Therefore it follows that the main outlines, and
all the principal features of the surface of the ground which
now forms the counties of Wexford and Wicklow, and
parts of the adjacent counties, are older than the period of
the Old red sandstone. The principal part of the denuda¬
tion by which that surface was formed took place before
the period of the Old red sandstone, and any subsequent
action, either atmospheric, when it was dry land, or marine,
when it may have been passing through the surface of the
sea, has been principally efficacious in removing rocks sub¬
sequently deposited upon it, or in modifying features, the
outlines of which were graven at that ancient date.1
These views on the nature and origin of granite are not
exactly those which the student will find expressed in most
goological works, though they are implied in the recent
writings of many geologists. They are based upon what
may now fairly be called the Lyellian philosophy of geo¬
logy, a philosophy daily becoming more prevalent as its
truth becomes more apparent and its applications more ex¬
tended. The student, however, must expect still to meet
with difficulties arising from the use of the old nomencla¬
ture, which is apt to still adhere to our tongues after the
corresponding ideas have passed away irom our thoughts.
V.—GRANITE VEINS.
Granite veins often differ sensibly in lithological char¬
acter from the parent mass which they proceed from ; and
sometimes the external margin of the granite differs also
from its deeper and more central portions. Veins very
frequently become more fine-grained, and they lose com¬
monly the mica and sometimes more or less of the quartz
which the mass contains, becoming less crystalline and
Fig. 69.
Railway cutting at Killiney (Dublin), showing junction of granite and slate
with granite veins.
a, Granite.
b. Black slate unaltered.
e, Gray slate converted into mica-schist.
more earthy. Sometimes they take up into their constitu¬
tion additional materials, derived from the rock which they
penetrate and traverse (fig. 69). A striking instance of this
latter occurrence is described by Professor Haughton in
his paper in the Journal of the Geological Society, London,
vol. xii., p. 3, where he describes the granite of Carlingford
1 This conclusion is one admitting of a much wider application
than has yet been given to it. The present surface of the ground
in most of the areas which are occupied by old rocks are surfaces
of very ancient date, recent denudation having had but compara¬
tively slight effect upon them.
Jeology
mountain as sending veins into, and cutting through some
beds of the carboniferous limestone, and having its feldspar
changed from an orthoclase, which was the feldspar of the
granitic mass, into anorthite, in consequence of the addi¬
tion o the lime which it had taken up from the limestone.
Anorthite is said by the continental geologists never to oc¬
cur except in recent volcanic rocks, and they appear to
ook upon its production as a mark of age, and suppose it,
therefore, to be an impossible constituent of granite. This
case, however, proves that it is a mark not of age, but of
place, and of peculiarity of condition, and that a molten
mass proceeding from actual granite may, in different parts
of its course, contain different minerals, and become changed
into different rocks according to the circumstances in which
it is placed.
Other veins are to be found in granite itself, different in
character from the surrounding rock, such as veins of eurite
tsee ante, p. 79), traversing coarsely crystalline and hio-hlv
micaceous granite. Such veins may sometimes be due to
subsequent intrusion of molten matter into the cracks of the
granite ; and when they do not consist of granitic rock, but
of traps, such as greenstone and basalt, they undoubtedly
are so due. In many instances, however, we believe them
to be contemporaneous veins, either segregated from the
mass while it was quite fluid, or perhaps more frequently,
on the first commencement of consolidation, portions of the
still molten mass below were injected into the cracks and
insures formed on the first attempt at consolidation of its
upper portion. This we believe to be the generally true
explanation of veins of eurite or other granitic matter differ¬
ing from the mass of the granite. Such veins are com¬
monly found to be confined entirely to the granite, and not
to penetrate into the surrounding rocks, even when the
granite itself does send off many veins into those rocks In
other cases, however, veins of “eurite,” or of granite dif-
enng in texture from the surrounding granite, are seen to
pass from the granite into the adjacent slates. These are
of course formed subsequently to the consolidation of the
granite which they traverse, but still they may in many in¬
stances be not long subsequent to that consolidation, and
t icir consolidation may have been contemporaneous with
that of lower portions of the granite.
I he el vans or veins of quartziferous porphyry,—that is
a granular crystalline mixture of feldspar and quartz, which
are common both in Cornwall and Devon, and near the
gianite of the h.E. of Ireland, are probably in reality granite
veins, or veins proceeding from a granitic mass. Lar^e
masses of similar rock, however, occur in Wicklow and
^ exford, forming mountainous hills with all the character
of granite hills, except that the rock differs somewhat in
texture from granite, and contains no mica.* These rocks,
for which we have suggested the name of elvanite, but
which continental geologists might possibly call pegmattie,
are probably one of the intermediate varieties between
true granite and a purely feldspathic or feldspatho-siliceous
trap (lelstone). Ihey should, however, still be retained
among the granitic rocks. The other granitic rocks de¬
scribed in Part I. resemble granite in their mode of
occurrence, being generally massive and underlying Peg¬
matite, protogine, and syenite are indeed commonly mere
local varieties of granite. Large masses of greenstone-por¬
phyry, or felstone-porphyry, or qnartziferous-porphyry (el¬
vanite), also occur in some districts as massive, deap-seated
underlying rocks, with all the petrological character of
granite. These rocks, however, are by no means univer¬
sally found as underlying rocks, since all kinds of porphyry
often occur in bed-like masses, either as great intrusive
GEOLOGY.
veins or dykes, more or less nearly horizontal, or as con-
temporaneous traps.
FORM AND POSITION OF TRAP ROCKS.
TheTrappean rocks may be especially characterized as
being intrusive and overlying rocks when compared with
the granitic class ; but, inasmuch as they always proceed
from below, it is obvious that every “overlyino-” mass 0f
igneous rock must have a connection with some^underlying
fiaSS~nb,y m^nS of an pipe, dyke, or vein (sel
hg. tO). The terms “pipe” and “vein” sufficiently ex-
5
1 Recent explorations in company with Professor Haimhton in¬
duce us to believe that this elvan-like rock is only the external skin
as it were, of true granite below.
Fig. 70.
Overlying trap proceeding from underlying mass.
a, Itie overlying igneous rock.
b, The underlying igneous rock.
c, The previously existing rock, whether igneous or aqueous.
plain themselves. “ Dyke” is a North British term for a
wall ; n is sometimes by miners applied to a mere fault,
or hssure, but by geologists is always understood to mean
a wall-hke mass of igneous rock filling up a fissure in other
rocks. A dyke may come up through any kind of pre¬
viously existing rock, whether igneous or aqueous, trap
dykes sometimes traversing granite, and overlying masses
of trap resting on that or any other kind of rock whatever
Ihey may also reach and flow along all kinds of places
—the surface of the dry land, when they become volcanic
rocks, and would be called lava; the bottom of the sea
when they would probably be called lava or trap, accord!
mg to its depth and the circumstances of time and pressure
under which they cooled; and in between the beds of
aqueous rocks at different depths, or perhaps between the
horizontal or other joints of previously cooled igneous rocks,
whether granitic or trappean.
I hose portions of trap rocks which have spread out upon
the bottom of the sea, and have thus become buried be-
tween two consecutive deposits of aqueous matter, are
called contemporaneous traps,”
In the old Silurian districts of the British islands great
sheets of felstane and of feldspathic ash are thus in-
terstratified with the aqueous rocks, and have since
suffered with them all the accidents of flexure, contortion
and fracture that subsequent disturbing forces have brought
upon those districts. Some fine-grained traps and ashes
have undoubtedly been even affected by slaty cleavage and
made into trappean slate, though as some of them, like the
clinkstones of Mont Dor and Velay, may assume a finely
laminated or slaty structure on cooling, this character re¬
quires to be very carefully observed before it is attributed
to the same cause that cleaved the aqueous rocks.
Felstones, both contemporaneous and intrusive, occur also
in great variety and in important masses in the Devonian
and Carboniferous rocks of the S.W. of Ireland near Kil-
larney and near Berehaven.
Greenstones occur likewise in contemporaneous beds in-
terstratified with both “ ash ” and aqueous rocks. The beds
of “loadstone”1 in the limestone of Derbyshire form one
1 Toadstone is a local name, either given because the rock often
188
Geology, instance of this, and other instances occur abundantly in
^ Ireland and other parts of the British islands.
In other cases both felstones and greenstones have been
injected as great sheets, or as dykes, or as veins, into the
previously existing rocks.
In the case of intrusive sheets of trap running in be¬
tween beds of other rock, we may suppose that having been
forced up through previously formed fissures to a certain
height, the molten rock then met with such an opposition
above that it was as easy for the expansive force which was
impelling it to lift the beds above as to break through them.
The planes of stratification then became those of least re¬
sistance ; some horizontal cavities or some marked division
between the beds was perhaps taken advantage of, and the
molten stream, beginning to flow in, was injected with sum-
cient force to float the mass above upon its surface.
Sheets of greenstone thus injected have been traced by
the o-overnment surveyors sometimes for miles among the
Silurian rocks of North Wales. They have been found
also by mining in the South Staffordshire coal-field over an
area of above 20 square miles, with a thickness varying
from 15 to 60 feet. {Records of School of Mines, vol. i.,
part ii., p. 244.)
VII. DISTINCTION BETWEEN INTRUSIVE AND CONTEMPO¬
RANEOUS TRAP.
It is sometimes not very easy to distinguish between such
injected sheets and beds of contemporaneous trap.
If a sheet of trap rock (whether felstone or greenstone),
after running for some distance between two certain beds,
cut up or down and proceed between other beds, as in fig.
71, it is obviously intrusive and not contemporaneous.
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
stone was deposited at the bottom of the sea on the uneven Geology,
surface of the cooled trap.
s, Stratified Rock.
t, Trap running partly between, partly across the oeas.
If the beds above a sheet of trap be as much altered or
“baked” by the igneous rock as those below, or if it send
any veins up into the beds above it, it is equally plain that
it must be an intrusive sheet.
If, however, the bed below the trap be altered, while
that above it, composed of equally alterable materials, is
quite unaffected, we may conclude that the trap was poured
out and flowed over the surface of the lower bed, and that
the upper bed was subsequently deposited upon it; in other
words, that the trap is contemporaneous and not intrusive
as regards the beds in that place.
This conclusion would be confirmed if the upper surface
of the trap be rugged and uneven, and if the stratification
and lamination of the bed above conlbrmed to these rugo¬
sities, as suggested in fig. 72.
In the “ loadstone ” of Derbyshire globular masses of the
upper surface are often almost completely included in the
superincumbent limestone, clearly showing that the lime-
resembles a toad in colour, or more probably derived from the Ger¬
man word “ todstein ” or “ dead stone,” because the lead veins “ die
out ” on approaching the toadstone, and were supposed not to re¬
appear beneath it.
Fig. 72.
S, Stratified rock, the lamination of which conforms to the ragged surface
of T, a trap, in such a way as to show that it was deposited upon it.
If, again, the bed above the trap contained any fragments
clearly derived from the erosion of the trap, it would prove
the trap to be a contemporaneous one. At Carrig-o-gunnel,
near Limerick, a great mass of greenstone, sometime amyg-
daloidal, is overlaid by a still larger mass of brecciated
“ash,” consisting of fragments of trap and fragments of
limestone, and the beds of limestone immediately above
this contain rounded pebbles and small flakes of the trap,
demonstrating that it was formed by an outburst in the bed
of the sea in which the adjacent limestone was being de¬
posited.
When beds of trap (whether purely feldspathic or feld-
spatho-hornblendic) are clearly interstratified with beds of
“ash ” or “tufa” of the same character, whether that ash
were subaerial or submarine ash,1 it becomes almost certain
that the trap is contemporaneous ; for that ash is clearly
derived from some contemporaneous trap somewhere, and
the chances would be greatly against a sheet of similar trap
being subsequently injected into those ashes without pro¬
ducing in them great and obvious alteration, or cutting
them with dykes and veins so as to clearly show its intru¬
sive character.
Even should the ash show a considerable amount of al¬
teration from its original state as a mechanical deposit,
such, for instance, as the production of crystals ot feldspar,
it would not be conclusive evidence against its being an
“ ash,” or against the contemporaneous age of the trap beds
associated with it, since such alteration might be the result
of a subsequent general action which had taken place with
regard to the whole mass of the rocks, but had produced a
greater effect on the “ash” than on the other rocks, because
its nature made it more easily impressible, and more open
and liable to change than the solid igneous or the simple
and more homogeneous aqueous rocks.
It is partly, perhaps, for this reason, as well as on account
of the original alternation and partial blending" of the results
of aqueous deposition and igneous outflows and dejections,
that in some highly and generally altered districts such as
North Wales and the lake district in England, the south¬
east of Ireland, and the Border Highlands of Scotland, it
is often difficult to determine the difference between actual
trap and “ ash ” or between ash and other mechanically-
formed rocks, such as some varieties of sandstone or slate.
In such districts we get great irregular bosses and moun¬
tainous masses of trap ot various kinds, apparently the cen^
tres or foci of eruption; we get huge continuous sheets of
1 The student must regard the term u ash,” introduced by Sir H.
De la Beche, as merely an English synonym of the Italian word
“ tuff” or “ tufa,” when the latter is applied to igneous materials.
The advantage of using the term “ ash ” is the avoidance of the am¬
biguity arising from “ tufa ” being sometimes applied to calcareous
or other depositions of a soft friable character.
2 See the “ Memoirs ” of Professor Sedgwick in Proceedings of
Geological Society, also his “Letters to Wordsworth” in the
Guide to the Lakes, and Introduction to Paleozoic Rocks, 3d
Fasciculus; also Murchison’s Silurian System, and the Maps and
Sections of North Wales and south-east of Ireland, published by the
Geological Survey.
GEOLOGY.
eology. felstone and other kinds of" trap spreading over great areas
^ hitei stratified with ash, sandstone, and slate ; we o'et
still more widely-spread sheets of “ash,” sometimes hardly
distinguishable fiom trap when near the igneous foci,
but becoming thinner and more obviously mechanical,
more completely conglomeritic or brecciated, or more cal¬
careous and more regularly bedded, as we proceed from
these foci, and we get the whole of these rocks cut through
and penetrated in different places by subsequently formed
dykes, veins, and intrusive sheets of other traps (green¬
stones, felstones, syenites, elvanites, &c.), altering the rocks
more or less entirely according either to their chemical
composition or to the mass of the intrusive trap, and thus
completing the complexity and confusion which the geolo¬
gist has to unravel.
W hen such a district has been greatly upheaved and dis¬
turbed, thrown into many and complicated folds, and broken
by many faults running in various directions, heaving and
dislocating the rocks now one way and now another, and
with ever-varying amounts, sometimes throwing them as
much as three or four thousand feet from the level of the
corresponding beds on the other side of the fault; when, in
addition to this, such a district has been worn and eroded
into all kinds of hollows, valleys, and glens, with precipitous
cliffs and crags, separated by more or less inaccessible ra¬
vines ; and when, yet more, the rocks are frequently dis¬
guised by partial decomposition, and concealed over wide
intervening spaces by soil, by vegetation, or by superficial
accumulations of gravel, clay, and sand, it will be readily
understood that it is no easy or unlaborious task, though
often a healthy and delightful one, to trace out all this com¬
plexity, to restore order to all this confusion, to delineate
the outlines and positions of the rocks as they now are, and
to reason back to their original state, and to the causes
which produced them.
VIII. RELATIONS BETWEEN FELSTONE AND GREENSTONE.
We have occasionally been struck in some of the dis¬
tricts just alluded to with the association of felstone and
greenstone, it being rare to find any considerable mountain
mass of felstone without irregular patches of crystalline
greenstone disseminated about it. The irregular outline
of these greenstone patches gave them the appearance of
being subsequently intrusive into the felstone, but the fre¬
quent association of the two has sometimes led us to specu¬
late on the possibility of the two rocks having been part of
the same molten mass, and having settled or segregated
apart from each other on the cooling of the whole. There
seems no very cogent reason why we should necessarily
suppose the whole molten mass to have been completely
homogeneous ; but granting that it was so, is it not pos¬
sible that, when a deep-seated mass of trap commences to
cool, a separation may take place, and one more fusible
portion of it may be segregated from the rest, and thus one
or more local centres might be established, into which the
greater portion of the more fusible bases (silicates of lime
and iron) should be concentrated ? These local patches,
which, on the ultimate complete refrigeration of the whole,
would form greenstone, while the rest of the mass was fel¬
stone or elvanite (quartziferous porphyry) as the case may
be, might retain their fluidity for a time, till, on the conso¬
lidation and consequent contraction of the other mass, they
were squeezed in various directions into the cracks and fis¬
sures that would then be caused, and then cool rapidly in
consequence of their greater extent of surface.
IX. TRAP DYKES AND VEINS.
There do occur, however, quite a sufficient number of
independent intrusive masses of greenstone, inclosed en-
189
tirely in slate or other rock, to render these speculations Geology,
unnecessary in many instances. >
As a good instance of an intrusive vein of igneous rock
we give the following (fig 73), taken from Jiec. Sch.,
Mines, vol. i., part, 2, p. 242, as having been drawn care¬
fully to scale.
«t, “ W'hite rock ” trap.
Fig. 73.
b, Altered coal.
c, Sandstone.
The igneous rock here is a white trap springing out of the
greenstone (“green rock”) of the neighbourhood. Its
chemical composition, as determined by Mr Henry, is—
Silica 38-830
Alumina 13-250
Lime  3-925
Magnesia  4-180
Soda  0-971
Potash  0-422
Protoxide of iron 13-830
Peroxide of iron  4-335
Carbonic acid  9-320
Water 11-010
100-073
showing a great amount of variation from any ordinary
greenstone, in the presence of so large a quantiy of carbonic
acid. . This alteration is probably the result of its having
come in contact with a coal, and having been consequently
affected by the subsequent percolation of carbonic acid, w hich
has converted the silicates of lime and iron into carbonates.
1 he alteration of the coal, in consequence of the heat of the
trap, is equally great, as it has in many places lost its bright
lustre, and its regular “ face” has parted with much of its
bituminous or inflammable character, and more nearly re¬
sembles anthracite than bituminous coal, though different
from both, being often full of concretions of iron pyrites, or
of carbonate of lime, or other minerals. In the language of
the colliers, the coal is said to be “blacked,” and to°be now
“ brazil,” or “ brassil,” and consequently not worth the
trouble of “ getting.”
A wonderful example of a trap dyke is the one so well
known in the north of England as the Cockfield Fell dyke,
a nearly vertical wall of trap, 18 or 20 yards thick, which
runs in a nearly straight line from north-w-est to south-east,
for a distance of about 70 miles, cutting through all the
rocks from the coal measures into the lower oolites, and
baking the lias and every other rock it meets with for a dis¬
tance of some yards from its sides. Its effect on one of the
coal beds under Cockfield Fell, is well described by Mr
Witham in the Transactions of the Natural History Society
of Newcastle, vol. ii., p. 343, The coal, I believe, is origi¬
nally about 6 or 8 feet thick, one of the principal bitumi¬
nous coals of the district. In approaching the dyke, it be¬
gins to be affected at a distance of 50 yards from it; it first
loses the calcareous spar which lines the joints and faces of
the coal, and begins to look dull, grows tender and short,
and also loses its quality for burning. As it comes nearer
it assumes the appearance of half-burnt cinder, and approach¬
ing still nearer the dyke, it grows less and less in thickness,
becoming a pretty hard cinder only 2 feet 6 inches in
thickness. Eight yards further it is converted into real
cinder, and more immediately in contact with the dyke, it
becomes by degrees a black substance, called by the miners
“ dawk,” or “ swad,” resembling soot caked together, the
seam being reduced to 9 inches in thickness. There is also
a large portion of pyrites lodged in the roof of that part of
the seam which has been reduced to cinder.
190 MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology. X.—FORM OF BASALT.
Basalt is rarely, if ever, found as an underlying rock, and
not often as an intrusive sheet. It occurs commonly either
as a dyke, or as an overlying mass. One of the most cele¬
brated plateaux of basalt is that in the north-east of Ireland,
covering almost the whole county of Antrim with a mass
300 or 400 feet in thickness, and 50 miles long by 30 wide,
or about 1200 square miles in area. The basalt occurs in
three or four sheets, in many places beautiful y columnar
and interstratified with beds of ash or “ ochre,” as it is
called, associated with beds of lignite; one of the columnar
beds dipping gradually into the sea on the north coast is
known as the Giant's Causeway. Many dykes are per¬
ceivable in the district, cutting through different kinds of
rock, altering the Lias shaies into a Lydian stone, and the
Chalk into a crystalline marble. The basalt of the west of
Scotland is likewise beautifully columnar, as at Fingall’s
Cave and other places, while that of Arthur’s Seat is mas¬
sive, and often crystalline, showing distinct crystals of oli¬
vine, and being highly magnetic from the abundance of
magnetic oxide of iron.
The ash associated with the basalt of the Calton Hill is
very admirably exhibited on all sides of it.
The greenstone of Salisbury Crags has greatly altered
and indurated the gritstone below it (one of the Carboni¬
ferous sandstones), which is converted into a kind of quartz
rock.1
It is probable that all these basalts and greenstones were
of submarine formation, but the lower part of many lava
streams proceeding from subaerial volcanoes, or at all events
from volcanoes which are now subaerial, are as regularly
columnar basalt as the Giant’s Causeway itself.
XI.—FORMS AND POSITIONS OF VOLCANIC ROCKS.
Lavas differ from traps partly in mineral character, such
as the occurrence of augite instead of hornblende, and of
labradorite or anorthite instead of orthoclase, &c., but prin-
cipally in the texture and form of the rocks, rather than
their composition.
True lavas have always been poured out either on the
dry land or in shallow water, forming regular flows or
“ coulees” of molten rock. Cooled under these circum¬
stances, the upper surface of a lava stream is generally quite
porous and vesicular, from the escape of the gases pent up
within. The upper portion of such a bed consists of loose
blocks of cinders of all sizes, from rough masses of 2 or
3 feet in diameter, to those of as many inches. It might
be likened to a mass of clinkers, slags, and cinders from a
huge foundry. The far end of a lava stream has been
described as a slowly-moving mass of loose porous blocks,
gradually rolling and tumbling over each other with a loud
rattling noise, giving evidence of the pressure of a viscid
mass of cooling lava within. The upper end of a lava
stream, where it issues perfectly fluid from the intense heat
of the volcanic orifice, moves much more rapidly.
All rock is a bad conductor of heat, so that, when once
a lava stream acquires a cooled crust, the mass within may
remain glowing hot for a considerable period of time. We
are told of persons walking about on the cooled surface of
a lava stream while able to roast eggs or light cigars in the
cracks and crevices of the crust. Caverns are sometimes
formed in lava streams by the sudden escape of the molten
1 Professor Ramsay informs us that Professor Edward Forbes
had conceived the idea, which has lately heen completely confirmed
by the Geological Survey, that the igneous rocks around Edinburgh
belonged to two very different periods, the one part probably Car¬
boniferous, and the other much more recent, probably Tertiary,
perhaps contemporaneous with the Miocene (?) basalts of the north
of Ireland and the west of England.
mass below, leaving the cooled crust standing like the roof Geology,
of a tunnel. v - ^
In such a mass it is obvious that, while the upper sur¬
face was light, porous, and cindery, the lower portion, cool¬
ing much more slowly, and under pressure, might be solid,
compact, or crystalline. As a matter of fact, wherever old
lava streams have been cut into, either naturally or arti¬
ficially, and their lower portions laid open to our inspection,
we find the vesicular character of the upper surface gra¬
dually disappearing below, and the rock passing quickly into
a hard, compact stone, often columnar, and frequently quite
crystalline.
The hornblendic or augitic lavas more readily assume
the columnar form than the fcldspathic lavas or trachytes,
which, however, on the other hand, are often much more
highly crystalline than the augitic dolerites or basalts.
The lower parts of many lava streams are not to be dis¬
tinguished by any internal characters (and probably not by
any differences in chemical composition) from columnar
basalt.
Many old basalts, indeed, which are ordinarily considered
as trappean rocks, may have had a porous cindery upper
surface at the time of their formation, that surface having
been subsequently washed away by denudation.
Almost all true lavas are embedded in, and surrounded
by, vast piles of ashes, dust, and fragments, ejected from
the volcanic orifice from which they themselves proceed, or
from some neighbouring orifice. They commonly issue
from a cup-like hole, or crater, either on the summit or on
the flanks of a great conical pile of such loose ejectaments.
XII.—ELEVATION THEORY OF CRATERS.
Von Buch and other geologists formerly took it for
granted that lava would not solidify into thick, masses of
compact or crystalline stone, if it had been poured out
down a slope having an inclination of more than 3° or 4°
to the horizon. It has been shown, however, by Sir C.
Lyell and others, that this assumption was a gratuitous one.
Upon it was based the “ elevation theory” of cones and
craters, which supposed it necessary that all lava streams,
and the associated beds of ashes, &c., should have been once
nearly horizontal, and subsequently elevated into their pre¬
sent inclined position and qua-qua-versal dip, by an up¬
heaving force acting on a central point. This theory is
here mentioned chiefly that the student may know what
the elevation-crater theory was.
It is not intended to deny the possibility of such an
elevation, since a dome-shaped elevation and qua-qua-versal
dip is a common occurrence among stratified rocks, and
may have been given equally to igneous rocks, as in the
case of Mount Jorullo, stated by Humboldt to have swollen
up like a bladder to a height of 1600 feet above the sur¬
rounding ground. But we wish to guard the student against
supposing it the necessary mode of formation of all volcanic
cones and all crateriform hollows from which beds of lava
incline downwards in all directions. All, or nearly all, vol¬
canic cones have been formed by the frequent ejection into
the air of cinders, blocks, and ashes, from one central ori¬
fice, round which they have fallen nearly equally in all
directions (except perhaps that from which the wind was
blowing at the time), together with the occasional outflow
of a molten lava stream, which has either broken down one
side of the lip of the crater, or has broken through at some
lower and weaker point in the flanks of the cone.
On the flanks of a great volcanic mountain minor lateral
cones and craters are frequent at the surface, and are pro¬
bably much more numerous within ; many former excres¬
cences having been buried and concealed by subsequent
accumulations (whether of lava streams or ashes) ejected
from the central region.
GMogy.
GEOLOGY.
191
„ xm.—CONE WITHIN CRATER.
In great volcanic mountains it is not unfrequent to find
the ruins of a former grand central cone, from the interior
of which a new central cone is commencing to grow. This
is the case in the Peak of f eneriffe, where the present cone
nses from a corner of the space now called the Pumice
i Jains, that was once the interior of a much grander cone
the ruined walls of which may still be traced in a line of
crags surrounding the plains.
In the volcanic mountain of the Bromo in Java,1 which
lies in the centre of a great volcanic range, from one end
of winch Mount Semiru rises to a height of 12,000 feet
and from the other Mount Arjuno to 11,000 feet, there is
an excellent example of a similar structure. The Bromo
is a flat-topped mountain, about 8000 feet high, formed by a
narrow circular ridge sloping steeply down on the outside,
and having a perpendicular precipice within, only broken
and accessible at one or two points, and being generally
1000 Jeet in height. The circular space within this great
wall is 4 or 5 miles in diameter, and a large part of it is a
flat expanse of fine sand, called the Laut Pasir, or Sandy
Sea. From near the centre of this rises a rough conical
mound, 600 or 800 feet high, deeply furrowed on all sides,
and having on one side a number of subordinate cones and
craters, partly growing out of it, as it were. One of these
had been frequently active in 1845, when we visited it, and
was then belching out much smoke and steam, with a great
rumbling noise proceeding from the depths of the funnel-
like crater.
For further details of volcanic mountains, and an account
of their distribution, we must refer the reader to Lyell’s
Principles of Geology, Daubeny on Volcanoes, Wilkes’s
Voyage, Scrope’s Central France, Johnstone’s Physical
Atlas, W alterhausen’s AEtna, Sec. See also a very interest-
ing paper by Mr Scrope in the Geological Journal, vol. xii.
p. 4.
character, though once perhaps actually forming part of the Geology,
same molten mass. i „
XV. ASSOCIATION OF TRACHYTES AND DOLERITES.
XIV.—DYKES AND VEINS OF LAVA.
Just as among the trap rocks we found dykes and veins
frequent, seeming sometimes to be the mere extensions of
the mass below into the cracks and crevices of the rocks
above or around it, sometimes apparently the feeders of
overlying masses, so we should find volcanic cones and the
surrounding districts penetrated in every direction by dykes
and veins of compact lava, serving often to bind together
or to support the otherwise rather incoherent materials; and
we should know, although we could not see it, that every
lava stream had its central pipe or feeder in the interior of
the mass from which it had proceeded. It is probable that,
both in the case of traps and lavas, the size of the dykes
or feeders often bears but a small proportion to the mass
of the overlying rocks that proceeded from them.
It is not absolutely necessary, in the case of a volcanic
cone, that the flow of lava and the central pipe or feeder
should remain in connection, and cool and consolidate to¬
gether ; for when the lava ceased to be impelled so as to flow
over the crater, the portion left in the funnel might sink
down, and perhaps ultimately cool and consolidate at a con¬
siderable distance below, and might possibly make even a
different kind of rock from the ejected mass.
This may sometimes occur also among trap rocks, since
it is quite easy to conceive that an overlying mass or an in¬
jected bed might be deserted by its feeder on the internal
impelling power being withdrawn, and the orifice by which
it rose might be closed, so that two kinds of rock may be
formed at different places, and possibly of rather different
1 See Voyage of H. M. S. Fly, vol. ii., p. 68.
In many volcanic regions there appears to be an alter¬
nation, or to have been a succession, in the different pro¬
ducts; the lavas being at one time trachyte, and at another
dolerite. It was formerly supposed that the trachyte was
always the lower, or the older of the two, and that flows of
trachyte were never found above flows of basalt or dolerite.
We are not prepared to say how far this relation of posi¬
tion has been borne out or not by recent researches.
Bunsen, however, in a paper formerly cited {Sc. Memoirs'),
in speaking of the trachytic and augitic lavas of Iceland,
refers their origin to two separate volcanic foci, and even
speaks of a third separate volcanic focus for the interme¬
diate lavas, though he also speaks favourably in another
place of all the volcanic rocks arising from one mass.
The identity or very great similarity of the various vol¬
canic products in all parts of the world seems to point to
a common origin for them. The frequent association in all
pai ts of the earth of the two great classes of these pro¬
ducts, trachytic or purely feldspathic (or highly siliceous,
with httle alkali, lime, or iron), and those in which the felds-
patliic minerals are largely mingled with hornblendic or
augitic (containing much alkali, lime, and iron), seems to
show that their separation is not so much due to diversity
of origin, as to some cause tending to segregate the one
from the other, out of a generally diffused mass, in which
the constituents of both may be equally mingled.
The association previously mentioned of felstone and
greenstone among the traps seems to be reproduced in that
of trachyte and dolerite among the lavas. In both in¬
stances the occurrence of pure or unmixed feldspathic rocks
is less frequent and less universal than that of those in
which the feldspar is mingled with the more basic minerals.
Tiacbytes and feldstones seem both to be confined to cer¬
tain localities, in which, however, they are very abundant,
sometimes alone, and sometimes largely mingled with dole-
rites, basalts, or greenstones. These latter rocks, on the con¬
trary, are not only found in association with the former,
almost wherever these igneous rocks appear, but also in
many other districts, in large or small quantities, unaccom¬
panied by any other igneous rocks.
If we assume all igneous rocks to proceed either from
one central molten mass of equable constitution throughout,
or from separately fused portions of perfectly similar con¬
stitution, might we not suppose that the difference in the
constitution of the various products which we find at the
surface depended on the circumstances and conditions in
which they had been placed ? The portions now open to
our examination had probably to pass through different
thicknesses and different kinds of other rocks ; they would be
placed then under different conditions of temperature and
pressure, which might perhaps alone cause a separation to
take place in their different ingredients ; they might also
take up in their passage other ingredients of different cha¬
racter from those which they originally possessed, or larger
proportions of one or other of their original ingredients.
In those places, or at those times, when violent accessions of
heat approached most nearly to the surface, trachytes and
felstones might be poured out, while at other periods of less
intensity no molten rock could reach the surface unless it
were composed of more easily fusible minerals. These
more readily fusible substances might be conceived either
to have separated in liquid strings and veins from the con¬
solidating rocks below, or to have been acquired by the
upper portion of the mass from the rocks it met with in its
passage towards the surface, the substances thus added
having acted as an additional flux to matter which would
192
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCK
Geology, otherwise have solidified before it could have been poured
out.
Some such hypothesis as this seems less forced than one
which obliges us to suppose separate deep-seated foci or
reservoirs tor every variety of igneous rock, those varieties
frequently occurring in the same district, and alternating
one with the other over the same space of ground.
If it be wrell founded, it will enable us to account for
the gradual changes in one connected igneous mass, as also
for the veins and patches of different character sometimes
to be found occurring very abruptly in such masses, inde¬
pendently of the supposition of a subsequent intrusion of
one igneous rock through the body of another. Ihis would
often relieve us of a difficulty where the veins are confined to
the igneous rock and do not penetrate the adjacent aqueous
rocks. We might then look upon such veins as veins of
segregation, occurring probably at the time of the contrac¬
tion consequent upon the mass of the rock passing from a
molten to a solid state, or from a pasty to a crystalline state
(see ante^ p. 84), while yet some parts of it remained fluid.
XYI.—ORIGIN OP VOLCANIC ACTION.
It still remains an undecided question whether the heat
by which rocks are molten in the interior of the earth be
due to an original central heat or to mere local causes. Dr
Daubeny maintains Davy’s hypothesis of the probability of
volcanoes arising from the heat generated by the oxidation
of large masses of the metallic bases of the earths and alka¬
lies, independently of any central heat. We have, how¬
ever, already seen that there is a high degree of probability
for die existence of a great internal temperature.
Professor Phillips has remarked that the fact of in¬
ternal heat by no means excludes the hypothesis of the
local intensity of volcanic action near the surface being due
to the local chemical causes to which Dr Daubeny ascribes
them. The linear arrangement, however, of the great vol¬
canic bands of the earth’s surface suggests, as Humboldt
says, the idea of their being arranged over great cracks in
the crust of it, by which the molten matter of the interior
escapes to the surface. The existence of these cracks, on
the other hand, may be equally efficient, as allowing the
access of water to the elementary or simple substances of
the interior, and their consequent oxidization and combus¬
tion.
Even granting the central heat and fluidity of the earth
to be a fact, there still seems to be a difficulty in supposing
our lava streams to have any direct connection with this
central fluid portion. If they had, they would apparently
be kept constantly molten, and constantly at the same
height in all volcanoes, unless, indeed, we suppose the at¬
traction of gravitation not to be universally perpendicular
to the earth’s mean surface.
XVII.—THE CONTENTS OP MINERAL VEINS.
Plaving described the veins of igneous rock, and the
cracks, fissures, and faults which affect all rocks in different
places, we are now in a position to re-examine the subject
of mineral veins, with a view especially to their contents.
In veins or dykes of igneous rock, we have seen that they
are either veins of segregation with or without fissures, or
veins of injection, liquid matter having been forced into
fissures, either previously existing or formed at the time of
injection. There is commonly in such veins no farther
dislocation of the adjacent rocks than vyill allow ot the in¬
trusion of the igneous matter.
We have also seen that in “faults” the fissure will pro¬
bably be closed in soft and easily compressible rocks, while
in hard ones it will often stand open, either wholly or in
part, the walls or sides of the fissure being kept asunder
by the knobs and protuberences which result from the irre- Geology,
gularities of its form. V^v^/
It is of course quite possible that molten matter may
gain access to such a fissure, and fill it up wdth a dyke or
vein of igneous rock. If, however, it be not so filled up,
it will be ultimately more or less completely filled with
other kinds of mineral matter, and in a different way.
Blocks and fragments of the adjacent rocks may fall into
such a fissure, and such blocks are often found in mineral
veins. If it have anywhere any open communication with
the surface, different matters may be swept into it by floods
or springs. Branches of trees, gravel, sand, and clay, and
other surface matters, have accordingly been found in mi¬
neral veins.
Besides these matters, however, thus introduced by me¬
chanical causes, many minerals have been chemically de¬
posited in fissures, and it is to these chemically-deposited
substances that we look as the true contents of a mineral
vein.
The number of minerals found in such veins is far
greater than that of the minerals forming the principal con¬
stituents of rocks. Silica or quartz, however, among the
earthy minerals, maintains an equally abundant presence in
veins as in rocks. In addition to the earthy minerals, how¬
ever, such as quartz, fluor spar, baryta, calcite, strontia, &c.,
mineral veins are the principal repositories of the metallic
minerals, the ores of copper, lead, tin, zinc, mercury, anti¬
mony, silver, gold, platina, &c. &c.
It is to these metallic minerals that the miner of course
chiefly looks, and he generally speaks of the earthy mine¬
rals as the gangue, matrix, o'* vein stuff of the “ vein” or
“ lode.”
The mineral contents of a vein is sometimes confusedly
dispersed through it, the “ vein stuff” being either crystal¬
line or amorphous, and the ore occurring either as dissem-
minated crystals or nests, or as “ strings” or ribs.” Some¬
times there appears a regular arrangement of the various
substances, the “ cheeks” or “ walls” of the “ lode” being
lined with a layer of crystals of one kind of substance,
with their points or apices directed inw’ards, each of these
layers being covered by a crystalline layer of another sub¬
stance impressed by the crystals of the first, and therefore
evidently deposited upon it, and after two or three such
alternations a rib of ore is found in the centre.
In other instances the vein will be filled with only one
kind of substance, sometimes the “vein stuff,” sometimes
the ore.
Such structures as that in fig. 74 seem necessarily to
а. Coating of one mineral, say quartz.
б. Coating of a second mineral, say iiuor spar.
c. Coating of first mineral, or of a third, say sulphate of baryta.
d. Rib of ore, as copper or lead,
to, itf. W alls of the lode.
involve the idea of successive depositions of the different
feology. coatings or linings of the vein, the central rib of ore being
the last or newest.
Assuming, however, the vein to have been filled with a
liquid solution of these minerals, it is not absolutely ne¬
cessary to suppose them to have been successively intro¬
duced, since all the substances may have been in solution
together, and circumstances having been favourable at one
time to the deposition of one substance and to that of
another at another time.
In some veins it appears that after being filled up, sub¬
sequent movements have taken place, causing fresh open-
ings, and new deposits of crystals formed in these openings.
These subsequent movements have often produced shining
striated surfaces, the effect of enormous friction, which are
known as ‘ slickensides but these are not confined to
veins, since they are found in “ faults,” and in broken or
contorted and fractured rocks of all kinds, where a grinding
motion has been communicated to different parts of the
rock.
Where “ lodes” and “ cross courses” occur together in a
district, their contents are often different, one kind of mine¬
rals being found in one and another in the other. Where
the date of the “cross course” is newer than that of the
‘ lode, ’ which is often the case, it is easy to understand the
difference in their contents. When, however, the two
veins are contemporaneous, as sometimes happens, it is not
so easy.
Sometimes the cross courses contain no ores themselves,
but the parts of the right lodes near the cross courses are
found to be more than usually rich. By “ right lodes” are
meant those mineral veins which run parallel to each other
with a certain magnetic bearing over a given district of
country, and by “ cross courses” those which cross these
more or less nearly at right angles. Both in the north and
west of England the “ right lodes” run nearly east and
west, the “ cross courses” nearly north and south.
Of the various hypotheses proposed to account for the
origin of the contents of mineral veins, none perhaps are
altogether satisfactory. Mr Were Fox called attention to
the fact of currents of electricity traversing veins; and there
appears no difficulty in supposing that if veins are filled
with water more or less acidulated and impregnated with
mineral solutions, a great natural “ electro-plating” process
may be set up, by which different minerals may” be depo¬
sited at different times or in different parts of the walls of
the lodes. Where the minerals, however, and especially
the metallic ores, are derived from, is another question,
whether directly from original repositories below, or indi¬
rectly by segregation in minute particles from the adjacent
rocks. That the fissure should remain open for a great and
indefinite period of time, and that its sides should be hard
rock, seem the two essential conditions, though perhaps the
latter may only be necessary to ensure the former.
The mineral contents of veins seem to be by no means
permanent, even when complete, since crystals of minerals
are often found that have not their true form, but the form
of some other mineral; the originally deposited crystal
having decomposed and been removed, and the newer one
deposited in its place. Vast periods of time must have
elapsed for such processes to have taken place.
If the mineial contents of veins have not been deposited
from aqueous solutions either filling the veins or trickling
down their sides, the only other alternative appears to be to
suppose them the result of sublimation. I his supposition
seems to have lately lost the favour with which it was once
received, it having been objected to it, that the tempera¬
ture of the walls of the vein must necessarily be too low for
sublimation to take place, or for minerals to continue in a
state of vapour in any but the lower and more deeply-seated
parts of veins. To this objection, however, it might be re¬
plied that the mineral veins, now near the surface, were
VOL. XV.
probably deep-seated, and covered with vast thicknesses of Geolo
other rock, at the time the minerals were formed in them,
and therefore their walls may have had then a very high
temperature.. Moreover, it may be doubted how far it&is
impossible for minerals to be brought into them in a state
of vapour even now. With respect to lead, at all events,
we recollect to have been shown a chimney a mile lono-’
built along the side of a hill, proceeding fi-om some ]ea°d
works in the county of Northumberland, with chambers in
it at intervals, and to have been told that its expense was
repaid in a few years by the quantity of lead deposited in
these chambers, which would otherwise have been dissipated
in the state of vapour into the atmosphere. It was the
noxious action of these mineral vapours on the surrounding
crops which first necessitated the erection of the chimneyr1
It appears then, that, provided it be possible for mineral
vapours to be generated and gain access to fissures in rocks,
it is not impossible for some of them at least to be condensed
and deposited on the sides of lodes in the way in which we
now find them, even close to the present surface.
1 his method of formation, however, would not account
foi the stiings of ore that are often found leading from lodes
into the minute cracks of the walls, frequently horizontal,
and often more or less completely blending with the rock
itself; nor would it account for the detached nests and con¬
cretionary lumps of ore frequently found, entirely inclosed
in rock, both in the neighbourhood of mineral veins and
elsewhere.
In the rounded concretionary blocks of ironstone, for in¬
stance, found^ in the clays of the coal measures, crystals of
galena and of blende are often found together with those of
iron pyrites, carbonate of lime, and others. In the Carboni¬
ferous limestone and Old red sandstone rocks of the south
of Ireland and elsewhere, small cavities are found, not so
large as the fist, filled up with crystalline concretions of
galena and of specular iron ore.
Any explanation of the formation of the contents of
mineral veins must include that also of the deposit of these
detached and isolated nests of minerals, as well as the for¬
mation of quartz veins in general, and all other veins, and
strings, and nests, and cavities that have been more or less
completely filled by any crystallized mineral substances of
whatever kind.
If. we take the crystalline stalactites and stalagmites
forming in caverns as the basis of our reasoning on this
subject, and suppose all other cavities to have been either
filled or to be in process of filling by crystalline minerals
1 As this was a recollection of twenty years ago, we wrote to Mr
Sopwith, the eminent manager of Mr Beaumont’s mines, respecting
it, and in answer we were informed by him that formerly “ large
quantities of lead were carried off in the state of vapour and de¬
posited on the surrounding land, where vegetation was destroyed,
and the health of both men and animals seriously affected. This
led to various extensions of the horizontal or slightly inclined gal¬
leries in use at Mr Beaumont’s mines, and the quantity of lead ex¬
tracted rapidly repaid the cost of construction. The latest addi¬
tion of this kind was made at Allen Mill, and it completed a length
of 8789 yards (nearly five miles) of stone gallery (or chimney) from
that mill alone. This gallery is eight feet high and six feet wide
and is in two divisions widely separated, one being in use during
such times as the fume or deposit (a black oxide of lead) is taken
out of the other. There are also upwards of four miles of gallery
for the same purpose connected with other mills belonging to Mr
Beaumont in the same district and in Durham, and further exten¬
sions are contemplated. The value of the lead thus saved from
being totally dissipated and dispersed, and obtained from what
might be called chimney scrapings, considerably exceeds ten thou¬
sand pounds sterling annually. It should be observed, however
that the mines of which these chimneys or flues are an appendage*
are the largest lead mines in the world, and that the royalties or
freehold rights of mining belonging to Mr Beaumont, in the county
of Northumberland alone, extend over more than a hundred square
miles, in addition to extensive leasehold mines in the county of
Durham.”
2 B
194
MINER A LOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology. in a similar way, we shall probably not be far from the
truth.
We may not be so well acquainted with the exact nature
of the process by which other minerals are dissolved in one
place and redeposited in another, as we are in the case of
carbonate of lime ; but we may feel pretty well assured that
water is the principal medium through which other agents
act in the one case, as carbonic acid does in the other.
The association of different minerals in different veins^
may possibly some day throw some light on the nature of
these processes. Werner, for instance, says that galena or
lead glance, copper pyrites, blende, and calamine, frequently
occur together; as also cobalt, copper, nickel, and native
bismuth ; tin, wolfram, tungsten, molybdena, and arsenical^
pyrites, &c. It appears that magnetic iron (the emery of
the gold diggers) generally occurs with gold. Silver also
is commonly found in lead ore. Recent experiments of Dr
Percy show that minute quantities of gold occur in almost
all lead ores, as well as in all copper and iron pyrites.
The relation between the contents of mineral veins and
the nature of the rock which they traverse is also important.
The lead veins of the north of England traverse limestones,
sandstones, and shales, and their contents vary according to
the nature of the substances which form the walls of dif¬
ferent parts of the “ lodes.” It is even said that the “lodes”
vary in contents in different beds of limestone, but it does
not appear that the richness of a lode is constant for any
beds of limestone. When one or both walls consist of
shale, the lode is always poorest, but this may be tbe result
simply of the greater contraction of the fissure and more
unstable condition of its walls when soft than when they are
hard.
The supposed relation between mineral veins and the age
of the rocks they traverse is probably an accidental one only.
Mineral veins may be expected in all highly-indurated and
greatly-fractured rocks, whatever may be their geological
date. Neither does the connection between mineral veins
and the occurrence of igneous rocks appear to be better
founded, than on the probability that igneous rocks will be
most likely to be found in the same indurated and fractured
districts which we have seen to be essential for the produc¬
tion of mineral veins.
Geology.
PART II.—PAL A3 ONTOLOGY.
(The treatment of this part of the subject is deferred to a separate article under that head.)
PART III.—HISTORY OF THE FORMATION OF THE SERIES OF
STRATIFIED ROCKS.
CHAPTER I.
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.
We have hitherto been dealing with general principles,
examining structures which are common to all rocks, and
referring the production of those structures to their several
causes. We have had occasion to remark frequently on the
vast lapse of time required for the formation of these rocks,
and it remains now to classify and arrange the results of the
operations that have been taking place during this vast lapse
of time, and to give, as far as possible, a connected history
of the events which have been concerned in the production
of that external portion or crust of the earth which alone is
open to our examination.
The way in which this order is to be discovered will, I
think, be sufficiently obvious from what has been said be¬
fore. In a former chapter we saw, that after having acquired
a knowledge of the number and nature of a series of beds, by
examining a cliff on a sea-shore, or other “ section ’ where
they were well exhibited, any little natural or artificial
excavation in the interior of the country which enabled us
to identify one of these beds .assured us of the presence of
all the rest above and below it. By searching out places
where such “ sections” were to be seen, and then following
them by different indications across countries, and joining
them on one to another, verifying them now and again by
the discovery of other sections where they were again to
be seen in more or less detail, and performing the same
process for the sets of beds that successively cover them, we
eventually survey great tracts of country, and arrive at a
knowledge of the order and succession of subterranean
groups of rock, to a much greater depth under certain loca¬
lities than it would be possible to reach to by any process
of mining or direct excavation.
The history of the formation of the whole crust of the
globe, then, is to be learned by piecing together our know¬
ledge of different parts of it, as they rise to the surface one
from under the other, over different tracts of ground.
We might give this history in either of two ways, namely,
by investigating or tracing it backwards from the present to
the past, or by narrating it as nearly as possible in the order
in which it occurred. We prefer the last method as the
shorter and more intelligible, since it is hoped that the pre¬
vious parts of this article will have sufficiently prepared the
student to understand it.
As, however, to narrate this history in full, even so far
as it is already known, would require a library rather than
a book, what will be here given must be taken as a mere
abstract,—a chronological table rather than a history,-—by
means of which the student will be able to refer to its proper
period any more detailed account, which he may either read
or observe for himself, of its different portions.
Even this abstract is a very imperfect, broken, and frag¬
mentary one. Comparatively few parts ot the earth s sur¬
face have as yet had their structure even sketched out; still
fewer have been accurately surveyed, and had their details
thoroughly unravelled, and placed in their proper and
regular order. Many of the events, therefore, which are
now supposed to have occurred contemporaneously in dif¬
ferent places may in reality have occurred in succession ;
many which are supposed to have directly succeeded each,
other may have been separated in reality by great spaces of
time, of which there are no records as yet discovered, or of
which none may ever be found. It is obvious that all future
discoveries may add to the time we know to have elapsed,
but cannot diminish it.
As the structure of the British Islands is better known
than that of any other part of the globe of equal dimensions,
and contains a more complete series of rocks in a small
space than any other district, we shall take that as our prin¬
cipal authority, as it were, for our history, pointing out the.
several groups of rock which were produced in this part of
the globe during the several periods, and then give some of
5
geo;
Geology, those other well-known typical groups of rock which are
—' believed, or are known, to have been deposited contempo¬
raneously with them in other parts of the earth. Where a
gioup of locks is known of which we have no contemporary
rcpi esentative in the British Islands, it will of course be best
to describe it from its best known locality. Our history
therefore, will be chiefly that of the formation of the Celtic
01 British piovince, as we may call it, with occasional refer¬
ence to the history of other provinces.
Chronological Nomenclature.—One difficulty meets us
at the outset as to our nomenclature; that is, as to the
arG t0 ^Ve t0 ^le t^fferent periods of past time,
ibis difficulty must at present be evaded, since the time is
not yet come; that is to say, our knowledge is not yet com¬
plete enough to enable us to overcome it.
I he early geological observers described certain kinds of
rock, to which particular names were given. These names
weie in the first instance lithological, or descriptive of the
kind of stone, of which Chalk, Oolite, Granite, are in¬
stances. In other cases they were petrological, such as
Trap, Mountain Limestone, Coal Measures, &c. Others
again were geographical, of which Wealden, Neocomian,
Silurian, Oxford Clay, are examples; while others were
local terms adopted by geologists, such as Lias, Cornbrash,
Gault, &c.. Such terms as Old and New Red Sandstone
were combined lithological and geological terms, referring
at once to the kind of rock of which they were composed
and their relative place in the series.
Gradually, as extended observation showed that all the
aqueous rocks occurred in a certain order, and formed a
series or succession of beds regularly and invariably super¬
imposed one upon the other, a chronological sense began to
be extended to these terms, having reference to this order
of occurrence or corresponding relative date of formation.
Ihus the Oolite and the Chalk came to mean not only the
locks to which those names were first and truly applied as
descriptive of their lithological character, but also all other
kinds of rocks which, having been formed about the same
period as these, occupied the same relative place in the
general series, and contained the same fossils. Used in
this sense, Cretaceous or Chalk rocks might be made either
of white chalk, of black marble, of brown sandstone, or blue
slate; “cretaceous rocks” meaning in reality only rocks of
the same age as the chalk. Silurian rocks, in like manner,
mean those of the same age as the rocks of Siluria; and so
of the rest. This double signification of words is almost
unavoidable, and the student will find himself naturally and
inevitably falling into it in the course of his geological pur¬
suits. It may, however, conduce to the more ready under¬
standing of the classification of the great series of stratified
rocks, and the history of their formation, if we confine our
attention to the chronological signification only of the prin¬
cipal terms, speaking of them as periods of time durino-
which such and such beds were deposited. I shall nol
attempt to invent new terms for these periods, but shall
take those most ordinarily used and accepted. When, then
we speak of Silurian, or Carboniferous, or Oolitic, or Cre¬
taceous periods of time, the reader must pardon the appa¬
rent contradiction in the terms, and look on the names as
names only, and not as descriptive designations.1
We may, again, group the great periods of geological
time into still larger epochs, to which it is usual to apply
the simple terms Primary, Secondary, and Tertiary. As
synonyms of these, the words Palaeozoic, Mesozoic, and
Kainozoic, proposed by Professor Phillips, have been pretty
1 We may dismiss all reference to the derivation of the terms just
as readily here as in many other cases. When using the term
“ sycophant,” we rarely think of a “ false fig merchantnor do
the words “ bishop” and “ overseer” convey to us the same ideas,
although really identical in meaning.
/ O G Y.
generally adopted, signifying the periods of ancient, middle,
and modern life. Geological time, then, may be thus
arranged:—
3. Tertiary or Kainozoic Epoch.
n. Human, Historical, or Recent period.
m. Pleistocene period.
1. Pliocene period.
k. Miocene period.
j. Eocene period.
2. Secondary or Mesozoic Epoch.
i. Cretaceous period.
h. Oolitic period.
g. Triassic period.
1. Primary or Palaeozoic Epoch.
/. Permian period.
e. Carboniferous period.
d. Devonian period.
c' Upper (or True) Silurian period.
b. Lower (or Cambro-) Silurian period.
a. Cambrian period.
It will be advisable, perhaps, to say a few preliminary
words as to the commencements of each of these great
epochs.
The commencement of the Primary epoch has been
already spoken of; and it was shown that by the very nature
of the case this must be lost in the dark uncertainty of the
remote past, with no clear and definite starting-point to be
determined. The earliest formations of all must necessarily
have been all long ago destroyed by the erosive action of
water, or re-absorbed by the melting agency of internal heat;
and even of those later, but still very early rocks, some of
which do yet remain in a recognisable state, most of the
contemporaries must have been destroyed or so metamor¬
phosed as to be no longer recognisable. The commence¬
ment, then, of the Primary epoch must necessarily be un¬
certain, doubtful, and irregular.1
1 he commencement of the Secondary epoch is a marked
one, depending on a great change having taken place in the
chaiacter of animal and vegetable life in the interval be¬
tween the foimation of the last of the Primary or Palaeozoic
locks, and the first of the Secondary ones. This change was
coincident with the occurrence of great disturbances and
great denudations in the parts of the world now occupied
by Europe, and perhaps some other parts. It is probable,
however, that the greater break, both in the position of the
locks and the character of the fossils, here than elsewhere
in the series, is more apparent than real, and is owing to a
great chasm in our documents, and the absence of a vast
numbei of beds which may yet be discovered in other parts
of the earth.2 However that may be, there is a decided
line to be drawn between Primary and Secondary rocks and
fossils.
The commencement of the Tertiary epoch is more arbi¬
trary, though it is marked also by a decided change in the
1 The term “ primary” was formerly attached to granitic and
highly metamorphosed rocks only; and another term, namely,
“ transition,” was used to designate many of those which are now
called. “ primary.” In consequence of this uncertainty as to the
meaning of “ primary,” it is more usual now to speak of this epoch
as Palasozoic. It is undoubtedly true that much of the granite we
know is of primary or palasozoic age, and that many metamorphic
rocks were formed during the same epoch. As, however, some
granites are secondary or tertiary, and some secondary and tertiary
rocks are just as much metamorphosed as any primary ones the
old use of those terms is now properly abandoned.
8 This was written while we had but a very faint knowledge of the
nature of the St Cassian beds. The publication of Sir C. Lyell’s
Supplement makes English readers acquainted with the existence
in the Austrian Alps of a large mass of beds of the very character
here anticipated, namely, the St Cassian or Hallstatt beds and
others associated with them, having fossils of an intermediate char¬
acter between those found in palaeozoic and those in mezozoic
rocks.
195
Geology.
196
MINEEAL0G1CAL SCIENCE.
Geology, rocks and fossils, and a probable absence of a number of
beds. The most marked character of the Tertiary rocks is
derived from the fact that a few of the animals which came
into existence at the commencement of the Tertiary epoch
are still living on the globe. It would follow, then, that if
these few species were now to die out and become extinct,
the boundary between Secondary and Tertiary rocks would
have to be shifted, or else it would be left with a still more
arbitrary character than now. There is no essential differ¬
ence between Secondary and Tertiary fossils. rI he genera
are mostly the same, though the species are all different,
and often not very widely different. It was for this reason
that the late Professor Edward Forbes proposed to do away
with the distinction between them, and to group the whole
of the great series of stratified rocks, or, in other words, to
divide the whole lapse of past geologic time into two great
epochs only, namely, Palaeozoic and Neozoic.
In drawing up the following summary, it will be best to
give under each period a brief description of the groups of
rocks that may be taken as typical of those formed during
the period in different parts of the earth, with their maxi¬
mum thickness,1 as the measure of the time elapsed, and
the possible importance of the group.
Reference will be made chiefly to the Celtic province, or
British area, in these statements.
PRIMARY OR PALAEOZOIC EPOCH.
CAMBRIAN PERIOD.
{Lower Cambrian of Professor Sedgwick.)
Typical Rocks.— Wales.—A great series of gritstones,
or sandstones, and slates, generally of purple and green
colours, the sandstones sometimes becoming conglomeritic,
and containing fragments of still older slates and grits. In
the Longmynd (Salop) there is an apparent thickness of
26,000 feet of these rocks; but this enormous thickness
may perhaps be due to concealed folds or reduplication of
the beds. In Anglesea these rocks are largely metamor¬
phosed into chloride and micaceous schists and gneiss, the
metamorphism having apparently taken place at a very
early period.
Ireland.—A great series of grits and slates, generally of
purple and green, or brown and liver-coloured hues, often
interstratified with large beds of yellowish quartz rock,
which are most abundant in w'hat appears to be the upper
portion of the group. In this upper portion the fossils also
are found.
Cumberland.—The Skiddaw slate of Professor Sedgwick
is probably of nearly the same age as the rocks above
mentioned.
None of the Cambrian rocks of Wicklow and Wexford
are known to be metamorphosed, though it is possible that
much of the mica schist and gneiss, with altered limestone
of the north of Ireland, and of Scotland, and other parts of
the world, are the metamorphosed clays, sands, and lime¬
stones of this period.
Bohemia.—Probably stage A (crystalline schist) and stage
B (slate and conglomerate) of M. Barrande. No fossils
known.
Scandinavia.—Regio 1. Fucoidarum of M. Angelia
almost certainly is of this period.
America.—Sir W. Logan described rocks, apparently of
1 It is evident that the maximum thickness must be taken as the
true measure of time, or rather as the nearest approximation to it.
Any less thickness at other localities merely shows that a greater
portion of the period elapsed without any deposition taking place
there. Much time may pass without leaving any record of its
passage, but proof that time elapsed in any one locality proves
that it elapsed everywdiere.
this period, below the Potsdam sandstone in Canada. No Geology,
fossils. v , ^
Much of themetamorphic series of America,—as of Europe
the great masses of gneiss and mica schist,—are doubtless
altered Cambrian, or else still more ancient rocks, the
unaltered members of which may never be known to us.1
LOWER OR CAMBRO-SILURIAN PERIOD.
{Upper Cambrian of Professor Sedgwick.)
Typical Groups of Rock.— Wales and the Border
Counties.—
Feet.
1. Lingula flags2 5000?
2. Llandeilo flags 5000 ?
3. Caradoc Sandstone and Bala beds ...  9000
4. Lower Llandovery beds 1000
1. The Lingula flags.—Dark brown and blue flags and
slates, interstratified in their lower beds with sandstones, and
seeming to pass down by insensible gradations into the grit¬
stones and slates of the Cambrian rocks below, to which they
are quite conformable. Thickness several thousand feet.
2. Llandeilo flags.—Brown, fine-grained, rather sandy
flags, and black earthy rotten slates. Thick beds of con¬
temporaneous traps and ashes in some places. Thickness
several thousand feet independent of the traps.
3. Caradoc Sandstone and Bala beds.—In Shropshire
these are chiefly thick brown and yellow sandstones, often
calcareous. In Merioneth, &c., they are gray grits and
sandy slates, sometimes black slates with beds of sandstone.
Near Bala they have a band of concretionary limestone
20 or 30 feet thick about their middle portion, called the
Bala Limestone, and another smaller occasional band near
the top called the Hirnant Limestone. Great masses of
contemporaneous traps and ashes are interstratified with
the slates and grits in some places. Thickness, without
trap, about 9000 feet.
4. Lower Llandovery beds.—Gray and brown grits and
conglomerates, with dark shales. Thickness several thou-
1 Although few traces of life have hitherto been found in the
Cambrian rocks, and no unaltered rocks below them are at present
known, yet the conclusion that life now first began upon the globe
is one that is anything but satisfactory to our mind. Even on the
supposition that no more fossils should ever be found in Cambrian
or still earlier rocks, the possibility of the existence of full assem¬
blages of earlier life remains the same Had general metamorphic
action spread a few stages higher than it has, and the Silurian and
Devonian rocks of Europe and America, and other parts of the
globe, been affected by it, so as to have their organic remains obli¬
terated and become generally converted into crystalline schists, it
would have been argued that the carboniferous period was that in
which life commenced upon the globe ; and had large parts of the
south-west of Ireland and South Wales been left unaffected by
metamorphism, great formations of sandstones and slates of Devo¬
nian age, many thousand feet in thickness, might have been ap¬
pealed to as utterly destitute of a single trace of organic exist¬
ence, and therefore a proof that, during their deposition, life did
not exist upon the globe. In Ireland, as in Wales, calcareous
bands (cornstones, &c.) might be shown without a trace of a fossil
for miles and miles, and ranging through a thickness of 10,000 or
12,000 feet of rock at the least. The present known districts where
unaltered Cambrian rocks are visible may be just the parallels of
such a case; and their metamorphosed contemporaries and still
earlier formations may once have been crowded with organic forms,
none of which we shall ever see. We do not assert that it was so,
but merely that we have not yet arrived at any proof that it was
not, nor has the accumulation of negative evidence been yet of any¬
thing like sufficient extent to preclude even its probability.
2 Sir C. Lyell, in his Manual, draws the boundary between Cam¬
brian and Silurian at the top of the Lingula flags, and, palaeonto-
logically, such a boundary seems well founded. It is, however, im¬
possible to draw any physical boundary in North Wales between 1
and 2, since they are both similar dark-coloured slates and flags,
and there is conformity of position throughout.
<
feology. sand feet, occupying all Cardiganshire, great part of Gla-
morgan and Radnor—the Plynlumon rocks.
Ireland.—The Lingula Flags are not yet known in Ire¬
land. I heir discovery would be of interest, as it would be of
importance to know whether they would be conformable to
the Cambrian or to the Lower Silurian rocks, or would as
in ' , T’ intr0(luce conformity throughout the series ’
I he Lower or Cambro-Silurian rocks of Wicklow Wex¬
ford, and Waterford, are of the Bala and Caradoc sand¬
stone age, as shown by their fossils, with unfossiliferous
beds bdow them that may or may not belong to the
Llandeilo flags. They consist of dark blue or black and
gray flags, slates and grits, sometimes, as in Wales, becoming
purple, green, olive, &c. They contain many contempo-
raneous beds of trap and ash (felstone, &c.) like those of
VVales, and one or two calcareous bands (very like the
Bala limestone), near Courtown, and at Tramore. Their
thickness must be many thousand feet, but there are no a0od
continuous sections sufficient to determine it exactly. ”
I hey repose on the Cambrian rocks below, quite uncon-
tormably, stretching directly across the ends of the beds
and coming into contact with different portions of the lower
rocks.
1 he fossils are found only in the upper part of the
series m the neighbourhood of the traps1 and calcareous
bands, and the exact relations of the lower beds are accord¬
ingly unknown.
Another great tract of apparently similar beds stretches
from the centre of Ireland (Cavan, &c.) to the coast of
JJovvn. It contains a bed of anthracite, which is worked and
ocally used for coal, and this is said to reappear in one or
two spots in Tipperary, &c.
On the flanks of the Dublin and Wicklow granites the
Lower Silurian slates and grits are greatly metamorphosed
r^lca ant* other schists, and occasionally into gneiss
full of crystals of andalusite, staurolite, schorl, feldspar, and
other minerals.
Other metamorphic tracts in the north of Ireland may be
also composed of metamorphosed Lower Silurian rocks.
Cumberland.—The Coniston group of Professor Sedg¬
wick is doubtless the equivalent of the Caradoc sandstone
and Bala group. Whether the group below (his chloride
slate and porphyry) ought to be placed with the Llandeilo
flag or the Lingula flag, is difficult to decide in the absence
of fossil evidence. The latter is perhaps the more likely
of the two, and seems to be the belief of Professor Sedg¬
wick himself. °
Scotland.—The rocks of the border Highlands fromDum-
nes to the Lammermuir Hills belong to this period, proba¬
bly both to the Llandeilo flags and the Caradoc sandstone.
Bohemia. Stage C, argillaceous schist, and stage D
quartzites, &c., of Barrande, are of this period. Stao-e C
probulfly corresponds to the Lingula flags, but is more fos-
sihferous, containing twenty-seven species of trilobites
alone. Stage D will then answer either to the Llandeilo
flags or the Caradoc sandstones, or both.
Scandinavia. M. Angelin’s Regio A, Olenorium, and
Ivegio B, Conocorypharum, consisting of aluminous schists
and limestone, approximately = stage C of Barrande, and
therefore approximately = Lingula flags.
Angelin’s Regions. —BC, Ceratopygarum (aluminous
schist and black limestone) ; C, Asaphorum (gray and red¬
dish impure limestones); and D, Trinucleorum (marlyschists
with calcareous concretions) are together approximately =
stage D of Barrande. J
GEOLOGY.
197
Hudson
Group.
Black River
Group.
Potsdam
Group.
North America. According to Professor H. D. Rogers, Geology,
the following is the series of the Lower Silurian rocks of
North America:—
nr • Feet.
11. Lorraine shale and sandstones.... 1
10. Utica slate  j 2000
9. Trenton limestone 5qq
8. Black River limestone \
7. Bird’s-eye limestone  (2500
6. Chazy limestone J
5. Calciferous sandstone  J00
4. Upper Primal slate  700
3. Potsdam sandstone  700
2. Lower Primal slate 1200
!• Conglomerate,with quartzose, feld- 1
spathic, and slaty pebbles J
The beds described by Mr Dale Owen are an extension
and development of the Potsdam sandstone, in the country
west of Lake Michigan. They are probably of the age of
the Lingula flags, or may be still older.
At the close of this period, or immediately after it, very
considerable movements of elevation and disturbance took
place over the area now occupied by the British Islands,
and some parts of Western Europe. Denudation conse¬
quently occurred, removing large portions of the upper
rocks, and exposing the surfaces of those below. The rocks
o the next period, therefore, are very frequently uncon-
formable to those of this and the preceding period, restino-
now on one and now on another portion of them. This
unconformity always involves the supposition of a vast lapse
0 time to allow of the slow action of elevating and denudino-
forces to produce the effect. Wherever unconformity is
noted in future, the student will be careful to apply these
1 emariis.
UPPER SILURIAN PERIOD.
The eruption of igneous rocks at the bottom of the sea, though
doubtless occasionally destructive of animal life at the moment
seems generally favourable to its development during the period’
Contemporaneous trap rocks have often highly fossiliferous beds
intimately associated with them.
TyprcALGRQuP8 of England.—Siluria ; the
Border Counties of England and Wales.—
Feet
[10. Tilestone  800'
Ludlow Group. s y’ uPPer Ludlow rock  650
8. Aymestrey limestone  10O
^ 7. Lower Ludlow rock  1000
„ I 6. Wenlock limestone  300
WENLOCK Group. I 5. Wenlock shale 1500
l 4. Woolhope limestone  50
I 3. Denbighshire sandstone  2000
„. „ J 2. Tarannon shales  1000
Ma\ Hill Group. ( 1. Upper Pentamerus beds, or May )
Hill sandstone, or Upper l 1000
\ Llandovery beds /
d he sandstones of the May-Hill group were at one time
confounded by the geological survey with the true Caradoc
sandstone, which they often greatly resemble in lithological
character. Professor Sedgwick first pointed out their5dif¬
ference ; and the officers of the Geological Survey after¬
wards traced the boundary between the two, and showed
that the sandstones of the Upper Silurian period rested
unconformably on those of the Lower. The first mistake
unfortunately had a bad influence on the survey of North
Wales, where a thick sandstone formation, lithologically
resembling the true Caradoc formation of Shropshire was
taken for it, and therefore the Bala beds were presumed to
be below the Caradoc, while in reality they were them¬
selves its true representative. {Ramsay MS.) This thick
sandstone formation of North Wales, then, described first
by Mr Bowman (British Association), and then by Profes¬
sor Sedgwick under the name of Denbighshire grits,
together with the other beds associated with it, requires to
bftGtl a n(:w’ antI> locally, a very important member
of the L pper Silurian series. It has other beds underneath,
more or less intimately associated with it; and the group
orms the true base of the Upper Silurian series, reposing
M1NERA LOGICAL SCIENCE.
198
Geology, almost invariably, in an unconformable position,1 on the per-
fectly distinct Lower or Cambro-Silurian rocks below.
(See Professor Ramsay’s forthcoming Memoir on North
Wales.')
1. Upper Llandovery sandstone, or Pentamerus beds,
or May-Hill sandstone.—Gray and brown sandstones and
conglomerates, with (in Shropshire) very calcareous bands,
almost limestones. Thickness, 800 to 1000 feet.
2. Tarannon shales.—Generally pale gray, nearly white
shales or slates, very fine grained (spoken of by Professor
Sedgwick as “ paste rock”), sometimes becomingof a bright-
red colour. Thickness, •'iOO or 800 feet.
3. Denbighshire sandstones and flags.—Generally thick-
bedded yellowish or brownish sandstone, largely made up
of angular grains of white feldspar, with grains ot quaitz
occasionally as large as peas, and passing into conglomerate.
These are interstratified with beds of brown slaty shale, and
occasionally dark, nearly black slate, overlaid by hard brown
and blue flags. Thickness at least 2000 feet.
4. Woolhope limestone.—A locally occurring group of
beds of gray, argillaceous, nodular, concretionary limestone,
interstratified with gray shales, occasionally attaining a
thickness of 100 feet.
5. Wenlock shale.—Generally dark-gray, sometimes black
shale, with occasional calcareous concretions, capped by
6. Wenlock limestone.—An irregularly-occurring set of
concretionary limestones, sometimes thin and flaggy, some-^
times massive, highly crystalline bosses of carbonate ot
lime ; sometimes in one, sometimes in two or three sets of
beds, with interstratified shales, forming a thickness ot 100
to 300 feet.
7. Lower Ludlow rock of Shropshire is generally a
brown or gray sandy flag, or argillaceous sandstone, locally
called mudstone.
8. Aymestrey limestone.—A nodular concretionary lime¬
stone, sometimes pure and crystalline, at others argillaceous
and impure; like the Wenlock, but more local in its
occurrence.
9. Upper Ludlow of Shropshire, &c.—A gray argilla¬
ceous sandstone, often calcareous, and containing calcareous
nodules passing up into shales with sandstones, which
gradually acquire a red colour.
10. Tilestone.—Red, shaly, and flaggy sandstones. At
the base, near the junction of the Ludlow and tilestone
beds, are one or two little thin but very widely extended
bands, called “ bone beds,” full of the teeth and bones of
small fish. Wherever these widely-extended but very thin
beds full of peculiar fossils (the inhabitants generally of a
clear sea) are met with, it may be expected that there is a
great gap in the series, and that many intermediate beds,
perhaps a formation or so, will be found elsewhere.
Cumberland, fyc.—According to Professor Sedgwick, the
following are the typical groups of rocks deposited during
the Upper Silurian period in the north of England:
3. Kendal group = Ludlow rocks.
2. Ireleth slates = Wenlock rocks.
1. Coniston grits = May-Hill sandstone.
1. The Coniston grits have few fossils, and their identity
with the May-Hill sandstone is therefore doubtful, although
very probable.
2. The Ireleth slate group is divided into four stages:
a. Lower Ireleth slate; b. Ireleth limestone ; c. Upper
Ireleth slate ; d. Coarse slate and grit. Fossils are rare, but
generally of the Wenlock type.
3. The Kendal group is divided into three stages: (a.)
A great group of flags and grits ; fossils abundant and of the
1 So long as the Denbighshire grits were supposed to he the same
as the Caradoc sandstone, the unconformity of the Upper on the
Lower Silurian, which in Derbyshire and Merionethshire is not
very striking, was entirely overlooked.
Lower Ludlow type. (6.) Thick grit and flagstone, with Geology,
bands of coarse slate; fossils locally abundant, and of Upper
Ludlow type, (c.) Tilestones, resembling those of Shrop¬
shire, &c. (Sedgwick, Synopsis of Classification, fyc.)
Scotland.—Not much has hitherto been known as to
the existence of Upper Silurian rocks in Scotland. The
representatives of the tilestones, however, and probably the
lower groups, have lately been discovered by Mr Slimon ot
Lesmahago, and described by Sir R. Murchison. {Geolo¬
gical Journal.) These are dark-gray schistose rocks, with
lighter and more siliceous stony bands, and other schists
containing calcareous concretions.
Ireland.—No detailed descriptions of the Upper Silurian
rocks of Ireland have yet been published. The labours of
Mr Griffith, however, and more recently of the Geological
Survey, have shown the existence of rocks of this age on
the western side of the island. The Dingle promontory
contains the representatives ot both the Ludlow and W en-
lock rocks, and possibly of part of the May-Hill sandstone
group also. Abundance of most of the characteristic fossils,
and some not found in England, though occurring in the
Upper Silurian rocks either of Scandinavia or of North
America, have been found.
In Galway, as shown by Mr Griffith, and confirmed by
Sir R. I. Murchison and others, there is a vast series of gray
grits and slates reposing unconformably on mica schist, &c.,
and having frequently red sandstones at its base, and some¬
times great beds of conglomerate in its upper part, contain¬
ing perfectly-rounded pebbles and boulders ot quartz rock
and syenite up to 18 inches in diameter.1 Abundance of
fossils have been found near the base ot this series, compris¬
ing all the characteristic species of the May-Hill sandstone^
or Pentamerus beds, and in other parts an assemblage of
corals like those found in the Wenlock rocks. This great
group of rocks in Galway must have a thickness oi several
thousand feet at least, but its details have yet to be worked
out.
Somewhat similar rocks form a small range of high land
at Ughool, near Ballaghadereen in Mayo, from which a great
series of Wbnlock corals and other Upper Silurian fossils
had been collected by Mr Griffith, and also last year by Mr
Kelly and ourselves.
One feels inclined to speculate from these facts on the
former existence of a range of mountains rising where the
Irish Sea now flows, and composed of an axis of Cambrian
and Lower Silurian rocks, with Upper Silurian on their
flanks sloping down into the border country of England and
Wales on the one side, and to the west coast of Ireland on
the other.
Bohemia.—The rocks deposited during the Upper Silu¬
rian period in what is now Bohemia are divided by M.
Barrande into—Stage E, Calcaire inferieur. Stage F, Cal-
caire moyen. Stage G, Calcaire superieur. Stage H,
Schists cuhninaux.
Scandinavia.—M. Angelin similarly divides the Upper
Silurian rocks of this district into his Regio D, E, Harpa-
rum—shales and white limestones; and Regio E, Cryptono-
morum—limestones resting on sandstones and shales.
Of these, Stage E of Barrande and Regio E of M. Angelin cer¬
tainly equal very nearly the Wenlock rocks of Sir R. Murchison,
there being 18 species of Brachiopods, besides corals and other fos¬
sils common to this group of rocks in the three countries. Sir R.
1 In an excursion last summer with Mr John Kelly, we measured
some of the smooth round boulders of syenite embedded in these
Silurian rocks, and found them frequently a foot, and sometimes,
though rarely, eighteen inches in diameter. Other almost equally
massive conglomerates occur in the Silurian rocks of Lisbellaw,
south of Enniskillen. In Galway, on the northern side of t e
beautiful promontory of Kilbride, on the shores of Lough Mas , a
magnificent assemblage of fossils is to be seen in the rocks of t te
beach.
GEOLOGY.
Helderberg
Group.
Gelogy. Murchison gave in 1847 a list of 74 species found in the rocks of
Gothland (Regio E), 47 of which occur in Britain, 13 in Ludlow
rocks, and 14 in the Wenlock, the 20 others being found in both.
The Regio D. E. of M. Angelin is not represented in Bohemia. It
may possibly be equal to May-Hill sandstone. The stages F, G, H
of Barrande are not recognisable in Scandinavia.1
North America.—The rocks of this region of the age of
the Upper Silurian period are—
'10. Upper Pentamerus limestone 
9. Encrinal limestone   
8. Delthyris shaly limestone V 300
7. Pentamerus limestone 
6. Tentaculite limestone  
5. Onondaga salt group, a gray ash-colour-l
Onondaga ed shale, with gypsum and rock-salt.
and Niagara J 4. Niagara limestone, compact gray lime-> 1000
Group. | stone, resting on blue calcareous
shale..  )
3. Clinton group. 1
c. Variegated red marls and calca-j
b. Shales and argillaceous limestone
and calcareous sandstone 
a. Greenish and yellowish slates with
ferruginous sandstone v
2. Medina sandstone. }
b. White fine-grained sandstone, al-f
ternating with red and greenish f
shale at top )
a. Soft brown argillaceous sandstone, 1
and red shale J
1. Gray sandstone, with thick beds of sili- 'j
ceous conglomerate, containing frag- l
L ments of the lower rocks J
According to Professor Rogers (Johnston’s Physical
Atlas, 2d ed.), not only does the Medina group contain a
conglomerate made of pebbles of the lower rocks, but the
whole Upper Silurian rocks are distinctly unconformable to
the Lower, as they are in Wales and other parts of the
world.
199
Clinton
Group.
Medina
Group.
> 2400
450
600
400
lower portion must be separated from the rest under Geology,
another designation, and looked upon as more closely
allied to the Silurian system. In the Dingle promontory
there are good representatives of Wenlock and Ludlow
rocks, the latter containing abundance of Pentamerus
Knightii and other Ludlow fossils, surmounted quite con¬
formably by two great groups of purple and green grit¬
stones and conglomerates ; while over all these, widely and
utterly unconformable to them and to the Silurian rocks,
there sweep red sandstones and conglomerates 3000 or 4000
feet thick, which pass up conformably into the base of the
Carboniferous series. This upper group of red sandstones
and conglomerates also contains fossils (plants in Ireland,
plants and fish in Scotland) that place it in more close con¬
nection with the Carboniferous than with any formation.
We shall also separate from the rocks of this period those
which are called Upper Devonian in Devonshire (the Mar-
wood, Pilton, and Petherwin beds), and treat them as be¬
longing to the Carboniferous period.
.There remains some little doubt, perhaps, whether the
middle and lower Devonian groups of Devonshire be strictly
contemporaneous with the middle and lower Old Red Sand¬
stone. The latter contain fish and a few plants only, while
the former have neither fish nor plants in them—in the Brit¬
ish Islands at all events. We shall therefore describe them
separately as belonging to this period, but without attempt¬
ing to draw them more closely together. In Russia, in¬
deed, the fish of the one are found with the fossils of the
other, as shown by Sir R. I. Murchison; but questions of
geographical distribution arise to complicate any deductions
as to exact synchronism in two such distant localities.
Pevon and Cornwall.—A great series of slates, sand¬
stones and conglomerates, and limestones, of various tex¬
tures and colours, brown, blue, and red. According to Pro¬
fessor Sedgwick, they may be classed as follows
3. Dartmouth Slate Group.—Coarse roofing-slates and quartz¬
ites, ending upwards with beds of red, green, and varie¬
gated sandstone.
DEVONIAN PERIOD.
Typical Groups of Rock.—There has long hung much
obscurity over the classification of the rocks which belong
to this period. This has chiefly been owing to the fact
that we have in the British Islands two distinct types of
rock which never come into close contiguity with each
other, and do not contain any fossils in common, but are
yet undoubtedly intermediate in age between the Silurian
and Carboniferous periods. One of these types has long
been known to British geologists as the Old Red Sand¬
stone ; the other, confined to Devon and Cornwall, was not
classed with the former till Mr Lonsdale, and Professor
Sedgwick, and Sir R. I. Murchison worked it out. The
Old Red Sandstone type is not known on the Continent;
but the rocks and fossils of Devon re-appear in the Eifel
and other parts of the Continent. The Old Red Sand-
tone was formerly placed as the lowest rock of the Car¬
boniferous series by some authors (Professor Phillips and
others) ; while a part of what was formerly called Old Red
Sandstone by others (Tilestone) is now placed as the upper
part of the Silurian series. Recent researches by the Geolo¬
gical Survey in Kerry and Cork induce us to believe that
what has hitherto been called Old Red Sandstone, and
treated as one great group, must in reality be separated
into two—the upper part, or Old Red Sandstone proper,
being really the base of the Carboniferous; while the
1 We have perhaps dwelt at a little greater length on these facts
relating to the Silurian period than the relative importance of the
rocks of that period might warrant, because they bring before the
reader’s notice principles which are equally applicable to the rocks
of all other periods.
f c. Coarse red sandstone and flagstone.
2. Plymouth Group, j b. Calcareous slates.
I a. Great Devon limestone.
1. Liskeard or Ashburton Group.
Belgium and the Rhine.—A series of rocks of a similar
type, and with similar fossils to those just mentioned, are
found in this district. They are divided by M. Dumont
into—■
r c. Eifel limestone.
3. Eifel Group. < b. Gray shales, occasionally calcareous.
( a. Red sandstone and conglomerate.
2. Ahrian Group.—Bluish-gray grits, sandstones, and shales.
1. Coblentz Group.— Green and gray grits, sandstones, and
shales.
Sir R. I. Murchison, in his Siluria, gives a slightly differ¬
ent classification into Lower, Middle, and Upper Devonian ;
the Upper containing some beds above the Eifel limestone,
as follows:—
3 Upper { h' C1ymenia an<J Cypridina schists.
'J' " I a. Goniatites retrorsus schists.
2. Middle f b' Eifel or Stringocephalus limestone.
‘ { a. Calceola schists = Ahrian group.
1 Lower / ^lsseD^ac^ s^at;es‘
' J ‘ [ a. Coblentz or Spirifer sandstone.
The upper division, however, is clearly the same as that
which we have thought it best to transfer to the Carboni¬
ferous period.
Rocks and fossils like those of Devon and Cornwall not
being known in any other part of the British Islands, we
must speak of those now to be described as Devonian, with
a certain reserve as to the exact propriety of the name.
They have hitherto all been described as Old Red Sand¬
stone, which has been taken as synonymous with Devonian.
Scotland.—The labours of the late lamented Hugh Mil-
%
200
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology, ler on the so-called Old Red Sandstone of Scotland have
made that district classic ground. According to his classi¬
fication, as given by Professor Sedgwick in his Synopsis,
the series of rocks are the following :—
f 7. Yellow siliceous sandstone.
Upper. ^ 6. Impure concretionary limestone.
(. 5. Red sandstone and conglomerate.
Middle. 4. Gray sandstone and earthy slate.
r 3. Red and variegated sandstone.
Lower. •< 2. Bituminous schists.
‘ 11. Great conglomerate and red sandstone.
The upper division we should now relegate to the base of
• the Carboniferous series; and Miller, in his Testimony of
the Rocks, throws some doubt on the superposition of No. 4
above 3 and 2. It appears that they nowhere come actually
into contact, and that it is possible that No. 4 may be a
fresh-water deposit, more or less contemporaneous with the
marine beds 3 and 2. The balance of evidence, however,
both in Miller’s opinion and that of Professor Sedgwick,
recently confirmed to ourselves, is in favour of the order
given above.
Herefordshire and South Wales.—The Old Red Sand¬
stone of this large district is composed of the following
groups:—
Feet.
2. Red and yellow sandstone marls and con- l or
glomerate J
1. Cornstone group  5000 or 6000
Of these we believe No. I only properly to belong to the
Devonian period, and shall describe No. 2 in the Lower
Carboniferous period.
1. The Cornstone group consists of a great series of red
and white sandstones and red and green marls and shales,
with frequent partial bands of impure concretionary lime¬
stone, locally known as “ cornstone.” It graduates down
quite conformably and insensibly into the tilestone of the
Upper Silurian period.
Ireland: Kerry and Cork.—In the Dingle promontory
we have the following groups lying conformably on the
Ludlow rocks :—
Feet.
3. Dingle beds  4000
2. Glengariff grits  6000
1. Red slates and sandstones  1000
1. The red slates and sandstones lying conformably over
the rocks containing Pentamerus Knight 'd and other Lud¬
low fossils, may possibly be the representatives of the Tile-
stone group; but as it contains no fossils in Kerry it is im¬
possible to determine this satisfactorily.
2. The Glengariff grits consist of very thick-bedded mass¬
ive green or purple sandstones or gritstones, of a very
peculiar lithological aspect, interstratified with beds of red
or green slate. Sometimes the sandstones, sometimes the
slates, are calcareous, lorming concretionary beds not un¬
like debased cornstones. Steady sections of 5000 or 6000
feet may not unfrequently be seen in these rocks in the
promontories of Dingle, iveragh (between Killarney and
Valentia), and those lying between the bays of Kenmare,
Bantry, Dunmanus, and Roaring Water.
3. Dingle beds.—These consist of red sandstones and
slates, with beds of conglomerate, which in the Dingle pro¬
montory are thick and prominent, containing angular and
subangular fragments of red jasper, hornstone, felstone, and
other rocks, together with pebbles of Silurian limestone or
calcareous sandstone containing Pentamerus oblongus and
other fossils of the May-Hill sandstone group.
Over the upturned and denuded edges of all these beds,
as well as across the edges of the Silurian beds below, sweep
the thick beds of red sandstone and conglomerate which
form the Old Red Sandstone. This is the case through¬
out the Dingle promontory ; but in that of Iveragh, on the
south side of Dingle Bay, and over all the rest of the country,
this unconformity is no longer perceptible, and the conglo¬
merates also rapidly die out to the south, so that we get only
the Glengariff grits covered by red and purple slates and
sandstones, with no very obvious boundary between them
and the Dingle beds, nor between the latter and the Old
Red Sandstone.
North America.
Feet.
9. Catskill group, red shales and red and gray sandstones,
with a few white quartz pebbles  5000
8. Chemung group, gray, blue, and olive-coloured shales,
and gray and brown sandstones  3200
7. Portage group, fine-grained gray flagstone, with blue
shale partings  1700
6. Genesee slate, brownish-black and bluish-gray slate  300
5. Hamilton group, bluish-gray, brownish and olive shale,
with thin dark-gray sandstones  600
4. Marcellas shales, blackand bituminous, with thin argil¬
laceous limestone at base    300
3. Upper Helderburg or Corniferous limestone, straw-co¬
loured, light-gray or bluish, with chert nodules  350
2. Caudagalligrit,argillaceous, calcareous, thin-bedded sand¬
stone   300
1. Oriskany sandstone, coarse yellowish calcareous sandstone 200
The Oriskany sandstone is considered by its fossils to be un¬
doubtedly contemporaneous with the Lower Devonian group of the
Rhine. The others represent the superior parts of that formation,
and it is possible that some of them are rather Lower Carboniferous
than Devonian.
Formations possibly belonging to the Devonian period
are largely developed in Australia; and characteristic fossils
have been brought from China, where they are used as
medicines.
The Cape of Good Hope, too, has large formations, be¬
lieved to belong to the Devonian period, of which we may
shortly hope to hear more from the labours of Mr Andrew
Wyley.
CARBONIFEROUS PERIOD.
Preliminary Observations.—In the account of the de¬
posits of the preceding period it will be seen that we have
ventured to detach from it the rocks called Upper Old Red
in Scotland and Upper Devonian in Devonshire; asid by
parity of reasoning, the Upper or Old Red Sandstone proper
of the south of Ireland and of South Wales; and to con¬
sider the rocks so detached as forming the base of the Car¬
boniferous system of rocks. This conclusion has been forced
upon us rather unwillingly, and against our previous belief,
by the examination of the structure of the south of Ireland.
It has always been the opinion of the Irish geologists, espe¬
cially of Mr Griffith and Mr John Kelly, of whom the latter
has published this opinion in a paper in the Journal of
the Geological Society of Dublin. The correctness of
their view on this point, however, was obscured by the
endeavour to identify all below the Old Red Sandstone
proper with Silurian rocks, and altogether to obliterate the
Devonian period. Admitting the existence of a Devonian
period as intermediate between the Silurian and Carboni¬
ferous, and placing in it the rocks and fossils just described
as belonging to it, we may retain the Old Red Sandstone
proper, that which stretches round the Carboniferous rocks
of the south-east of Ireland and those of South Wales and
the border counties, and the thin skirts and patches of Old
Red in North Wales and North England, and the upper
part of that of Scotland, as forming the true commencement
of the Carboniferous period. There is in many places a
perfect blending of the Old Red into the Lower Carboni¬
ferous rocks, or into beds which contain fossils having com¬
monly a generic and often a specific identity with undoubted^
Carboniferous forms. Still there are a sufficient number of
peculiar species, both of plants and shells in these lower
rocks, to warrant the separation of the Carboniferous sys-
GEOLOGY.
ieology.
tem of the British Islands into an upper and a lower series,
the general terras of which may be stated as follows:—
201
Upper
f 4. Coal measures.
| 3. Carboniferous limestone.
Lower.
2. Carboniferous slate, or Lower Limestone shale, with
Coomhola grits and yellow sandstones.
1. Old Red Sandstone, passing up into Yellow Sandstone.
Typical Groups op Rock.—We have al¬
ready said, that in the Dingle promontory there is a mass
of 3000 or 4000 feet of red Sandstones and conglomerates,
the true Old Red Sandstone, utterly unconformable to the
Devonian and Upper Silurian rocks below, but conform¬
able to the Carboniferous rocks above. The junction, how¬
ever, of the Old Red and Carboniferous is not very well
seen there, but is admirably shown when the rocks are traced
round to the neighbourhood of Glengariff, at the head of
Bantry Bay. In this district the Glengariff grits are the
lowest rocks seen, having the characters before described,
and being surmounted by a great series of purple, and red,
and green sandstones and slates which must represent both
the Dingle beds and the Old Red Sandstone, all lying ap¬
parently conformably, and without any marked boundary
between them.
1 he upper part of this red series alternates with many
green and gray coloured beds, and some liver-coloured slates,
and in these fragments of plants are found. A little higher
the red colour disappears, and we have grits and slate's of
various shades of green, yellow, or gray, eventually inter-
sti atified with black shales or slates. These black beds
rapidly increase in thickness as we ascend, still interstrati-
fied at fiist with numerous sets of beds of thick massive
gritstone ; but above these black shales or slates alone occur,
eventually becoming calcareous, and containing thin beds
of impure concretionary limestone,
1 he fossils of these calcareous bands, which are the high¬
est beds seen in Bantry Bay, are all Carboniferous fossils
such as are found in the Lower Limestone shale of South
Wales and elsewhere. Carboniferous species, shells, and
encrinites, likewise occur in the shales, interstratified with
the grits below, and also in the grits themselves; but there
are here also other fossils which are not found in the higher
part of the series, Together with these fossils are some
plants similar to, but not exactly identical with, the plants
usually found in the Carboniferous series, and these plants
extend down into the green and gray shales interstratified
with the red beds, where, however, they are not accom¬
panied by marine species. We would group these beds
then, as follows:—
' 5. Lower Limestone shale with cal - 1
careous bands.
Carboniferous! . „ , , ,  ,
Slate. ) 1 2 * 4 * * *’ and black slates and )
shales  j
l 3. Coomhola grit series   
^ Old Red ( 2. Yellow Sandstone series 
Sandstone, j 1. Red Sandstone and slate 
150
2000
2500
1000
2000
1. The Red or purple Sandstone and slate contains a few
green or gray beds, but no fossils. It stretches continu¬
ously from the extreme west of Cork and Kerry into Water¬
ford and Tipperary, where it reposes unconformably on the
Lower Silurian rocks, having a conglomerate at its base
partly made of the fragments of the rocks it rests on, partly
of well-rounded cjuartz pebbles. It still retains a thickness
of 2000 or 3000 feet, till it dies away rapidly towards Wex¬
ford in one direction, and towards Carlow in the other
reappearing afterwards merely as little local patches here
and there in the hollows of the lower rocks.
2. The Yellow Sandstone series can only be separated
from No. 1 by the greater abundance of greenish, grayish,
and yellowish beds among the red ones, and by the occur-
rence of remains of plants in the former. It is continuous
with No. 1 over all the south of Ireland, and probably extends
YOL. XV.
a little further than it, since the thinning out of the Old Red Geology.
Sandstone seems to take place from below upwards, higher
and higher beds extending further and further, showing
gradual depression to have been taking place during the
period.
3. The Coomhola grit series can only be separated from
the yellow sandstone by the shales between the grits being
dark-gray or black, and the occurrence of some marine
species in some few of the beds together with the plants.
4. The* dark-gray shales and slates are perfectly well
marked by the absence of grit beds, but they contain few
or no fossils in Bantry Bay.
5. The Lower Limestone shale cannot be separated from
the shales and slates below, except by the occasional ap¬
pearance of calcareous bands together with an abundance
of some Carboniferous fossils. The latter rocks, Nos. 3, 4,
and 5, preserve the characters and the thickness first as¬
signed to them over all the country from Bantry Bay to the
Old Head of Kinsale and the mouth of Cork Harbour, the
only variation being a diminution in the number and thick¬
ness of the gritstones in the Coomhola grit series, and a
corresponding increase in the dark-gray slates above. They
likewise preserve their character and thickness northwards
as far as Sneem on the north side of Kenmare Bay. But
when we proceed to the head of this bay about Kenmare
itself we find a remarkable change to have occurred. The
Carboniferous limestone there makes it appearance in its
ordinary form, having under it a thickness of about 50 feet
of the beds first described as Lower Limestone shale, pre¬
cisely similar to the shales with calcareous courses in Ban-
try Bay, and containing the same fossils. But at Kenmare
these beds rest directly on red slates and sandstones, form¬
ing the upper part of the Old Red Sandstone; the great
mass of the Carboniferous slate series, with all the Coomhola
grit group that is so strongly developed 10 or 15 miles to the
westward and southward, being entirely absent at Kenmare.
Neither does this absence of a group of beds nearly 5000 feet
thick produce any apparent unconformity, though, as all the
beds are at very high angles, and a good deal contorted, it
is impossible to decide whether they were orio-inally con¬
formable or not. North and east of Kenmare, over all the
rest of the south of Ireland to Tralee, Ballybunnion, and
Limerick on the north, and to Cork, Youghal, and Wexford
on the east, this latter type prevails, the whole of the Car-
boniferous slate group being absent except the small portion
of it called here the Lower Limestone shale.
We believe, then, that all the beds mentioned above as
lying below the Lower Limestone shale form in reality a
Lower Carboniferous series, which is only locally developed
in its true proportions,—introducing when it is so developed
a perfect apparent continuity and blending from the base of
the true Old Red Sandstone, or perhaps in some places even
from the Devonian rocks themselves, up into the highest of
the Carboniferous series.
Devon and Cornwall.—The Petherwin slates, the Pilton
beds, the Marwood sandstones, and others belonging to the
same period as the Carboniferous slate and Coomhola grits
of Ireland. 8
South Wales. The Old Red Sandstone surrounding the
South W' elsh coal-field has a base of conglomerate reposing
on the Devonian cornstones, over which are red sandstones
and marls, which in their upper parts have yellow sand¬
stones interstratified with them, containing fragments of
plants, and appearing to graduate upwards into the black
shales and sandstones of the Lower Limestone shale, which
in its upper part is interstratified with beds of limestone
passing thus into the base of the Carboniferous limestone. ’
Scotland.—In accordance with the classification here
adopted, we must place in the Lower Carboniferous series
the beds called Upper Old Red Sandstone of Scotland,
which, if our present views be correct, should be called Old
2c
MINERALOGIC AL SCIENCE.
202
Geology. Red Sandstone only; the so-called Middle and Lower Old
Red Sandstone being termed Devonian.
They consist of red sandstones and conglomerates, hav-
ino- in their upper part yellow sandstones, in which plants
and fish remains are found, and these are believed to be
connected more or less with the base of the Upper Car¬
boniferous rocks, through the group called Calciferous
sandstone by Mr Maclaren, which is possibly of about the
same age as the Coomhola grits of the south-west of Ireland.
The Rhine—lithe views here given as to classification
be correct, we must place as Lower Carbonifeious the rocks
called Upper Devonian in the Rhenish provinces, which are
subdivided by F. Roemer into
4. Schists with RhynconeUa cuboides and Producta subaculeata.
3. Schists with many Clymenise, Goniatites, and Cypridina.
2. Limestone with Goniatitcs auris, &c.
1. Schists with Receptaculites Neptuni.
No. 1 may possibly be a Devonian rock, as the undeter¬
mined fossil called Receptaculites Neptuni occurs in Lud¬
low rocks at Ludlow ; but the other three groups are iden¬
tified with the so-called Upper Devonian of Devon, espe¬
cially by the presence of the little Cypridina serratostriata
in great abundance. (Murchison, Siluria, p. 372.)
UPPER CARBONIFEROUS ROCKS.
Taking the Old Red Sandstone proper as the true base
of the great Carboniferous system of Britain, and under¬
standing that the great mass of the Carboniferous slate
group above it is found only in the south-western corners
of Ireland and England, dying out everywhere rapidly to
the north and east, except a few of the upper beds, known
as the Lower Limestone shale, which seems also to die out
towards the north and east in England, though they spread
over all Ireland ; and taking into account that the Old Red
Sandstone proper appears to be entirely wanting in Devon
and Cornwall, where the Carboniferous slate rests on true
Devonian rocks,—we have now to trace the range of the
upper part of the Carboniferous system through the British
Islands. In doing this we will again commence with the
south-west portions of—
Ireland—Kerry, Cork, and Waterford.
Feet.
2000
1500
2. Coal Measures   
1. Carboniferous limestone 
Old Red Sandstone.
No. 1. Over this district the Carboniferous limestone
forms a nearly unbroken series of beds of gray limestone,
sometimes compact, sometimes crystalline, generally in
very highly-inclined positions, and often so traversed by
slaty cleavage as to have its stratification entirely obscuied.
It occurs only in the plains and bottoms of the valleys.
No. 2. Directly on the upper beds of the limestone oc¬
cur black indurated shales, likewise traversed by slaty
cleavage, but never making good roofing-slate higher up,
these alternate with greenish or olive-coloured fine-grained
grits and flags ; and among these, or above them, occur two
or three thin bands of coal, together with abundance of coal
plants. The shales have often curiously concretionary glo¬
bular forms, of one or two feet in diameter, appearing in
them, piled one over the other; a single spheroid some¬
times embracing parts of two or more beds. Except
weathering into these singular spheroidal forms, the shales do
not appear different from those which are not concretionary.
These Coal Measures are commonly highly-inclined and
contorted, and often inverted, and the coals are not only
changed into anthracite, but squeezed and crushed so as to
be only got in small dice-like fragments. The regularity
of the beds is also interfered with, so that beds of which the
original thickness was probably a couple of feet or so, have
now for many yards only one or two inches, and then sud¬
denly expand into large pockets of coal 20 or 30 feet in Geology,
thickness. Coal-mining here is conducted like vein-mining.
Clare, Limerick, Tipperary, Kilkenny, §c.
Feet. Feet.
5. Coal Measures   + 2000
4. Upper Limestone  250 to 1000
3. Calp or Middle Limestone  400 to 1000
2. Lower Limestone  1000
1. Lower Limestone shale   50 to 150
Old Red Sandstone.
No. 1 is everywhere the same as before described.
No. 2 is a series of thick gray limestones, generally light-
coloured, sometimes crystalline, sometimes compact; large
parts of it are magnesian, sometimes becoming a true do¬
lomite. In some parts of the district some of the beds be¬
come as Oolitic as the Bath stone, still, however, retaining
their gray colour. In some places, especially in Limerick,
contemporaneous traps and trappean breccias are interstra-
tified with these beds and with the upper or yellow part of
the Old Red Sandstone below them.
No. 3. Black limestones, sometimes very earthy, inter-
stratified with black shales, that become in some places
more important than the limestones. The limestones of
this group are usually unfit for burning into lime. Chert
bands and nodules are very abundant in the Calp.
No. 4. Thick and thin bedded crystalline and compact
limestones of various colours, but usually light-coloured.
Chert bands and nodules are also abundant occasionally.
No. 5. The Coal Measures are exactly the same as those
previously described in Kerry and Cork, except that they
are little contorted, lying generally horizontal or nearly so,
and the coal beds retain their thickness apparently unal¬
tered,—this thickness, however, being rather inconstant
between 6 inches and 2 or 3 feet. The fossils found in
the lower part of these coal shales are marine—Goniatites,
Bellerophon, and Pecten papyraceus. Coal plants, how¬
ever, are abundant in the higher part near the beds of coal.
It is possible that these Coal Measures may be of the same
age as the millstone grit of central and northern England.
North of Ireland.'—As we trace the Carboniferous series
from the central to the northern districts of Ireland, a still
further change takes place always in the same direction;
that is, always becoming more complicated and subdivided
as we proceed from south to north. The typical rocks then
become—
7. Coal Measures.
6. Millstone grit.
5. Upper Limestone.
f Upper Calp shale.
4. Calp < Calp sandstone.
( Lower Calp shale.
3. Lower Limestone.
2. Lower Limestone shale.
1. Yellow Sandstone and Old Red Sandstone.
1. The Yellow Sandstone of Dr Griffith, as shown in the
north of Ireland, is interstratified with dark shales and gray
limestones, containing common Carboniferous fossils in great
abundance. It has also red beds of shale interstratified
with it, but may perhaps be a rather different group from
the yellow sandstones forming the top of the true Old Red
Sandstone in the south of Ireland.
2. This group does not appear to differ in any respect
from the Lower Limestone shale of the south of Ireland.
3. The Lower Limestone is also apparently just like that
of the south.
4. The Calp becomes more purely an earthy deposit, and
the shales are split up by a considerable group of sandstone
beds in its middle portion, sometimes containing traces and
thin seams of coal.
5. The Upper Limestone is probably the same as the
Great Scaur Limestone of the north ot England.
GEOLOGY.
203
6 and 7. These also are similar to the corresponding beds
in Derbyshire and Yorkshire, shortly to be described.
Let us now turn to England, and trace in like measure
the Carboniferous series from south to north.
South Wales and the Border Counties—The rocks of
the Carboniferous period may here be grouped as follows:—
4. Coal Measures 
3. Millstone grit, or Farewell rock
2. Carboniferous limestone 
1. Lower Limestone shale 
Old Red Sandstone.
Feet.
12,000
1,000
2,000
500
The Lower Limestone shale consists of dark earthy
shales, occasionally interstratified with yellowish sandstones
below, and always with thin flaggy limestones in its upper
part. It seems therefore to graduate downwards into the
top of the Old Red Sandstone, as well as upwards into the
Carboniferous limestone.
2. Carboniferous limestone.—A great series of compact
limestones, thick and thin bedded, of various shades of gray
and red, interstratified with brown, gray, and red shales be¬
low, and with shales and sandstones (often red) in the
upper portion.1 Thickness, 1800 to 2000 feet.
3. Millstone grit or Farewell rock.—A series of sand¬
stones, hard, quartzose, white or gray, and near Bristol, red.
Maximum thickness about 1000 feet.
4. Coal Measures.—An enormous series of alternations
of many hundred beds of shales, sandstones, and coals, the
latter varying from 1 inch to Tor 8feet in thickness. The
total thickness of the whole group is not less than 7000
feet, and is believed in some places to be even as much as
12,000 feet.2 3
Near Bristol it is thinner, and is divisible into three sub¬
groups, having a central band of hard sandstones called
Pennant.
these loadstones is sometimes as much as 100 feet, but Geology,
generally 20 or 30. i^
2. Upper Limestone shale.—This is a series of beds of
black shale, without either limestone or sandstone in all the
central part of the district, and about 500 feet thick.
It is not recognised as an independent group in the
South Welsh district.
It is generally devoid of fossils.
3. Millstone grit.—Thick, yellow, white or brown sand¬
stones, sometimes fine-grained, sometimes very coarse, con¬
taining quartz grains as large as peas.. Separated into four
groups of sandstones by three little intervening coal-seams
and their associated shales.
4. Coal Measures.—Alternations of sandstones and shales,
with interstratified beds of coal generally resting upon fire¬
clay. The Lower Coal Measures in Derbyshire and York¬
shire contain many beds of hard sandstone called “ ganister,”
and it is difficult to draw any decided boundary line be¬
tween them and the Millstone grit.
Proceeding northwards from Derbyshire, we find a gra¬
dual change taking place in the arrangement and grouping
of the beds mentioned above. The Coal Measures retain
their characters, but the Millstone grit first becomes more
separated by beds of shale and coal, while the Upper Lime¬
stone shale becomes split up by beds of sandstone above
and of limestone below, and eventually likewise contains
beds of coal; and, lastly, the limestone itself has its beds
separated by shales and sandstones, which finally, as we go
fin ther north, include beds of coal; so that the whole series
becomes a great series of Coal Measures containing inter¬
stratified limestones in its lower part only. This change is
perceptible by examining the rocks of North Yorkshire and
Durham. (Phillips.)
c. Upper Coal Measures  1800
b. Pennant series  1725
a. Lower Coal Measures  1565
This central band of sandstones is traceable also in South
Wales by means of a hard quartzose sandstone called Cock-
short rock.
In the Forest of Dean coal-field the thicknesses given
above are diminished to about one-third, or—
~   7 Feet.
Coal Measures.
Millstone grit  270
Carboniferous limestone  480
Lower Limestone shale  165
(Mem. Geol. Survey, vol. i., p. 129.)
Derbyshire, fyc.— J he base of the formation is not here
seen, but we have the following groups:—
4. Coal Measures, more than  2700
3. Millstone grit  1600
2. Upper Limestone shale  400
1. Carboniferous limestone, more than  600
1. The Carboniferous limestone is a series of pure pale-
gray, thick-bedded limestones, with scarcely a trace of clay
or shale interstratified with them, over large areas, and
through a thickness of several hundred feet. On the south¬
west, however, towards Staffordshire, shales alternate with its
upper portion. Over the centre and north of Derbyshire
two contemporaneous beds of greenstone, called loadstone,
are interstratified with the limestones. The thickness of
1 Section near Bristol (Mem. of Geol. Survey, vol. i, p, 113). Along
South Wales the group is more purely limestone, and much thinner
especially to the northward and westward.
3 14 was in the examination of the South Welsh coal-field while
on the geological survey of the United Kingdom, that Sir W. Logan
was first struck with the invariable position of the beds of coal
upon an « under-clay,” crowded with stigmaria (roots of Sigillaria,
&c.), which he inferred was the old soil on which the plants grew
that formed the coal. r °
4. Coal Measures, more than  2000
3. Millstone grit  t 414
2. Yoredale series  54Q
1. Great or Scaur Limestone group, more than  1119
1. The Great or Scaur Limestone, as described by Fos¬
ter in I eesdale {PhxWi^ Manual, p. 163), consists of ten
sets of beds of limestone from 7 feet to 130 feet in thick¬
ness, sepaiated by as many sets of shale and sandstone
varying from 12 to 240 feet thick, the total thickness of the
whole being 1119 feet, with the bottom not seen.
2. The Yoredale series contains nine sets of limestone
from 2 to 30 feet thick, with as many alternations of shales
and sandstone from 17 to 70 feet thick, with occasional beds
of coal, the whole being 544 feet thick.
3. The Millstone grit here contains one central band of
limestone, called Feltop lime, between alternations of sand¬
stone, shale with ironstone, and coal, having a total of 414 ft.
4. The Coal Measures of the Tyne district (Newcastle,
&c.) are about 2000 feet in thickness, containing about 600
separate beds (or measures), and a total of about 60 feet of
coal. The coal lies in many beds, two of which are 6 feet
in thickness, and three others 3 feet and more. The Lan¬
cashire coal-field, containing higher beds than are to be seen
on the Tyne, is more than double this thickness, or about
5000 feet, including 75 beds of coal over a foot thick (some
being 6 feet), and a total thickness of 150 feet of coal.
Scotland.— The Carboniferous rocks of the country be¬
tween Edinburgh and Glasgow may be judged of from the
following section, of which the upper 600 feet is taken from
the Monkland district, and the rest from that of Carluke .—
Red Sandstone (Carboniferous) Feet.
Alternations of sandstones and shales with coal l
and ironstone  [ 130’0
Limestone  ■' j.q
Alternations, &c., five beds of coal 4 feet thick, )
many others less  f 1635-0
Forward,
1766-0
204
Geology.
MINERALOGIC AL SCIENCE.
Feet.
Brought forward  1765‘0
“ Gare” limestone  4'9
Intermediate strata  150*
“ Ochrey” limestone  3-0
Sandstone with shale, &c., one coal  51‘0
Limestone  4-0
Alternations, &c., four coals of 2 or 3 feet, many 1 405-0
ironstones /
1st Cawmey limestone... 
Shale 
1st Kinshaw limestone 
Alternations, &c., one little coal 
2d Kinshaw limestone   
Shale, with ironstone balls 
2d Cawmey limestone 
Shale, with ironstone band  
Foulband limestone 
Alternations, &c., one coal of 1 foot 8 inches 
3d Cawmey limestone   
Shale, with ironstone band 
Main limestone   
Shale and fire-clay, with one coal 
Coarse limestone, with intermediate band of 1
fire-clay  J
Sandstone, with shale and little coal 
Limestone 
Fire-clay, sandstone, and shale, with one small 1
coal J
Oyster-shell limestone (Producta, &c.) 
Alternations of shale, whitish sandstone, and fire- 1
clay... J
Old Red Sandstone to an unknown depth.
1-6
8-6
2-0
16*4
2-10
29,5
4-6
42-0
3- 6
860
2-6
20-0
4- 6
290
5- 6
540
2,0
34-0
4-0
104-0
2779-10
{3. Crinoidal limestone, dolomite, Productus lime¬
stone, with chert and anthracite.
2. Gray sandstone, soft sandstone, and anthracite.
1. Gray shales, calcareous shales, dark limestone, and
pisolitic iron ore (oligiste).
Carboniferous rocks occur in small detached localities in
many other parts of Europe, but do not admit of descrip¬
tion as typical rocks of the period. The fossils contained
in them agree with those already mentioned, with just that
amount of difference that might be expected to arise from
the laws of geographical distribution.
North America : Nova Scotia.—According to Mr Daw-
Geology,
Upper
Group.
Middle or
Good Coal
Group.
Lower or
Gypsiferous
Group.
3. Grayish and reddish sandstones and shales, with
beds of conglomerate, and a few thin beds of
limestone and coal. 3000 feet and more.
2. Gray and dark-coloured sandstones and shales,
with red and brown beds, coal, ironstone, and
bituminous limestone. 4000 feet and more.
1. Red and gray sandstones and conglomerates,
and red and green marls and shales, with
thick beds of gypsum and limestone. 6000
feet and more.
Devon and Cornwall.—This district contains beds be¬
longing to the Upper as well as the Lower Carboniferous
series, but they are very anomalous and scarcely compar¬
able with any degree of certainty with those of the rest of
Britain. They consist of—
2. Culm Measures.
1. Shales and limestones, probably the Lower Limestone shale.
1. The shales, &c., over the Marwood sandstone group
resemble more or less the Lower Limestone shales of South
Wales, except that they are traversed by slaty cleavage,
and have in their upper parts a dark-coloured limestone
that may be a debased representative of the Carboniferous
limestone.
2. The Culm Measures are a great series of alternations
of shales (sometimes cleaved into slates), sandstones, and
fine conglomerates, into a few beds of earthy anthracite or
culm. Whether they are of the same age as the true Coal
Measures is doubtful. They may perhaps have been depo¬
sited contemporaneously with part of the Carboniferous
limestone, but under different conditions, and probably in
water (fresh or salt) altogether separated from the seas of
the north. Or if we suppose with Sir R. I. Murchison that
the black limestone of group 1 represents the whole of the
Carboniferous limestone, then the Culm Measures may be
of the age of millstone grit, and possibly that of the coal¬
bearing rocks of the Kilkenny and the Kerry coal-field.
Midland Counties.—The Carboniferous rocks of the mid¬
land counties of England are by no means typical groups.
They consist generally of the upper portion or Coal Mea¬
sures only, resting unconformably on Silurian or still older
formations. It is probable that during the time of the de¬
position of the Carboniferous limestone there was land ex¬
isting where the midland counties of England now are,
which land only became covered with water in consequence
of a gradual depression taking place in the latter part of
the Carboniferous period.
Belgium.—According to M. Dumont—
Systems f 4. Alternations of “ ampelite” (sandstone) shale, and
Houllier. ( coal.
3. Upper
Carboniferous
or Coal Measure
Group.
Altogether there is a thickness of more than 14,000 feet,
without reaching any exact base, or arriving apparently at
the very highest beds of the series. There are seventy-
six beds of coal, of which, however, most are only 1 or
2 inches thick, and the thickest not more than 4 feet.
(Dawson’s Acadian Geology?)
Some of the beds of group 1, consisting of sandstones
with variegated marls and gypsum, and a few beds of coal,
were seen formerly by ourselves in Newfoundland, on the
south shore of St George’s Bay, and at the northern ex¬
tremity of the Grand Pond. {Report on Geology of New¬
foundland?)
United States.—According to Professor Rogers—
Coal Measures, alternations of sandstones,
shales, and coals, like groups 2 and 3 of
the Nova Scotia district, but thinning out
westward, so as to be only 3000 feet in
Pennsylvania, 1500 in the Illinois basin,
and not more than 1000 in Iowa and Mis¬
souri.
'Soft red shales and argillaceous red sand¬
stones in Pennsylvania, 3000 feet.
In Virginia—
c. Blue, olive, and red calcareous shales,
with thick red and brown sandstone.
b. Light-blue limestone, sometimes Oolitic.
a. Buff, greenish, and red shales, with sand¬
stone.
Total thickness, 3000 feet.
In the Western States—
b. Gray and yellow sandstone.
a. Light-blue and yellow limestone,1—1000
feet.
(White, gray, and yellow sandstones, alternat¬
ing with coarse siliceous conglomerates and
dark-blue and olive-coloured slates. In
some places contains black carbonaceous
slate, and a bed or two of coal. 2000 feet
thick in Pennsylvania, thinning out to
nothing in the north-west.
2. Middle
Carboniferous (
Group.
I. Lower
Carboniferous
Group.
Australia : New South Wales.
5. Dark-brown shales, with impressions of plants, 300 feet and
more.
4. Sydney sandstone, thick white or light-yellow sandstone, with
quartz pebbles occasionally, and partings of shale, 700 feet.
3. Alternations of shales and sandstones, 400 feet.
2. Shales containing two or three good beds of workable coal 6 feet
thick, 200 to 300 feet.
. Wollongong sandstones, thick dark-gray reddish-brown, often
calcareous, with large calcareous concretions, 400 feet and
more.
1 The light-blue limestone mentioned above thickens toward the
south-west and dies away to the north-east in Pennsylvania.
i eology
, , ,Thli;s 7'y a, Pa[t of the series, as there may be beds
' below No. 1, and others above No. 5. 3
^ictoTrm—The same formations as New South Wales.
We may expect shortly to receive more definite informa¬
tion respecting them from Mr A. N. C. Selwyn and the
geological survey under his direction.
In Tasmania similar rocks occur, similarly associated with
athm group of shales, containing one or tlo good bed! of
India. We may shortly expect more definite information
than we yet possess, from the labours of Professor Oldham
and his staff, on the geological survey of that country.
geology.
PERMIAN PERIOD.
, Typical Groups of Rocks.-
ing to Professor Sedgwick—
-Durham, dec.—Accord-
6. Red gypseous marls  jqq'
5. Thin-bedded gray limestone    gO
4. Red gypseous marls, slightly saliferous 100
d. Magnesian limestone  enn
2, Marl slate    „„
1, Lower Red Sandstone..200
on^hp8^oTm86 Pale-red sandstone, resting unconformably
on the Coal Measures, often containing large fragments of
coal plants, that mat/ have been drifted out of the Coal
Measures, and sometimes fragments of coal.
2. Marl slate a brown indurated fissile shale, with occa¬
sional beds of thin compact limestone.
3. Magnesian Limestone.-A singularly diversified mass
of limestones, sometimes compact, at others crystalline,
brecciated, earthy globular, oolitic, cellular, &c.; some
beds like piles of cannon or musket balls, others like
bunches of grapes, &c.; some very hard, some quite friable,
some thin and flexible. General colour, shades of yellow,
sometimes red and brown. J
Nos. 4, 5, and 6, are sufficiently described already; thev
are destitute of fossils, except a few traces of bivalves in
Midland Counties of England.—A great series of red
and variegated sandstones and conglomerates, with breccias
containing angular fragments of trap and of Silurian and
Carboniferous rocks, together with thick dark-red marls
and in some places mottled calcareous bands, like the corn-
stones of the Old Red Sandstone. The total thickness in
many places exceeds 1000 feet.
Ireland and Scotland.—The red sandstones of Roan
Hill, near Dungannon containing abundance otPalceoniscus
catopterus, are probably Permian. Yellow magnesian lime¬
stones, exactly like those of Durham, and with many of the
characteristic fossils previously mentioned, occur in patches
at Artrea, county Tyrone, and at Cultra, near Belfast.
Ihe red sandstones of Dumfries, with tracks of reptiles
so beautifully figured by Sir W. Jardine in his Ichnoloqu
of Annandale, may also possibly belong either wholly or in
part to the Permian rather than the Triassic period.
South (f Russia : Government of /Arw,—According to
Sir R. I. Murchison, the district of Perm exhibits so great a
development of the rocks of this period as to induce him to
select that name for it. These beds are said to be verv
various, but in one locality they have the following type
c. Conglomerate and sandstone.
b. Red sands and copper beds.
a. Sandstones, limestones, gypsum, and grit beds.
The limestones are often numerous, and contain fossils
like those of the magnesian limestone of England and the
Zechstein of Germany, while other beds contain Thecodon-
tosauria and fishes.
In .Thuringia so great is the accordance with the British
senes, both in the rock groups and their included fossils,
side as followsKlng m ^ rnonoSraPl1 places them side by
Thuringia, North of England.
Stinkstein  Crystalline limestone.
Rauchwacke  Brecoiated limestone.
  Possiliferous limestone.
f/chst,ein  Compact limestone.
Mergel, or Kupfer schiefer .... Marl-slate.
Rothe todle liegende  Lower Red Sandstone.'
Professor Sedgwick long ago pointed out the remarkable
similarity °f the fish in the “ Mergel schiefer” and his Marl
Society) hedgwlck’s PaPer on Ma9- L' Trans. Geol.
During the Permian period, and at its close, the part of
the earth now occupied by Western Europe seems to have
been more than usually affected by movements of ele¬
vation and disturbance, attended with consequent large
denudation 0f the previously existing rocks. We are
obliged therefore, to look to other parts of the globe, where
tranqmlhty reigned during the portion of time that elapsed
at the close of the Primary and the commencement of the
Secondary epochs, for the typical deposits during this part
of the earths history. Future research will probably be
prolific of future discovery of records now unknown to us
belonging to the Permian and Triassic periods. Some of
these discoveries are even now being made, but many
lers wi doubtless follow. As a consequence of this
disturbance and denudation, the Permian rocks are fre¬
quently unconformable to the Carboniferous, and the Tri¬
assic to the Permian.
205
Geology.
1 See Professor King’s paper (Dublin Nat. Hist. Review No x 1
or Journal of the Geological Society, Dublin, vol, vii. ’ ’
Chap. II.—SECONDARY OR MESOZOIC EPOCH.
TRIASSIC PERIOD.
Typical Groups of Rock.—Germany,—*
Feet.
Keuper  1000
2. Muschelkalk  goo
1. Bunter Sandstein  1500
®l?nter Sandstein, or “variegated sandstone,” is
a red and white sandstone interstratified with red marls and
thin bands of limestone, sometimes oolitic, sometimes mag¬
nesian. I his is the “ Gres bigarre ” of the French. &
2. Muschelkalk.—A compact reddish-gray or yellowish
limestone, rarely oolitic, but in some places magnesian
especially in the lower beds, which include beds of gypsum
and rock-salt. It might accordingly be divided into two
sub-groups :—
b. Upper Muschelkalk, regularly.bedded limestone, more than 300
teet thick.
a. Alternations of limestone, dolomite, marl, and gypsum or anhy¬
drite, and rock-salt, 280 feet. ^ ^
3. Keuper. “ Marnes irisees” of the French. Principally
red and green marl, but is locally divisible into three Sub¬
groups, namely:—
c. Keuper sandstone, of a yellowish-white, sometimes green and
reddish colour, containing calamites and other plants
b. Keuper marls, with gypsum and dolomite, containing coprolites
fish, and saurian bones, scales, and teeth. r ’
a. Lettenkole (clay-coal) group, a dark-gray shale or gray sand
stone, containing small irregular beds of impure earthy coal
with remains of Mastodonsaurus (Labyrinthodon), Gervillia’
Posidonomya, and Lingula. ^ ’
This latter group rests directly on the Muschelkalk, and
206
Geology.
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
seems, from its animal remains, to belong to it, but its
plants are those of the Keuper.
Near Stuttgart, and in other parts of Germany, the
Keuper sandstone is capped by a layer of sandstone breccia,
full of the remains of saurians and fish in fragments, exactly
like that known in England as the “ bone bed.” It is still
doubtful whether this belongs more properly to the T rias or
the Lias. Like the bone bed at the top of the Ludlow, it
may perhaps be taken as an indication of a great gap in the
scries of* beds*
In the Supplement of Sir C. Lyell before mentioned we
have the latest intelligence regarding a set of beds which
fill up the gap indicated by these “ bone beds and, more¬
over, give us the true marine fossiliferous equivalents of the
elsewhere fresh-water or unfossiliferous Keuper, and possibly
also of part of the Bunter.
Near Hallstatt (south-east of Salzburg), on the north
side of the Austrian Alps, and at St Cassian, on the south
side, are a set of beds composed of red, pink, and white
marble, from 800 to 1000 feet in thickness, and containing
more than 800 species of fossils.
Underneath the Hallstatt and St Cassian beds are others
called the Guttenstein and Werfen beds. They consist of—-
Feet.
6. Guttenstein beds, black and gray limestone, alternating with
red and green shale  150
a. Werfen beds, red and green shale and sandstone, with
gypsum and rock-salt.
It is yet doubtful whether these are only a lower portion
of the St Cassian beds, or are to be considered as equiva¬
lents of the British or Lower Trias
often used as a building stone, for which purpose it is occa¬
sionally sufficiently well adapted.
3. The Red and Variegated Marls contain irregular beds
of sandstone, and almost invariably beds and veins and
strings of gypsum, and frequently thick masses of rock-salt.
In Cheshire, near Northwich, the following section shows a
part of the thickness of these beds :—
Feet.
Upper strata (marl, &c.) 127
1st bed of rock salt  85
Indurated marl (locally called “ stone ”)  30
2d bed of rock salt  106
Indurated marls, with thin beds of salt 151
499
Over this thickness of 500 feet are other beds of marl,
&c., before we reach the base of the Lias, and under them
others before we should attain the top of the whitestone,
so that the entire depth of the group must be 700 feet with,
or 500 without, the salt.
An occasional set of beds of a pale-coloured sandstone,
called by ourselves formerly the “Dove-coloured Sandstone,”
in the upper part of this group, contains fossil plants and
fragments of reptiles, enabling us to identify this group,
Nm 3, with the Keuper of Germany. No. 1 is almost cer¬
tainly the same as the German Bunter Sandstein, and the
French “ Gres Bigarre.”
Ireland.—In the north, near Belfast, a considerable mass
of red sandstones belong either to the Bunter sandstone or
the Permian. Over them is a group of red and variegated
marls, which, near Carrickfergus, contains beds of gypsum
and rock-salt, of which the following is a section :—
Geology.
Over the St Cassian beds again come 2000 feet of white
or grayish limestone, known as the Dachstein beds, and
above these 50 feet of gray and black limestone with cal¬
careous marls, called the Kcessen beds. Each of these
groups contain a peculiar set of fossils of a character which
renders it uncertain whether they should be classed as Upper
Triassic or as Lower Liassic groups.
We would press upon the reader’s attention that we have
in these beds one or two of the missing links that are to
reward the researches of future geologists, and fill up the
many gaps in our geological history.
England.—The Triassic rocks of England are anything
but typical, notwithstanding that they occupy a greater
surface than perhaps any other formation. The important
central division, the Muschelkalk of Germany, is entirely
wanting, as are the still more important Hallstatt and St
Cassian beds. The labours of the Geological Survey of
the last few years have shown the following to be the
groups in the midland counties, where the formation is best
developed:—
3. Red and variegated marls.
2. White sandstone.
1. Red and mottled sandstone.
1. The Red and Mottled Sandstone has a base of “ brick-
red” sandstone, very fine grained and thick-bedded. Over
this come reddish-brown sandstones, or red and white sand¬
stones, with beds of marl, and thick, rather irregular bands
of partially consolidated conglomerate, called “pebble-beds.
Mottled calcareous concretionary sandstones, not unlike
some varieties of “ cornstone,” occur occasionally in this
“ brown ” division, often associated with the marls. The
whole group seems to be locally represented by a dolomitic
conglomerate, unless that should be referred rather to the
Permian period.
2. The White Sandstone is a very persistent and well-
marked group over a very wide area, forming the hill on
which Beeston Castle (Cheshire) stands, and spreading
through a great part of the midland counties of England.
It is generally white, sometimes mottled with red, and is
Feet.
Red marls, with gypsum..   510
Red salt  22
Marl and salt    26
Pure rock-salt.  84
Mixed rock-salt  14
Pure rock-salt  39
Blue bands and freestone, &c  25
700
These have other beds of red marl above them, about 100
or 150 feet thick, over which is the base of the Lias.
They in all probability therefore belong to group No. 3,
and = Keuper of Germany.
THE OOLITIC OR JURASSIC PERIOD.
Typical Groups of Rock. — England. — If we
arrange the whole series of the rocks of this period
in their order of occurrence, in slightly different but
neighbouring localities, we shall have the following
list:—
Z>.
Portland,
or Upper
Oolite.
C.
Oxford,
or Middle
Oolite.
B.
Bath,
or Lower
Oolite.
, 6.
5.
4.
Feet.
Purbeck beds 150 < b.
1. a.
Portland beds.... 170 j
Kimmeridge clay 600
Coral rag...,
Oxford clay
180
{»•
600
Upper.
Middle.
Lower.
Stone.
Sand.
Dark clay.
Upper Calcar, grit.
Oolitic limestone.
Lower Calcar, grit.
Dark clay.
Kelloway rock.
Cornbrash  80 < 6
( a.
Great Oolite 130 j
Fuller’s earth.... 130
Inferior Oolite... 230
Cornbrash.
Forest marble.
Bradford clay.
Freestone and rag.
Stonesfield slate.
Ragstone.
Freestone.
Pea grit.
GEOLOGY.
Feet.
A.
Lias.
3. Upper Lias  300 ( ^J'as sands.
I a. Upper shale.
2. Marlstone 200 { beds.
1. Lower Lias.
600
l a. Sands.
c. Lower shale.
b. Limestone and shale
a. Bone bed or beds.
A. The
occasional
Lias. Essentially a great clay deposit, with
bands of a peculiar compact argillaceous lime¬
stone near the bottom, and an argillaceous sandstone near
the middle, with a loose sandy deposit at top connecting it
with the group above. °
L Lower Lias.—At the top of the red marls of the
Triassic Keuper group below is a little layer of hard sand¬
stone full of fragments of bones and teeth of reptiles and
fish. . In some places bones of Keuper reptiles have been
seen in it, and the layer therefore referred to the Trias ; in
other places it is full of undoubted Lias fossils. It is pro¬
bable that there is in reality more than one bone bed, the
diminutive representative of the great passage beds between
the I rias and the Lias, 2000 feet and more in thickness,
which are found at Dachstatt and Kcessen.
In some places the black shales of the Lower Lias rest
on the red marls without any bone bed and without any
limestone, while in others a group of limestones, interstrati-
fied with clays, having a thickness of 20 to 50 feet, is seen.
Over these limestones occur the ordinary blue clay of which
the Lower Lias is generally composed.
2. The Marlstone is a well-marked division of the
Lias, being more arenaceous, though still fine-grained, and
often bound by calcareous or ferruginous cement into a hard
stone. In Gloucestershire it is divisible into the hard
“ rock bed” above, and the sands, often rather argillaceous,
below. ’
3. Upper Lias.—This consists of a great thickness of
blue clay, over which are some brown and yellow sands,
hitherto classed with the Inferior Oolite, but separated from
it on good palaeontological evidence by Dr Wright of Chel¬
tenham, and called by him Upper Lias sands, capped by a
particular band called the “Cephalopoda bed,” from the
abundance of those fossils which it contained.
I he lithological type and the characteristic assemblages
of fossils are applicable to the Lias throughout England
from Lyme Regis to Whitby, if we allow for some variations
in thickness and in the character of the minor groups of
rock, and for a local distribution in the fossils.
L. The Lower or Bath Oolite, composed of the four
groups called,—4. The Inferior ; 5. Fuller’s earth ; 6. The
Great Oolite, and 7. The Cornbrash.
4. The Inferior Oolite near Cheltenham, where it con¬
tains its greatest development, consists of—a. The Pea grit,
a pisolitic limestone, made up of flattened oval concretions
rather larger than peas, sometimes 40 feet thick; b. The
Freestone, a fine pale-coloured oolitic or shelly limestone,
164 feet thick, containing a bed of marl 7 feet thick near
the top ; c. The Ragstone, a brown sandy limestone, some¬
times hard, sometimes incoherent, 38 feet thick.
In the Cheltenham district even the subdivisions of the
Inferior Oolite mentioned above have their lists of peculiar
and characteristic fossils. {Memoirs of the Geological
survey, 1857; Mr Hull On the Geology of Cheltenham?}
5. Above the Inferior Oolite comes in the Gloucester¬
shire district, a series of blue and yellow shales, clays, and
marls, some of which are of the peculiar kind of clay called
Fuller’s earth, the name assigned to the group. Interstra-
tified with these are occasional bands of limestone.
The maximum thickness is about 150 feet, rather rapidly
diminishing in all directions.
6. Great Oolite.—This, like all the other oolitic groups,
except the clays, has a very variable lithological character!
Mr Lycett says that near Minchinhampton it is made up of
weatherstones, sandstones, and limestones; the weather-
stones, shelly calcareous sandstones, being always at the
base of the group, but passing laterally into sandstones,
which are commonly covered by limestones, while the
weatherstones have never any of the limestones above
ffnr' GeoL Soc; voh iv.; and Paleeontolog. Soc.,
1850.) Mr Hull divides the Great Oolite near Cheltenham
into two zones,—a. The Under zone, a variable series of
sandy flags, “slates,” and blue limestones, with white oolitic
freestones, showing much oblique lamination. The flagoy
limestones, and sometimes the thick-bedded ones, split In
some places into very thin slabs, which are called, though
erroneously, “ slates.”1 The Stonesfield slate, so celebrated
for its terrestrial reptiles and mammalian remains, belongs
to these beds, and it might therefore give its name to the
zone. The Collyweston slate belongs to this group ; thick¬
ness, 35 feet. b. The Upper zone is well marked in
Gloucestershire by the occurrence of a bed of marl at its
base, and a band of hard white limestone at its summit, the
intermediate beds being oolitic limestones, sandstone, or
sandy limestone, greatly marked by oblique lamination;
thickness, 100 feet. {Memoirs of the Geological Survey,
7. Cornbrash group.—This is a very variously composed
set of clays, sands, and limestones, containing local divi¬
sions, such as the Bradford clay, the Forest marble, and the
Cornbrash itself.
The Bradford clay is a blue unctuous clay occurring at
Bradford, and extending for a few miles around it; it is
never more than 40 or 50 feet in thickness; locally full
ox Apiocrinites Parkinsoni {rotundas'). The Forest marble
(so named from Wychwood Forest) is composed of coarse
fissile oolite, with much oblique lamination, hard shelly
limestones, blue marls and shales, yellow siliceous sand,
with large spheroidal blocks of limestone, and fine oolitic
fieestone. It is rarely more than 40, never more than
80, feet thick. The Cornbrash is generally a rubbly
cream-coloured limestone in thin beds, always nodular and
concretionary, each fragment having a deep red coating.
Not more than 15 feet thick.
The foregoing description of the Bath Oolite is applicable,
with more or less accuracy, to all the country south of the
Humber. Proceeding into Yorkshire, however, a very
remarkable change takes place both in the rocks and
the fossils.
The little insignificant-looking band of the Cornbrash
continues lithologically and palaeontologically the same ; be¬
low this, however, instead of limestones, there is a great
mass of shale and sandstone, with a band of shelly oolite
in the centre, and, underneath all, ferruginous sands and
calcareous sandstones that may either represent the In¬
ferior Oolite or the Upper Lias sands.
Professor Phillips gives the following as a condensed
account of this Yorkshire type :—
5. Shelly Cornbrash limestone of Gristhorp and Scar¬
borough 
4. Sandstones, shales, ironstones, and coals of Gristhorp,
Scarborough, and Scalby, inclosing some calcareous
shelly bands  gQO
3. Shelly oolite, and clays of Gloughton and West Nab  60
2. Sandstones, shales, ironstones, and workable coal of the
Peak, Stainton Dale, and Haihurn Wylie  500
1. Irony sandstone and subcalcareous beds, with bands of
shells and plants  qq
Some Equisetites are found erect in these beds, and
everything tends to show that we have in this type a true
secondary coal formation of the Oolitic period, in addition
1 We have formerly pointed out the advisability of confining the
term “ slate ” to those rocks of which the thin plates are the result
of “ cleavage,” not of deposition.
208
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology, to that primary coal formation formed in that which is
distinctively called the Carboniferous period.
C. The Oxford or Middle Oolite consists of two prin¬
cipal groups—the Oxford Clay and the Coral Rag.
8. The Oxford Clay is generally a dark blue clay,
sometimes dark gray, approaching to black. In its lower
portion it has some beds of tough calcareous sandstone,
with brown sands called Kelloway rock, from a place in
Wiltshire. This Kelloway rock appears to be wanting in
the midland counties, but reappears in Yorkshire with the
same characters and fossils. The maximum thickness of
the Kelloway rock is 80 feet. That of the whole Oxford
clay, including it, cannot be less in some places than 600 feet.
9. The Coralline Oolite or Coral Rag.—-Like all the
other calcareous or arenaceous groups of the Oolite, this is
very irregular, and subject to great variations in character
and thickness. There is a pretty close general resem¬
blance in the Yorkshire and Wiltshire types, while in the
intermediate district the whole group seems to disappear.
It may be divided into three sub-groups,—
I'eet.
c. Upper Calcareous grit, maximum thickness 60
b. Coralline oolite, „ 60
a. Lower Calcareous grit, „ 80
a. The lower beds in Yorkshire are a series of gray
marly sandstones, 70 feet thick, passing up into cherty
limestone, covered by sands full of great calcareous concre¬
tions, capped by strong calcareous sandstones.
h. A variable group of irregular masses of nodules
made of corals compacted together, often earthy, and con¬
nected by blue clay, passing into blue crystalline lime¬
stone, alternations of hard shelly oolite, and soft perish¬
able limestone, and in Wiltshire a rubbly nodular oolite,
sometimes pisolitic.
c. The upper group obscurely indicated in the south is,
in the north, like group a, but more ferruginous and less
cherty, passing up by intercalation into the Kimmeridge
clay above. (Phillips.)
D. The Portland or Upper Oolite is composed of three
principal groups, each capable of subdivision into two or
three sets of beds.
10. The Kimmeridge Clay is in some places a dark
gray shaly clay, in others brownish or yellowish, and con¬
taining bands of sand, or of calcareous grit, or ferruginous
oolite, and layers of nodules of septaria. In some places,
especially in the district about the Isle of Purbeck, it be¬
comes very bituminous, and the bituminous shale sometimes
passes into layers of “ brown shaly coal.” Layers of a par¬
ticular kind of oyster, called the Ostrcea deltoidea, occur
abundantly in some places, always appearing “in broad
continuous floors, parallel to the planes of stratification, the
valves usually together, with young ones occasionally ad¬
herent to them, and entirely embedded in clay, without no¬
dules or stones of any kind, and without any other organic
remains in the layers.” (Phillips.)
11. The Portland beds.—These, like most of the other
members of the Oolitic series, have a variable composition,
consisting of sands and sandstones below, becoming cal¬
careous and passing into oolitic limestone above. They are
therefore divisible into
Feet.
b. Portland stone, consisting of white oolite and beds
locally termed “ stonebrash” and “ roche,” &c.,
interstratified with clays, and containing layers
of flint, about  90 to 100
a. Portland sands, consisting of brown or yellow
sands and sandstones, full of green grains, like
those afterwards to be described in the Green¬
sands, about  80
12. The Purbeck beds are remarkably distinguished
from the Portland, on which they rest, by being chiefly of
fresh-water origin. They contain, however, some marine
species, which are allied to Oolitic more closely than to Geology,
any other types. Edward Forbes therefore detached them
from the base of the succeeding formations, and placed
them at the top of the Oolitic series. They are also dis¬
tinguished from most other aqueous rocks by containing
one or two beds of “ vegetable soil,” called by the quarry-
men “ dirt beds,” with the stems of trees and cycadoid
plants still erect, and the trunks of trees prostrate along¬
side of them. This clearly points to a tranquil and gradual
elevation of the surface of the rock into dry land, the
growth of a forest through hundreds or thousands of years,
and its as tranquil and gentle submergence beneath some
stagnant water without sufficient current to disturb the soil
or carry off the buried plants.
Edward Forbes divides the Purbecks of Dorsetshire into
three groups, each characterized by a peculiar assemblage
of organic remains, without any other very marked dis¬
tinction between them, and with no sign of any physical
disturbance or denudation.
a. The lowest division, 70 or 80 feet thick, consists of
calcareous flags, marls, and limestones, with cypridiferous
shales and some siliceous bands, with one large and two
or three smaller “ dirt beds” near its lower portion. These
are all either fresh-water or aerial, except 20 feet in the
centre of the group, which are brackish water deposits,
containing Rissoae (Hydrobia), Protocardium, and Serpulse.
b. The Middle Purbecks, 40 or 50 feet thick, consist
first of shales and limestones with thick bands of cherty
stone, having impressions of leaves and many fresh-water
shells; then the conspicuous “ cinder bed,” a great heap
of small shells of Ostrcea distorta, over which are other
limestones and shales, some fresh-water, some brackish,
and some purely marine, containing yet undescribed spe¬
cies of Pecten, Modiola, Avicula, and Thracia, together
with a Protocardium distinct from that in the lower beds.
Many fish—Lepidotus nadMicrodonradiatus—and reptiles
of the genus Macrorhyncus also occur. It is in a little
band not more than 6 inches thick, about 20 feet below
the “ cinder bed,” that the very remarkable discoveries of a
number of remains of mammalian animals belonging to
several genera and species have been made. (LyelFs Sup¬
plement.')
c. The Upper Purbecks, 20 or 30 feet thick, are ano¬
ther series of beds full of fresh-water shells, distinct from
those below, and new forms of fish. The fresh-water
snail-shells are sometimes so abundant as to form a hard
limestone, much used formerly as Purbeck marble.
It is remarkable that the fresh-water shells have a much
closer resemblance to those living at other and more re¬
cent periods, or those now existing, than the marine spe¬
cies have. The three changes of life in this small group
of Purbecks appear to be due solely to lapse of time,
and to those slow and gradual changes in the physical
geography of the district which took place, and not to any
sudden or violent revolutions or disturbances of which
there is no trace.1
Ireland*—The Oolitic series is represented in Ireland
by a few thin beds of Lias only, not exceeding thirty feet in
thickness, resting on the summit of the red saliferous marls
of the Trias of the county of Antrim. It contains, however,
a considerable abundance of characteristic Lias shells.
Scotland.—On the west coast, opposite the north-east
of Ireland, Lias is found also in Scotland, together with
Oxford clay, and other representatives of the Oolitic series;
1 Professor E. Forbes mentions one set of beds as curiously dislo¬
cated and disturbed, apparently by causes not affecting the beds
below ; but this band of local disturbance is included in the lower
division, and is not accompanied by any change in the species, while,
on the other hand, the great changes in the species take place at
certain lines where there is no lithological or petrological boundary
whatever. {Report of British Association, 1850.)
Gtlogy. while on the east coast at Brora, &c., representatives of the
Yorkshire oolites are found, containing also impure coal.
I he series of rocks deposited in the British Islands during
the Oolitic period is so complete, both petrologically and
palasontologically, that they serve as a type for those known
all over the world In Europe, the term Jurassic is com-
monly used instead of Oolitic; the Jura mountain being
principally composed of rocks belonging to this period. In
tracing the rocks across Europe, differences, both litholo¬
gical and palaeontological, occur, as might be naturally
expected ; but on the whole a wonderful similarity in both
characters extends over very large areas.
It will perhaps be most useful to give a few of the foreign
synonyms of the different rock groups adopted by different
Continental geologists.
A 1. Lower LiAS.-Terrain sinemurien, grfcs du Luxembourg,
calcaire de Valognes, gres de Lincksfield, Gryphiten kalk.
Lower black Jura.
A 2. Marlstone.—Terrain liasien, marnes de Balingen, amaltheen
thon, mumismalen mergel. Middle black Jura.
A 3. Upper Lias.—Terrain toarcien, schistes de Boll, Posidonomya
schiefer, Jurensis mergel, Apalinus thon. Upper black Jura
and Lower brown Jura.
B 4. Inferior Oolite.—Terrain Bajocien, calcaire Lasdonien,
calcaire a polypien, marnes vesuliennes, Eisen-Rogenstein
discoidien mergel. Middle brown Jura.
B 5. Fullers’Earth; 6. Great Oolite; and 7. Cornbrash.
—lerrain Bathonien, calcaire de Caen et Ranville, Parkinson!
Bank. Part of brown Jura.
C8 a. Kelloway Rock.—Terrain Callovien, Oxfordien inferieur.
1 art of brown Jura.
C 8. Pxford Clay.—Terrain Oxfordien, terrain argovien, terrain
a chailles, ornaten thon, Impressa kalke, Spongiten layer.
Tart of brown Jura and Lower white Jura.
C 9. Coral Rag.—Terrain corallien, schistes de Kattheim, calcaire
a nermees. Middle white Jura. (The lithographic flags of
Solenhofen are believed to be in this group.)
.DIO. Kimmerloge Clay.—Terrain Kimmeridgien, argiles noirs
de lionfleur, marnes du Banne, calcaire a astartes. Part of
the terrain portlandien of the geologists of the Swiss Jura,
who call the lower part Terrain Sequanien; part of Upper
white Jura. r
-Dll. Portland Beds.—Terrain portlandien, Upper white Jura,
calcaire ci tortues de Soleure.
D12. Purbeck Beds.—These do not receive any exact synonym
either in Pictet or in Vogt, the only two authorities accessible
to me.
GEOLOGY.
treat the early part of the period as a distinct one, under
the name of the Neocomiun, or some other designation.
For the present, however, it will be best to follow the classi¬
fication adopted by Sir C. Lyell and others, calling the
whole Cretaceous, but dividing the series of rocks into two
strongly-marked divisions, called Lower and Upper, or the
period of time into Earlier and Later Cretaceous.
Typical Groups op Rock.—S.E. England, N.W.
France, Belgium, $c.—-The following is the entire series
of rocks deposited during the great Cretaceous period in
this area:—
209
Geology.
Upper
Cretaceous.
Peet.
8. Maestricht and Faxoe beds, Pisolitic chalk 100
7. White chalk, with flints  500
6. White chalk, without flints  600
5. Chalk marl  iqO
4. Upper Greensand  10O
3. Gault  150
Lower Greensand  ggg
!. Speeton clay1  0q
Wealdon beds 1300
(2.:
I, l 2 a,
ML
In other parts of the world the rocks of the Oolitic (or
Jurassic) period appear chiefly in their Yorkshire type—
that is to say, as sandstones and shales with beds of coal
and ironstone, or as Oolitic Coal Measures. Sir Charles
Lyell gives a brief description of the Oolitic coal-field of
Richmond in Virginia, which has one bed of coal forty feet
thick. In India also coal occurs in beds, some of which
contain ammonites, shells, and plants very similar to those
found in the Oolitic rocks of Britain.
One of the most remarkable localities for rocks of the
Oolitic period to occur in, with fossils very closely allied to
those of Europe, is the Arctic regions. Captain M'Clin-
tock brought home several fossils from the Arctic regions,
consisting of ammonites and other shells, closely analogous to
Oolitic species ; and Captain Sir E, Belcher brought part
of the remains of an ichthyosaurus from the same regions.
The questions thus raised as to the climate of the globe
when cephalopods and reptiles, such as we should expect to
hnd only in warm or temperate seas, could live in such hio-h
latitudes, are not very easy to answer.
CRETACEOUS PERIOD.
It is perhaps doubtful whether it would not be more
advisable to divide the Oolitic period into two, callino- the
hrst portion Liassic, and treating it by itself. It is* still
more doubtful whether it would not be advisable to do the
same with that on which we are now commencing, and
VOL. xv. b
Lower
Cretaceous,
or Neocomian
This classification is derived from the study of different
parts of the area lying between Yorkshire and Orleans
and Dorsetshire and Denmark. As happens in other cases’
there is no place where the whole series is present at once,
and some of the members are very local and inconstant!
1 he middle part of the Upper Cretaceous series is the
most constant and best-marked part of the group, givino-
us generally an easily recognisable geological horizon or
band of demarcation between the beds below and above it.
We saw that at the close of the Oolitic period fresh-water
deposits began to prevail within the area we principally
contemplate. This involves the existence of large spaces
of dry land in the neighbourhood, some of the surfaces of
which have even their “ soils ” still preserved. It appears
that a very large portion of the earth’s surface must have
been converted into dry land at this time in the neighbour¬
hood of our area, for we have, in the commencement of this
period, evidence of the existence of a great river, and the
earliest deposit of this period appears to have been formed
by the matter thrown down at the mouth of this river
and to be in fact z. fossil delta as large as that of the Ganges
or Mississippi. As, however, marine depositions must have
been taking place in some other localities, it is to these that
we should look if we wish to carry on our history with
equipollent data; and it is believed that certain marine
rocks, known as Neocomian, from their occurring at Neuf-
chatel (Neocomiensis) in Switzerland, are those which were
the contemporaries of our fresh-water beds.
We will, however, first describe the beds of our own area,
and take separately the Lower Cretaceous or Neocomian
beds to begin with.
I. The Wealden beds, so called from their now form¬
ing a district known as the Weald of Kent and Sussex,
consist of a great series of sandstones and shales, with a few
beds of limestone and ironstone occasionally, often full of
large fragments of drift-wood, and of the remains of fresh¬
water shells, and of some fresh-water and some land animals
(reptiles). In general appearance the Wealden rocks not
unfrequently resemble some of the Coal Measures of the
true Carboniferous period.
The Wealden rocks are commonly divided into two
groups:—
Eeet.
b. The Weald clay  280
a. The Hastings sand 1000
These distinctions, however, seem hardly to be carried
1 The exact position of the Speeton clay is a little uncertain.
Professor E. Forbes, in Johnston’s Physical Atlas, placed it at or
below the base of the Lower Greensand on palaeontological evidence
alone.
2 D
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
[ 6. Green and ferruginous sand,
C' l     ’
210
Geology, out by any precise line of demarcation. 1 he lower beds
'v'"*’'' are more arenaceous, and the upper more argillaceous ; but
great beds of clay occur interstratified with the sandstones
of the Hastings sands, and beds of sandstone with the clays
of the Weald clay. It is probable that these beds change
their character laterally as well as vertically, great banks ot
sand and large deposits of mud having been formed side by
side. The sandstones are sometimes impregnated with
carbonate of lime, so as to become calciferous grits ; and
small beds of limestone, forming Petworth or Sussex
marble, chiefly consisting of fresh-water snail shells (1 alu-
dina), occur here and there. Local names are given to the
different parts of the Wealden series m different places, as
Ashburnham beds, Worth sands, Tilgate beds, Horsham
beds, &c. (Phillips.) . . , ,
2. The Lower Greensand was formerly considered the
base of the Cretaceous series, separated only by the occa¬
sional bed of clay called Gault from the Upper Greensand.
When the Gault is absent, and the Upper rests on the
Lower Greensand, it is difficult to separate them by any
lithological distinctions, but when they are separated they
are found to be very distinct paleontologically.
Where best shown (as at Atherfield, Isle of Wight, and
Hythe, Kent; Fitton, Forbes, and Ibbetson, Jour, of G.
S., vols. i. and iii.), the Lower Greensand is found to be a
great series of alternations of sands, sandstones, and clays,
Avith occasional calcareous bands. 1 he calcareous sand¬
stones form hard bands, known as Kentish rag; the clays
are sometimes excellent fullers’ earth, 60 feet in thickness,
and are most abundant in the lower part of the formation,
the upper being almost entirely sands. 1 he geneial colour
is dark-brown, sometimes red, and the sands are often bound
together by an abundance of oxide of iron, from which the
formation was formerly called Ironsand. It deiives its
name of Greensand from the occurrence of a number ot
little dark green specks (silicate of iron), which are some¬
times so abundant as to give a greenish tinge to some ot
the beds; but the term “green” is generally quite inap¬
plicable as a description, though it still remains as a com¬
monly received name. The whole formation in Bi itain is very
various in character. Its maximum thickness is 843 feet.
The beds immediately above the Wealden show some¬
times a sort of passage lithologically, as if partly made up
of those below, while the fossils are quite distinct, being
entirely marine. It appears that a depression had taken
place and allowed die sea to flow over the area which had
been previously covered with fresh water. The change
may thus be one of conditions rather than one of gieat lapse
of time—a supposition strengthened by the fact of the bones
of the Iguanodon ManteUi being found in the Lower
Greensand, showing that that great reptile still lived on
some neighbouring land, and that an occasional -carcase ot
it was swept out to sea. , „
2 a. The Speeton clay of Yorkshire, a local band ot
dark clay, is almost certainly of the same age as the Low ei
Greensand, if not, as thought by Professor Forbes, a little
older than it. . . ,
Switzerland.—The rocks of Neufchatel in Switzerland,
which are looked upon as one of the best continental types
of the beds deposited during this part of the Cretaceous
period, are the following :— ^ ^
5. Yellow limestone, at least 43C*
4. Yellow limestone, with siliceous masses  43
3. Yellow limestone, in broken beds  22
2. Blue marl    ^
1. Lower yellow limestone  ^
These beds rest uncanformably on the beds of the Port¬
land Oolite. {D’Archiac, vol. iv., p. 556.)
France.— D’Archiac gives the following as the type of
the rocks of this period in the basin of the Seine :—
B
5. Clay, with PUcatula and Exogyra sinuata.
| 4. Variegated sands and sandy clays, with iron ore.
{ 3. Clays, with oyster shells, &c.
. f 2. Neocomian limestone and blue marl.
A‘ \ 1. White sand and ferruginous sand, with iron geodes.
He says that these groups overlap each other from east
to west, "but that the upper group (C) also spreads much
more widely than the rest from north to south.
The following continental names for groups of rock
belong to this part of the period, being more or less nearly
contemporary with Lower Greensand i Hils clay and Hils
conglomerat; Biancone; Spatangus and Exogyra limestone ,
Marls of Hautrive ; Terrain Urgonien, or “ premier zone
de rudistes and Terrain Aptien,1 or argile a plicatules of
D’Orbigny ; the Hippurite limestone, &c.
Upper Cretaceous Beds.—We may now proceed to the
examination of the Upper Cretaceous beds of our original
area.
3. Gault.—This is a stiff dark-gray, blue, or brown clay,
often used for brick-making. It can be seen very well at
Cambridge and at Folkestone, but is by no means invariably
present. The shells in it are often beautifully preserved,
having been well packed and protected from atmospheric or
other influences.
Mr Sharpe was inclined to the opinion that the sands ot
Blackdown were of the same age as the Gault, being the
littoral deposits of the same sea, in the deeper parts of which
the clay was deposited.
4. Upper Greensand.—This set of beds often resembles
the Lower Greensand in lithological character, but the same
caution is to be used in taking its designation for a name
only, and not for a description. The sands are by no
means always green, and other sands, especially some fei-
tiary sands, are to be found quite as green, or greener,
than those which have received the name of Greensand.
Beds and concretionary masses of calcareous grit occur in
it, sometimes called firestone, sometimes malm rock. Con¬
cretions, probably coprolitic, containing phosphate of lime,
also occur, and are valuable to the agriculturist. It has
been surmised that the Upper Greensand may be in part
a shore deposit, and therefore contemporaneous with, rather
than preceding, the lowest beds of the chalk, but^wheiever
the two are together, we always find the Upper Gieensand
underneath the Chalk Marl.
5. Chalk Marl.—The top of the Upper Greensand be¬
comes argillaceous, and passes upwards into a pale bufL
coloured marl or argillaceous limestone, sometimes of
sufficient consistency to be used as a building stone. This
in its higher portion begins to lose the argillaceous character,
and gradually passes into the soft white pulverulent lime¬
stone familiar to every one as chalk.
6. White Chalk without flints.—This is a great mass ot
soft and often pulverulent limestone, thick-bedded, the stra¬
tification often obscure, partly by the obliteration of the
bedding planes, partly by the abundance of quadrangular
and diagonal joints, the surfaces of which are often weather-
stained, dirty-green, or yellow. Nodular balls of non
pyrites, radiated internally, are frequent in it, and produce
rusty stains about the rock.
1 M. Renevier, after a detailed comparison of the British and
continental rocks, determined that the Lower Greensand of Eng¬
land was strictly contemporaneous with the Aptian beds, and
therefore not according to him Neocomian, of which he says the
Urgonian is the upper part. We should be inclined, h°w®v® ’
give a wider sense to the term Neocomian (in default of a better)
and to include in it all beds of an age intermediate between the
Purbecks and the Gault. If M. Renevier be right, it 18 Probable
that the Urgonian and other Neocomian b«d8 oflSwltfrland’
are the exact marine representatives of the fresh-water Wealden
series.
GEOLOGY.
211
Geology. 7. White Chalk with flints.—There are no lithological
'^v—-^ distinctions between the Low'er and Upper Chalk, except
the occurrence in the latter of rows of nodules of black
flint, and occasionally of seams and layers of the same sub¬
stance. These occur either along the planes of stratification
or parallel to them, so that they point out clearly the original
bedding of the rock.
It is rare to find, either in the Upper or Lower Chalk,
anything but pure limestone or pure flint. Little pebbles,
however, sometimes occur in it, probably carried by the
roots of plants ; and in a cliff a little east of Dieppe, we once
observed in the heart of the Upper Chalk a little band
about 8 inches thick and 20 feet long of brown clay or
marl, perfectly interstratified with the chalk. This was
quite distinct from the seams and irregular patches of sand
which may now and then be seen in the chalk, having been
washed in subsequently from the drift on the surface, along
the open joints and fissures, which are formed in it, as in
all limestones, by the action of acidulous water along the
original joints of the rock.
Although the Chalk and the Carboniferous limestone
are so different in texture and induration, there is yet a
certain resemblance in the forms of the country they produce.
Their hills have equally broad undulating grassy downs,
the escarpments of which are quite smooth in the chalk,
while they are notched into steps in the mountain limestone.
Their valleys are equally marked by scaurs, and tors and
pinnacles, as any one may see by comparing the forms of
the rocks on the sides of the valley of the Seine with those
in the valleys of Derbyshire. The forms are, of course,
bolder, larger, and more durable in the latter than the
former.
8. Maestricht or Pisolitic Chalk.—At Mendon and La-
versines, and in other parts of the north of France, there
occur curious banks of a white Pisolitic limestone, resting
apparently in hollows of the Chalk, not always on exactly
the upper portion of it, and being therefore apparently
slightly unconformable to it. It occurs also sometimes on
the same level as the lower beds of the Tertiary rocks
about it. The fossils are rather peculiar, but some of them
are Cretaceous, while none I believe are Tertiary.
Near Maestricht in Holland, also, the Chalk with flints
(No. 7) is covered by a kind of chalky rock w’ith gray flints,
over which are some loose yellowish limestones, without
flints, and being sometimes almost made up of fossils.
Similar beds containing some of the same fossils occur
also at Faxoe in Denmark.
North of Ireland.—The Chalk of the north of Ireland is
generally a rather hard compact stone, and usually goes by
the name of “ the White Limestone.” It contains flints
and a large assemblage of the characteristic fossils. Its
thickness, however, rarely if ever exceeds 150 feet. Un¬
derneath it occur occasionally some beds of a whitish sand¬
stone speckled with green, very much resembling some of
the beds of greensand in the S.E. of England. Professor
E. Forbes, however, once remarked to us that he thought
it was more nearly of the age of the gault from its fossils.
It is called in the country “ Mulatto stone.” Its thickness
is rarely more than 15 or 20 feet.
Chap. III.—TERTIARY EPOCH.
Preliminary Observations.
The nomenclature of the Tertiary periods proposed by
Sir C. Lyell, and now all but universally adopted, is more
systematic than that of the Primary or Secondary periods.
It is based on the gradual increase of recent (i.e., living)
species in the newer rocks. The earliest of the periods
is termed Eocene, from the Greek words ^cos and xatvos,
signifying the dawn of the recent; the second, Miocene,
from /xaW, the minority ; the third, Pliocene, from TrXetW,
the plurality of recent species ; and the next, Pleistocene,
which expresses the recentness of the great majority of the
species.
To these we may add the present period itself, which
we may perhaps most conveniently designate as the Re¬
cent or the Human Period.
The adoption of this principle of classification was ren¬
dered more necessary in the case of the Tertiary than the
preceding epochs, from the nature of the physical condi¬
tions of Western Europe, on the structure of which our
classification is chiefly based.
In the primary and secondary epochs, the part now oc¬
cupied by Western Europe seems to have always contained
more sea than land, and the rocks deposited are accordingly
so widely spread as frequently to overlie and rest one upon
the other. We can therefore often determine their order
of superposition by their geognostic relations only; that is, by
actually tracing each group of beds till we find it plunging
under the superior group on the one side, or till the infe¬
rior group rises up to the surface from underneath on the
other. When, how'ever, we come to examine the Tertiary
rocks of the same area, we find them more isolated and occur¬
ring in smaller and more detached patches, each patch ending
before it comes in contact with the rest, so that their order
of superposition can rarely be determined by simple inspec¬
tion. To take a conspicuous instance at once :—The Chalk
of the S.E. of England is continuous with that of France1
and Belgium, and no mistake could possibly be made as to
tbe relative position of the beds above and below it. The
Oolites below the Chalk are even still more extensive, and
can be traced both geognostically and paleontologically.
The Tertiary beds above the Chalk, however, form isolated
districts in the hollows of the Chalk, one being called the
Hampshire basin, another the London, and a third the
Paris basin ; and if we wish to determine whether the beds
of these three districts are of the same age, or whether one
be older than another, it is obvious that we can no longer
employ the positive evidence of an inspection of their
superposition, but must have recourse either to the petro-
graphical evidence of their being made exactly of the same
kinds of rock occurring in the same order, or to the palae¬
ontological evidence of their containing the same assem¬
blages of fossils occurring in the same order; or if neither
rocks nor fossils were the same, then we should have to
fall back on the general rule or principle just spoken of,
and see which contained an assemblage of fossils having the
greatest approximation to living forms, and this in the case
of Tertiary rocks is most easily determined by the relative
percentage of actually existing species.
Geology.
THE EOCENE PERIOD.
TypicAL Groups of Rock.-
and Hampshire Basin—
-S.E. of England, London
Upper.
8. Hempstead
series.
7. Bembridge
series.
Feet.
d. Corbula beds 25 '
c. Upper fresh-
water and 1
estuary j ^ 175
marls J
b. Middle  50
a. Lower  60 J
r d. Upper rnarls^ X
) c. Lower marls >90 ( 115
\ b. Oyster bed J
k a. Limestone... 25 J
Carry forward,    290
1 That the shallow furrow of the Straits of Dover has been worn
down a little way below the level of the sea into the body of the
Chalk, does not, of course, affect this assertion.
212
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology.
Middle,
or Paris
Eocenes.
6. Osborne
series.
5. Heado
series.1 * *
4. Bagshot
series.
I
Brought forward, 290
Feet.
50
20
b. St Helen’s
sands 
a. Nettlestone
grits 
c. “Upper fresh )
water” .... J
b. Middle marine 30
a. “ Lower
fresh water
d. Upper Bag-
shot
c. Barton clay 300
b. Brackles
ham beds
a. Lower Bag-
shot
-■■I67
}
)
}
200
110
>- 1270
 1522
Lower, or
London
Eocenes.
rS. London clay,
or Bognor
series
2. Plastic clay
1. Thanet sands
480
160
90
2542
Near Reading the beds are—
Feet.
e. Mottled red and light bluish-gray clay  20
d. Laminated yellow sands  2
c. Light-gray and greenish sandy clay  4
b. Fine yellow sand  8
a. Green sand with Ottrcea Bellovacina  2
36
But these beds are more than 50 feet thick in other parts
of the district.
At New Haven, an outlier of the Hampshire district—
Feet.
t. Gray clay and dark-yellow sand  12
h. Round flint pebbles in gray clay and yellow 1 ^
sand J
g. Laminated gray clay with seams of yellow 1 s
sand j
/. Concreted oyster rock (O. Bellovacina')  2
e. Comminuted shells in yellow sand and gray 1 g
clay /
d. Yellow, brown, and red sand in layers   5
c. Dark-gray clays with ironstone   20
b. White, ochreous, and green sand  25
a. Green and ferruginous coated flints in sand.., 2
Geology.
The Lower Eocene Group.
81
The surface of the chalk on which the Eocene beds rest
is generally eroded into hollows and undulations, showing
a marked but not a very wide unconformity, as when the
Chalk is greatly tilted, the Lower Eocene beds partake of
the disturbance to an equal amount.
1. Thanet Sands.—Light-coloured quartzose sand, mixed
in the lower beds with much argillaceous matter, but never
passing into actual clay; containing occasionally dark-green
grains like those mentioned before in the Greensands. It
rests almost invariably on a stratum of Chalk flints, from
which the chalk seems to have been washed away without
wearing or fracturing the flints, and these are of a bright
olive colour externally, by which they may be recognised
in other beds (Tertiary or drift) to which they may have
been subsequently carried. The Thanet sands are very
constant in character from the Isle of Thanet throughout
the London basin, but thin out to the westward, till a little
north of Windsor they are only 4 feet thick, shortly be¬
yond which they disappear entirely. (Prestwich, Geological
Journal, 1852, p. 235.)
2. The Plastic Clay, or the Woolwich and Reading
series of Prestwich.—This group is more variable in cha¬
racter than that of the Thanet sands, and also more widely
extended, becoming thicker from east to west, or in the
opposite direction to the Thanet sands.
On the east, near Herne Bay, we have in it—
Feet.
e. Argillaceous green sand  12
b. Dark-gray argillaceous sand with nodules of 1 ^
iron pyrites J
a. Light ash-green and yellow sands  9
28
At Black Heath it consists of—
Feet.
e. Pebble beds  12
d. Brownish sand  2
e. Comminuted shells in light-coloured clay with ) r,
pebbles    : ] 6
b. Light-green sandy clays  7
a. Light-green sands with pebbles  6
33
In Alum Bay, Isle of Wight, these beds are from 90 to
140 feet thick, consisting of bright-coloured tenacious
mottled clays, the prevailing colour being blood-red, but
having mixtures of light bluish-gray and yellow, light and
dark slate colour, lavender, puce, yellow, and brown, almost
free from any admixture of sand.1 (Prestwich, Geol. Jour.,
1854, vol. x., p. 75.)
The Druid Sandstones, Gray Weathers, Sarsenstones,
and Puddingstones, scattered in loose blocks over many of
the Chalk downs around the London basin, are believed by
Mr Prestwick to be consolidated portions of the sands and
gravels of the Plastic clay series.
3. The London Clay.—In the London basin this con¬
sists of—
b. Dark-gray and brown clay, with layers of septaria or cement-
stones, varying from 200 feet on the.west to 480 on the east
about Sheppey Island.
a. Basement bed, yellow, green, and ferruginous sands, and occa¬
sionally clays with layers of rounded flint pebbles, having
a total thickness of about 5 feet, and resting on slightly
eroded surface of beds below.
In the Hampshire basin we have—
b. Dark-blue clays and sands, containing nodules of argillaceous
ironstone with bands of gray clayey sands and dark-greenish
sands, sometimes compacted into hard stone called Bognor
rock, having a total thickness varying from 193 to 363 feet.
a. Basement bed of sand and clay, with a conglomerate of round
flint pebbles and partly rounded fragments of chalk and of
the mottled clays below, 4 to 5 feet.
The Middle Eocene Groups.
4. The Bagshot series, which takes its name from Bag-
shot Heath, but is best seen in the Isle of Wight. These
consist of four groups, namely:—
4 a. The Lower Bagshot beds, composed of alternations of sand
and clay; the sands generally pale yellow or gray, but some¬
times dark and ferruginous, at others fawn-coloured or rose-
coloured ; the clays are white pipe-clay, or gray or choco¬
late-coloured clay. Thickness, 660 feet.
4 6. The Bracklesham beds (so called from Bracklesham in Sus¬
sex).—Dark chocolate-coloured marls and carbonaceous clays
below, over which are whitish marly clay and white sands
capped by a band of conglomerate of flint pebbles. Thick¬
ness, 110 feet.
1 The total thickness of the fluvio-marine strata of the Isle of
Wight, reckoning from the base of the Headon series, will be about
540 feet.
1 I have given these beds in a little more detail than their rela¬
tive importance deserves, as a good example of the variable charac¬
ter of some of the Tertiary beds of Western Europe.
GEOLOGY.
Jeology. 4 c. The Barton beds.-Greenish-gray sandy clay below, passing
U,P mt? ^1vulaJh g^cn and brown clay, interstratified occasion¬
ally with beds of sand and loam. Thickness, 300 feet. This
was formerly supposed to be the London clay.
4 d. Upper Bagshot beds.—Yellow and white sands with ferru¬
ginous stains. Occasionally 120 feet.
(Mr Bristow’s section in Mems. Geol. Survey, 1856 ; For¬
bes’ Isle of Wight Meml)
The arrangement is different from that given by Mr
Prestwich in his papers in the Geological Journal. It ap¬
pears that No. 16 of Mr Bristow’s section, p. 157, is the
same as No 24 of Mr Prestwich’s in Geological Journal
vol. n., p. 2oS. All below that Mr Bristow called Lower
Bagshot, while Mr Prestwich includes many of the sands
below m his Bracklesham series. (Geological Journal
vol. xiu., p. 99.)
5. The Headon series.—All the beds hitherto described
except part of the Plastic Clay series, are of marine origin!
With the commencement of the Headon series, however
we meet with indications of fresh water having prevailed
over what is now the Hampshire area, as well as at the cor¬
responding period of the Paris Tertiaries. In the London
area no beds higher than the Bagshots are known.
5 a. The Lower Headon beds consist of clays and marls in White-
cliff Bay, while at Headon Hill and Colwell Bay they con¬
tain thick limestones; and they are still more varied at
Hordwell on the opposite coast. They are the “Lower
Fresh-water formation ” of Webster.
5 b. The Middle Headon beds consist principally of sands, show¬
ing at Headon Hill brackish water conditions, but containing
beds of oysters; while at Colwell Bay and Hordwell, and
still more strongly at Whitecliff Bay, the beds have a purely
marine character. Webster called them the “Upper Marine
formation.”
5 c. The Upper Headon beds contain the strongest limestones of
Headon Hill, which, however, thin out rapidly towards the
north. They are represented by a few very thin and in¬
conspicuous sandy concretionary bands in Whitecliff Bay
The uppermost beds of the group are marls. Webster gave
the name of “ Upper Fresh-water formation ” to this group.
. 6- Osborne (or St Helen’s) series.—This is divisible
into two groups, of which the first or lowest is—
6 a. The Nettlestone grits, consisting of hard rag and shelly sand¬
stone below, capped by marl and bright-yellow limestone.
The whole about 20 feet in thickness.
6 l. The uppermost has an alternation of white, and green, and
yellow sands, with blue, white, and yellowish clays and
marls, having a total thickness of about 50 feet.
The Upper Eocene Groups.
The fluvio-marine conditions are still continued in the
Isle of Wight district, without any very marked line of dis¬
tinction, between the top of the middle and the base of the
Upper Eocene groups.
7. The Bembridge series, of which the first or lowest
division is—
7 a. The Bembridge limestone, a pale yellow or cream-coloured
limestone, interstratified with clay or crumbling marl the
limestone full of cavities, and often quite tufaceous and
concretionary, and sometimes conglomeritic, sometimes a
true travertine ; contains siliceous or cherty bands in some
places. Thickness, 20 to 25 feet.
7 b. The oyster bed, a few feet of greenish sands containing
oysters (Ostraia Vectensis) in great abundance, capped by a
band of hard septarian stone, which is constant over a lar<re
area. About 10 feet altogether. °
7 c. Unfossiliferous mottled clays, alternating with fossiliferous
laminated clays and marls. Containing Cyrena pulchra
7 d. Marls and laminated gray clays, containing Melania turritis-
sima; capped by the Black Band forming the base of the
Hempstead series.
8. The Hempstead series—the three lower divisions of
fresh-water and estuary origin.
8 a. The lowest bed of this group is a firm carbonaceous laminated
clay highly fossiliferous, about two feet thick, known as the
Black Band, over which are pale-bluish and yellow shaly
213
The whole about 40 Geology.
marls, with ironstone concretions,
feet thick.
8 6. The base of this group, called the White Band, is a bed of
mingled broken and entire shells, more or less consolidated,
often very ferruginous, from 6 inches to 2 feet thick-
over which are mottled, yellow, and pale-green marls, capped
by shaly clays and dark marls, and blue-green ferruginous
clays, with ironstone concretions. Total thickness about
50 feet.
8 e. Variegated red and green marls and gray clays, covered by
greenish clay, passing up into pale and dark gray or lead-
coloured clays. Thickness about 40 feet.
8 d. Clays with septaria, and gray and bluish clays with concre¬
tions containing abundance of Corbula; marine. About
25 feet thick.
France and Belgium.—The labours of Mr Prestwich,
continued so long and assiduously, have gradually made
plain to us the correlation of the English and French Eo¬
cene beds, and joined with those of Sir C. Lyell and M.
Dumont, have also taught us the relation of these with
those of Belgium. The following table exhibits these re¬
lations as they are now believed to be, taking Mr Prest¬
wich’s classification for all below the Upper Bagshot sands
and Professor Edward Forbes’ for these and all above
them :—
England.
11. Hempstead.
10. Bembridge.
9. Osborne.
8. Headon
:•}
7. Upper Bagshot.
6. Barton clay.
5. Bracklesham.
4. Lower Bagshot.
3. London clay.
2. Woolwich and
Beading.
1. Thanet sands.
Belgium.
France.
Rupelien.
Tongrien.
Laeckenien, part
of ?
f Systeme Laecken-
( ien superieur?
f Systeme Laecken-
\ ien inferieur.
f Systeme Bruxel-
\ lien.
f Systeme Ypresien
| superieur ?
f Systeme Ypresien
( inferieur ?
\ Systeme Landen-
[ ien superieur.
f Systeme Landen-
( ien inferieur.
' Calcaire de la
Beauce.
Gres de Fontaine¬
bleau.
Sables et bancs de
coquilles, marnes
marines.
Calcaire siliceux,
calcaire lacustre
moyenne, Gyp¬
seous series of
Montmartre, &c.
( Calcaire marin et
j Gres de Beau-
l champ.
Sables moyennes,
upper zone.
Sables moyennes
lower zone.
( Calcaire grossier,1
f and Glauconie
l grossiere.
(Lits coquillieres,
\ and Glauconie
l moyenne.
| Wanting.*
{Gresde Poudingues,
Lignites et Ar-
gile Plastique,
Glauconie infe¬
rieur.
| Wanting.
According to Mr Prestwich, the London Tertiaries were
1 Mr Prestwich gives (Geol. Jour., vol. xiii., p. 99) the following
detailed description of the Calcaire grossier:— j, ^
4. Compact white marls, passing down into alternations of green¬
ish marls and thin yellow limestones, with seams of chert  20
3. Thin-bedded fissile calcareous flags and sandstones, alternating
with white marls and limestones   15
2. Thick main mass of soft, light yellow calcareous freestone (the
building stone of Paris got by mining or subterranean quarry¬
ing), passing sometimes into calcareous sands  40
1. Variable, more or less calcareous greensands, sometimes con¬
creted, flint pebbles often at base  25
100
2 Some part of it, however, formerly extended into Normandy, as
some clay at the top of the cliff of Ailly, near Dieppe, is believed
to be London clay. (Prestwich, Geol. Jour., vol. xi., p. 230.)
214
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology, deposited in a sea open to the north, spreading at least oyer
South-East England, Belgium, and north of France, whilst
to the south of that area, dry land prevailed over the great
part of the Paris Tertiary district and still further south.
Gradual depression then took place, extending the limits ol
the sea over the Paris area, leading to the introduction ot
Nummulites and more southern forms of marine life than had
hitherto prevailed. Dry land was still in the immediate neigh¬
bourhood, as shown by the occasional presence of terrestrial
forms, and alternations of elevation and depression doubtless
took place, modifying here and there the physical geogiaphy
of the district. The Barton Clay, for instance, seems to
have been deposited in a sea of a more northern character
than that in which the Bracklesham Clays and sand were
formed. Fresh-water conditions finally became prevalent,
large estuaries opened into the seas over the Biitish and
north of France areas, while large lakes existed in the
centre and south of France, wheie, soon niter, volcanic
eruptions commenced to break forth, and continued for
many thousand years in subsequent periods. Edvyard
Forbes pointed out that the upper part of the Bembridge
series w^as probably of the same age as the Molasse of
Fronsadais and the associated beds, and also as the Calcaire
a Asteries of the S.W. of France. Part of the Tertiary
beds of Malta, Corsica, Greece, Crete, Cerigo, S. of Spain
and Portugal, Azores, and North Africa, are also believed
to be contemporaneous with these beds. Contemporaneous
with the Hempstead also were the Molasse ossifere and
the Faluns jaunes of Dax, the lower division of the Vienna
Tertiaries; and the marine beds, the Cerithium kalk and
Upper Brown Coal of Mayence. {Meins. Geol. Soc. 1856,
p. 100.)
Sir C. Lyell, however, in his Supplement, thinks that it
wmuld be more convenient to retain a nomenclature common
on the Continent, and to class the Hempstead series and
its contemporaneous beds as Lower Miocene, taking the
beds from the Barton Clay to the Bembridge series inclu¬
sive as Upper Eocene, and the Bracklesham and Lower
Bagshot beds only as Middle Eocene. He remarks, how-
. ever, that we must in this case look on the boundary be¬
tween Eocene and Miocene as an arbitrary and purely
conventional line.
Certainly, as far as England (Isle of Wight) is con¬
cerned, the Hempstead beds are linked to those below by a
greater number of species than they have peculiar to them¬
selves.
The Alps, the Borders of the Mediterranean, Egypt,
India.—Through these countries, from the Alps to the
Himalayas, occurring at intervals through 25° of latitude
and near 100° of longitude, are found great masses of rock,
sometimes even thousands of feet in thickness, crowded
with Nummulites, and sometimes almost made up of them.
These are of Middle Eocene age. Associated with these
are still higher beds called Flysch and Macigno in the north
of Italy, and the black slates or shales of Glarus containing
quantities of fossil fish, &c. The Monte Bolca fish-beds
are also of about this age. (Murchison, Geol. Jour., vol. v.,
p. 157, &c.)
North America.—Sir C. Lyell places the Claiborne and
Alabama beds among the productions of the Middle Eocene
period.
fossil leaves found by the Duke of Argyll in the Isle of Geology.
Mull more nearly resembled Miocene forms than any other,
and were certainly not the same with those of any known
Eocene forms.
If we adopt the classification usual on the Continent, and
consider the Hempstead beds and their equivalents the
earliest of Miocene beds, then the Bembridge series of the
Isle of Wight, and the Gypseous series of Montmartre, wdll
be the uppermost or newest of the Eocene period. There
is, it appears, a palaeontological reason for this arrangement
on the Continent, inasmuch as if we draw the line at the
top of the Montmartre beds, and at the base ot the Calcaire
lacustre superior (or Calcaire de la Beauce), certain ge¬
neric and even specific forms of Mammalia are kept wholly
within the Miocene groups which otherwise w'ould be made
common to the Eocene and Miocene periods. Ihe genera
Dorcatherium, Cainotherium, Anchitherium, and Titano-
mys, and the species Rhinoceros incisivus, and others, are
examples. (M. Lartet, in Lyell’s Supplement.)
We shall then have the following as
Typical Groups of Hocks of the Miocene Period.
—Belgium and France.—Limburg beds, Rupelian of Du¬
mont, the Bolderburg beds, the Fuluns of 1 ouraine and^
Bourdeaux, the principal part of the lacustrine strata of
Auvergne and Central France. Associated with the latter
were the earliest beds of lava and volcanic breccias, which
began now to be poured forth in the districts of Auvergne,1
Velay, and Cantal, and continued to break forth at inter¬
vals to far later times.
Germany and Switzerland.— The Mayence basin, the
principal part of the Vienna basin, part of the Molasse of
Switzerland, containing the “ nagel-flue,” a conglomerate
6000 or 8000 feet thick.
Italy.—of the beds in the hill of Superga, near
Turin. i i
North America.—The sands of Richmond, and the
James River in Virginia.
India.—The Sewalik formations, which compose the
sub-Himalayan range of hills. (Lyell’s Manual.)
PLIOCENE PERIOD.
Typical Groups of Rocks.—
Feet.
2. Red Crag 50
1. Coralline Crag ,...40
1. The Coralline Crag is composed chiefly of soft marly
sands of a white colour, sometimes speckled with green, con¬
taining occasionally thin bands of flaggy limestone. It is
generally about 20 feet, but sometimes as much as 50 feet
in thickness. Near Ipswich it has been denuded, and the
Red Crag is seen to lie in the hollows that have been
eroded in it, which is the only direct evidence of the super¬
position of the Red Crag on the Coralline; otherwise they
lie side by side, the Coralline2 Crag being confined to a
strip of country 20 miles long by 3 or 4 wide, stretching
through Ipswich from the Stour River to the Aide River.
2. The Red Crag consists of beds of red quartzose sands
and gravel, with accumulations of rolled shells. It is very
variable in character, sometimes regularly stratified, some¬
times more confused.
THE MIOCENE PERIOD.
The proportion of living to extinct species is taken at
about 25 per cent. If we include the Hempstead series in
the deposits of the Eocene period, we have no stratified
rocks in the British Islands representative of the formations
of the Miocene period, unless it be the “ ash ” beds and
lignites associated with the basalts of the north of Ireland
and west of Scotland. Edward Forbes thought that the
1 It is, howrever, most probable that the great volcanoes of the
Mont Dor and the Cantal, &c., are of a still earlier period, as may
be surmised from their more ruined and eroded character, the
obliteration of their craters, and the great valleys worn deep into
the flanks of their wide-spread mounds.
2 It appears that this term of Coralline is a mistake, inasmuch
as true corals are rare in both the divisions of Crag, while the
coral-like bodies which are common in the Lower Crag are f’oty"
zoa, and are also found, though not so abundantly, in the Red
Crag. (Edward and Haime, Palocontographology, vol. i.)
GEOLOGY.
Geology. Both groups resemble the deposits which we may now
suppose to be taking place in the shallow bed of the Ger¬
man Ocean.
Antwerp. Sir C. Lyell {Manual, p. 174) describes
strata around Antwerp, and on the banks of the Scheldt
below that city, containing 200 species of shells, of which
two-thirds are the same as those of the Crag of Suffolk.
More than half are living species, principally belonging to
the Celtic, though containing some Lusitanian (Mediter¬
ranean) species.
Normandy. The same authority mentions a patch of
Crag near Valognes in Normandy, and at other places, ex¬
tending to a little south of Carentace, but none farther.
Italy. 1 he sub-Apennines or low hills intervening be¬
tween the Apennines and the sea, on each side of Italy,
are made of I ertiary strata, of which part are of Miocene,
pait of Pliocene, and part of a still more recent period.
1 he beds of Asti and Parma, and the blue marl of Sienna,
which near Parma is 2000 feet thick, over which are yellow
sands and conglomerates formed on the shallowing of the
sea, belong to this period, as do the Tertiary marine beds
forming the base of the seven hills of Rome.
South Russia. Sir R. Murchison and M. de Verneuil de¬
scribe limestone and sands, rising occasionally to the height
of several hundred feet above the sea around the coasts of
the Caspian and Aral Seas, and the north-western parts of
the Black Sea, as belonging to this period. They call
them the Aralo-Caspian formation. The fossils are partly
fresh-water, partly marine.
PLEISTOCENE PERIOD.
Without attempting to draw any very nice or accurate
distinction between the deposits of this and the preceding
period, we may take, as a rough definition of the Pleistocene
deposits, “ those in which more than three-fourths of the
fossils are of existing species.”
We know of no remarkable living generic forms, with the
exception only of man, that may not have been in existence
during this period. The horse, the ox, the dog, and all the
variety of terrestrial Mammalia, seem now to have been dis¬
seminated over the earth, each species in its own province,
very much as they are now distributed. The species of
Mammalia were almost always, and in some cases even
the genera were, different from those now occupying the
province, while the species of Mollusca, See., were nearly
the same.
Typical Groups of Rocks.—Britain.—The assem¬
blage of sands and gravels about the county of Norfolk,
known as the Mammaliferous or Norfolk Crag, containing
both marine and fresh-water shells, and the bones of rnarn^
moths, together with those of the horse, dog, pig, deer, &c.,
—deposits of Brentford (Middlesex), of Gray’s (Essex), and
of Maidstone (Kent), containing the bones of the mam¬
moth or woolly elephant ; the extinct
woolly rhinoceros {Rhinoceros tichorhinus), a monkey
{Macacus pliocenus), and fresh-water shells, which, though
not extinct entirely, are no longer inhabitants of Britain ;
one of them, for instance {Cyrena consobrina), being now
only found in the Nile; the elephant bed near Happis-
burgh (Norfolk), underlying “ the drift ” there, and stretch¬
ing under the sea, from which, according to Woodward,
2000 mammoths’ grinders were dredged up by the fishermen
in thirteen years; the clay deposit at Chillesford, Suffolk,
described by Prestwich. {Jour. Geol. Soc., vol. v., p. 345.)
Other similar partial superficial patches of clays, sands,
and gravels, some of the gravels being widely spread over
high ground, and known as the “ high-level gravels,” having
the present river valleys excavated through them, others oc¬
cupying these valleys and the lower grounds, and known as
the “low-level” gravels. Some of these deposits are
215
Glacial beds to be men" Geology.
older, and some newer than the
tioned presently.
It was about this time, perhaps, unless it were still later
after the close of the Glacial period, that the caves of the
British Islands were inhabited by large hyaenas and bears
{Hyccna spelceus and Ursus spelwiis and priscus). Into
these dens many bones of other animals then inhabiting the
neighbourhood were dragged by them. These remains are
generally found in mud, under a layer of stalagmite.
The Glacial Deposits are chiefly clays, sands, and gravels,
sometimes stratified, sometimes rudely piled together, and
containing great blocks of rock, which also sometimes occur
scattered loosely over the surface. They are variously
called by the terms of “ Great Northern Drift,” “ Till ” (in
Scotland), a brown clay with boulders ; “ Marls ” in Wex¬
ford and Wicklow, where fossiliferous marl is interstratified
with sand and gravel; “ Limestone Gravel ” in Central Ire¬
land, chieflyconsistingof pebblesof Carboniferous limestone,
heaped sometimes into narrow ridges 40 or 50 feet high,
and from 1 to 20 miles long, which are called “ Escars; ”
“the Boulder Clay” in Northern and Central England,
&c.; and “Drift” almost universally. The “ Erratic Block
group of Delabeche is likewise a well-known name for
these deposits.
The fossils of the Coralline Crag have a southern, while
those of the Red Crag have a more northern aspect; those
which are found at Gray’s, Sec., still point to a climate more
like that of the south of Europe than our own, though as
far as the woolly elephant and woolly rhinoceros are con¬
cerned, they might well have inhabited Britain at the pre¬
sent day, or even countries with a still severer climate.
A change, however, now took place, of a kind different
from any we have yet met with, unless Professor Ramsay’s
ideas as to the glacial origin of the Permian and other old
conglomerates be well founded. Simultaneously with a
gradual, but eventually a great and wide-spread, depression
of land, amounting in many places to 2000 or 2500 feet,
there was a refrigeration of the climate of our own lati¬
tudes, so that the glens of our present mountains were
encumbered with glaciers, even where their valleys were
penetrated by the sea, and our low lands were entirely sub-
meiged. By the action of these glaciers, the rocks were
scored and rounded, polished and grooved, and masses of
rock carried down and heaped into moraines, while great
blocks of rock were transported on fragments of those
glaciers which dipped into the sea, and formed icebergs,
being often carried far over the shallow seas, and dropped
many miles from their parent sites,1 sometimes resting on
hill-tops, which were then banks and shallows in the sea,
and so arrested the icebergs in their course. Alternations
of elevation and depression doubtless took place, and the
ordinary action of the breakers along the beach was aided
by the quantity of detritus poured into it by the glaciers,
and modified by that of the shore ice which formed along
it in the winter seasons.
The Escars of Ireland were probably formed in the eddies
at the margins of opposing and conflicting currents, the
materials being piled up from each side.
These Glacial deposits are not confined to the British
Islands, but extend over all the north of Europe and North
America, down to a certain curved boundary, which in
1 The largest boulder I know in the British Islands is near the
head of the Devil’s Glen in county Wicklow. It is 27 feet long,
by 18 wide, and 15 high. It is of granite, resting on Cambrian
grits and slates, six or eight miles from the nearest granite in situ,
with a wide shallow valley between the hill on which it now stands
and the granite district. At the recent meeting of the British
Association at Dublin, Mr Godwin Austen described a large boul¬
der of granite (apparently Scandinavian) found in the chalk near
Croydon, showing that occasional icebergs wandered southwards
even in the Cretaceous period.
216
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology. Europe, according to Sir R. I. Murchison, only stretches
s'—so far S. as Lat. 50° in one part of its course, namely, near
Cracow. Great blocks of Swedish or Norwegian rocks,
as large as cottages, lie scattered over the plains of North
Germany.
Towards the close of the Glacial period, or after it, our
present low lands seem to have been again above water, and
to have been more extensive than they now are, the British
Islands being probably united to each other, and to the
Continent, by plains which have since been widely eroded,
and the shallow seas formed out of them that now separate
our present lands. On these plains the Irish elk, the rein¬
deer, the musk-ox, and other animals roamed, sometimes
becoming drowned in the lakes or mired in the swamps,
and leaving their skeletons as records of their former ex¬
istence.
During the prevalence of the cold climate of the Glacial
period many species of Molluscs which previously inhabited
the British seas, and are found fossil in the Crag, retired
southwards, and occur fossil in the Mediterranean Pleis¬
tocene deposits ; but at the close of the Glacial periods they
again came northwards, and are now inhabitants of our seas
for the second time, while some of them no longer live in
the Mediterranean.
Dr Falconer has recently shown that a similar history
might be told with respect to the Mammalia. The Ele-
phas primigenius has, according to him, never been found
south of the Alps, where an allied species, E. antiquus, has
left its remains (Lyell’s Supplement) ; that species having
previously roamed much farther north, and left its remains
in the earlier Pleistocene deposits of Britain. Mr Godwin
Austen informs us that Dr Falconer believes that the rela¬
tive ages of the different drifts or superficial deposits may
ultimately be worked out by paying attention to the differ¬
ent species of elephant found in them. (Austen “ On
Newer Tertiary Deposits of Sussex Coast,”—Geological
Journal, vol. xiii., part, i.,—in which Mr Austen now would
write E. antiquus for E.primigenius, on p. 50, line 18, and
p. 55, line 8 from bottom, on Dr Falconer’s authority.)
In like manner the Arctic or Boreal fauna and flora
which prevailed over our islands and shores during the
Glacial period, have receded towards the north again, but
have left some traces of their former existence in the Arctic
or Boreal plants which are found near the summits of our
mountains, and the Boreal shells which may be dredged
from certain deep hollows in our sea. Edward Forbes
showed that the present fauna and flora of the British
Islands is derived from five sources.
1. The remnant of a Spanish (Lusitanian) flora in the
W. of Ireland, probably dating from the Miocene period.
2. A Gallican or Norman flora in the S.W. of England
and S.E. of Ireland, with a remnant of a corresponding
fauna.
3. A Kentish or north of France flora, and correspond¬
ing fauna, extending over the S.E. of England. These two
may both perhaps be of Pliocene date.
4. The Arctic flora and fauna just spoken of, diminish¬
ing in numbers from the N. of Scotland towards the S. of
England.
5. The great Germanic flora and terrestrial fauna,
occupying all the central and northern parts of England
and Ireland and south of Scotland, and spreading through
the other districts in co-tenancy with the rest, dating from
the time when the British Islands were united by the great
plain to each other and the Continent.
The Celtic marine fauna comes in with this; its peculiar
species being apparently created to occupy the shallow seas
formed by the erosion of this great plain, and inhabiting
them together with the Arctic or Boreal species that re¬
mained about the coasts and spread into the new sea, and
such of the southern species as returned to it from the
Lusitanian province. One or two Arctic or Boreal outliers
occur in deep cold hollows of the British seas, containing
species not found elsewhere till we go much farther north,
just in the same way that the tops of our loftiest mountains
have plants not found on our lower grounds and plains, but
occurring down to the waters’ edge in Scandinavia.
It appears that just as the present surface of all land is
formed by the outcrop of a number of beds of different
ages, the newest being generally the most widely spread,
and concealing the others, except in some particular locali¬
ties where they rise up to view; so the population of ani¬
mals and plants—the fauna and flora—of many countries, may
be made up of different assemblages of different dates and
different origins,—the newest perhaps spreading over, and
more or less concealing, the others, the oldest only perhaps
becoming apparent in one or two separated and isolated
localities.
Besides the “ Great Northern Drift,” consisting of far-
travelled boulders and fragments, there is also a much more
generally diffused local drift, the materials of which are
always derived from the immediate neighbourhood. This
may be either contemporaneous with, or of earlier or later
date than, the Glacial period, but is most probably later,
and much of it perhaps of subaerial origin. It is occasion¬
ally of very considerable thickness and importance in the
British Islands, and similar “drifts” are found in other
parts of the world in all latitudes, and not confined, like
that of the Glacial period, to high northern or southern
regions.
Raised Beaches and Submarine Forests.—Neither is
our history brought to a close after the formation of all our
present deposits, and the coming into existence of all our
present species. Changes of level have since taken place,
as shown by the occurrence of raised beaches, in the shape
of banks of sand and shingle with shells, above high-water
mark, round our coasts, containing just such species as
occur in the beaches below them; and in the fact of peat
bogs, containing the stumps and roots of oak, and fir, and
other common trees, to be seen at dead low water, passing
under the sea. In many of the bays along the south coast
of Ireland peat is dug from such situations at low water of
spring tides, and dried and used as fuel.
These facts show us that some of our peat bogs, at all
events, may date back from a considerable antiquity. Beds
of peat, indeed, sometimes occur beneath the clay and
gravel of the Glacial deposits, or interstratified with such
deposits.
Soil and Subsoil, Vegetable Mould, fyc.—As long as
the geologist is engaged only with the local facts, as to the
formation of regularly stratified rocks or of large masses of
earthy matter, whether regularly or irregularly accumulated,
he proceeds with pretty confident steps towards his conclu¬
sions. Those conclusions are general ones, and often of
a sufficiently sweeping character. Certain districts, now
high dry land, were formerly deep sea, in which certain
beds were deposited, including the remains of creatures
that lived in the sea. The time when these things took
place was a very remote one, and the interval occupied by
them a long one,—hundreds, thousands, or millions of years,
as the case may be. We are not compelled to be more
definite, nor have we any inducement to be so. In pro¬
portion, however, as we approach the recent or human
period, our steps necessarily become more cautious, since
we have more of a personal interest in ascertaining pre¬
cisely the nature of the processes and the period of their
occurrence.
We are naturally anxious to know, if possible, the actual
date, in years, of the last elevation of the lands we inhabit
out of the sea in which they have been so often immerged,
and what has taken place upon them between that last emer¬
gence and the historic times. Indications, then, which
G eology.
*
1
GEOLOGY.
eulogy, would be at other times overlooked, become now of im-
portance; but in proportion to the interest attached to the
investigation becomes its difficulty, since observations now
are required to be more accurate and minute, as well as
more widely spread, and more strictly checked and com¬
pared, than when larger generalities are dealt with. Hence
it arises that we have not yet arrived at any satisfactory
union of the history of the pre-human and the human
periods, and possibly no very satisfactory union may ever
be arrived at. J
One strictly geological subject has yet scarcely been
commenced upon, and that is the formation of soil. The
natural formation of soil is certainly not always a rapid one.
On many coral islets, crowded with birds and covered with
vegetation, some even having considerable trees, there is
itt e that could be called soil. The loose coral fragments
and coral sand are slightly discoloured, and from their
interstices small particles of “mould” could be picked up
with the finger and thumb, but there is no layer of pure
sod. Neither does soil always follow vegetation, however
long continued. The great gum-tree forests of Australia
rise from wide tracts of bare ironstone gravel or bare sand¬
stone rock, slightly covered with an inch or two of rubble
without anything that could be called soil for scores of
miles at a stretch. The ground looks like a great untidy
gravel wa k, from which a few straggling blades of grass
spring up here and there between the trees. Neither are
even calcareous rocks always covered with vegetation. In
Galway and Mayo considerable flats of low ground may
sometimes be seen formed of horizontal sheets of Carbonifer¬
ous limestone, perfectly bare except in the crevices of the
joints, where a short sweet grass springs up. On some of
the fine corn land of the Cotteswold Hills, too, on the
Oolitic limestones, the soil is not half an inch in thickness,
and is composed principally of the rubble of the rock below’
just such a soil as that of a coral islet would be if ploughed.
On some of the downs of the Carboniferous limestone, a=
also on Chalk downs, the soil consists of about an inch of
close green turf, that may be cut with a knife and peeled
on the rock below in great rolls. I am not aware of any
experiments for determining how long such bared spots
would require to be reclothed with turf by unassisted
nature.
Mr Darwin, in a paper in the Trans. Geol Soc., vol v
attributes the formation of “ mould” to the digestive action’
of worms, who swallow finely-divided soil, and eject it
after extracting the nutritive matter therefrom, and thus
improve the nature of the soil.
Foreign Pleistocene Deposits.
If heen said that, during the Glacial period, many
of the Molluscs which previously inhabited the British seas
retired southwards, and that their remains are to be found
fossil in the Pleistocene deposits of the Mediterranean
while they do not now live on that sea, but have returned
to their original province. In Sicily, especially, there are two
if not more groups of rock, the Lower argillaceous and the
Upper calcareous, consisting of thick beds of hard limestone
having an aggregate thickness of 700 or 800 feet. These
beds cover half the island, and rise to a height of 3000 feet
the lower portions having as much as 30 per cent, of extinct
species, while the upper parts contain shells mostly identi¬
cal with species now living in the Mediterranean. (Lyell’s
Manual, chap, xii.) Some of these beds appear to be inter-
stratified with lavas, part of the early outflows of the vol¬
canic focus of ./Etna.
ExceUent fossils may often be procured from the surface of
tbe Carboniferous limestone by this process of stripping it
VOL. xr.
These thick deposits, which are found in Sicily and the
Grecian Archipelago, and some of which may exist in
bpam and Portugal, were shown by Edward Forbes to be
« 1 contemporaHes of the Glacial deposits, or northern
drift of the higher latitudes, by the evidences already
described. J
It is perhaps to a later part of this period that we must
assign the formation of the “ loess ” or “ lehm ” of the valley
of the Rhine and its tributaries. This, as described by Sir
C. Lyell in his Manual, p. 122, is a deposit of fine loam, of
a yellowish-gray colour, occasionally laminated, but never
separated into distinct beds, although it is often 200 or 300
feet thick, and rises occasionally to a height of 1200 feet
above the sea. It seems to have been formed in conse¬
quence of the gradual depression of the whole country, after
it had assumed its present external shape and “ mould,”
and the filling up of a great part of the Rhine valley and
Us tributaries with matter brought down by the floods of
t ie upper parts of the rivers. These materials being then
spread from side to side of the valleys, would again be
greatly eroded on the gradual re-elevation of the countrv,
when every stream would cut down through the soft loess
and re-occupy its old bed. Land and fresh-water shells of
the same species that now inhabit the country are found in
the loess; and in some places near the extinct volcanoes
layers of pumice and lapilli are found, seeming at first sight
as if ejected during an eruption, but perhaps merely washed
away from the old previously existing cones. One crater,
indeed,—that of the Roderberg, near Bonn,—is partly filled
by the loess. Bones of the mammoth and other contem¬
poraneous mammals have been found in it.
A similar deposit is described by Sir C. Lyell as found
in the valley of the Mississippi, and forming the cliffs called
the Bluffs, which often rise to a height of 200 feet above
the present alluvial plain of the river.
It is also to the Pleistocene period that we must assign
t le deposits of clay and sand which spread over the plains
cafied the Pampas in South America, in which the bones
of the Megatherium, Mylodon, and Glyptodon have been
found. Similar superficial deposits are found in most coun¬
tries ; and either in these or in the bottoms of caverns,
mostly buried under stalagmite, are found more or less of
the remains of the extinct animals that preceded the exist¬
ing races in their occupation of the globe.
I here are two remarkable agencies now at work in
various parts of the world which are probably more or less
intimately connected with the period we are now consider-
mg, or perhaps with still earlier periods. Many of our
present coral reefs, and many of our active volcanic moun-
tains are of an incalculable antiquity, if we measure them
by mere years or centuries, and not by geological periods.
Coral Reefs.—In a former part of this article these
most singular, and at first sight most mysterious pheno¬
mena, were alluded to as illustrations of the method of for¬
mation of marine Calcareous rocks. Mr Darwin, however
has shown them to be also proofs of movements in the
crust of the earth, and of great depression having taken
place in the bed of the ocean where they prevail. He
showed that since reef-making corals could not live at a
greater depth than 15 or 20 fathoms (Forbes’ Circumlit¬
toral Zone), and since vast reefs f Atolls and Barriers) now
use with steep wrall-like sides from profound depths in the
great Pacific and Indian Oceans, just to the level of low
water, their existence is only to be accounted for on the
supposition, that when these reefs commenced to o-row the
water was shallow enough for the animals to live in it near
enough to the surface to enjoy that amount of light heat
and play of the waves which is necessary for their existence’.
After the reef was thus commenced and built up to the
level of low vvater (but how long after we cannoi say), a
slow and gradual motion of depression must have set in,
2 E
218
MINERALOGICAL SCIENCE.
Geology.
either gentle and continuous, or acting by little fits and
starts, never producing during any interval of time an
amount of depression so great as to prevent the polyps con¬
tinuing to raise the reef towards the surface, by the growth
and multiplication of the calcareous framework of their own
bodies. In this way the ocean bed that w’as once only fifty
or sixty feet, is now hundreds and thousands of feet below
the sea-level; and vast masses of calcareous rock are thus
erected, as distant barriers encircling islands, some of whose
loftiest summits still rise above the water, or as great mas¬
sive tombs utterly enveloping and burying in their secret
recesses the bodies of lands and islands, once rising high
into the air, and now lying enveloped in coral rock deep
beneath the sea.
It may well be that in some, if not many, of these in¬
stances the first movement took place in Pleistocene, Plio¬
cene, or still earlier periods : it is possible even that some
of these enormous submarine masses of coral limestone may
be based upon corals of species different from those that
form their summits—species that have died out in the lapse
of time.
Volcanoes.—When we study the structure of a vol¬
canic district such as ./Etna, Teneriffe, and many others, and
find that the lower parts of the volcanic rocks that are open
to our observation are interstratified with marine limestones,
or sandstones full of sea-shells, we perceive at once that
great changes have taken place in the district since the first
commencement of volcanic activity. In many instances,
such as in the Andes,in Java(see Horsburg’s Map), and per¬
haps, if they were worked out, in every large volcanic district
now at work upon the globe, we are enabled to trace back
this commencement of volcanic action to some Tertiary,
sometimes, perhaps, to a rather early Tertiary, period. One
other result which we should arrive at is, that volcanic dis¬
tricts are, as pointed out by Darwin in his volume on Coral
Reefs, districts of elevation, and that these in some parts of
the world alternate with the districts of depression occupied
by coral reefs. Volcanic districts never have atolls and
barrier reefs in them.
But even if we dismiss from consideration all the aqueous
rocks with which volcanoes are connected, and look solely
at the igneous products themselves, we are in most in¬
stances compelled to assign an age to the volcano far
greater than that of the human race.
Even so small an example as ./Etna forms, compared with
the gigantic volcanoes of Asia and America, will enable us
to prove this. This mountain has a base of some 30 miles
in diameter, and a height of about 11,000 feet. It has
been built up by the ejection of ashes, dust, lapilli, and
other fragmentary matter from the interior of the earth, and
an occasional outpouring of streams of molten rock. It is
made up of an indefinite number of conical heaps of such
materials, arranged variously around one central and domi¬
nant mound, from which the greatest quantity of matter
has been ejected. Some of these external cones are fully
shown ; some are half buried by the ejectamenta from other
cones, or from the central one ; and many others are doubt¬
less altogether concealed under the great piles of materials
heaped over the central parts of the mountain. On one
side a huge ravine, 3000 feet deep and 5 miles long, has
either been scooped out of the mountain by erosion or formed
by subsidence.
Now the sensible additions made to this great mass of
materials during the last 2000 or 2500 years bear a very
trifling and insignificant proportion to the whole mass ; and
yet nothing we know of the structure of ./Etna, or of vol¬
canic action in any other parts of the globe, warrant us in
concluding that it has been built up by a process much
more rapid in its action than the one that has been going
on during the last 2500 years. Even if we make allowance Geology,
for a considerably more energetic action during the earliest
periods of its activity (which, however, northing that we know
of volcanic action w'ould compel us to do), and suppose that
it did not assume its present slow rate of growth till it be¬
came as large as Vesuvius, for instance, still the additional
matter added to the bulk of ./Etna since it attained that
size must be so great that, judging from our experience of
the rate of volcanic action all over the world, we could not
allow a less period than one or two hundred thousand years
for the process.
The mention, however, of such a period as a hundred
thousand years is only introduced here to show the long
period of time necessary; a million may have been nearer
the truth for all anybody can show to the contrary; and if
once even so much as 20,000 or 30,000 years be allowed as
possible, no one would, I suppose, be inclined to insist upon
further limitation from any considerations relative to hu¬
man history.
But if such conclusions may fairly be drawn from the
consideration of the structure of the comparatively small hill
of .Etna, what period of time are we to allow for the slow
and gradual piling up of the lofty cones of Chimborazo,
Cotopaxi, Aconcagua, and others of the Andes, rising to
twice the height of Etna, spreading their bases over a width
equal to the whole island of Sicily, and running through
hundreds and even thousands of miles in length. We can¬
not conceive all the vast chain of the Andes ever to have
had all its fiery vents in fierce activity at once. We know
that in all volcanic chains eruptions take place successively,
now from one, now from another ; their very number there¬
fore increases the time we must allow for the gradual accu¬
mulation of each, especially when we have to intercalate
vast periods, during which they may have been all quiescent
together. And yet these are most recent geological events ;
their operation is most obviously continued into our own
times, and directly link our own history with the far reced¬
ing past.
These are not unnecessary or superfluous speculations,
but considerations requisite to enable us the better to
understand and appreciate the geological facts of our own
islands. When we see that hundreds of thousands, or even
millions, of years have probably elapsed, during which other
countries have stood pretty much as we now see them,
except that the grand monuments that rise from them have
been slowly elaborated, we can make proper allowance for
the great spaces of time which have elapsed during the
process of the comparatively insignificant changes that have
taken place in our own lands. We learn to look upon the
Glacial period, for instance, as separated from our own days
by the lapse probably of millions of years, and we begin to
understand how it is that physical causes, acting with in¬
finitesimal slowness, have so changed the climate and the
physical geography of our own part of the world, as to have
caused the gradual extinction of whole races of large animals
that once flourished in it.
Large, indeed, as the demands of the geologist may have
been thought upon the bank of time, they probably fall far
short of the capital stored up there for his future use.
Some of the more recent of geological events are probably
in reality of an antiquity as great as we have been accus¬
tomed to assign in our imaginations to the most remote.
The Pleistocene period is probably really as far separated
from us in past time as we have hitherto been accustomed
to consider the Silurian or Cambrian periods removed from
us. Geologists themselves have perhaps hardly formed
adequate conceptions on this subject; and yet without those
conceptions, difficulties are perpetually rising in the science
which with them would disappear. (J- B- J-)
MIN
linerva MINERVA, in ancient mythology, was a goddess wor-
I! shipped by the Romans under that name, and by the Greeks
I.mes and under that of Athenej or pallas Athene According tQ
v the earliest traditions among the Greeks, Athene was°the
daughter of Zeus. Homer says nothing of the mode of her
birth; but Hesiod and other authorities say that she
sprung from the head of Zeus after that god had swal¬
lowed his wife Metis. Various other legends concerning
the origin of Athene were afterwards current, which arose,
in all probability, from local traditions, or from the identifi¬
cation of the Greek Athene with similar deities of foreign
nations. In the Greek religion Athene seemed to repre¬
sent the union of power and wisdom. Thus she appears
in Homer as the patroness and protectress of all those
heroes who were distinguished for wisdom or courage, such
as Achilles, Ulysses, Diomede, and others. She is like¬
wise represented as the deity of agriculture, and the giver
of the olive to the citizens of Athens, the city called after
her name; as the inventress of all sorts of arts and con¬
trivances ; as the protectress of cities and states ; and the
upholder of law and order. Although a warlike deity, she
was not regarded, like Ares, as bloodthirsty and delighting
in war for its own sake ; but rather as succouring and en-
M I N 219
couraging the defenders of the righteous cause, and as re- Minerva
sisting and checking the mere brute strength of the god of II
war. The Roman goddess Minerva, who was identified with Mines and
the Greek Athene, was represented as possessed of the same ^nir,S-
attributes. Her name seems to be derived from the same
toot as mens and monere. Minerva accordingly appears as
the impersonation of wisdom, learning, and mental power.
In Rome she was worshipped as one of the three Capito-
line deities, and a festival was celebrated in her honour on
the 19th of March, called Quinquatrus or Quinquatria, on
account of its taking place on the 5th day after the Ides of
that month. Minerva was also believed to have been the
inventress of numbers; and a nail was annually driven into
the wall of her temple to mark the number of the years.
To this virgin deity calves untouched by the yoke
were sacrificed, and the spoils of war were often de¬
dicated. Minerva is generally represented as an armed
virgin of masculine mould and" majestic bearing, with sky-
coloured eyes and an earnest countenance, wearing a
plumed helmet on her head and an cegis round her
breast, and holding in her right hand a spear, and in her
left the round Argolic shield faced by the petrifying: head
of Medusa. r j &
MINES AND MINING.
The object of the present article is to present a view of
British mines, the practice of mining in general, based upon
the methods pursued in Cornwall and other mining districts
of Britain, and to furnish accurate and recent statistics of the
produce of our mines as well as their progress. Previous to
these particulars, brief notices will be given of some princi¬
pal facts concerning mineral veins and deposits, British
and foreign, the rocks in which they are found, and the cir¬
cumstances affecting their course and productiveness. Under
the heads of the several metals will be grouped these and
similar facts, and descriptions of the most important mining
countries and districts abroad, with such statistics as can be
obtained concerning them.
MINERAL DEPOSITS, VEINS, AND THEIR PHENOMENA.
Mining, strictly speaking, is limited to large and deep ex¬
cavations of metallic deposits, like those of Cornwall, the
Hartz, and other well-known metalliferous districts ; but
the term is sometimes improperly applied to the washing of
alluvial deposits, such as those in which gold is frequently
found. In our ovyn country, in some parts of Cornwall, tin
has been found included in gravel and similar diluvial
matter. Small pebbles of tin, called “ tin stones,” have
occurred under the surface, covered with gravel, clay, sand,
or peat, which had to be removed before the rock was
reached upon which the tin stones rested. The collectino-
and separating of these grains and stones is named “stream¬
ing for tin,” because the covering gravel or other matter
is cast upon an inclined plane over which a fall or stream of
water is carried, and the whole mass agitated, so that the
heavier tin stones remain upon the inclined plane while the
lighter stones and earth are washed away. Tin stream-
works are now of little importance, and are chiefly con¬
ducted by poor persons for small gains.
Some minerals, as iron, are found in beds rather than in
veins. The ironstone beds of the coal measures in our
country are very extensive and valuable. They supply the
greater portion of the iron produced in Great Britain—
the remainder being chiefly furnished by the beds and veins
of haematite in the mountain limestones of Lancashire
Cumberland, Durham, the Forest of Dean, Derbyshire,5
Somersetshire, and South Wales. The beds at Ulverstone’
Whitehaven, and the Forest of Dean are more exten¬
sively worked than any of the others, and appear to be in¬
exhaustible. The older works of Devon and Cornwall like¬
wise contain many veins of black haematite. The brown
haematites also of the north of England merit particular
attention. They contain from 20 to 40 per cent, of iron,
and are found associated in large masses with the lead
veins of the lead-mining country ; and occasionally they are
seen in distinct and regular beds. They exist as “ riders”
to the vein, but sometimes they compose its entire mass,
and then attain a width of 20, 30, and even 50 yards.
Scientific mining is almost entirely confined to the ex¬
ploration of mineral veins, or “ lodes,” as they are termed
in Cornwall. It is not a work of difficulty or science to lay
open and remove minerals deposited either in alluvial de¬
posits or in regular and massive beds, but it requires much
skill, patience, experience, and capital, to explore an im¬
portant lode of copper, or tin, or lead.
Mr W. J. Hen wood gives an account of Cornish lodes Veims.
as follows :—“ I he lodes may be described as quartzose
portions of the rock highly inclined, and of no great thick¬
ness, which are more or less mixed with metals and their
ores. They have commonly one prevailing direction, sub¬
ject to slight irregularities and curvatures as well in length
as in depth, and traverse granite, slate, and porphyries in¬
discriminately, and almost always without other interrup¬
tion than what may take place from their interferences with
each other, and with the cross-courses, flucans, and slides
(interruptions technically so named in Cornwall). But
notwithstanding the workings of adjoining mines have often
been extended for a considerable distance on lodes in the
same directions, it is not at all certain that the same lode has
ever been traced for more than about a mile in length. In
fact, they invariably throw off into the containing rock
shoots, strings, and branches, in such abundance, that instead
of one champion-lode (as the larger lodes are provincially
called), the whole forms a complex and irregular net-work of
veins. Often, too, the lode first discovered dwindles to a
mere line, whilst some of its offshoots swell out, enlarge,
and rival, or even surpass, both in size and richness, the
vein from which they have been separated. It is, however,
rather more frequently the case that the lodes split as they
go eastward, than the contrary. It is by no means uncom¬
mon for lodes to split directly at the point of their inter-
220
MINES AND MINING.
Mines and section by a cross-course or JIucan, on one side of which
Mining. the i0{je appears in two branches, whilst on the opposite but
one occurs.” (^Transactions of the Royal Geological Society
of Cornwall, vol. v.)
The metallic parts of a lode do not form regular lines
of metal running through the whole extent of the lode,
but they occur in what the miners call “ bunches,’ or in
patches of various sizes and shapes. These very rarely
occupy the whole space between the sides (or “ walls, or
cheeks”) of a lode, even when the lode is rich and of
tolerable width, but they are commingled with a variety of
other substances, the principal of which is quartz. The
vein named Gregorius at Freiberg is composed of nine
layers, which may be thus represented:
Size of
veins.
Wall.
Gneiss
rock.
C?
O’
Wall.
Gneiss
rock.
Position.
Systems of
veins.
From this it will be seen that the proportion which the
metallic parts bear to the other parts of a vein, even in
favourable instances, is not so large as might be imagined.
One important department of mining, therefore, is to separate,
as far as can be effected by mechanical means, the foreign
substances from the metallic portions of the lode, as the two
must be brought to the surface together. This mechanical
separation gives occupation to women and children, in
“ dressing” the ores on the “ dressing-floors” of the mines,
and renders necessary a considerable amount of dressing
machinery, as “stamps,” “crushing mills,” “jigging ma¬
chines,” &c., which are briefly noticed under the heads of
Copper, Tin, and Lead.
The lodes of Cornwall have no determinate size, being
sometimes very narrow, and at others exceeding several
fathoms in width. Sometimes they extend to a great
length and depth, or they terminate after a short course;
and they are continually varying in breadth. Certain por¬
tions consist of a mere line between the walls or “ cheeks ”
of the lode, while portions have been met with not less
than from 30 to 40 feet wide. Such extremes are not
common in the same lode. Occasionally, when a vein
expands it becomes poor; but instances are known where
the thickest part of a lode is also the richest part. 1 here
are masses of iron ore in Piedmont 350 yards thick; and
the great open mine at Fahlun in Sweden is half a mile
long and several hundred yards wide ; but these are extra¬
ordinary examples. The distance for which lodes range
along the surface of a country appears to have some infer¬
ence to the magnitude of the disturbing forces affecting the
district. A certain vein in Chile is 9 feet thick, has been
proved for 90 miles, and is accompanied by branches 30
miles in length.
The lodes commonly occur in a position nearly vertical,
Their inclination seldom diverges from the vertical to more
than 10° in the north of England lead district; in Corn¬
wall it averages much more (in some cases 70°), yet it does
not often exceed 45°; while in many foreign mining countries
it is inconsiderable. The inclination of a lode to the horizon
is called its dip, or underlie, or hade, in the language of
miners, and its intersection with the surface, the strike,
which determines what is termed its direction.
In every mining district there are what are called sys¬
tems of mineral veins, each system being characterized by
some peculiarities of position or contents; and each ap¬
pears to be referable to a distinct period of formation.
Werner observed eight such systems at Freiberg, and the Mines and
same number has been noticed in Cornwall. The first Mining,
class appear to have been earliest formed, and constitute
a very large majority of the whole number in the district.
They are the older tin veins, underlie to the north, and are
traversed by those of the second class, which are compara¬
tively few in number and of little importance. These two
classes include all the lodes from which tin is extracted.
Their breadth varies from a mere string to as much as 36
feet, and most of those which are productive range east and
west. The third class are the east and west copper lodes,
and these form the greater number of all the copper lodes
in Cornwall. They always cut across the tin lodes when
the two kinds meet, and they are usually accompanied by
small veins of clay. 1 he fourth class comprehend the
contra (or counter) copper lodes, and they are few in num¬
ber. Their direction is N.W. and S.E., or at right angles
to those bearings. The filth class contain the cross¬
courses, which run due N. and S., or nearly so, and contain
no tin or copper, and only a little lead occasionally. I hey
are rather wide, and have been traced on the surface for
considerable distances. The remaining three classes are
chiefly of importance as adding to the accumulation of facts
respecting mineral veins.
It is a long observed fact, that in almost every case in Direction.
Cornwall the productive veins run E. and W., and the
cross-courses N. and S. The more recently filled fissures
and partings are composed almost wholly of clay ; so that,
as a general rule, veins which contain a great quantity of
this clay traverse those which contain a smaller quantity.
In the Freiberg (Saxony) districts, as described by
Werner, we find a number of mineral phenomena somewhat
analogous to those observed in Cornwall, but the metals aie
different, as also are the prevailing directions of the lodes;
the first and most ancient running chiefly N. and S., and
including those veins from which the chief supplies of lead
and silver have been obtained. I he contra lodes are more
argentiferous, but much thinner, and their direction is about
N.E. and S.W. The veins of the third system are all N.
and S., and those of the fourth at right angles to them,
corresponding to the Cornish cross-courses. They both
contain lead glance* The lead veins of the north of Eng¬
land and Derbyshire are much simpler than those lodes of
Cornwall or Saxony. The direction of the lead veins is
almost invariably E. and W., and they are traversed by
non-productive cross-courses at right angles to them.
A number of perplexities arise out of the various inter-
sections of lodes by one another; and it is obvious fiom
what has been said, that such intersections in a mining
county like Cornwall will he frequent and sometimes com¬
plicated. A lode intersected horizontally sure to be
heaved, and the consideration of all the points connected
with heaves would comprehend—(1.) the composition of the
intersected vein ; (2.) the composition of that intersecting
it; (3.) the nature of the containing rock ; (4.) the widths
of the intersected and intersecting veins; (5.) their hoii-
zontally-inclined angles; (6.) their inclinations; and (7.)
the extent of the heaves at different depths. Again, the
determination of these questions would apply equally to
(1.) the intersection of lodes by cross veins; (2.) the intei-
section of cross veins by lodes; and (3.) the inteifer-
ences of lodes with each other. Without entering into
these points of inquiry, we may notice that some general
laws may be deduced from the average of a great number
of observations, Vertical intersections, or leaps, or throws,
require similar study, as to—(1.) the nature of the inter¬
secting vein; (2.) the vein intersected; and (3.) the in¬
fluence the angle at their intersection may have in the
direction or distance of the leap or throw. In no instance
of vertical intersections has the same vein been seen to
intersect another more than once, or to interfere with moie
MINES AND MINING.
Tines and
Mining.
Spposed
llvs affect
ii' rich-
H3S.
Bradth.
Lints of
<lis icts.
than one vein on the line of its dip. It is considered to be
a general law, that in intersections of veins the portion
thrown out is always on the side of the obtuse angle, and
the more obtuse the angle, the more considerable is the
out-throw. (See Trans, of Royal Society of Cornwall,
vol. v., 1843, by W. J. Henwood ; also, Cornwall: its
Mines and Miners, &c., 1855.)
1 he piactical object of all researches into the course and
structure of lodes is to ascertain, if possible, their general
laws, so that the miner may follow their course, may retrace
them when dislocated and thrown out, and especially deter¬
mine what circumstances influence their richness in ore.
A few circumstances only of the latter kind are generally
recognised, while many others which have been received
by some miners are subject to numerous exceptions. We
may notice one or two of those generally approved. An old
proverbial saying is, “ ore against ore,”—arising from the
fact that whenever a lode is rich, if there be another lode
near it having nearly the same direction and in nearly the
same country, whatever be the rock, the second lode will
probably be found rich in that part which is opposite to the
rich part of the first lode. The proverbial phrase “ore
against ore ” has been acted upon from an early period.
Another fact is, that when elvans (porphyritic veins) and
tin and copper lodes occur together, they are found in con¬
nection, as a whole, with good mines. Most of the ore in
the principal mines in the Gwennap district of Cornwall
have been found in or near large elvan courses. Not a
few of the larger and wider bunches of ore, both tin and
copper, have occurred in the immediate vicinity of cross¬
courses and flucans, and frequently also exclusively on one
side of their intersections. It has been generally thought
that depth below the surface is influential on the quantity
and quality of the ore contained in the veins. It is con¬
firmed by several observations, that mineral veins are gene¬
rally richer near the surface than at great depths. It is a
common opinion in Cornwall that copper, on the whole,
occupies greater depths than tin. “ At about 80 or 100 feet
under the surface the first traces of copper or tin are found ;
rarely nearer to it than 80 feet. If tin be first discovered,
even without a trace of copper, it is not unusual that in the
course of sinking 80 or 100 feet or more, all trace of it is
lost, and copper only is found. But if, instead of tin, copper
be first discovered at a depth of 80 or 100 feet, tin is seldom
or never found below it in the same vein.” Such was the
opinion of Phillips the mineralogist; yet tin is sometimes
found 100 feet deep without a trace of copper, and there
are many instances of tin ore accompanying copper ore to
a great depth,—in one case 200 fathoms below the surface,
and even under the copper. The meeting of two lodes,
either vertically or horizontal!}', is generally considered a
sign of richness, more particularly when the angle at which
they meet is small or not very great. It is also a remark¬
able fact, that in every lode, whether it yields tin, copper,
or lead ore, the portions which are the most perpendicular
are the most productive.
In Cornwall the mean breadth of tin lodes is about 3-06
feet, of copper lodes about 2-93 feet, of lodes containing
both metals about 4‘7 feet; and this greater average breadth
of lodes, including a mixture of copper and tin, is found in
any rock and at any depth. Generally a diminution of the
width of a lode is a precursor of poverty. The average
breadth of lodes at less than 100 fathoms deep is 3‘97 feet;
at more than 100 fathoms deep it is but 3-36 feet.
The limits of mining districts are often very decided
geologically, and are also marked by peculiar physical fea¬
tures. The neighbourhood of Cross Fell, in the north of
England, has been worked with the greatest enterprise, but
no instance has occurred of a single vein being traced
across the great Penine fault to the west. Similar facts have
been observed with respect to the Flintshire veins of lead,
occurring in the Carboniferous limestone, and which in no
instance enter the Silurian rocks. In this instance, and in
many others, the older rocks seem to rise on the line of a
great axis of disturbance, and to cut off the whole of the
mining ground, as if nature itself marked out the mining
districts and set bounds to them.
As a general rule, with some important exceptions, par¬
ticular metalliferous deposits have affinities for particular
rocks or geological formations. Iron at once occurs as an
important exception to this rule, for it is found, to speak only
of our own country, in the older rocks of Devon and Corn¬
wall. Magnetic oxide and specular iron occur in the granite
of Dartmoor. The New Red Sandstone, in its lower mea¬
sures, yields beds of haematitic conglomerate. Important
beds of iron are worked in the Lias and Oolites. The green¬
sands of Sussex once furnished a large amount of iron to
the ironworks, and recently the greensands of Wiltshire
have shown indications of large deposits. But W'hile iron is
a marked exception, we shall find the rule hold good in re¬
lation to other metals. Thus tin is most plentiful in granite,
and the rocks lying immediately above it. Copper is found
in various slate formations, and in the Trias of geologists;
but it is not generally met with in strata more recent than
the Old Red Sandstone, although there are in England
some exceptions. The celebrated Ecton Mine in Stafford¬
shire, and the Llandudno or Orme’s Head Mine in Caernar¬
vonshire, are situated in the Carboniferous limestone. On
the Continent copper is mined in a formation still more re¬
cent,—viz., the copper-slate of Thuringia, which forms a
portion of the New Red Sandstone series. In Cornwall it
prevails in the clay slates (killas), although one of the most
profitable mines in Cornwall (Tresavean) is worked in gra¬
nite. Lead has a marked affinity with the mountain or
transition limestone, as is evident in Derbyshire, Yorkshire,
Northumberlandshire, Durham, &c.
There are also other indications of preference more
specific even than particular formations. For instance,
while copper is found both in granite and slate rocks, the
most productive mines are almost invariably situated just
upon the junction of these two formations. Experience in
Cornwall has shown that no continuous or very abundant
supply of this metal is to be expected in any spot far re¬
moved from the line of junction. In the serpentine rocks
of the Lizard, copper of great purity has been discovered,
principally in masses.
The accumulated evidence from all parts of the mineral
world proves that the contents of the veins depend on the
peculiar character of the rocks they traverse. Although
this is an acknowledged truth amongst geologists and miners,
yet the ignorance or neglect of it has led to numerous prac¬
tical mistakes. It has been supposed that because veins
were rich in one place, the continuation of the same veins
must be a continuation of the same riches. But if the
veins intersect unproductive rocks, the riches come to an
end. The public are often deceived by a plausible project
which is brought forward on the strength of the ground be¬
ing near a very prosperous mine. Works have been carried
on at great expense in unproductive ground without a
chance of success, simply because the lode happened to be
in the same direction as in a neighbouring rich mine.
The mineralogical modifications, therefore, of the va¬
rious rocks in metalliferous districts, very commonly bear¬
ing the same names, are subjects of careful examination by
intelligent miners. When the rocks present certain char¬
acters, not perhaps noticed even by geologists, miners find
their chances of success increased or diminished. In Corn¬
wall and Devon they prefer a granite or porphyry (elvan)
which is to some extent decomposed. Other signs are
carefully noticed ; so that an experienced miner will at once
pronounce whether the “country is kindly” or not for
copper or tin. Several instances might be adduced to
221
Mines and
Mining.
Affinities
of mineral
veins for
particular
rocks.
222
MINES AND MINING.
Mines and strengthen these views. The principal lode in Fowey
Mining. Consols Mine affords a good example of ore accompanying
v'*V**,'y a particular set of rocks, and it is found that the “ bunches”
of ore occur in certain directions. In Godolphin the lodes
were rich where the killas (argillaceous slate) was of a
bluish-white colour, but poor when it was black. In Pol-
dice and Huel Fortune the lodes in the killas continued
productive until they entered a stratum of blue, hard killas,
which cut out the riches. At Penstruthal Copper Mine the
lode had been tried unsuccessfully at various times in parts
where the granite was hard; but trial being made where
that rock was soft, it became one of the most profitable
mines in Cornwall. In other countries we find indications
of similar phenomena. In Upper Hungary the largest
ing upon the veins of ore. Hushing is the employment of Mines and
a reservoir of water on a height, so as, by due direction Mining,
downwards, to wash out pieces of metalliferous stone. If
a quantity of water can be thus conducted down a slope, it
will clear the superficies of the rock, wash and clean all
the veins showing themselves at the surface, and often
lead to a valuable discovery. Frequent applications of
water will wear a channel to some depth without digging,
which may or may not be subsequently employed.
Many lodes, however, afford no shode; for if the upper
part of the lode contains no ore, or the detritus is carried
too far, or is too minutely subdivided, there is no me¬
tallic indication to guide the miner. He may indeed meet
with pieces of gossan (a hydrated peroxide of iron), which
ui aiiuiicu ^ L i—  n j o . » , ' . i. • r, , i u •
copper lodes are found in fine gray slates; in Saxony the is always considered an indication of metal being near,
n-noice- and in thp Hart/ certain ores Where gossan prevails it has been generally found that
silver ores occur in gneiss 5 and in the Haitz ceitain ores
are intimately connected with the graywacke. At Andreas-
ber" the veins which pass from argillaceous slate into flinty
slate lose their riches in the latter. The Wenzal vein at
Furstenberg runs nearly vertically from north to south across
many beds of gneiss about 60 feet thick, dipping east, and
each of these beds forms a distinct variety of rock. In the
first bed the vein formed a nearly imperceptible string of
clay ; in the second it became 12 or 18 inches thick ; in the
third the thickness of the vein is preserved; in the fourth
the silver ores, which had disappeared in the third, become
as abundant as they were in the second, but they gradually
disappear in depth. The vein is shifted in depth to the
westward by several cross-courses, and between two of these
it becomes very rich.
THE PRACTICE OF MINING.
From the manner in which mineral accumulations have
been deposited in the earth, it is evident that mining opera¬
tions must be of two very different kinds. Thus coal, salt,
many ores of iron, and some of other metals, appear in re¬
gular layers interstratified with and forming part of the
series of deposits which make up the earth’s crust at par¬
ticular places ; while the usual ores of tin, copper, and lead
occur in crevices formed in rocks after they have been de¬
posited, and often since their subsequent metamorphosis.
Discovery. If mineral veins are to be sought for in any unexplored
or but partially explored district, the geologist can predict
Where gossan prevails it has been generally found that
copper ore is connected with it. But the mode of search
adopted where there are no shodes or gossans is that which
is provincially named “ costeaning,” a word which literally
means fallen-tin. The process consists in sinking small
pits through the superficial deposits to the solid rock, and
then driving from one pit to another across the direc¬
tion of the vein, in such manner as to cross all the veins
between two pits. The pits are often sunk several feet in
the rock before the communications between them are
made. It is necessary to the success of costeaning that the
miner should have made out the prevalent strike of the
principal systems of right-running veins in the district. In
cases where the rock is not extremely hard, and is not
thickly covered at the surface, open cuttings may be made
at a small cost, which will lay the lodes bare for some dis¬
tance. But the circumstances of the locality must determine
or modify the attempts at discovery.
We have named gossan as a favourable sign, and it may
be added, that in certain districts, and with certain classes
of veins, there is so large a quantity of iron present that
the decomposition of this metal near the surface makes it¬
self manifest in ferruginous stones ; and the tops of many
of the lodes, when found near the surface, are frequently
cavernous and abound with gossan. So much importance
do Cornish miners attach to it, that they consider no large
vein to be of much value without this accompaniment. A
similar decomposed ore is named by the German miners
eiserne hut and eisenkopf, and by the French chapeau de
favourably or unfavourably, according to the nature of the fer. But although these occurrences and names point to a
, i i• i fT,i_ _  a.: i   {Vso+nvo if io nnitp prrnnpmis to annlv this to
strata, but he can only predict. The practical miner can
give his opinion whether the “country” (or rocks) be
“ kindly” or not for metallic veins. One course, however,
of a surer nature can be also adopted, that of shading, an
old term by which is signified the search for loose masses
of ore of all sizes, either" in or under the upper soil, some¬
times upon the top, basset, or outcropping of the vein, but
more frequently a little to the lower side where there is a
declivity, and where the vein crosses the slope. rl his shode
ore, varying from the size of a pea to large pieces, is pro¬
duced by the weathering or decomposing of the sides, of a
vein, causing the ore to stand higher than the superficies of
the I’ock, which in time slides off where the ground is
sloping. Miners who go out shoding will traverse rivulets,
gullies, scaurs, and other similar places where the surface of
the ground is broken, or where the strata rise up to the
grass roots ; and they will even examine newly-ploughed
lands and molehills. Shode ore being found upon a slope,
or at the foot of it, the finder must look diligently for other
signs of a vein, and then circumstances in each case will
determine how a trench may be best opened towards the
vein. A number of trial pits may be sunk, and other means
of a like character may be adopted to prove the presence
and character of the supposed vein.
Another similar course is to search for what is called
float-ore, or that which has been floated down by water act-
prevailing feature, yet it is quite erroneous to apply this to
all mineral veins, for in some valuable districts scarcely any
iron exists, and therefore gossans and ferruginous indications
are wholly wanting. The opinion may hold good for Corn¬
wall, where gossan abounds and often extends to as much
as thirty fathoms below the surface. It is of no value in
itself, but attention has of late years been drawn to it on
account of small amounts of gold associated with it, gene¬
rally a few pennyweights to the ton. It was thought that
by the use of Berdan’s machine, and other apparatus, the
gold could be profitably extracted, but after operating on
large quantities, this hope has been disappointed. Gossan
also contains silver in small quantities, and operations are
sometimes successfully carried on for extracting it. Argen¬
tiferous gossans sell at from forty shillings to forty pounds
per ton. They are bruised to small pieces and sent to the
smelting works, where they are mixed with certain pro¬
portions of lead ore of low average for silver. 1 he two are
then melted together and run out into pigs, which undergo
further processes.
When the position of a mineral vein is ascertained, and Fwst^
some conjectures have been hazarded, from various signs, °Pera
concerning its extent, course, thickness, and value, the work
of mining properly begins. Shafts must be sunk and levels
(galleries) must be driven to prepare the way for the ex¬
traction of the ore, and at the same time to carry off the
MINES AND MINING.
lines and water which either flows into the mine from springs, or
vlining. drains into it from the surrounding strata. Two sets of
galleries must be driven at right angles to each other, and
both horizontal, one being in the direction of the strike of
the vein, and the other at right angles to that direction.
If we suppose a simple instance in which the mineral veins
ci op out at the sides of a hill, and follow a direction on the
whole uniform, we may illustrate the proceedings by the
subjoined figure, in which two lodes of moderate thick-
223
Shits,
I'ig. l.
ness (A and B) are seen. A shaft must be sunk to reach
the vein at a certain depth, but it will depend on the direc¬
tion of the dip or underlie of the lode,—whether towards or
from the valley or slope of the hillside,—and on many simi¬
lar circumstances, as to where it will be most desirable to
commence the sinking. With reference to the lode A, a
cross-cut (1) may be driven at the lowest convenient point
above the level of the highest water of the valley, and this
gallery, having a gentle slope from the lode towards the
hillside, will form the adit-level, and be the channel through
which the whole drainage of the works will be carried ;
while it may also serve to convey the ore that is obtained
out of the mine. With reference to the lode B, the driv¬
ing of an adit-level will offer similar advantages, but there
is a difference in the arrangement of the shafts. In both
cases it is found advisible to sink shafts upon the upper
side of the vein, but in B it is also convenient to have a
sinking (3) towards the slope of the valley, and which does
not cut the lode itself.
Although a perpendicular shaft has many advantages,
and is almost always adopted in coal-mining, where extrac¬
tions are carried on ; yet in metallic mining, such a shaft
is not in every case employed. Shafts are occasionally
commenced at the outcrop, and, where the inclination is not
very considerable, are continued in the substance of the
vein itself; but in a slanting shaft the difficulty of raising
the ore is much increased, and many practical reasons
often render it expedient to sink at some distance from the
outcrop, so as to meet the lode at a convenient depth.
The labour of sinking shafts in hard rocks like the
Primary is very great, and the cost very considerable. From
the records of shaft-sinking in Cornwall we may instance
some cases showing the slowness of the descent, arising
from the hardness of the rock. At one mine only 20
fathoms, or 120 feet, were sunk from 1828 to 1834, bein«-
at the rate of between 3 and 4 fathoms per annum. In
Levant Mine, from 1830 to 1837, 90 fathoms were sunk,
or at the rate of 13 fathoms per annum. In East Wheal
Crofty Mine 77 fathoms were got through in the time be¬
tween 1833 and 1837, amounting to 14 fathoms per annum.
A sinking, therefore, of 1 fathom, or 6 feet per week, has
sometimes been all the progress that could be made.
To avoid the delays that must necessarily occur in sinkino-
at this rate, a plan has been adopted in Cornwall of exca^
vating several portions of a shaft simultaneously, by ope¬
rating at different levels at the same time, which of course
can only be done in a mine already opened, and requiring
additional shafts. 7 he great feat is to excavate the several Mines and
portions so accurately, that when they are finished they Mining,
may all exactly fit into each other, and form one perfect
and perpendicular shaft. One party will work from the
surface, another from one of the upper levels, and a third
from the lower levels, simultaneously.
Remembering the slow course of excavation in hard Depths of
rocks, the depth to which some of the Cornish mines have shaft-
• attained is truly wonderful. Rather more than 20 years
ago, Wheal Abraham Mine had reached the depth of 242
fathoms, or 1452 feet. Dolcoath Mine had reached 235
fathoms. The Consolidated Mines are 300 fathoms, or
1800 feet deep, and the United Mines 280 fathoms below
the adit-level. Tresavean has gradually attained an extraor¬
dinary depth; and it was lately reported to the writer by
Robert Were Fox, Esq., as being 320 fathoms, or 1920
feet deep below the adit-level, 2112 feet below the surface,
and about 1<00 below the level of the sea. To realize
these depths, the reader may note the height of any lofty
public monument or church spire with wdiich he is ac¬
quainted, and, standing at its base, multiply in his mind the
height of the object in sight by the number of times requisite
to reach the depth of one of these mining shafts. Thus,
for example, the height of St Paul’s in London is said to be
340 feet; now the depth of Tresavean Mine is more than five
times, or nearly six times, the height of St Paul’s. The
shaft of the Monkwearmouth Coal Mine near Sunderland
is 1590 feet clear perpendicular depth, which is equivalent
to the piling of the Monument of London seven or eight
times upon itself. In one mining tour amongst the col¬
lieries of the north of England, the writer of this article
descended twelve shafts, the aggregate depth of which
was no less than eleven thousand seven hundred and
eighty feet. One of these was the Monkwearmouth shaft
first named. The mode of descent was (at that time) by
a large iron tub and wire-woven pit-rope. The lapse of
time in descent was rather more than four minutes.
Some foreign metallic mines have been carried to
great depths. Ihe Eselschacht Mine at Kuttenberg in Bo¬
hemia, now inaccessible, was deeper than any other mine,
being no less than 3778 feet below the surface. That
depth was only 150 feet less than the height of Vesuvius,
and it was eight times as great as the height of the pyra¬
mid of Cheops or the cathedral of Strasburg. Mines on
high ground may be very deep relatively to the surface,
but not to the sea-level. The mine of Valenciana, near
Guanaxuato in Mexico, is 1686 feet deep from the surface,
but 5960 feet above the level of the sea. For the same
reason the rich mine of Joachimsthal in Bohemia, though
2120 feet deep from the surface, has not yet descended to
the sea-level.
It is common to divide the shaft into two by a strono-
wooden partition running down the middle; and to sink
several shafts when the mine is extensive. At the Carn
Brea Mine, which extends superficially in length for a mile
and a half, and in breadth for about three-quarters of a mile,
there are from twenty to thirty shafts; and other mines
have even more. Such shafts are often situated along the
line of the lode, and they bear different names to distin¬
guish them, as, perhaps, “Taylor’s Shaft,” “Dixon’s
Shaft,” &c.
It very rarely happens that the lode is perpendicular, but
its inclination as it descends is general! y to the north. If
the underlie is not great, the shaft may to a consider¬
able distance follow the lode; but if it be great, the shaft
descends, not in one continuous line, but, as it were, by
a succession of steps. It will be sunk perpendicularly by
seveial fathoms at a time, the lode meanwhile diverging
fiom it to the northward; but at certain distances the
sinkeit> pause, and horizontal courses are driven in the
direction of the lode until it is again struck. Whenever
224
MINES AND MINING.
Mines and the lode is struck the shaft is sunk again, and the lode
Mining. js again to be reached by a horizontal course as before.
Thus, while the shaft is being sunk, the horizontal passages
of the mine are being constructed.
Simplest The adjoining figure is a vertical cross section of the
operations, shaft and lode, designed to show the course of operations
in the simplest form. AB is the engine-shaft and CD is
the lode. At every 10 fathoms of
the sinking of the shaft a cross-cut c
is driven to meet the lode CD. This
process is repeated at every 10 fa¬
thoms until the shaft crosses the
lode at 80 fathoms, where the direc¬
tion of the cross-cuts e, c is changed
from right to left to meet the lode,
while the shaft descends perpendi¬
cularly as before. This simplest form
of procedure may be varied to an¬
swer to the varied conditions and
requirements of the lode.
Levels. What we mean by the levels of
a mine will be understood by fig.
3. The levels are parallel courses
which diverge on either side from
the shaft, and follow horizontally
the course of the lode. These
courses are usually in Cornwall 10
fathoms, or 60 feet, apart. After
the shaft is sunk 10 fathoms, the first
level will be run; or, to speak in com¬
mon language, a horizontal passage
will be cut from either side of the
shaft, following the direction of the
lode. The dimensions of this passage
are generally from 5 to 6 feet in height
and about 3 feet wide. It is seldom
made wider, unless the lode is very
rich, and never much narrower, as
this width is necessary to the working of the lode. But
there is no limit to the length of the level, except the
sett or bounds of the mine. Where the course of the lode
is irregular, as it generally is, the levels will not be directly
over and under each other, but may vary considerably
according to the course of the lode, which necessarily go¬
verns the mining excavations.
Miner’s The miner’s tools consist of his pick and “ gad” or
tools. wedge, and shovel, together with a series of blasting or
shooting tools, such as sledge or mallet, borer, claying-box,
needle or nail, scraper, tamping-bar; added to which are Mines and
powder-horn, tin cartridges, and safety-fuse. When blast- Mining,
ing by gunpowder was introduced, great danger arose
from premature explosions. The powder was placed at
the bottom of the hole in the stone, when bored to a suffi¬
cient depth ; the needle was then inserted, and the hole
filled up with sand or clay, and rammed in perfectly tight.
The needle being then withdrawn, and a rush inserted
and ignited, the miner scrambled to a place of safety. But
the iron needle, when struck with the mallet, would often
give out a spark and explode the whole ; a copper needle
was therefore substituted for it about 30 years ago, which
itself has been generally superseded by the invention of the
safety-fuse, consisting of a small hemp cylinder well satu¬
rated with tar and filled with powder.
Besides horizontal galleries, what are termed winzes, or Winzes
short shafts (see fig. 3) extending from one level to an¬
other, answer the purpose of making trial of the vein in
the intermediate space between two levels, and by divid¬
ing the great masses into rectangular portions, these may
be examined all round; so that the miner has the means of
judging with tolerable certainty of the nature and value
of the ores contained in each pitch, and can extract the
produce in the most expeditious and economical manner,
attacking these portions from as many points at once as
may be convenient. By this arrangement, no necessity
arises for breaking down the unproductive masses which
are often found to intervene, even where the vein is richest
and the ore most continuous. The vein having been
properly laid open, the ore may be worked away round
such unproductive masses, and these, when left standing,
will form supports to the work on each side of the vein.
Thus, for working out the ores, a system of winzes is quite
as necessary as a system of levels; and as the levels are
driven horizontally at vertical distances of 10 fathoms, so
the winzes are sunk vertically at intervals of 20 or 30
fathoms, their position being so regulated as to prcve the
richest and most promising portions of the veins, and to
avoid the harder and more unproductive portions.
Suppose that a continuous body of ore is met with in Pitches,
one of the upper levels, and that winzes had been regularly
carried down to the level below it, then similar operations
will be required in the upper, and winzes will be sunk from
it to the next lower level in the same manner as before;
but they will generally be situated about midway between
the former winzes, so that each may expose the ground
under the middle of the rectangle formed by the upper
winzes and the levels between which they are placed; and
Fig. 2.
REFERENCES.
A Blewett’sShaft,used as aladder-roadby those
menonly who work in 15 and 23 fathoms levels-
! rl"“sS,f' ^nsed exclusive,yfor
D P!K.W“1'" I
E Doctor’s Shaft, through which the greater part
of the men descend to their different pitches
and endc
F Pressure Shaft, used exclusively for drawing
the mineral.
The double line east of Pressure Shaft shows
the junction of the counter with the main
lode.
There is generally a strong current cf air pass¬
ing down Doctor’s Shaft, which ascends
through the winzes and other shafts.
Theshaded patches indicate the parts of the
lode which have been already removed.
110
120
130
Fig. 3.
[Scale of ?0 Fathoms to 1 Inch-J
I
MINES AND MI N I N G.
.lines and in this way the vein will be effectually exposed with the
Mining, smallest number of excavations. A reference to fig. 3 will
make this apparent. The tendency of this plan is to divide
the vein into solid rectangular compartments of dimensions
varying in different systems. When finally subdivided into
portions of about 10 fathoms in height and 16 in length,
they form convenient pitches for the Cornish miners.
These pitches are “ set” or let out to the workmen by
auction, as afterwards described. In course of time the
result of the operation we have described will be a large
mine, as illustrated in fig. 3, which represents a vertical
section of North Roskear, on the main lode. The refer¬
ences attached to this plate will explain particulars, and
briefly illustrate the entire working of the mine. It will
be seen that from a main shaft such as E, at vertical
descents of 10 fathoms, long anti ever extending hori¬
zontal galleries (levels) run right and left. These are
numbered in the section successively, according to their
distances in descent from the adit-level. By this num¬
bering the exact place in the mine of any level can be
indicated; and the workmen speak of their place in
the 30 or 70 fathom or other level. All the horizontal
strong black lines in the plate represent the levels; the
long perpendicular lines the shafts, variously named; and
the short perpendicular lines the winzes.
Bping. To illustrate the mode of working out the rectangular
pitches, the irregular procedure according to the character
of the vein, and the progress of the excavations, a distinct
view of one portion of a Cornish mine is displayed in
fig* 4. The different shadings will also show what parts
225
VHila-
ti.ii
fig. 4.
of the lode have been extracted, and what are in process
of extraction, i he “ ground” or metalliferous mass is
removed by what is technically called “stoping.” To
stope is to excavate horizontally, or “ to beat away the
backs.” The word siope is evidently a corruption of step;
and, in fact, the ore was taken away in steps. The French
miners use the term gradins as synonymous with our word
slopes. By the old miners the mass was invariably re¬
moved by the process of “ under-hand stoping,”—the quick¬
est, but the worst manner of getting the ore. The present
method, or that adopted in the best mines, is termed
“ over-hand stoping.” By this it is necessary, after havino-
discovered ore, to sink shafts and drive levels before ore
is attempted to be raised. No ore is raised before the
ground is “ laid open,” and levels are excavated under the
ore. Then stoping may be commenced over a level; the
‘‘ deads” or rubbish may be piled up over the level, on a
timber frame or “ stull” (one only of which is necessary
for each level by this plan, instead of several by the old
plan); and the whole course of mining may be conducted
so as to produce fair and average returns.
A current of air, commonly sufficient for ventilation, passes
through the mine by descending the main shafts, coursing
through the levels, and ascending by the winzes. But when
VOL. xv.
the mine is far extended in the course of many years, the Mines and
miners do not find adequate fresh air; and the increase of Mining,
temperature, which is always proportionate to the increase
of depth, to the number of workmen present, and to the
more confined and remote position of the recesses, is so
consideiable, that a decidedly injurious result is occasioned
to the health of the miners. An analysis of sixteen samples
of air taken from four mines in Cornwall, at an average
depth of 214 fathoms, and at an average distance of 28
fathoms from any shaft or winze, gave a mean per-centao-e
of 17'067 oxygen, 82-848 nitrogen, and O'OSo carbonic
acid gas, instead of the normal proportions of 79 per cent,
of nitrogen and 21 per cent, of oxygen. The mean tem¬
perature of the Cornish mines is generally higher than
that of coal mines; and at a depth of 250 fathoms there is
a difference of upwards of 10°. In many of the deeper
parts of the Cornish mines the temperature approaches
100 ; so that the miners have to plunge into water several
times during their relays of painfully laborious work. The
miners’ health is thus injured; and the timber used to
prop up the passages rapidly decays. These evil effects
might apparently be avoided by the adoption of the New¬
castle system of ventilation in coal mines, for which system
the arrangement of Cornish mines offers peculiar facilities
(See a paper by H. Mackworth, Esq., in p. 28 of Twenty-first
Report of the Cornwall Polytechnic Society, 1853.) The
temperature of the deepest level in the Tresavean Mine
was recently reported to the writer as 90° and upwards;
and some of the water gushing into the deep level of the
United Mines has been, savs Mr Fox, from 106° to 108°
Minerals were originally raised to the surface by the Methods of
common windlass, and afterwards by a horse-whim. A raising mi-
watei-wheel was next applied; and on the introduction ofnerais«
Newcomen’s engine, the water expended was sometimes
pumped up again by it. A water-wheel with double buckets
succeeded, in order to reverse the motion, and alternately
raise and lower the rope. This was improved by Smeaton,
who retained the single buckets, but made the rope-roll to
throw out of gear and reverse. A step further was to apply
M att’s engine directly to the rope-roll by means of a crank.
The Cornish bucket that contains the ore and stuff is
called a kibble. An experienced mining engineer has
known as much as L.2 paid for drawing the same quantity
of ore to the surface by horses as is now done by steam-
power for one shilling. In raising ores the miners gene¬
rally work upwards from the back or upper part of one
level towards the bottom of another, and the excavations
are so arranged that the ore may readily fall down to the
level below them. The modes of bringing the ore, when
dislodged, to the surface are various in different districts and
countries. The most primitive and most disadvantageous
method is, when ore is carried on the backs of the men or lads
to the surface. Even women were employed at this degrad¬
ing labour in Scotch coal mines before the investigations of
the Mining Commissioners in 1840. An act of Parliament
now excludes females from underground work. Very little
ore is now carried on the backs of human beings in Britain.
The conveyance of ores along the level is” effected by
hurdles or barrows in some places, and by waggons in more
advanced districts. The passage is facilitated by laying down
wooden or iron rails, and thus forming subterranean railways.
In situations favourable to inclined planes, they are most Inclined
convenient for the transport of ores to the surface. At planes.
Wheal Friendship Mine in Devonshire there were two in¬
clined planes, distinguished as the old and the neic, both
beginning near the same point on the surface. The old
was about 500 yards in length, and the perpendicular
depth from the surface at the lower end was 600 feet, the
angle formed with the horizon being about 20 decrees;
but another plane is now in use, wdiich is 650 yards in
length, and attains to a perpendicular depth of about
2y
226
MINES AND MINING.
Mines and 1025 feet below its mouth, or 1100 below the surface.
Mining, inclination which it forms with the horizon varies
from 30 to 45 degrees—an angle which exceeds that
of the inclination of the steepest mountain in this and
probably in any other country; consequently no carriage
could be propelled up so steep an ascent without the power
of machinery. A single track of edge-rails is carried
along the plane from top to bottom ; and a wrought-iron
waggon, loaded with ore, is propelled by the force of
a large overshot water-wheel, 40 feet in diameter and 5|-
feet in breast, which is turned by a considerable stream of
water, conducted with another stream several miles through
a leat or artificial channel to work this and other machinery
belonging to the mines. The two streams constantly
furnish 5000 gallons of water per minute.
A popular illustration of this inclined plane might be
drawn from St Paul’s in London. The height of St
Paul’s Cathedral, to the top of the ball and cross, is 340
feet. Supposing, therefore, that two buildings of equal
altitude were placed on it, we should have an elevation of
1020 feet, answering nearly to the perpendicular depth of
the foot of the inclined plane below its mouth, which was
before stated as 1025 feet. If from this immense elevation
we conceive two ropes or imaginary lines, about 4 feet
apart, to be extended through the air, following the line
of Ludgate Hill, and reaching the ground at the eastern
end of Fleet Street, a distance of above 500 yards, the
length and slope of the inclined plane will be nearly cor¬
rectly realized.
Under- The underground work of a well-managed mine will be
ground 0f two kinds—(1.) Work for discovery or development; and
economy. (2.) Work for extraction of ores. We might distinguish
these two kinds of work as dead and live work ; the dead
being that which proceeds in the dead rock, and the live
that which is concerned in extracting the ores. The only
fair and permanently successful plan of managing the
interior work of a mine is to economize the supply of exist¬
ing ores, so as in some measure to equalize it, and not to
take out all the ore which could be immediately obtained.
Masses should be left here and there only to be extracted
as the general prospects of the mine may require. These
should form a sort of reserve fund of ore, to which recourse
may be had when less is raised from newly-discovered
parts than the average. The ores thus reserved in various
parts are expressively termed in Cornwall the eyes of the
mine. They who take all the ore they can get out of a
mine, without making proper reserves, are said to pick out
the eyes of the mine. By picking out the eyes and sending
them to market, a fictitious value has sometimes been im¬
parted to shares,—a process analogous to that of some com¬
panies who have paid dividends out of capital. In all
accounts of well-directed mines the reserves of ores are
alluded to. Heavy expenses in works of discovery can only
be profitably sustained by mining establishments of magni¬
tude, which, by sending up a fair general amount of ores,
can afford to appropriate a certain portion of the profit for
discovery. The Fowey Consols Mine, Cornwall, has long
been known as a good example of this management; and
expenses have been there incurred for discovery which
would have been ruinous if the mine had been divided into
three or four separate adventures. The extraction of an
extensive mine is very considerable, though by no means
so large in mere quantity as that of an extensive northern
coal-pit. At the Consolidated Mines, Cornwall, in good
times, the daily extraction was about 200 tons, a large pro¬
portion of which was raised from a depth of from 200 to
300 fathoms (1200 to 1800 feet).
The extent as to space to which mines are worked Mines and
depends upon their age, prosperity, and hardness or softness Mining,
of rock. Success has more to do with the extent than mere
age. When the success of discovery has been great, ex¬
cavation has proceeded rapidly; and conversely. When
that very prosperous recent mine, the Devon Great Con¬
sols, had been at work only five years, it was found (in
1850) that there were 5853 fathoms, or nearly 7 miles,
of excavations, vertical and horizontal.
One of the most formidable obstacles met with in the pro- Accumu-
gress of mining is that of accumulated waters. Water islated
the arch-enemy of coal-mining in the north of England, wate^s•
and of copper-mining in the south-west. The copious
springs tapped in sinking shafts near Newcastle have
been the surprise of all who have encountered them. In
that district they are termed feeders. In the sinkings
at the Great Hetton Colliery, Durham, three principal
springs or feeders were met with, of which the first issued
2000 gallons of water per minute, the second 1000 gallons,
and the third 1600 gallons per minute. In sinking Hebburn
Colliery, Newcastle, it was necessary to contend with
feeders pouring out 3000 gallons per minute. At Haswell,
Durham, an error in endeavouring to sink through a bed
of quicksand occasioned an outlay of L.60,000, and yet the
attempt was abandoned for another spot not far off, where
the quicksand was avoided. The feeders of water in the
quicksand supplied the enormous quantity of 26,700 tons of
water per diem, _ probably the greatest amount known,
unless we except the Dalton or Dawdon sinking for the
South Hetton Company, Durham, where similar feeders
were encountered, and where 1300 horse-power in steam-
engines was necessary to pump out the water only, some¬
times at the rate of 10,000 gallons per minute. In that
locality the cylinder of the engines is 84 inches in diameter.
They are condensing and double engines, and amongst the
largest and most powerful ever erected. In the Cornish
mines, although situated in hard rocks, we find vast accu¬
mulations of water. They do not issue from feeders in
sand, like those just described; nevertheless, the infiltration
of the rain and surface water, together with subterranean
streams and pools, would soon inundate a mine and put a
stop to the work, were not adequate means employed to
drain the mine. In some of these mines a great increase
of water almost immediately succeeds the commencement
of the heavy autumnal rains ; in others, on the con¬
trary, this increase, though equally certain, does not take
place until after an interval of several months. The
necessary inference is, that the increase is owing to the
rain and surface waters which, being absorbed, sooner or
later find their way into the deeper parts of the mine.
Wherever in mining the workings are driven below the Drainage,
natural means of drainage, or below the level of the plain,
recourse must be had to mechanical means to remove the
water. The quantity of percolating water is diminished as
much as possible by planking, walling, or caulking up with
the greatest possible care those pits and excavations which
traverse the water-levels; and the lower workings are so
arranged that all the waters may unite in wells {sumps)
situated at the bottom of shafts or inclined galleries, whence
they may be pumped up to the surface or to the level of
the adifi or gallery of efflux. In most mines simple sucking
pumps are used, as they are less subject to give way,
and are more easy of repair. As many of these are placed
over each other as there are lengths of 10 yards in the
shaft, below the point where the waters have a natural run.
These means for draining are set in motion by that mecha¬
nical power which happens to be the least expensive in the
1 The word adit is variously used in mining. It sometimes signifies a level taken up at the foot of a hill, and either driven on
the lode or to intersect it, for the purpose of draining the mine at that level. It is also occasionally used in bringing out the ores. The
top adit is that first driven; the deep adit is that lowest driven; the air-adit, that driven for ventilation. Sometimes the words level,
drift, adit, gallery, and sough, are used synonymously.
I
MINES AND MINING.
227
lines and locality. In the greater part of England, and in most of
Mining, the coal mines of France and Silesia, this motion is com-
i—V—^ municated by steam-engines. In the principal metallic
mines of France, in almost the whole of Germany and
Hungary, and in some parts of England and Wales, hydraulic
machines perform the work. In other places machines
moved by horses, oxen, and even human beings, are used.
If it be merely necessary to lift the waters to the level
of the adit or gallery of efflux, advantage may be taken of
the waters of the upper parts of the mine, or even of the
waters turned in from the surface, to establish water-press¬
ure machines, or overshot water-wheels, for pumping up
the lower waters. This plan is successfully adopted in
several mines in Hungary, Bohemia, Germany, Brittany,
Derbyshire, and Cornwall.
((eatadits. There are many galleries or adits for drainage of several
leagues in length, and sometimes they are so contrived as
to discharge the waters of several mines,—as in the environs
of Freiberg in Germany. The great drainage-gallery of
the mine of Clausthal in the Harz is 11,377 yards, or 6^
miles long, and passes upwards of 300 yards below the
church of Clausthal. Its excavation lasted from the year
1777 till 1800, and it cost about L.66,000.
The greatest British work of this kind is what is called
the Great Cornish Adit, which extends through the large
mining district of Gwennap in Cornwall. It commences
in the valley above Carnon, and receives the branch adits
of fifty mines in the parish of Gwennap, forming excava¬
tions and ramifications which have an aggregate extent of
between 30 and 40 miles, and which in some places are
400 feet below the surface of the ground. The longest
branch is from Cardrew Mine, and is miles in length.
This great adit drains a tract of about 5550 acres in area,
and discharges nearly 1500 cubic feet of water per minute.
Rather less than one-third of this stream is collected at the
adit-level, whilst the remainder is pumped up from a mean
depth of about 190 fathoms. The temperature varies
between 60°‘5 and 68°, and is on an average more than
12° above the mean of the climate. It opens into the sea
at Restronget Creek, and empties its waters into Falmouth
Harbour.
Under 11 Lead Mines" we shall notice the Nent Force
Level in the north of England, which drains the numerous
mines of Alston Moor.
The steam-engine, applied to pumping, has been the
great helper of deep mining, whether in coal or metallic
districts. Without it many first-class collieries could not
have been won, and many metallic mines must have been
long since abandoned.1 It is now almost a denizen of all
lands; it exerts its mighty energies on the frowning cliffs
near the Land’s End, fumes in the narrow valleys, and it
is planted on the high table-lands of Mexico. The first
steam-engine in Cornwall was erected at Huel Vor, a tin
mine in Breage, and was at work between 1710 and 1714.
This was known as the old atmospheric engine, which
continued in use long after Watt took out his patent; but
the superiority of Watt’s engine became so apparent, that
it gradually advanced in fame and use. In 1778 the im¬
proved engines of Newcomen were giving place to Watt’s
engines. Watt required, as his remuneration, one-third of
the saving of coal effected by his engines as compared with
the old. To ascertain this saving a counter was invented,
Stam-en-
gi-es.
which, being attached to the main beam, marked the num- Mines and
ber of its vibrations, and thus the work done and the saving Mining,
of coals effected were readily calculated. Cornwall being ^
without natural fuel, coal is enhanced in cost by its freight
from other parts ; hence the Cornish engineers have been
ever studious of extracting as much as possible of the heat¬
ing power from coal. The result of their efforts is, they
have extracted more heating power out of a bushel of coals
than other engineers.
The saving of coals by three of Watt’s engines at Chace- Engine
water mine exceeded L.7200 per annum; and although duty*
the patent-right no longer exists, the same mode of calcu¬
lating the work by counters is still in use, and what is
termed the duty of an engine is estimated by the number
of pounds weight (always expressed in millions) lifted one
foot high by the consumption of one bushel of coals. In
1812 Captain Joel Lean suggested the plan of publishing
the estimated duty of the Cornish engines, ascertained by
a counter placed on every engine. This plan gave a great
stimulus to improvement. The counter is furnished with
a Bramah lock, the key of which is retained by the reporter,
who, by monthly inspection of the engines, and the orders
for quantities of coals consumed, ascertains the consumption
of fuel and the duty performed. The “ duty-papers ” are
then made public, and include not only pumping-engines
but also drawing-engines, and those used for the stamps
which pulverize the ores. The whole particulars being
arranged, the duty of any engine may be found on inspec¬
tion, and for any reported year. If, for example, we wish
to find the duty of the celebrated Taylor’s engine (cylinder
85 inches diameter) at the Consolidated Mines, for the half
year ending June 1837, we inspect the returns, and see it
registered as 63,020,000 lb. lifted one foot high by the
consumption of one bushel of coals. The duty of Borlase’s
engine at Huel Vor Mine (cylinder 80 inches), was, for
the same period, 74,073,000 lb. lifted one foot high
Another example for the same time, was the duty of an
engine of 70 inches cylinder at North Roskear Mine,
namely, 79,535,000 lb.
It appears from a tabular view drawn up in 1838 that,
since the establishment of duty-papers, the work performed
by the ordinary engines has been more than doubled in
twenty-four years, and the duty performed by the best
engines during that period has been more than trebled.
Taking the two extremes of that table, in 1813 the average
duty of the best engine was 26,400,000 lb. lifted, while in
1837 it was 87,212,000 lb. lifted. This is a wonderful
advance from the early supposed average duty of less than
17,000,000 lb. lifted. It must, however, be borne in mind
that there is a wide difference between the common and
the best engines.
The subjoined table presents the average duty of Cor¬
nish engines for four years:—
Years. Number Average duty. Average duty of
reported. the best engines
1839
1840
1841
1842
74
58
51
45
48,880,000
49,730,000
50,920,000
51,620,000
82,292,681
81,809,036
92,231,522
99,262,657
The highest duty recorded is that of Taylor’s engine, Large en-
    gines.
1 Watt, writing to Boulton in 1783, gives some interesting particulars of Cornish mines at that time. He says—“Poldice has sunk
a very great sum, and is not now gaining nor saving. It has cost L.35,000 to fit up a drain, Wheal Virgin, in this working and it costs
above L.10,000 a-year to drain the water, after all that can he done for them. Pool adventurers have sunk near L.14 000 and have
no great prospect of recovering any part of it. At Dolcoath, it is said, they use L.500 of timber per month; and a new kibble-rope of
above a ton weight is worn out in a fortnight. It takes full fifteen minutes to draw a kibble of ore there, which weighs only about
3 cwt. On the average, about two-thirds of the stuff drawn is barren stones. It cost three years’work, and I believe as many
thousand pounds, to sink a new shaft in this mine. Every fathom of an engine-shaft that is sunk under the engine costs from L.50
to L.100. If we had not furnished more effectual means of drawing the water, I believe almost all the deep mines had been aban¬
doned before now.” (Letter from Watt, dated May 18, 1783, to Boulton.) ^
223 MINES AND MINI N G.
Mines and United Mines—being 110,000,000 lb. lifted. The average
Mining, 0f the best engines has been, during a recent year, as
high as 100,000,000 lb. lifted. The total force of steam-
engines now at work is estimated as 5510 horse-power.
The number of engines at work is reported as 82. The
average duty in 1843 was 55,230,000 lb. lifted; in 1853
it was only 48,000,000 lb. lifted; refuse coal being largely
used.
The annexed are the largest engines now in use in that
district:—
United Mines and Consolidated, Pol- 1 90-inch and 85-inch cylin-
dice  J ders, 90-inch cylinder.
Huel Prosper and Huel Darlington....
Godolphin, United Hills, Huel Tor 
Fowey Consols, Duffield, and East Huel
Crofty  
The great 90-inch engine at the Consolidated Mines cost
at the foundry L.2000, and the pit-work cost L.2000 more.
The expense of putting it up was L.4000: so that no less
than L.8000 was expended in its cost and completion with
the pit-work. In twenty-four hours it consumed about
180 bushels of coals, delivered at one shilling per bushel.
It lifted sixty-four gallons of w^ater per stroke, and can
w'ork twelve strokes in a minute.
The great increase of duty above noted arises principally
from three causes;—1. A reduction of pit-work resistances,
if not balanced by an increase of water delivery. 2. A re¬
duction of engine resistances, conjointly with an increase of
power from a given quantity of steam, by using high-press¬
ure steam (of forty or fifty lbs. to the square inch) expan¬
sively. 3. An increase of water evaporated in the boiler
per bushel of coal consumed, by carefully preventing the
radiation of the heat from the boiler, cylinder, &c.
The greatest quantity of water discharged from any of
the Cornish mines in 1837 was from the Consolidated and
United Mines in the months of February and March, when
there were discharged from the Consolidated Mines 1657"I8
imperial gallons of water, and from the United Mines
1634 49 imperial gallons, in each case every minute. Such
was the estimate of parties connected w ith the mine, al¬
though it has been considered too high. Sir C. Lemon
ascertained that the w hole quantity of wrater pumped up by
sixty Cornish engines in 1837, reached the enormous amount
of nearly thirty-seven millions of tons. A single mine,
Huel Abraham, yields the vast quantity of 43,500 hogs¬
heads of water in twenty-four hours, pumped up from a
depth of 1441 feet. In reply to inquiries, we are informed
that the average quantity of water raised by Devonian
and Cornish engines is about 9000 imperial gallons per
minute.
The engines for draining are erecttd near to the shaft
in which the pumps are fixed, which is called the engine-
shaft. One end of the beam hangs over the centre of the
shaft, and is attached to the pump-rod, which is raised at
each stroke of the engine, afterwards sinking with its own
weight, which is always counterbalanced by a balance-bob ;
so that the whole power of the engine is exerted in raising
the column of water in the pumps. An engraving of the
pumps used in metallic and coal-mining is to be found in
Plate CLXXVI., illustrating the article Colliery, in this
work.
A large and substantial building generally houses the
engine, having galleries affording convenient access to every
part of the machinery. The centre of the beam is sup¬
ported by the front wall of this house, and a low building
attached to it contains the boilers, which in Cornwall, to¬
gether with the steam-pipe and cylinder, are carefully cased
and covered up w ith some non-conducting substances.
Cost of A very large expenditure is necessary for the materials
ma ena s. consumed, both in the engineering and mining depart¬
ments of the Cornish and Devonian mines. Of this the
expenditure for one year (1837) will be a sufficient ex- Mines and
ample:— Mining.
Total values. —. J
Coals  56,860 tons at L.O 17 0 per ton, L.48,331
Timber  14,056 loads at 2 12 0 per load, 36,545
Gunpowder... 300 tons at 44 0 0 per ton, 13,200
Candles  1,344,000 lbs. 35,000
1 he roofs and sides of mining galleries must frequently
be supported by timbering. In a gallery it may be suffi¬
cient to support the roof by means of joists placed across,
and bearing at their two ends upon the rock ; or the roof and
two walls may be upheld by means of an upper joist rest¬
ing on two lateral upright posts. From these simplest
forms various adaptations, up to the most complex timber¬
ings, may be employed. An ingenious system of cross¬
bars is used in the Hartz for supporting the wall of a lode
during excavation.
Considerable timbering is often necessary in shafts. Coal¬
mine shafts are often lined with timber in the north of
England. Woodwork for shafts sometimes consists of rect¬
angular framing, and sometimes of circular. In the New¬
castle district coal-pit shafts are frequently tubbed to a con¬
siderable depth ; and, when the feeders of water have been
copious, iron tubbing is employed. Plank tubbing, when
well executed, will sustain a pressure of 100 lbs. to the
square inch, and endure lor many years, when the water is
fresh; but if salt, it corrodes the iron nails, spikes, &c.
Solid wood tubbing, neither requiring planks nor spikes of
iron, when solidly and smoothly fitted, is convenient, is
very durable, and will often sustain a pressure of twenty
atmospheres. But iron tubbing is now most frequently
used in coal-mine shafts where copious water issues from
sands. This, though costly, is very durable, and was ap¬
plied in a colliery in Durham where all hopes of success
seemed unfounded. It will sustain an enormous pressure.
The total quantity of timber in use for mining purposes
in Cornwall would require no less than 140 square miles
of forest of Norwegian pine, averaging a growth of 120
years. Taking a very speculative year (1836) as our ex¬
ample, the consumption of timber for mines was estimated
at 36,200 loads, or 144,800 trees. The cost of timber im¬
ported in the same year was L.176,000; the drawback in
the duties of which amounted to nearly L.82,000. The
cost of timber for the Devon and Cornish mines in that
year amounted to L.94,138. In the year 1837 the loads
were 14,056, and the cost L.36,545.
The descent and ascent of most metallic mines in Corn-Descent
wall is made by ladders, of about 25 feet long and with and ascent,
steps from 10 to 12 inches apart. Successive ladders are
placed slopingly, and at the foot of one ladder is a plat¬
form named a sollar, with an opening leading to the next
ladder beneath, which is generally placed parallel with the
one above. The fatigue of descending to great depths by
successive ladders, and especially of returning after the
day’s work, and ascending these ladders, is very great. We
may compute that one-third of a miner’s whole physical
strength is expended in going to, and more in returning
from his work. In the year 1833 an accident suggested a
new method to one of the Hartz miners, who availed him¬
self of the reciprocating motion given to the pump-rods in
the shaft. A portion of 100 fathoms was divided into 22
minor portions, and on each of these an iron step was fixed
at intervals of four feet, while hand-holds were placed at
convenient distances. A reciprocating motion of 4 feet
being given to each rod, the miner stepped from one rod to
the parallel one on the other when it arrived at his stand¬
ing place. As one rod is always ascending while the other
is descending, the miner can thereby ascend or descend
at pleasure by stepping from one rod to the other. It
is evident, for illustration, that if tw o rods A and B (fig. 5)
be alternately descending and ascending by the commu¬
nication of a reciprocating motion to them, then the steps
180-inch cylinders.
M I N E S AND MINING.
229
3'
h-
■d
k-
-J
Fig. 5.
Mines and b, ft, and d, fixed on A, will, in every motion of, say
Mining, four feet, be even with the steps g, h, i, k, &c., fixed on
''"■•V'"*-'' B. If A descend and B ascend, then one movement
will bring a level with g, and b with h, See., B
so that a man beginning with a can step
over to g when on the same level, and then
be will be borne down, upon the next move¬
ment of B downwards, to b; from b in like
manner to h ; and so on successively until he
arrives at the lowest step. In ascending he
has only to reverse this action, and he will in
due time reach the surface without fatigue.
In the Fowey Consols Mine a man-machine of
this kind extends to a depth of 1680 feet. It
is improved by stationary platforms, the rod
carrying down 12 feet at a movement. Other
improvements may be adopted; and these man-
machines are remarkable economists of labour,
life, strength, and money. To descend 1700
feet requires only twenty-five minutes.
This machine is one of the most signal al¬
leviations of the miner’s toil which has ever
been invented or applied. It ought to be
generally adopted, as there is no objection on
the ground of expense. In Cornwall the loss
of time weekly sustained by workmen in de¬
scending and ascending ladders is estimated
at three shillings, and the loss by man-ma¬
chines at ninepence. They are now in very
general use in the mines of France, Belgium,
and Germany; and it has been shown that
the saving, even in money, by the use of
these machines, is considerable. Thus, in a mine where
250 men descend and ascend a shaft of 150 fathoms, the
cost per annum is comparatively as follows:—
Ascent and descent by ladders L.3150 0 0
... ... by man-machines  639 0 0
An engineer has shown how 10,000 miners might, by-
adopting these machines, save no less than L.39,000 per
annum in the value of time alone. (For fuller details, see
Cornwall: its Mines and Miners, See., p. 155-161.)
System of remains to explain the peculiar system by which
labour. mining labour is conducted in Cornwall. The two great
classes of work-people consist of the surface men and the
underground men,—the latter being about three to one as
compared in number with the former, and being again
divided into two strongly-defined classes, called provin-
cially “tutwork men” or “tutmen,” and “tributers.” Tut-
men are simply excavators, paid at a fixed rate per fathom.
Their undertaking is to bring to the surface so much material,
whether ore or mere “ stuff,” at the agreed price. Such
men are necessarily the first labourers in a mine, as they sink
the shafts and drive the levels. They form a party, or gang,
consisting of several persons, and each party is divided into
three gangs, each gang working eight hours at a time,
the whole number thus taking their turns in the twenty-
four hours. The price at which they are set to work is the
only subject of dispute. The work is given out by the
officers of the mine at a price per fathom, which the tutmen
are to bid for. They bid with a real or supposed know¬
ledge of the nature of the ground, and the party offering
to take it at the lowest price secures the work. To fulfil
their task they require the use of machinery to raise the
excavated matter to the surface, and they are allowed to
use the machinery on the ground at a certain rate of charge,
to be deducted from their earnings. Other deductions are
made for candles, powder, safety-fuze, smiths’ costs, Sec. In
a case before us six tutmen took a contract for a month,
and, after all deductions, each man earned L.2. 16s.
The “ tributers” do not work for fixed wages of so much
per fathom, but become, by a peculiar arrangement, partners Mines and
of the mine as regards the portions or “ pitches” which Mining-
they respectively undertake. We have already explained
that the pitches are the rectangular portions into which the
part of the mine containing the lode is divided, as shown
also in the illustrations. The method of arranging the
excavation of these is as follows:—A mine has its regular
“ setting day,” on which the captain of the underground
work meets the tributers at a fixed time and place. A mining
auction now takes its course,the captain acting as auctioneer
and partly as appraiser. Particular pitches are named and
put up by the captain. The tributers who form the bidders
have, it is presumed, studied the character and metallic
prospects of each pitch, and their knowledge and skill is
now brought into exercise and competition. They are now
about to agree to get the ores in the pitch in question,
to break them, to raise them to the surface, and pay for the
whole process of dressing them (if so required) and bring¬
ing them into fit condition for the smelter. It is evidently
the object of the captain to set each pitch at the lowest
price, so that his aim is the reverse of that of an ordinary
auctioneer; and as the captain represents the proprietors,
his interest is to secure the extraction of the ore at the
smallest payment. The tributer will bid in proportion to
his idea of the richness or the poverty of the pitch put up ;
if rich in metal, his labour will of course be less than if
poor, and his reward greater. Quality and quantity of
metal will regulate his offer. For example, he may offer
to work the pitch put up, if rich in ore, at five shillings in
the pound, that is to say, five shillings deducted from every
pound’s worth of ore raised to the surface, such being his
tribute ; and hence the name of tributer. If the pitch seem
poor in ore, he may not take it under thirteen shillings in
the pound; and the prices offered vary from one to thirteen
shillings in the pound. The whole setting is generally
arranged without much difficulty or difference. The pitches
are set in this manner for two months at a time.
When the tributer proceeds to work in the manner pre¬
viously described, he discovers the value of his bargain. If
he finds the pitch much poorer than he expected, two
months will terminate his bad bargain, if much richer, two
months will terminate the bad bargain of the captain. If
the tributer find his pitch to turn out extremely poor, he
may throw up his agreement at the end of one month, or
previously by paying a fine of twenty shillings. The pre¬
ference is given to men best known and longest established
in the mine. There are great and mutual advantages in
this plan of conducting the raising of ores; and although
the tributers are often disposed to complain, yet it may be
doubted if any other equally beneficial and equitable mode
of carrying on the work could be devised.
To show the operation of this system, we shall give
an example occurring in actual work. The ore raised by
a certain party of tributers sold for L.182, 2s. 2d.; and
as the tribute was 7s. 6d. in the pound, the share for the
tributers was L.68, 5s. 9d. From this sum the following
deductions were made by the “adventurers” or owners of
the mine:—For 108 lb. of candles, L.3, 12s.; for 195
lb. of powder, L.6, 10s.; for safety-fuse, L.l, 9s.; for hilts,
Is. 9d.; cams, 2s. 6d.; saws, 6s.; locks, Is. 6d.; smith’s work
L.3, 19s. 6d.; drawing, L.3, Os. lid.; cost of dressing,
L.6, 10s. 8d.; use of grinder, 8s. lOd.; sampling and weigh¬
ing, 17s. 6s.; “subsist,” or money drawn on account,
L.36, 18s.; total, L.63, 18s. 2d. Thus the actual costs
amounted to about L.27, or 40 per cent, on the tribute;
and the men had drawn so largely beforehand that they
had only to receive L.4, 7s. 7d.
The earnings of tributers vary so greatly, from the nature
of their work and from the system, that no average can be
deduced. It was, however, found in 1837 at the Fowey
Consols Copper Mine, that the average monthly wages of
230 MINESAND MINING.
Mines and 340 tributers were L.3, 7s. Id. each, while the monthly
v Mining.^ average of 358 tutmen was L.2, 19s. 2cl. each.
The remainder of this article will treat of the position,
produce, statistics, and mines of the more important and
useful metals, under each metal separately. (For additional
information respecting gold and silver, not strictly belong¬
ing to mines and mining, see the article Precious Metals.)
gold.
Gold is less the subject of mining, strictly so called, than
almost any other metal, as it is chiefly distributed in auri¬
ferous detritus. Some considerable portion is found in
combination with iron pyrites and other metals, as silver,
tellurium, and mercury. From silver it is obtained by a pro¬
cess termed quartation. Dr Percy has detected minute
quantities of gold in almost all lead ores, and is disposed
to believe that gold may have been thrown down by de¬
position from an aqueous medium; while Humboldt sug¬
gests that the formation of gold has some closer relations
to, or dependence upon, the atmosphere, than lead, copper,
or iron.
Great mistakes have been made, and may be repeated,
concerning gold in veinstones. For example, about twenty-
seven years ago lumps and specimens of gold were brought
from North Carolina to London to induce the formation
of a gold company. Fortunately a competent mining sur¬
veyor was sent out, who found numerous filaments and
traces of gold in the pyrites and on the surfaces of the rocks,
but he soon satisfied himself that “ the veinstones had no
body of ore downwards,” and thus prevented a ruinous ex¬
penditure. Lodes or veins of copper, argentiferous lead,
iron, &c., have been found in numerous instances to become
more and more productive as they have been followed down¬
wards ; while, on the contrary, gold has invariably (hitherto)
proved to be much attenuated in its descent, and in most
instances to disappear at considerable depths. The auri¬
ferous quartz “ reefs” in Australia run down sometimes from
the surface between sandstone, slate, &c., but always seem
to run out at a depth of generally less than 100 feet.
This downward attenuation of gold veins in rocks is an
opinion held decidedly by Sir R. I. Murchison (see the
new edition of his Silurian System, the chapter on gold)
and some other geologists. Reports from Mr Selwyn, go¬
vernment geologist, New South Wales, and from Mr J. S.
Wilson (who has passed three years as a gold miner in the
Sierra Nevada of California, and has communicated a me¬
moir to the Geological Society of London), decisively con¬
firm the above-stated opinions and facts concerning the
downward impoverishment of quartz veins containing gold,
and demonstrate that the richest produce is essentially de¬
rived from loose superficial debris piled up on mountain
sides or slopes, or in ravines, and at various considerable
altitudes above the sea.
Itwill befoundupon examination, that in nearlyall the gold
countries the chief supply has been derived from the allu¬
vial deposits, and but a small proportion from veins and rocks;
and few deep mines have succeeded. Brazil indeed pre¬
sents some examples of successful subterraneous gold mines;
and in two establishments at the famous Minas Geraes
the veinstones have proved highly remunerative, though
t e ore is seldom long continuous ; but the loose rubbish of
lazil has afforded its chief supplies of the precious metal,
early all the gold in Chile is procured from sands, detritus,
conglomerates, and loose debris. In Peru and Bolivia the
anaent drift or diluvium has afforded most gold; and in
o um ia the great mass of gold has for many years been
"nve . ‘om diggings and washings in similar deposits,
he celebrated mines of Beresor in the Urals have, how¬
ever, shafts 105 feet deep, and galleries in which the gold
lies in soft decomposing gneiss, studded with bright veins
of quartz and quantities of silvery talc. Brown spots of
crumbling iron pyrites are strewed through it; but the large
crystals of brown ironstone are only met with where the
quartz is deposited in narrow and tortuous streaks and veins.
It is from both sides of the hard white lines that the entire
iron ore is collected containing the gold, partly dispersed
in fine plates, and partly accumulated in lines and filaments
like wire. The ore is followed in every direction.
With reference to the precise locality of the most ancient
sources, termed Ophir (Supara of Ptolemy), nothing de¬
finite is known. The people living near the sources of the
Indus obtained, according to Herodotus, a large quantity
of gold from the eastern border of the Great Bactriana, and
the desert steppes of Gobi. Much was obtained by washing
sands, and more by digging. Herodotus again tells us that
“ in the north there is a prodigious quantity of gold ; but how
it is produced I am not able to tell you certainly.” Pallas,
in his Travels, describes the remains of these mines. Mines
were also visited by Lepechin and Gmelin on the south¬
eastern borders of the Ural Mountains, which were in all
probability the work of a nomadic people like the Scythians.
This gold region still continues to yield treasures to in¬
dustry. The extent of the works shows that the ancient
workmen must have been very numerous; whilst an inspec¬
tion proves that only the first rudiments of the science of
mining could have been known. With very imperfect in¬
struments (some of which remain) they must have worked
very long and very patiently. They seem to have scraped
out the gold with fangs of the boars, and collected it in
leather bags or pockets. Some of the pits are 20 fathoms
deep, shaped like a bell, and are about 7 feet in diameter.
The passages and props are well excavated and arranged,
but the former are extremely low. The natural pillars left
to support the roofs are still effectual for that purpose in some
parts, and in these are still found small portions of copper ore
containing particles of gold. Human bones, probably of the
workers, are found in the ruins of other pillars. Only the
richest ores were worked, and some of them must have been
Mines and
Mining.
Sources of
gold and
silver to
the an¬
cients.
smelted in the mines, for in the rubbish melted copper and
smelting implements have been found. The operations of
crushing and washing the ores were performed in the rivulets;
and the smelting, whether in the mines or at the surface,
was performed in small furnaces, of which Gmelin observed
nearly a thousand in the eastern parts of Siberia. These were
made of red bricks, and in them pieces of melted copper two
and three pounds in weight have been found.
From the mines of Nubia and Ethiopia it is evident that Nubia and
much gold was produced. These mines, like those of the ^thioPia-
Uralian chain, produced a copper yielding gold, which the
Africans knew how to separate. Belzoni discovered that
a very extensive tract had been worked in the Sahara Moun¬
tains. The Pharaohs derived their wealth from these sources
at the expense of much human suffering and loss of life.
Mr Jacob concludes, from a close examination of the sub¬
ject, that not less than L.6,000,000 sterling of the precious
metals must have been annually produced from these mines,
and that a large proportion of this must have been gold.
This source of gold may have become very productive.
I here were gold mines in Thrace and in the island of^',iraoe an<*
Thasus. Thessaly produced ores which were rich in gold, ihessaly-
and Epirus rich silver ores, and there were rich silver mines
in Attica; and from all these sources the Athenians drew
their wealth. (See Boeckh’s “ Dissertation on the Silver
Mines of Laurion,” in his Public Economy of Athens.') They
extended from coast to coast, in a line of about 7 English
miles, from Anaphlystus to Thoricus. The ores extracted
contained silver and lead, with zinc, and probably copper,
but no available gold. These mines were worked by means
of shafts and adits, and whole masses were removed, so that
the supports alone were left standing. The state was the sole
MINES AND MINING.
Sources to
the Ro-
Mines and proprietor of them, but they were never worked at the public
Mining, expense. They were always granted to private individuals
in fee-farm, and these leases were transferred from one
person to another by inheritance, sale, and other kinds of
legal conveyance. When Themistocles proposed to the
Athenians to apply the funds obtained from the mines to
the building of ships, instead of dividing them as before
amongst the people, the annual receipts appear to have
amounted to 30 or 40 talents.
1 he Romans, who monopolized as much of the mining
produce of the world as they could, found the principal
sources in Upper Italy, in the province of Aosta, in the
Noric Alps, and in Illyria. From this district gold was
abundantly obtained at one period, partly in large grains
on the surface, and partly in mines, so pure that an eighth
part only was lost in the process of smelting and refining.
Its great quantity caused a decrease of one-third in the price
through all Italy, and induced the proprietors to employ
fewer workmen in order to raise the value. The people
named the Tarbelli, at the foot of the Pyrenees, also worked
the soil extensively for gold. Amongst the most produc¬
tive mines in particular belonging to the Roman republic,
we may name the rich gold mines near Aquileia, those of
Ictimuli near Vercelli, in which 25,000 men were con¬
stantly employed (Pliny, Hist. Nat., xxxiii. 4), and the silver
mines in Spain, in the neighbourhood of Carthago Nova,
which yielded every day 25,000 drachmas to the Roman
ASrarium (Polyb. xxxiv. 9). We are informed by Pliny
that the Emperor Vespasian obtained annually from Ga¬
licia, Asturias, and Lusitania, L.60,000 of gold; while the
silver was found in such quantities in Spain, that Hannibal
extracted from a mine worked by him near Cartagena daily
a produce exceeding L.300 of our money. Cato delivered
into the treasury 25,000 lb. of silver in bars (L.120,000 in
our money), besides 400 lb. of gold, all of which he had ac¬
cumulated in Spain. Helvetius, who was only governor of
Andalusia, delivered 37,000 lb. of silver in coin, and 40,000
lb. of silver in bars. Strabo also informs us that neither
gold, silver, copper, nor iron, were found in such quantities
and excellence in any part of the known world as in Tur-
detania (Strabo, Geograph., p. 194). The Hungarian gold
mines do not appear to have been worked before the
eighth century, and the mines of Sweden and Norway not
until a later period. In our own country, to the conquest
of which the Romans were incited by the reported wealth
of the inhabitants in gold and other metals, we do not find
many evidences of ancient mines of the precious metals.
Cimboline, prince of the Trinobantes (which included
Essex), is stated to have coined gold money instead of rings.
It is curious that Henry IV., by his letters-mandamus, com¬
mands Walter Fitz-Walter, upon information of a con¬
cealed mine in Essex, to apprehend all such persons as he
in his judgment thinks fit, that do conceal the said mine,
and to bring them before the king and his council, there
to receive what shall be thought fit to be ordered.
231
to ascertain why the older strata, when mineralized, are pre- Mines and
eminently autiferous, and the secondary and tertiary strata, Mining,
when altered and mineralized, are not so. Italy, south of
of the Po, contains scarcely any stratum older than second¬
ary limestone, and is totally destitute of gold, a part of
Calabria being the only exception. In proceeding, how¬
ever, to Sardinia and Corsica, where Silurian and crystalline
rocks are found, there we observe that gold mines have been
worked in the olden ages.
Adolph Erman, in his Heise um die Erde, and Geogra-
phische Verbreitung des Goldes, Berlin, 1848, gives some
valuable information on the geographical distribution of gold,
and has appended a gold map of the world to the latter of the
above-named works, in which he marks seventy-seven tracts
in which gold has been worked, or is known still to exist,
and shows, in contradiction to the old-received opinion, how
greatly it predominates in the northern hemisphere.
With reference to its geological position, gold is found
in the primary group of rocks, including the transition strata
of eailier writers, which, as they contain the oldest organic
remains, have been technically denominated palaeozoic. This
series constitutes the dorsal spine of the great mountain
chains of both the old and the new world. There are, how¬
ever, vast regions, amounting perhaps to three-fourths of
all known lands, where no such rocks appear. Experience
has shown that it is only in the primary group of rocks, as
above defined (including certain associated igneous rocks),
that gold has been found in quantities sufficient to pay for
working. All the veinstones or rock masses from which
much gold has been derived, whether by natural catas¬
trophes or by human endeavour, belong to the primary
and transition group (or what are now called the azoic and
palaeozoic rocks), and especially to those portions which
have been modified by the eruption of matter in a state of
fusion, or at a very elevated temperature. It is thought
that the gold-producing rocks are not confined to particular
geographical zones, as formerly supposed, but they are
found protruding more or less in meridional bands in all
countries where the primary series is visible.
In the Ural district, at Ekaterinburg, and north and south In the
of it, gold was discovered in the beginning of the present Urals,
century, and being traced to its parent source, small un¬
derground mining drifts were sunk on the quartz veins
in the schistose and granitic rocks, which gave a scanty
revenue. Gold was, however, subsequently discovered in
lumps, grains, and scales in the gravel and sand on the
sides of the brooks in the same district; and trials soon con¬
vinced the miners that it was far more profitable to wash the
gravel and shingle, than to follow laboriously the quartzose
veins containing threads of gold in the solid rock. The
result has been the establishment of diggings and washings
at different points between Petropaulosk in the north and
tracts south of Minsk, which have afforded for many years
yields of gold worth from L.500,000 to L.700,000. All
these localities of auriferous gravel, shingle, and sand, are
rpi t rp *1 • !• A 1. CALI A A1 Cl U.O ^ICAVClj dUU. bdllUj diC
Ine Welsh Inads celebrate princes as being possessors^, in the vicinity of those spots where Silurian and Devonian
CrmHpn pare, nnri in all nmViaKillfTr fV»Ia ^ ^ a.1 T> _ i.
of golden cars, and in all probability this induced the Ro
mans to penetrate into the principality. It has been recently
found that the Romans worked the Gogofau or Ogafau Mine
for gold, which is near Pamsant in Caermarthenshire. A
Roman station is indicated by the remains of pottery and
ornaments found on the spot; and several gold ornaments
and a very beautifully-wrought gold necklace, probably
manufactured in the locality, have been discovered.
Geological It is very remarkable, as has been observed by Sir R. I.
andgeogra- Murchison, that the countries which were successively to
tributionof g,ive laws and civilization to the ancient world—viz., Lower
gold. Egypt* Greece proper, Italy, &c.—should all alike have been
destitute of procurable gold from their own soils, arising
from the geological cause that those countries contain no
mineralized old rocks. It were a curious geological problem
sandstones and schists have been penetrated and altered
by the eruptive rocks before named. The gold, when traced
to its original matrix, is found to occur chiefly in veins of
quartz in the form of lumps, threads, and flakes. These
veins rise, geologically speaking, from beneath; for they are
seen to cut through all the strata or beds of which the hills
were originally composed.
In considering the original derivation and formation of Theory of
auriferous, alluvial, or diluvial deposits, the following theory deposition,
appears most applicableWhen the primaeval breakers,
waves, and currents acted on the rocks containing gold,
whether it were disseminated through the mass of the rock,
or confined to the quartz veins traversing it, fragments of
the auriferous rock would be detached equally with other
pieces. Such fragments, either slightly water-worn or alto-
232
MINES AND MINING.
The Gold
Mines and gether broken and ground down, would afterwards be found
Mining. jn (]r;ft claySj sands, and gravels, and would, in all pro¬
bability, be much richer in gold than the actual gold-bear¬
ing rocks themselves. A current of water having sufficient
force to bear along sand or pebbles of quartz, or any other
rock of perhaps sp'ecific gravity, might not be able to
move associated fragments of gold, which metal has a spe¬
cific gravity of 18 or 19. Moving water, therefore, has
lormerly effected upon the auriferous rocks that which the
miner would now effect, namely, broken them up into frag¬
ments, swept away the lighter particles, and lett the gold
behind.
Rivers are great natural era dies, s we e p i n g o ff al 1 the lighter
and finer particles at once, the heavier ones either remaining
against any natural impediments, or being left where the cur¬
rent slackened in force or velocity. There are reasons why
the auriferous drift may be richer in gold than the mass of
the rock from which it is derived ; and there are other
reasons also why the auriferous drift of a country first de¬
posited after the first formation of the gold, should be richer
than any subsequent one.
These wonderful and recently-discovered auriferous coun-
districts of tries have created the greatest excitement, and given rise
Australia, to extravagant anticipations, as well as to much personal
disappointment in the failure of foolish expectations. In
the numerous publications of visitors to these regions, w-e
find but little scientific information, nor are wTe yet able
to form precise ideas as to all the geological conditions of
these repositories.
At present the search for gold, at least in Australia, is
chiefly confined to the alluvial beds. Of these, we learn
from one geological visitor that at the Ballarat diggings, in
the gold-fields of Victoria, the alluvial deposits may be thus
divided:—
’ A. Before the eruption of basalt and the
I. Older than Basalt. ^ hearing beds (charriages) of basalt
boulders.
B. Contemporaneous with charriage of
basalt boulders.
C. Newer beds covering the basalt bould¬
ers, but older than the formation of
the existing valleys.
The source of the gold appears to be an indefinite suc¬
cession of clay-slate, and of argillaceo-arenaceo-micaceous
slates, seemingly interstratified, as regards their strike, with
quartz veins of all sizes, which form the matrix of the gold.
The basalt hems in the gold district on the east and west
as an iron framework.
A report of a select committee of the Victorian Legis¬
lative Council has just been published, in which a very fa¬
vourable estimate of the richness of the Victorian gold-field
is given. Mr Brache, said to be a reliable authority, esti¬
mates the auriferous lands of the colony to be 20,000 square
miles, including 20,000 square miles of quartz reefs. He
computes that there are about 20,650,000,000 tons of
quartz, which would take 100,000 miners about 300 years
to work up. The alluvial lands are further estimated at
20,444,000,000 cubic yards, and if worked up by 100,000
miners at the rate of 90,000,000 cubic yards per annum, they
would occupy 2240 years. The grand total of the aurife¬
rous wealth of that colony is estimated at L.26,783,000,000
sterling. The aggregate receipts for the five years from both
districts amounted to L.41,830,696, of which L.7,032,141
came from New South Wales and L.34,830,696 from Vic¬
toria. It appears that all of this vast amount, except about
two millions, w?as brought direct to this country. The Aus¬
tralian produce of gold for 1856 has been estimated at 120
tons in weight and L.13,000,000 in value.
Mr Wyld says, that the whole range of the Australian Alps,
200 miles long, is supposed to afford sites for gold-diggings.
Sooner or later the working of alluvial gold soils will cease
to be highly gainful. The question will then be decided
II. Newer than Basalt, i
whether quartz-crushing for gold can be sufficiently remu- Mines and
nerative. Many companies for this object have been pro- Mining,
jected, and nearly all have failed. There are many, how- v-*"'
ever, who still think highly of quartz-crushing. A geolo¬
gical problem also still to be decided is the continuance of
the veins or strings of gold beyond a moderate depth.
Respecting the ultimate production of Californian gold, California,
it has been thought that the metal is too richly sprinkled
to promise any very long continuance of an abundant yield ;
for it is almost a law among miners, that ore too highly
condensed in any given locality of lodes or veins is, in the
long run, much less profitable than when broadly and widely
diffused throughout a mass of rock. Hence other regions
whose gold is disseminated through mountain masses may
afford a supply for ages to come, long after the rich gravel
troughs of California shall have been exhausted. Much,
however, may possibly be derived from Upper California.
There is a remarkable geographical feature connected with
the mineral phenomena of California noticed by Murchison.
All the great quantities of gold have been derived from
some twelve or fourteen localities in that portion of the
western flank of the Sierra Nevada which assumes a north¬
westerly direction from that parallel to the meridian it had
before followed between 37° 30’ and 30° N. Lat. By re¬
ference to the map of Fremont, it will be seen that the
centre of this westward deflection is directly opposite to
w here the extremity of an east and west ridge, which tra¬
verses the great saliferous basin, impinges on the Sierra
Nevada, and is associated with the protuberance which
alone has proved to be so eminently auriferous in all the
long chain of mountains ranging from the eternal snows of
Russian America to Mexico, Peru, and Chile. It is pos¬
sible that the intersection of ridges may account for a great
local development of metal, just as in mining practice at
home and abroad it is found that the richest branches are
often detected where lodes traverse each other.
From an American state paper just published, we extract United
the following interesting particulars:—The gold and silver States,
coinage of the United States, from 1793 to 1856, amounted
to 549,341,514 dollars. In 1844, before the gold mines
of California were discovered, the total of gold and silver
in the United States was estimated at 100,000,000 dollars.
The imports and receipts of bullion at the mint from Ame¬
rican mines, after deducting the exports up to the 30th
of September 1856, have added at least 150,000,000 dollars
to the amount of gold and silver in the country, without
taking into consideration the amount brought in by emi¬
grants and returning travellers, or the amount carried out
by travellers and merchants, not entered at custom-house,
or the amount used in the manufactures or employed in the
arts. In the fiscal year 1856-7 our country received from
America imports of gold to the value of 33,000,000 dollars.
The gold region, so called, of the United States is a me¬
talliferous belt extending in a south-west direction through
the states of Virginia, North and South Carolina, and Georgia.
Its length is about 600 miles, and it has a mean breadth,
from its southern to its northern edge, of about 80 miles.
In every part of this extensive line native gold is met with
in alluvial deposits, and in various streams where the con¬
tiguous rocky strata abound in quartzose veins more or less
auriferous. In Georgia the richest mineral belt is in the
talcose slate and granite formations, alternating with horn¬
blende-slate, gneiss, and chlorite-slate. Parallel belts are
found also near Augusta, but they cease with the termina¬
tion of the primitive region. The most productive re¬
searches have been made in the branch streams or stream
mines, and in the beds of rivers, rivulets, and ravines. A
moderate amount of gold has been derived Ifom the meta-
morphic rocks of the Lower Silurian range in Lower Canada;
and very recently intelligence has arrived of larger aurife¬
rous deposits in Canada.
MINES AND MINING.
Mines and
Mining.
Russia.
Gold in
Britain.
The greatest increase of precious metals, except from
Austraha and California, has been from the mines of Russia.
SirR.I. Murchison considered the present production of gold
from Kussm to be nearly equal to L.3,000,000 sterling per
annum. The quantity of gold raised in that country dur-
onL noo n6 years succeeding 1847 was equal to about
296,932 lb, troy, n
While our islands contain nearly every geological deposit
from the oldest to the latest,—the older occupying all our
mountainous tracts of the west,—it is only in some six or
seven localities that gold has ever been largely found. Bri¬
tish gold was not probably very abundant at any period, al¬
though the Druids may have found enough in the superficial
gravel of certain limited tracts to serve for the manufacture
of their beautiful torques, armlets, and other ornaments.
There may have been surface accumulations in Britain and
Ireland (as in Bohemia, &c.), now totally exhausted. Some
little gold, associated with the tin in the old and crystalline
rocks of Cornwall and Devon, had long attracted the an¬
cients; and so late as the reign of Edward III. we are
told that the mines of North Devon furnished enough
specie (possibly silver) to enable that warlike prince to em¬
bark in one of his campaigns; and even at this day pieces
of gold, some as large as a pigeon’s egg, are occasionally
found at Combe Martin. In Cornwall a very small portion
of gold is associated with the alluvial tin. In South Wales
the Romans opened lofty galleries in the Silurian rocks for
the extraction of small quantities of gold mixed with the
pyrites. No British locality has afforded so much gold as
the lead hills of Dumfriesshire, where, in the x*eign of
James V., 300 miners were very profitably employed, and
earned 4d. per diem,—-in those days considerable wages.
When the gold became scarcer the wages fell to 2d., and
the works failed, like those of Bohemia and other ex¬
hausted tracts. It is said that some L.20,000 have been
expended in this locality to obtain L.5000 worth of gold.1
In the Wicklow Mountains in Ireland there are rocks which
might be expected to be auriferous. Two or three golden
streams descend from the granitic mountain Croghan Kin-
shela, and traverse the quartz veins in slate, and from these
all the fragments of the precious metal have been derived,
and minute portions are still sometimes found by the pea¬
sants. Formerly the government carried on the gold works,
but the gains were infinitely exceeded by the expendi¬
ture.
In North Wales that part of Merionethshire which con¬
tains auriferous rocks lies between Dolgelly and the Moel-
wyn and Manod range, north of Festiniog. The gold at Cwm
Risen was discovered in 1843, and that mine alone has
been worked, although bold assertions were made as to the
gold to be obtained in that district. It has never been
worked with a steady profit, as far as we can learn. The
gold is found in a branching lode containing lead. Its
principal branch runs north-easterly, and is mostly com¬
posed of exceedingly hard quartz. The neighbouring rocks
are much disturbed and altered, and numerous little bosses
of greenstone are intruded among its beds. At Dol-y-
frwynog gold has been found in unusual quantities, and the
lode there is the most promising. It runs W.N.W. and
E.S.E., in low ground, and is principally composed of a
white saccharoid quartz irregularly traversed by numerous
233
loose joints. It was first opened for copper, but gold was Mines and
found in several flakes and grains irregularly disseminated Mining,
through the quartz,—sometimes visible to the naked eye.
Discoveries of gold have been made in the hills north of
the Dolgelly and Barmouth Road.
We have instituted some particular inquiries on the pre¬
sent state of the Welsh gold speculations, and learn that
the Dol-y-frwynog Mine, 6 miles from Dolgelly, is the prin¬
cipal, or has been such, it having stopped. At this spot
the adventurers had erected a steam-engine of, we believe,
70 horse-power, with grinding-pans about 10 feet in diameter,
and four balls to rotate in the pans of 3 feet in diameter,
together with a number of amalgamators, furnaces, &c.
I o all these was added an expensive staff. What was the
result of mining? At a depth of 9 fathoms they “cut” or
met with the quartz lode. At 20 fathoms they found gold-
bearing quartz, and this continued to a depth of from 30
to 40 fathoms. Then they drove east and west, and found
that the gold greatly diminished and nearly disappeared.
Now the mine has stopped, and the adventurers have little
hope of further success. In fact, the presumption we have
expressed is in this case again confirmed, viz., that gold
veins in quartz diminish in richness in proportion to their
depth from the surface. The result of the crushing of the
quartz in the upper parts is interesting. On the 16th
August 1854 they crushed 39 tons of auriferous quartz,
and found gold at the rate of 5 ounces 9 pennyweights per
ton of quartz. Afterwards they crushed 100 tons, and
found gold at the rate of 5 ounces per ton ; then successively
gold at the rates of 8 ounces 9 pennyweights per ton, and 4
ounces 15 pennyweights per ton. These ratios might have
paid well if continued, but the expenses for extracting small
amounts per ton are vastly more than the profits. We
have examined some of the rich specimens, and found the
gold visibly disseminated through the mass of quartz.
The processes by which gold is made ready for the metal- Prepara-
lurgist may be divided into three:—(1.) Washing; (2.)^ of
Trituration; (3.) Separation of the useful from the waste.
(1.) The washing is necessary to clear off the mud and dirt
from the larger fragments, and*to set free small particles of
the precious mineral which are enveloped in clay. Various
machines may be used to facilitate the operations, such
as inclined cylindrical sieves, adopted in some of the Rus¬
sian gold-washings, or annular sieves, or a conical sortine-
drum.
(2.) Trituration is not so needful in gold as in other
metals, for here nature has already been the great triturator.
It may be necessary, however, in the case of auriferous
quartz, to breakdown the masses either by hammers
or by crushers or grinders,—machines almost peculiar to this
country, and to be seen in simpler forms at the lead mines
in Cornwall and Wales, and in their more complicated
forms in the northern lead mines. In instances where the
portion of gold is very minute, stamps must be employed,
in the form of a range of massive beams shod with heads
of iron, and weighing each from 3 to 8 cwt.
(3.) Separation is effected by some of the very nume¬
rous contrivances which have been invented to facilitate
the fall of the gold to the bottom when the whole mass is
suspended in water; or, in another form, to cause the flow
1 Those who are curious in the history of abortive gold-mining projects will find something to reward them in The Discoverie and
Historie of the Gold Mynes in Scotland, by Stephen Atkinson : written in the year 1619, and printed for the Bannatyne Club
1825. From this book one might infer that gold was a staple product of Scotland—that it had been extracted in great abundance and*
that from time to time it afforded employment to a considerable mining population. Atkinson speaks of Crawford Moor and Friar Moor
in Lanarkshire, and Wanlock Moor in Dumfriesshire, also of a small vein called Glengaber in Peeblesshire, as the chief auriferous
districts. To this day, we believe, the shepherds occasionally find grains of gold in the channels of the streams which water these dis¬
tricts. In 1803 Professor Traill found specimens of gold in a vein of quartz near Wanlockhead mines, one of which he deposited in
the museum of the Edinburgh University. King James VI. expended about L.3000 sterling (a large sum in his day) in searching
for gold on Carnwath Moor, but he never obtained more than about three ounces, worth not quite L.12. At the conclusion of this
unprofitable speculation, Atkinson strongly urged the king to renew the national hunt for the precious metal, promising thereby “ to
make his majesty the richest monarch in Europe; yea, in all the world.” r & j
VOL. XV. 2 G
234
Mines and
Mining.
Forms in
which sil¬
ver occurs.
Cornish sil¬
ver.
MINES AND MINING.
of a stream of water down an inclined plane, depositing the
heavier particles first, and carrying the lighter away with
it to the lower end of the plane. Amongst the former
machines are dolly-tubs or keeves, and amongst the latter
are buddies, tables, trunking-boxes, and cradles, which last
are extensively used in California and Australia. Seve¬
ral processes are finally adopted to cleanse the gold from
I’emaining impurities. (For the physical properties of gold
as a metal, see the article Gold.)
silver.
Silver occurs in many natural forms and combinations,
which are enumerated in the works of mineralogists.
Native silver is found crystallized in wedge-form octahed-
irons, in cubes, &c.; at other times in dendritic shapes, or
in arborescences, resulting from minute crystals being im¬
planted upon each other. Fine specimens may be seen in
the British Museum. Thirty-four specimens of silver from
Sweden were displayed in the Great Exhibition. It most
commonly occurs in small grains, without determinable
form, or in irregular masses of various sizes. It is soft in
its native state, but harder than gold, and its specific gravity
is about 10. The ancients were acquainted with silver
from the earliest periods; and it is constantly mentioned
in Homer, though in a manner indicative of its comparative
scarcity. It was much more abundant in Asia than in
Greece proper. The Greeks worked the rich mines of
their own country and its islands, the chief being in Siphnos,
Thessaly, and Attica.
The native metal is found more or less in almost all the
true silver mines now worked. Very fine specimens of
native silver have come from the mines of Kongsberg in
Norway, and some of these, beautifully crystallized, were
displayed in our Great Exhibition of 1851. One mass
discovered in 1834 at these mines weighed no less than 840
lb., as reported. In the Great Exhibition appeared a mass
of native silver from Chile weighing 154 lb. It was found
in 1850 at a depth of 200 feet. Its dimensions and weight
are not its only interesting characteristics, for it is formed
of successive layers folded on each other, like some beds
of the coal measures, or like piled cloth when seen in cloth
mills or warehouses. A large specimen of gold and silver
in one mass lies under a table in the Museum of Practical
Geology in London. It weighs 300 lb., and was brought
up from the mine of Madre de Dios, from a depth of 45
yards, on the back of a miner. It contains 12 ounces of
gold per ton of ore, and 220 ounces of silver per ton of ore.
At Kongsberg the native silver occurs in carbonate and
fluate of lime; at Schlangenberg in Siberia in sulphate of
barytes ; at Allemont in a ferruginous clay.
In our own country some few Cornish mines have pro¬
duced silver in small quantities of extraordinary richness.
There native silver has only been found in clay-slate ; and
the richest silver mines were Herland and Huel Basset.
The former yielded about L.8000 worth of ore, and the
latter about L.3000. It has been said that about L.40,000
worth of silver came from a mine at Alva. Some speci¬
mens, in very small quantities, from Illogan parish, would
yield at the rate of 2000 ounces per ton. The principal
portion, however, of our silver is obtained from the “ gos¬
sans ” (ochreous iron ore) and the argentiferous leads.
The proportion of silver in the lead varies in different
mines. In Cornwall it is supposed to be 35 ounces of silver
to the ton of argentiferous lead. In Devonshire (the highest
of all) it is supposed that 40 ounces can be extracted from
the ton of lead in favourable instances; in Cardiganshire,
&c., the proportion of silver is presumed to be 15 ounces;
in the Isle of Man 20 ounces; in Durham, Westmoreland,
and Northumberland, 12 ounces. In the year 1851 the
total number of ounces of silver obtained from British lead
was 674,458; and its value, at 5s. per ounce, was L.168,614. Mines and
In 1852 the total quantity of British (including Irish) silver Mining,
from lead was about 818,325 ounces, valued at L.205,080.
In 1853 the estimated total quantity was 700,000 ounces,
and the value L.l92,500. In 1854 the estimated total
yield of silver from British lead was 562,659 ounces. The
Beer Alston Mines in Devonshire are the most remarkable
for their richness, and two lodes have produced large quan¬
tities of argentiferous galena, often containing from 80 to
120 ounces of silver per ton of lead.
Silver is now separated from lead by Pattinson’s process, Desilveriz-
which is one of the most important of recent metallurgical ing process,
improvements. From more than 30,000 tons of the lead
raised the silver is extracted by Pattinson’s process, which
would otherwise have been lost to the arts. Thus (at the
rate of 5 to 8 ounces to the ton) not less than L.200,000 of
silver are obtained annually. The result of this application
has therefore been the actual saving of from L.60,000 to
L.70,000 per annum to the country.
This desilverizing process is now employed in nearly all
the lead-mining districts of Great Britain, and by its
adoption the produce of silver has been increased to the
amounts we have named, and nearly doubled within the
last twenty years. Large quantities of lead, too, are annu¬
ally brought to England for the purpose of being thus de¬
silverized ; and, in fact, it may be everywhere applied to
alloys too poor in silver to be treated by cupellation, it
being both simple and economical; nor does it occasion
more than 2 per cent, of loss of lead. This process has
within the last few years been very generally introduced
into the provinces of Murcia and Almeria in Spain ; and a
large quantity of silver, not formerly extracted, is thus ob¬
tained from the slightly argentiferous lead ores of the Sierra
de Gador and of Cartagena. The cost of refining lead pre¬
viously to Pattinson’s process was from 30s. to 60s. per ton.
The total yield of silver annually from Europe and Produce.
Asiatic Russia has been rated by Humboldt at 292,000
marcs, by others at 310,000; while at the beginning of
the present century that of the Spanish colonies in America
was 3,349,160 marcs, or nearly 12 times as much. The
sum total is 3,704,160 marcs, which is nearly 1,900,000
lb. avoirdupois, i.e., little less than 9000 tons.
We have already spoken of the richness of Spain in silver, Spain,
and its yield in ancient times. It is only within the last
thirty years that Spain has again become a silver-produc¬
ing country, several very rich mines of this metal having
been discovered since the revival of mining in 1825. The
celebrated mines of the Sierra Almagrera, in the province
of Almeria, were discovered in 1839, and they have ever
since poured a large amount of silver annually into circula¬
tion. In 1843 the mines of Hiendelencina, in the province
of Guadalaxara, were discovered, and these have been very
productive. The produce of the Almagrera mines in
1850 was 40,596 marcs of silver, and it has probably since
then remained about the same; but this amount is a de¬
cline from the earlier productions, the lode having become
poorer, and water having hindered full operations. The
veins of these mines run nearly north and south, and traverse
finely-grained clay-slates and micaceous slates. The great
lode of the Jaroso Mine is of extraordinary size, being in
some places 6 or 8 yards, and even more, in width. The
ores are chiefly argentiferous galena, the chloride of silver
occurring but rarely in a separate state. The lodes of
Hiendelencina run nearly east and west, and seldom ex¬
ceed 3 feet in width; and are properly silver lodes, as they
produce the ores of silver in chlorides and sulphurets, but
unmixed with any ores of lead.
Europeans have undertaken the working of deep, ex- Mexico,
tensive, and abandoned Mexican mines, with a confidence
of their own superiority in the art and means of working
such mines. The four essential points in mining are capital,
MINES AN
Mines and industry, economy, and skill. These were thought to be
Mining, at the command of the English; but in practice several
drawbacks and obstacles—as distance, suspected frauds,
&c. have overcome the English. The single advantage of
the introduction of the steam-engine by the English, bur¬
dened by almost insuperable difficulties in conveying it to
the spot, and the deficiency of proper fuel when there, is
not sufficient to counterbalance the numerous disadvantages
under which they labour. Hence the history of English
mining adventure in Mexico has been a history of failures
and disasters, with occasional partial successes.
The mines of New Spain, the central group of which
comprise three mining districts, including an area of about
1700 square leagues, are probably the most abundantly
supplied with the precious metals of any in the world. Of
the three districts the most southern of the group, that of
Guanaxuato, is as remarkable for gigantic human labours
in the mountains as for its vast natural wealth. A group
of porphyritic hills, partly arid and partly covered with the
evergreen oak, and the strawberry tree, rises on the ridge
of one of the mountains of the Cordilleras, from a part of
the great central table-land of Mexico. The absolute
heights of the summits of these mountains range from
9000 to 9500 feet above the sea-level; but as the neigh¬
bouring plain is nearly 6000 feet above the sea-level, they
appear only as insignificant hills to the traveller accustomed
to the lofty mountains of the Southern Continent. The cele¬
brated vein of Guanaxuato, the Veta Madre, crosses the
southern slope of this porphyritic range, and the outcrop of
the vein runs from S.E. to N.W. The quantity of the
precious metals annually obtained from this vein, on the
average of a number of years, amounts to two hundred
and eighty-six thousand pounds troy iveight of silver, being
nearly double the average of the more celebrated mines of
Potosi. The mountain of Potosi, however, has furnished,
since its discovery in 1545 to the beginning of the present
century, at least as much silver as was worth 235 millions
of pounds sterling, although at the present day the quantity
extracted is comparatively small, and the proportion of
metal only about 1 in 2500.
The vein called the Veta Madre of Guanaxuato has been
worked for a length of upwards of 6 miles, although the
silver has been extracted only on a line of about 1^ mile.
Its direction is (says Humboldt) N. 52° W., and its inclina¬
tion from the vertical 45°, or 48° to the S.W. As this
great mass of ore seems to have the same direction and dip
as the clay-slate, it has been doubted whether it could be
properly called a vein ; but it appears to be a true vein, and
divides into branches varying very considerably and capri¬
ciously in thickness. There seems to be a certain moderate
depth at which the greatest riches occur, and this Hum¬
boldt states to be between 6000 and 7000 feet above the
sea-level.
At the commencement of the present century the me¬
chanical contrivances employed to work these mines gene¬
rally were extremely rude. The whole of the ore was con¬
veyed to the surface by human labour, the native Indians
carrying a weight of from 240 lb. to 380 lb., exposed to a
temperature of from 70° to 80° Fahr., for a space of six
hours, and during this time ascending and descending
several thousand steps in pits having an inclination of 45°.
The weight of the pure silver afforded by the Mexican
mines in 1846 was about 1,047,582 lb. troy, and the value
L.3,457,020. The weight of silver yielded in 1850 was
1,631,313 lb. troy, and the value was L.5,383,333. The
weight of the produce in 1854 was 1,750,000 lb. troy.
By reference to the table of general metallic produce at
the end of the present article, it will be seen how far
above other silver districts Mexico still rises.
Mines of The silver mines of the Andes are frequently in ground
the Andes. g0 that profits are diminished by the difficulties
D M I N I N G. 235
and cost of carriage, and the expenses of living and labour- Mines and
ing in a barren country, destitute of water and sufficient Mining-
fuel, and exposed to severe cold and snow. At the silver
mines of Copiapo in Chile not a drop of water is to be
found in a circuit of 9 miles. These mines are said to
extend (as to capability) over 150 square leagues. The
celebrated mines of Potosi in Bolivia were discovered in
1545, and since their discovery upwards of 1300 millions
of dollars have been coined from them. Their total pro¬
duce in pounds sterling is estimated at the astonishing sum
of L.250,000,000. They are situated in an insulated moun¬
tain about 18 miles in circumference, which rises to an
immense height in the shape of a cone. Spaniards assert
that there are 500 mines in Potosi; but these are only lots
(estecas) portioned out to individuals, of which in 1826
there were not quite 100 at work. Cerro de Pasco in
Peru is famous for its neighbouring rich silver mines. It
is situated in 10' 48" S. Lat., at the height of 13,673 feet
above the level of the sea. The mines have yielded,
before the revolution, 130,000 lb. troy of silver. They
have been suspended in consequence of the revolution.
The water, which always occurred at the depth of 400 feet,
took full possession of the mines. The house of Abadia,
by which they were chiefly carried on, has been ruined.
The table of metallic produce given at the end shows the
yield of silver for 1854 from Chile, Bolivia, and Peru.
The mode of working many of the Mexican and Peru¬
vian mines is primitive and perilous,—the object being to
extract as much ore as possible without consideration of the
future.. Thus, in the rich Cerro de Pasco many of the
mines are worked in a careless and disorderly manner.
The dangerous parts in the shafts are never walled up, and
the excavations proceed without precautions for security.
Hence accidents are of frequent occurrence, and every year
many of the Indians lose their lives. In the now ruined
mine of Matagente (a word meaning “kill people”) 300
labourers were destroyed by the falling in of a shaft. Rot¬
ten blocks of wood and loose stones commonly serve for
steps, and where these cannot be placed, the shaft, which
generally runs nearly perpendicular, is descended by the
help of rusty chains and ropes, whilst loose fragments of
rubbish continually fall in from the mouldering walls.
A recent report from Colonel Lloyd, charge d’affaires in
Bolivia, communicated to the Geographical Society of Lon¬
don, shows to what an enormous extent silver may yet be
extracted from Copiapo, and from other South American
mines; and as veins of silver and argentiferous lead fre¬
quently expand largely in their downward course, immense
amounts of ore may be extracted. It seems to be the
opinion of Humboldt and some eminent men, that the pro¬
duce of silver will largely increase in the future.
Notwithstanding the very large quantities of the pre¬
cious metals obtained from the mining districts of South
America, the ores are not, on the average, richer than those
of Freiberg, of Hungary, or of Transylvania- It is not,
therefore, as has been generally supposed, from the in¬
trinsic value of the minerals, but rather from their great
abundance, and the facility of extracting them, that these
mines are to be distinguished from those of Europe. The
mean wealth even of the richer veins is not greater than
four ounces of silver to the cwt. of ore extracted, whilst
many districts of Saxony have at fortunate periods yielded
ten and even fifteen ounces, and have often averaged not
much below three. We find the produce of most of the silver
ores of Freiberg in Saxony to ascend from fths and £ per
cent, to various higher per-centages.
The mining district of Freiberg in Saxony abounds in Saxony,
veins of silver, or argentiferous lead. They traverse gneiss
rocks, and are generally composed of quartz, lime, and fluor
spar. The richest of the Saxon mines, that of Himmel-
furst, is situated 2 miles S.E. of Freiberg, and the elevation
MINES AND MINING.
236
Mines and of the surface above the level of the sea is 1346 feet; the
Mining, depth of the mine is 1083 feet. There are five veins, and
the principal one is from 1 foot 6 inches to 3 feet in width.
The produce of metal is from f ths to nearly ^ per cent.
The total annual produce of ore was formerly 630 tons,
yielding 6160 lb. troy of silver, valued at about L. 18,000.
In 1750 a mass of silver was dug out from a mine near
Freiberg, weighing 168 lb.
Hungary. Hungary contains some rich and extensive silver mines.
Those of Schemnitz and Cremnitz have been long cele¬
brated both for their riches and the immense extent of their
operations. Some miles to the N.W. of Schemnitz is
Koningsberg, another mining town. In the Royal Mine
the vein runs between the metallic rock, which forms its
hanging side, and the granite, which is its hading side.
Transylvania has ruby-silver mines, dhe circle of Saaz in
Bohemia abounds in various metallic ores, among which the
ores of silver occasionally predominate. The veins at
Catharinaberg traverse gneiss, and generally run in a north
and south direction, and parallel to the mountains in which
they are situated.
The Urals, In the Ural and Altai Mountains, especially in the dis-
&c. trict of Kolyvan, silver is as abundant as in any part of the
Old Continent. Travellers mention silver mines also in
Armenia, Anatolia, Thibet, China, Cochin-China,and Japan.
From China a piece of native silver was brought to St
Petersburg of such purity that some coin was struck from
it without its passing through the crucible. A story is told
with reference to the mine of Schneeberg in Saxony, that
a rich vein of silver was discovered in 1478, and so rich a
block of the native ore or metal was dug out, that Duke
Albert of Saxony descended into the mine and used this
block as a dining-table; and when it was smelted it pro¬
duced no less than 44,000 lb. of silver.
Norway. The silver mines of Kongsberg in Norway are celebrated,
and have been already named. They lie about 52 miles from
Christiania, the capital of Norway, and are about 1800 or
2000 feet above the level of the sea. They were first dis¬
covered by a peasant in 1624, and were immediately taken
possession of by the crown. In 1833 the produce amounted
to 29,390 lb. troy, being the greatest ever attained by these
mines, and this afforded an overplus of L.44,000. During
recent years the yield has been somewhat less ; but the pro¬
fits in the four years 1841 to 1844 inclusive were L.46,787.
Copper has been found in addition to the silver, and at
different times an inconsiderable quantity of gold. The
geological formation is gneiss, and the lode is in felspar.
The Fahlbaand is a certain range of the strata from 10 to
60 fathoms broad, and when it leaves this, the vein does
not bear silver; 100 lb. of this Fahlbaand never contain
less than Jth oz. of silver. The veins become metalliferous
as they cease to run parallel with the cleavage of the fel¬
spar in the gneiss. The dip of the strata to the east is from
50° to 80°. Among the mines at present worked, the prin¬
cipal is called the “ Armens-Grube,” so named from being
originally assigned to the support of the poor. The en¬
trance to the Armens-Grube is by a high and broad level
about 2 English miles long, at the termination of which
the shaft commences. There are several levels branching
off at various distances from the surface. The descent to
the bottom of this mine is by forty-two ladders, averaging
5 fathoms each. The richest pieces of silver have been
extracted from this mine; and there are now in the Royal
Museum at Copenhagen two specimens, one of 6 feet long,
2 feet broad, and 8 inches thick. Although some of the
matrix is attached to this specimen, it is supposed to be
nearly all silver. The other specimen, though smaller, is
perfectly pure, and is about 18 inches high and 12 in length
and breadth.
Little blasting takes place in the rock, but a curious
burning method of excavation is employed. On Saturday
at noon, when the workmen leave the mine, large quan- Mines and
tides of wood are placed against the portion of the rock Mining,
to be extracted. This being ignited, softens the rock, and v"™"'
on the following Monday the workman commences his
labours. In very stubborn rocks gunpowder is used. The
excavations are large, and the ventilation is good. Small
bundles of wood are ignited instead of candles. Lodging-
houses for the miners are near the mines, and they remain
there the whole week absent from their families. They
are searched previous to their return home. Their pay
is equal to about lOd. per day; and they are supplied
with provisions at a cheap rate. On the road to the mines
we pass the roasting-house, washing-house, and stamps for
pounding the ores, all of which are guarded by armed
men. About 700 labourers are employed in the mines and
at the stamps. The smelting-works are situated in the
town, and the smelting takes place twice a year, occupying
two months at each period. The fuel consumed is 500
cases of charcoal and 800 fathoms of wood.
The number of silver mines in Sweden has diminished like Sweden,
some of the other mines of that country. In 1767 only three
were reckoned under exploration. The Sahlaor Sahlberg
Mine is now the only one of importance. It is situated in
Westmannia, about 23 leagues N-W. of Stockholm, and
is very ancient. At present it yields only from 4000 to
5000 marcs of silver per annum. Highly argentiferous lead
is its principal product. It is explored to a depth of more
than 200 yards. The soundness of the rock has allowed
of large excavations and galleries, and in the interior there
are winding-machines and carriages drawn by horses for
the transport of the ores.
PLATINA.
Platina is a most useful but scarce mineral in large
quantities. Its refractory and unalterable nature, even when
exposed to intense heat, and its resistance to action by
salts and acids, fit it in a very peculiar manner for che¬
mical purposes, and accordingly crucibles and caldrons,
sometimes of very large size, are made of it. Its polish
and freedom from rust and tarnish, its slight dilatability,
and the regularity of its expansion for equal increments of
heat, render it valuable for pendulums, &c. Medals were
struck of it; and in Russia it was introduced as a current
coin, but it having been found in greater quantities in
Siberia, its value for coinage was lowered. From 1831 to
1833 the Russian mines produced 14,000 lb. weight of pla¬
tinum. The Russian mines are all in the Ural Mountains, In the
and the ore is disseminated in an argillaceous sand of a Uva18*
greenish-gray colour, resulting from the disintegration of
the surrounding rocks, and constitutes from 1 to 3 parts
in 4000 of the sand. Occasionally it has been found in
lumps which contain 70 per cent, of platina and 3 to 5 of
iridium. One locality contains small flattened grains with
88 per cent, of this valuable metal. It has only been
known in Europe since 1748, and was at first brought into
the market under the name of white gold. The whole pro¬
duce of the Urals is sent to St Petersburg.
In the New Continent it is found chiefly in three districts, ^ Choco,
and principally at Choco, in the neighbourhood of Bar- c‘
bacoas, and generally on the coasts of the South Sea, or on
the western slopes of the Cordilleras of the Andes, between
2° and 6° of N. latitude. The gold washings furnish
platina, the former being separated by hand-picking and
also by amalgamation, Platina grains are found in Brazil,
but always in the alluvial lands that contain gold, particu¬
larly in those of Mato-Grosso. Grains are also found in
Hayti or St Domingo, and the sand containing them is
quartzose and ferruginous.
A remarkable specimen was found in the Ural in 1827,
not far from the Demidoff Mines, which weighed 9J lb.
MINES AND MINING.
237
Mines and avoirdupois; and at about the same time another was met
Mining, with weighing 27 lb. These exceed any mass found in
South America. \ on DemidofFhas also sent several other
large masses to St Petersburg, weighing from 10 to 20 lb.
From the discovery in 1835 to 1840, about 53,336 lb. were
obtained from the Demidoff deposits. (Dickson in Fea-
therstonhaugKs Journal, No. 3, Sept. 1831.) In 1847 the
production had fallen to about 18 lb., representing, at the
old price, a value of L.352.
The rarity of this valuable metal will render the follow¬
ing notices of its occurrence interesting. In 1847 platina
was discovered in the Chapeau Mountain, and in the
valley of the Drac, Upper Alps. It was found in a
gray copper ore in the transition limestone. This metal
has also been found in the alluvium of Columbia and
Brazil, in the diorite rock of the high mountains of Co¬
lumbia, and the serpentine rocks of the Ural. It has
also been discovered in Saxony, on the right bank of the
River Beus, in the territory of Presles, in a gray car¬
bonate of copper. The quantities were too inconsiderable
to justify exportation. In March 1848 it was found at
Cavalles in the Mountain of Rousse, in gneiss and talcose
schist, and also connected with a green carbonate of copper.
The existence of platina in the silver of commerce has
been recently certified by a money assayer at Munich, who
has likewise obtained more than 500 grains of platina from
the slag of the Bavarian coin.
MERCURY OR QUICKSILVER.
This metal is distinguished by its fluidity at common
temperatures, its density (=13-6), its silver-blue lustre, and
extreme mobility. Native quicksilver occurs in most of
the mines of the other mercurial ores, in the form of small
drops attached to the rocks, or lodged in the crevices of
other ores, Argental mercury, or native silver amalgam,
has been found in Hungary, in a canton of Tyrol, in Sweden,
Siberia, &c., but only in moderate quantities. Cinnabar,
or sulphuret of mercury, is the most abundant and import¬
ant of the ores, and by sublimation yields the metallic
mercury. Vermilion is pure cinnabar, being a compound of
mercury and sulphur in nearly the same proportions. The
finest crystals come from China and Almaden in Spain,
and produce (Klaproth says) 85 per cent, of mercury.
Pliny has recorded two interesting facts—(1.) That the
Greeks imported red cinnabar from Almaden 700 years
B.c.; and, (2.) That Rome in his time received annually
700,000 lb. from the same mines. They have been worked
from time immemorial, and even Theophrastus (300 b.c.)
speaks of the cinnabar of Spain.
The mines These mines are the most celebrated for this mineral in
den ma' ^ie wor^' r^e veins extend all the way from the town
of Chilian to Almanedejos. Since 1827 they have produced
22,000 cwt. of mercury every year, with a corps of 700
miners and 200 smelters.. The veins are so wonderfully
rich, that though they have been worked pretty constantly
during so many centuries, the mines have hardly exceeded
the depth of 330 yards, or something less than a 1000
feet. The lode actually under exploration is from 14 to
16 yards thick, and at the crossing of the veins it becomes
thicker still.. The whole ore is extracted. It yields in
their smelting-works only 10 per cent., upon an average ;
but there can be no doubt, from the analysis of the ores
that nearly one-half of the quicksilver is lost and dispersed
in the air, to the great injury of the workmen’s health., A
certain barbarous apparatus employed in its sublimation,
has remained without any material change for the better
since the days of the Moorish dominion in Spain. The
ores are treated in thirteen double furnaces.
The hill in which the mines are situated is chiefly com¬
posed of sandstone, and on its summit rises a crest of naked
rocks streaked with cinnabar; indications which unques- Mines and
tionably led to the discovery of the mineral wealth concealed Mining,
beneath. The whole of the country abounds with fer-
ruginous ores, and in the mines themselves portions of
mineral are sometimes found in which iron, quicksilver, and
sulphur are blended together. The direction of the hill is
from N.E. to S.W., and its height is about 125 feet. Two
veins, from 2 to 14 feet wide, varying in richness, cross it in
a vertical manner. These veins meet near the most convex
part of the hill, when they expand into a bed nearly 100
feet wide, constituting the prodigious mass of ore known
as “the Rosary” [El Rosario), the discovery of which was
deemed miraculous. A belt of hard stone, from 3 to 4
feet wide, extends across the hill from N. to S., intersecting
the veins. Beyond this the line of quicksilver does not pass.
These two veins are the only ones worked at Almaden,
and they have already been excavated to such a depth
that the drainage has become the heaviest item of ex¬
pense. Should steam be applied, this charge would be
considerably reduced. Thrice during the political contests
was Almaden taken by the Carlists, and the last time they
partly destroyed the machinery.
The labouring department has been carried on by con¬
victs, each of whom costs the government 2s. a day ; whereas
peasants would perform double the work at less cost. The
quantity of ground bored for shafts, and formed into caverns
or resting-places, has not been precisely ascertained, but it
is known to be immense. Scenes of the most terrific kind
have sometimes occurred within these gloomy recesses.
Soon after the junction of the two veins, owing to the con¬
fined state of the air, the gaseous exhalations have caught
fire, when numbers of the miners have perished. Of
this calamity the natives speak in most painful terms.
Additional shafts diminish the risk of its recurrence. Re¬
markable cases of heart-rending misery and oppression have
likewise occurred in these abodes of wretchedness. The
surrounding scenery is exquisitely picturesque, and some¬
times even majestic. The mineral wealth of this interest¬
ing hill was not scientifically explored till towards the
middle of last century. In 1752 Mr William Bowles, an
Englishman and naturalist, was commissioned to make ex¬
cursions into the interior to survey mines, &c. His first trip
was to Almaden, of which he gave some account in a work
printed at Madrid in 1775. From the period of his visit the
works were conducted on a better principle, but owing to old
defects, the mines were inundated a few years afterwards.
About 2 leagues from Almaden another quicksilver mine
was discovered in 1755, and commenced working in 1780.
In the province of Valencia two quicksilver mines were
discovered towards the middle of last century. The “ Lit¬
tle Almaden,” as it may be called, has produced in some
years 1,217,160 lb. avoir., but its average is 304,2901b.
The quicksilver mines of Idria (a town of Illyria, near The mines
Adelsberg, in the Austrian dominions), situated in an of Idria.
Alpine valley, are the next largest to those of Almaden.
They employ upwards of 600 persons, and produce annu¬
ally from 3200 to 3500 cwts. of quicksilver, according to
one account; but it said that the Austrian government, in
order to uphold the price of the metal, haa restricted the
produce to 150 tons. The workings have been carried to
the depth of 280 yards. The memorable fire of 1803 was
most disastrous to these mines, and it was only extinguished
by drowning all the underground workings. The mercury
sublimed in this catastrophe occasioned diseases and ner¬
vous tremblings to more than 900 persons in the vicinity.
The bituminous sulphuret of mercury appears to be the
base of these great explorations. It is of a dark, liver-red
hue, of a slaty texture, with straight or twisted plates, and
exists in large quantities in the bituminous schists. The
produce of these mines has been very large, and it is said
that in 56 months, from 1809 to 1813, they yielded 1,419,425
238
MINES AND MINING.
Mines and ]b. of mercury, 270,029 lb. of vermilion, and 76,225 lb.
Mining. 0f iump cinnabar; besides 6400 lb. of calomel, 2867 lb. of
red precipitate, and 2450 lb. of corrosive sublimate.
These mines were discovered in the year 1497. The
mountain in which they were first excavated has been ex¬
hausted, and the operations are now carried on in an op¬
posite mountain, whence it is said a supply of mercury to
almost any extent might be obtained, but the produce is
mostly retained for the amalgamation of the Austrian gold
and silver ores. A traveller who visited the place states
that, having descended by 727 steps, reaching to a depth of
120 fathoms, he arrived at the region where the cinnabar is
principally procured. The mining operations are carried on
chiefly by galleries, the friable nature of the rock seldom
admitting of large chambers. The cinnabar lies in beds
from 2 to 6 inches in thickness, and is of a variety of colours
from dark to light-red ; the native quicksilver being some¬
times mixed with it, and sometimes occurring in the inter¬
vening strata of earth or stone. The strata yielding the
quicksilver do not appear to have any precise direction, and
occupy about one-third or one-half of the entire mass of the
rock. Proceeding a short distance, the visitor arrived at the
galleries where the cinnabar is less common, and where
quicksilver is the chief object of search. Here it occurs
sometimes imbedded in a friable rock, sometimes in a kind
of earth resembling talcose slate, but principally in the
former—^generally in particles too minute to be discerned
by the naked eye. Often when the rock is broken, small
globules present themselves, varying up to the size of a
common pin’s head. They are not distributed at random
through the mass, but the matrix in which they occur forms
strata usually about one or two inches in thickness.
Descending still lower into the richest part of the mine,
the matrix consists almost entirely of talcose earth, and the
globules of quicksilver are so large, that when it is broken
they roll out and fall to the bottom of the gallery. The
labourers, being unable from the state of the atmosphere to
work longer, are relieved every four hours in this part, but
in other parts they work eight hours. The total number
employed was 360, divided into three companies, and their
pay was only the usual pay of day-labourers in Germany,
viz., from 15 to 17 kreutzers per diem (6d. to 7d.) Several
appeared to be suffering from the effects of the mercury.
The masses containing the metal are carried to the
washing-rooms, which are situated a few hundred yards
from the mines. If the ore is of the earthy kind, it is
broken up and laid upon large sieves, by means of which
the loose or native quicksilver is separated from the earth.
It is then put into little shallow boxes open at both ends,
and a little inclined. A gentle stream of water being made
to pass over it, and a rake being used, the earthy matter is
carried off. Several of these boxes are employed in suc¬
cession, and by the time the residuum reaches the last of
them, it resembles a heavy gray powder, and is sufficiently
pure to be carried to the vapour furnace. The stony frag¬
ments require only a slight washing to cleanse them from
the outward earthy impurities. The furnace is half a mile
lower down the valley, and consists of a circular walled
building about 40 feet diameter and 60 feet high. The
ores being there roasted, the vapour resulting from this
operation passes into condensers, where the little drops of
mercury collect, and are conducted into a porphyry vessel
placed to receive them.
Cinnabar has recently been discovered and mined in Cali¬
fornia, where it occurs in a quartzose vein in clay-slate.
The veins are vertical, but the slates themselves lean con¬
siderably eastward. Great importance is attached to this
discovery by the Californian miners.
The ordinary method of reducing the ores of quicksilver
is by distillation. In some places the richer ores are burnt
separately ; but it is more common, and thought more eco¬
California.
Reduction
of ores.
nomical, to mix the richer with the poorer ores, and expose Mines and
the whole mass together to the action of heat in closed re- Mining,
torts, which also contain a certain proportion of limestone.
The retorts filled with the mixture of ore and limestone
are ranged, to the number of twenty or upwards, in recesses
of a furnace, and heat being applied, each retort is made to
communicate with a vessel of water, in which the vapours
of the mercury are condensed.
The imports of mercury into this county, chiefly from Imports.
Almaden, are about 2,200,000 lb. annually, of which little
more than an eighth is retained for home consumption.
The remainder is exported principally to South America
and Mexico, the United States, and the East Indies ; while
smaller shipments are made to Russia, Belgium, and other
countries.
COPPER.
(On copper as a metal, see the article Copper.) Some
of the principal localities for copper may be noticed before
we treat of the mines of this metal in our own country.
The copper ores from Australia are strictly analogous to Australia,
those from the Ural. They occur in nodules disseminated
in a slightly coherent sandstone, or ochrey clay, and the
surface of the nodules is studded over with crystals, the in¬
terstices between which are filled with clay or sand. Some
of the nodules are of large size ; one of them from Burra-
Burra measuring 2£ feet by 2 feet superficial, with a thick¬
ness of 6 inches. The principal mass in this specimen con¬
sists of oxide of copper, with the green and blue carbon¬
ates of the same metal forming an external coating; but
the three minerals are not superimposed in zones, the red
oxide, although principally in the centre, sending out shoots
in every direction. A little native copper occurs with the
oxide. The Burra-Burra mines have yielded 56,428 tons
of ore, averaging 40 per cent, of copper, between the time
of their first opening in 1845 to the end of 1850, at which
date more than 1000 workmen were employed. For some
time these mines have been reported to be unworked,
owing to inundations or desertion of miners to the gold
diggings ; but they are now said to be at work again, and
highly productive. Many of the shares are held by British
capitalists. The mine was commenced 5th September
1845, and the following are its returns of ore for the first
five years:—
Tons.
September 30, 1846  6,359
„ 1847  10,794
„ 1848  12,791
„ 1849    7,789
„ 1850  18,692
Cwt.
lOj Total produce in five
17 [ years, 56,428 tons
11 f> 3 cwts. of copper
16 ore ; value of same
9/ L.738,108.
The ores yielded from 30 to 70 per cent, of copper.
No copper mines have ever yielded such rates of profit
as the Burra-Burra. At a meeting held in April 1850, it
was stated that the amount of paid-up capital was only
L. 12,320, on which dividends had been paid, from June
1847 to March 1850, amounting to L. 172,480, equalling
a total profit of 1400 per cent, upon the capital. In several
of the dividends, in particular, the profit was at the rate of
200 per cent, upon the capital, and in none less than 50
per cent. The balance-sheet showed an undivided profit
of L.99,779, thus making the total profits since the com¬
mencement L.272,259. In five years the shareholders had
received net dividends amounting to nineteen times the
money they advanced.
The most productive deposits of copper in the United United
States are those lying upon the shores of Lake Superior. States
The discovery of these was made many years ago, but the
first scientific researches commenced only in 1842 by a
geological surveyor attached to the government of the state
of Michigan, and have been continued by Mr Jackson, who
has made a detailed study of the district.
MINES AND MINING.
23!)
Mines and There the native copper exists in two distinct deposits,
Mining. one towards the northern extremity of the state of Michi¬
gan, at Keweenaw Point, which forms a projecting
headland towards the middle of the shore of Lake Supe¬
rior ; and the other in Isle Royale, situated in the lake,
about 50 miles N. of Keweenaw Point. This island, which
ranges S.E. and N.W., lies exactly parallel to Cape Ke¬
weenaw, and to the strike of the beds of which it is com¬
posed. It presents also a geological construction identical
with that of the shores of the lake. The two deposits
occur in the same formation, and under circumstances pre¬
cisely similar. Mr Jackson’s geological map shows that
the Michigan shore of the lake consists of granite, trap-
pean rock, and red sandstone belonging to the Lower Silu¬
rian series. The sandstone and trap form parallel bands
running due N.E. and S.W.
Native copper and silver are found at Cape Keweenaw
and Isle Royale only in the trap formation ; all the im¬
portant veins forming together a narrow zone in the amyg¬
daloid. When a vein of copper penetrates the trap, it at
once thins out, and only affords a scanty film not worth
working. The sandstone and conglomerate form also
another limit of the metalliferous band, and when the
veins do not terminate at the contact of the sandstone,
the part extending into this rock is filled with calc-spar
instead of copper ; hence it results that the thickness of
the amygdaloid band intervening between the trap itself
and the sandstone becomes the limit of the cupriferous
veins, which are of the most solid metallic form. The
depth of the veins is unknown. It is uncertain if they
extend below the sandstone. At Keweenaw Point the
cupriferous zone may be about 120 miles in length; and
in Isle Royale it ranges through the whole extent of the
island, which is about 45 miles long. The richer portions
are unequally distributed. Mr Jackson (Geological and
Mineralogical Reports, by Charles Jackson, November
1849) has made numerous researches for several years,
and states the direction of the veins, of which he has ex¬
plored more than a hundred. In Copper Fall Mine they
take a direction from N. 25° W. to N. 30° W., and S.
25° to 30° E.; almost at right angles to the line of sepa¬
ration of the trap and sandstone; and the dip is here 70°
W. These veins are 18 inches wide, of which metallic
copper occupies a fourth part. Mr Jackson had seen a mass
20 feet long, 9 feet wide, and from 4 to 6 inches thick,
taken from these mines ; the mass weighed about 10 tons.
The Cliffe Mine, the deepest and most extensive, com¬
menced in 1848. It has repaid its original capital four
times over. The lode is regular and continuous, and im¬
proves to 500 feet in depth. The produce of other mines
for one year had been nearly 43 tons (95,994 lb.) of ore,
containing 70 per cent, of metal, or about 30 tons of copper
in all. The annual produce of Lake Superior mines has
been 3000 tons. Among the masses of copper are men¬
tioned four, the respective weights of which were 7018 lb.,
7484 lb., 7678 lb., and 14,000 lb. One very extraordinary
lump of copper was found on these shores w hich was esti¬
mated to weigh about 80 tons, and measured 50 feet in
length, 6 in depth, and averaged 6 inches in thickness.
In Siberia there are two principal copper mines, situated *
in the Ural Mountains. From one of these, in the central
part of the chain, have come those magnificent specimens
of malachite which have often excited wonder. Two large
polished doors of Russian malachite, and several minor
masses, were displayed in the Great Exhibition of London
in 1851, and a splendid malachite vase presented to the
Queen is kept in Windsor Castle.
One of the most celebrated and productive copper mines
is that of Fahlun in Sweden. It is said to have been ex¬
plored before the Christian era. In its greatest prosperity
it yielded about 5000 tons of copper per annum ; it now
Siberia.
Sweden.
furnishes about one-seventh of that quantity, and about Mines and
70,000 lb. of lead, 50 oz. of silver, and 3 or 4 oz. of gold. Mining.
The mining district occupies a space of 9 leagues in length ‘v-—'
by 2| in breadth, and is surrounded by a reddish granite,
succeeded by a micaceous rock. The principal mass,
which is of enormous dimensions, consists of iron and
copper pyrites, lying in a vertical position from N.W. to
S. E. along the valley in which it is deposited. Here there
is an immense opening or gulph of 840 feet in length,
720 in breadth, and 240 feet in depth, which was pro¬
duced in the year 1687 by the falling in of a mass, in
consequence of the unskilful manner of mining. The
mass of ore lies in the form of an inverted cone, and the
excavation has been carried to a depth of more than 200
fathoms. Latterly the operations have been carried on
upon a more limited scale. In this mine Gustavus Vasa,
when driven from his throne, worked for the means of
subsistence. In the mine of Garpenberg, 18 leagues
from Fahlun, there are fourteen veins in a vertical posi¬
tion, and all parallel to one another.
Cornw'all—where before 1712 the yellow copper ore was Cornwa!!.
thrown aside—now furnishes nine-tenths of the copper of our
own country. Altogether it is found in larger or smaller
quantities in nine counties of England. The number of
copper mines in England is about 220; in Wales, 12 ; in
Ireland, 15 ; in all 247. In this number are included se¬
veral mines producing small quantities, and about 50 are
excluded which do not produce any ore. The following
tables will show the advance of Cornish copper mining :—
Produce of Cornish Copper Mines from the Year 1745 to
1800, in Decennial Periods.
Years.
From 1745 to 1755.
„ 1755 to 1765.
„ 1765 to 1775.
„ 1775 to 1785
„ 1785 to 1795.
„ 1795 to 1800.
Tons of ore.
98,790
169,699
264,273
304,133
Not known.
249,834
Average price
per ton.
L. s. d.
7 8
7 6
6 14
6 3
8 9 6
Amount realized.
L.
731,457
1,243,045
1,778,337
1,827,106
2,177,724
I he next table exhibits the annual produce and sales of
copper ores for eight recent years, with the quantity of copper
yielded by the ores :—
Years.
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
Ores.
Tons.
147,701
146,326
155,025
150,380
165,593
181,944
184,858
195,193
Copper yielded.
Tons. cwt. qrs. lb.
12,241 19 2 5
11,683 13 0 22
12,253 10 2 21
11,807 8 2 18
11,776 17 2 24
11,913 12 0 12
11,979 4 2 21
11,578 11 0 23
L. s.
720,090 17
763,614 19
840,410 16
782,947 8
975,975 14
1,155,167 3
1,192,696 12
1,263,739 6
The quantities of copper ore bought by private contract
by the great copper-smelting firms could not be included in
the above table. I he amount of sales at Swansea, in this
form, in the year 1853, w ere 24,633 tons ore, which yielded
5875 tons 2 qrs. II lb. of copper. This quantity was
bought by about ten firms or companies. The subjoined
table displays the total quantities of copper smelted in this
county for the last three years, the quantities bought in
Cornwall, at Swansea, and by private contract, being dis¬
tinguished &
Year.
1853
1854
1855
Cornwall.
Tons. cwt.
11,913 12
11,964 12
12,578 11
Swansea, i Private Contract.
Tons. cwt.
4,559 9
4,726 19
5,926 1
Tons. cwt. qrs,
5,875 0 2
5,426 3 0
7,440 12 0
Total.
Tons. cwt.
22,348 8
22,117 14
25,945 4
240
MINES AND MINING.
^ne? an<1 It will thus be seen that the production of copper during
^ imng. ^ 1355 ;n tijis country shows a large increase.
The mode of mining for copper ores has already been
treated of above under “ Practice of Mining? We haveonly
therefore to add in this place, that the greatest enterprise
has been shown in Cornwall, both in copper and tin mining.
Some of the Cornish copper mines are remarkable, and
chiefly that named Botallack, established at the western
extremity of the great copper and tin lodes, conjoined with
lead, which run eastward through Cornwall. This mine was
formerly worked only for tin, and was nearly abandoned in
1841, when, however, copper was found. In 1853 it yielded
1001 tons of copper ore, or 93 tons 8 cwt. of copper, and
147 tons 9 cwt. of black tin. The value of the copper was
L.9248, and that of the tin L.8656.
At this and two other small mines in the vicinity, the
hardihood of the miners has tempted them to follow the ore
upwards, so close to the sea, that small openings were thought
to have been made, and a covering of wood and cement was
applied. A detailed account of the processes for dressing
copper and tin ores will be found in Cornwall; its Mines
and Miners, pp. 203, &c. In a table in p. 232 of that book,
we observe that the average produce of the Cornish copper
ores for eight years was from 7|- to 8| per cent, of metal to
the ores.1
The first process in dressing copper ores, so as to fit them
for the smelter, is to throw aside the deads or rubbish, and
this is cleverly performed by girls of seven or eight years of
age, for 3d. or 4d. a-day. The largest fragments of ore are
then cobbed, or broken into smaller pieces, by women.
After being again picked, they are given to the “ maidens ”
(as girls of sixteen or seventeen are named), who buck
the ore with a bucking-iron or flat hammer, by which they
bruise the pieces to a size not exceeding the top of the
finger. The ores are now given to boys, who^Y<7 them, or
shake them in a sieve under water, by which means the ore
or heavy part keeps at the bottom, whilst the spar or refuse
is scraped from the top. That portion which passes
through the sieve is also stirred about in water, the lighter
parts being thrown on the surface ; and the ores thus dressed
being put into large heaps of about 100 tons each, are then
made ready for the market. The copper ores of Cornwall
are all shipped for Wales, and mostly for Swansea, to be
smelted there, it being cheaper and better to carry the ores
to the coals than the coals to the ores. (For the methods of
smelting, see Copper Smelting.)
The most productive copper mines now in Cornwall are
the Devon Great Consols, Carn Brea, Consolidated, United
Fowey Consols, Par Consols. Some particulars of a more
general nature respecting one of these, viz., the Consolidated
Mines, will illustrate the extensive business of so great a
concern :—
Consolidated Mines in 1836.
( Copper, 18,498£ tons.. L.143,039 12 5
Quantities of ore raised < Tin  2,533 0 10
l Arsenic  144 7 10
Details of
a mining
establish¬
ment.
L.145,717 1 11
Lord’s dues for rent for same  6,071 10 6
Value of ore, deducting dues   L.139,645 10 7
Total expenses for the year  102,007 12 1
Total profit on the mines..,  L.37,637 18 6
Details of Expenses (some of the principal items). Mines and
Agents’ salaries  L.3,343 19 0 Mining.
Tutwork bargains  26,177 3 8 v.
Materials  15,008 6 4
Engine or water cost (with rent of water, L.405,13s.) 15,415 7 4
Expenses on ores  7,803 8 7
Tribute, subsist, and balances  25,030 17 0
Number of Persons Employed.
Agents    28
Tutwork men (working by task for a fixed price)   441
Tributers (working for an agreed proportion of the ore raised) 392
Surfacemen    335
Boys underground  109
Boys at surface    327
Females 755
Total.
2387
Rate of Wages to Work-people.
Per Month.
Tutwork men L.3 11 6
Tributers  4 5 0
Surface labourers  2 6 0
Women and girls above
17  0 18 0
Per Month.
Girls from 14 tol7...L.0 15 0
Girls from 12 to 14... 0 12 0
Girls from 9 to 12  0 8 0
Boys above 12  0 13 0
Boys under 12  0 9 0
The usual rate of wages should be estimated lower, as
there was a great demand for miners in 1836,
TIN.
Cornwall and Devon afford all the tin yielded in the
United Kingdom. Its foreign repositories are Bohemia
and Saxony in Europe, and Malacca and Banca in Asia.
One of the richest known deposits of tin is in the province
of Tenasserim, on the east side of the Gulf of Martaban,
in the Malayan Peninsula. There the richest layer of tin
lies in a stratum of sand and gravel 8 or 10 feet thick, in
which masses of oxide of tin are often found of the size of
a pigeon’s egg. The ores are also found in large caves near
the surface; and although actively mined for many centuries,
there is still easy access to unexhausted portions. The mines
in the island of Junkseylon sometimes yield 800 tons per
annum. The mines in the island of Banca, to the east of
Sumatra, discovered in 1710, are said to have furnished in
some years nearly 3500 tons of tin. It is found in the allu¬
vial tracts through every part of the island, but rarely more
than 25 feet below the surface. Great deposits of tin occur
in the Siberian mining district of Nertshinsk, near the desert
of the Great Gobi, and near Oruro in Bolivia. The Peruvian
and other foreign tin contains large admixtures of tungsates
of iron and lime, which depreciate its value; but an eminent
metallurgist has discovered and patented a process by which
the separation of these can be easily effected.
The tin mine of Altenberg in Saxony is remarkable for Saxony,
an interlaced mass of ramifying veins, termed a stochxverke,
in a primitive porphyry (superposed upon gneiss), through
wdiich the ore is disseminated in minute particles. This
mine has been wrought since the year 1458. In the year
1620 it was worked by twenty-one independent com¬
panies in a most irregular manner, so that it was damaged
by a dreadful fall of the roofs to a depth of 170 fathoms.
This mine yielded, some years ago, annually 400,000 quin¬
tals of tin ore, affording 1600 Leipsic quintals of tin, this
amount being four-fifths of the whole furnished by the
district of Altenberg.
A somewhat similar deposit of tin occurs in the softCornw31^•
1 The following are the sales of copper ores in Cornwall for the three quarters of 1856 :—
Quarters ending
Mar. 31,1856
June 30, „
Sept. 30, „
53,934
54,273
49,636
Pro¬
duce.
6-202
6-311
6-976
Amount.
L. s. d.
317,337 17 6
308,633 18 0
299,273 16 0
Average
Price
per Ton.
L. s. d.
5 17 8
5 13 8
6 0 7
Product
in Fine
Copper.
Tons cwt,
3358 9
3427 13
3455 18
mines and mining.
Mines and decomposed granite of Carclaze Tin Mine, near St Austell,
Mining. Cornwall. This singular mine has been wrought for nearly
"v 400 years, and is the only one entirely open to the day. It
consists of a large excavation ot a mile in circuit. Its exact
dimensions are 250 fathoms in length, 100 fathoms in
breadth, and 22 in depth. The excavation occupies 5
statute acres, the solid contents are 63,000 cubic fathoms,
and more than a million tons have been removed. There
are no shafts or other usual appurtenances of a deep mine.
The ground is almost wholly composed of decomposed
granite, through which runs a numerous assemblage of
schorl and quartz lodes in the usual direction. These
contain the tin minutely disseminated. The ore is separated
from the stone by repeated washings in little streams, con¬
ducted to and moving various water-wheels arranged in the
bottom, and along the sides of the excavation.
In Cornwall the number of tin mines is about 130, and
some are included in this number which produce copper as
well as tin. Tin was probably obtained in this county at
an earlier period than any other metal. Mr Carne has
given a table of the Cornish produce of tin from 1750 to
1837 ; and Mr Hunt has formed a table of the produce of
British tin from 1800 to 1855; thus affording records of tin
mines ofa more authentic kind than we possess of other metals.
We are thus enabled to trace the course of the produce of
this metal, of which a few specimens may be quoted :—
Produce of British Tin Mines from 1800 to 1855.
241
Year.
1800
1805
1810
1815
Tons.
2522
2785
2036
2941
Year.
1820
1825
1830
1835
Tons.
2990
4358
4444
4228
Year.
1848
1849
1850
1855
Tons.
6613
6952
6729
6000
It will be observed that the produce of tin has been
steadily progressing, notwithstanding the precarious nature
of the search for it, and the various fluctuations of mining.
The following are some of the principal Cornish mines,
with their produce in 1855 :—
Name of Mine.
Penzance
District.
Helstone
District.
Redruth and
Camborne
District.
St Austell.
Liskeard.
I Balleswidden 
< Providence Mines..
( Huel Owles 
f Great Hue! Vor United
< Porkellis United 
( Great Work 
{Dolcoath 
Polberro 
Lewis Mine  
( Great Polgooth 
I Boscundle.  
Drake Walls 
Quantities of
Black Tin.
Tons cwt.
252 8
270 11
217 2
229 19
167 8
149 2
389 9
264 13
104 0
235 17
99 17
264 17
qrs. lb.
3 27
3 0
7 0
2 21
3 10
0 2
0 16
2 27
Value.
L. s. d.
18,086 18 7
17,895 0 0
15,744 19 6
12,668 0 1
9,951 0 9
8,946 0 0
23,367 0 0
16,940 4 9
6,670 0 0
15,465 3 6
5,991 0 0
17,748 19 3
Mr Carne informs us, that the prices paid to the tinner
in Cornwall between the years 1746 and 1788 varied from
60s. to 72s. the cwt. We find that from 1783, when
the price was L.4, Is. 7d. per cwt., it varied considerably,
reaching in 1810, L.7, 9s. 8d. per cwt., and falling in 1825
to L.4, 16s. 6d. per cwt. The annexed table gives the an¬
nual value of the tin ore raised in England within the last
three years, and of the tin :—
1853
1854
1855
Tin Ore raised.
Tons
8866
8747
8947
cwt. qr.
o 6
o o
o o
Average
value
per Ton.
L.
68
64
68
Total value
of Ore.
L.
593,088
559,808
608,396
Estimated
value of Tin
per Ton.
L. L.
112 to 118
112 to 118
Estimated
value of
Tin.
L.
700,000
690,000
In 1855 the average prices of tin were—
English blocks L.125 0 0
bars  126 0 0
refined  129 0 0
The existence of tin in Australia and Van Diemen’s
Land is known ; and in the tin forwarded to this country
from Victoria a considerable quantity of gold has been
found. It mostly lies in grains in sand, and is analogous
to our stream-tin.
In this country there has not been for a considerable Demand
period a discovery of any new locality of tin. The stream- an<1 SUP-
works are by no means so productive as formerly, and the
mines are being worked at a constantly increasing cost;
yet the demand for tin in our white-metal manufactories is
constantly increasing. The principal importations of tin
to our country are from Singapore, Java, and the East
Indies, and Holland. The total imports to us from Singa¬
pore during eleven recent years (from 1844 to 1854 inclu¬
sive) have amounted to 8303 tons of tin; from the East
India Company’s territories, during the same period, 2738
tons; and from Holland, for the same years, 4567 tons.
In 1855 we imported 1612 tons of tin ; and exported 1337 ,
tons of British tin, also 280 tons of foreign tin.
It remains to speak of the processes for dressing tin ores. Dressing
1 hese commence with cleaning and sorting, and then pro- ores,
ceed to washing and stamping, and finally to calcination
in the “ burning-house,” and to smelting. The same great
principle rules these processes that rules in dressing copper
or lead ores, viz., the agitation of the mass reduced to frag¬
ments, so that the metal, by its much greater specific gra¬
vity, shall separate and sink down from the lighter earthy
matter. The stamping is in the best mines performed by
stamps or pestles ol wood, carrying lifting-bars, and ter¬
minating in a lump of cast-iron called the head, and weigh¬
ing 2£ or 3 cwt. A turning-shaft communicates motion" to
the stamps by cams, which are so arranged as to secure the
falling of the second stamp while the first and third are
uplifted. Each stamp gives 28 strokes per minute. With
six batteries of six pestles each, at Poldice Mine 120 bao-g
of ore are stamped in 12 hours, each bag containing 18
gallons of 282 cubic inches, measuring altogether 352 cubic
feet and 864 cubic inches. At Boscean Tin Mine there is
a 24-inch stamping-engine, to which are attached 48 heads
of stamps, and there are 20 heads of stamps worked by
water-power. At Botallack the tin stuff is returned by
water-stamps of 24 heads. At Levant Tin Mine there is a
34-inch stamping-engine, working 64 heads of stamps. At
Polberro Consols one large engine drives 120 heads at a
time. By repeated pulverization, washing, and agitation,
the ores may be obtained in a very fine state. As tin is
often combined with wolfram, tungstate of iron, and other
materials, which cannot, owing to their greater specific
gravity, be so easily separated from the ores of tin as
earthy matter, a new process has been invented by Mr
Oxland, by which wolfram, &c., may be separated, and
eventually the wolfram is saleable separately.
The ores of tin raised in Cornwall and Devon are always
smelted within those counties, their transportation being
prohibited. The market price of tin has lately risen con¬
siderably, and it still remains at a high figure j the mines
of this metal are therefore more flourishing than usual.
Tin ore is worth from L.56 to L.68 per ton. In its natural
state, when dressed, the ore is called “black tin,” to dis¬
tinguish it from “ white tin,” which term is applied to tin
in its smelted and refined state.
LEAD.
Before speaking more particularly of the lead deposits of United
our own country, we may briefly allude to those of other States-
countiies. One of the most remarkable lead deposits in
the world is found in the western section of the United
2 ii
VOL. xv.
242
MINES AND MINING.
Mines and States, particularly in Washington, Jefferson, and Madi-
Mining. COunties, Missouri; and at Galena in the N.W. part
of Illinois ; in Iowa and the territory of Wisconsin. In this
latter district the length of the lead deposit is 87 miles
and its width 54, covering 80 townships, or 2880 square
miles. In 1839 thirty million pounds of lead were smelted
from this deposit; and during the eight subsequent years
the smelted quantity varied from 72 millions to 54 millions
of pounds. It is thought that it would readily yield annually
150 millions of pounds.
France. France possesses considerable deposits of lead, and some
very old mines, although the development of these is not
commensurate with their value. The most important are
those of Poullaouen and Huelgoet in the department of
Finisterre. These have been worked in two parallel veins,
and have been known for upwards of three centuries. In
1816 they furnished 500 tons of lead. The mine of Pont-
gibaud is well known to English adventurers, and contains
nine lodes or veins. It was worked as early as Poullaouen,
although the last workings commenced in 1825. The ore
is an argentiferous galena, of which 7800 tons have been
, extracted annually, which extraction yields 1077 tons in
dressed ore, and 980 tons in “ schlick.” Vialas yields 81
tons of lead, 20 tons of litharge, and 12 cwt. of fine silver.
The Pont Pean Mine is working upon a vein which is
known for a run of If mile, and the works have reached a
depth of 78 fathoms. Here they obtain about 244 tons of
dressed ore, which is sold for about L.1400. The produce
of the other lead mines is insignificant.
Germany, Germany has also some valuable mines of lead, particu-
&c> larly in Saxony and in the Hartz. These are so rich in silver
as to cause the lead to be almost overlooked. Hungary and
Bohemia yield a good argentiferous lead. The mines of
Bleiberg and Villach in Carinthia, where galena or sulphuret
of lead is the prevailing ore, furnish the finest specimens of
the molybdate of lead. At Tarnowitz in Silesia there is a
remarkable deposition of lead ore, the beds in which it is
distributed reposing in horizontal strata of compact lime¬
stone, which contains petrified shells. The lead ore is there
deposited in veins, in rounded masses, and in small grains.
The Ural Mountains in the Russian empire, so rich in other
mineral productions, do not seem to contain lead; a chro¬
mate of lead is found in the gold mine of Beresov, where
it is seen in a small vein of ferruginous quartz traversing a
gneiss rock of a reddish colour.
Spain. Spain possesses numerous and valuable lead mines. The
most important are those of Linares, which are situated to
the east of Bailen, near the Sierra Morena. They have
been long celebrated, and probably no known mineral field
is naturally so rich in lead as this. The lead deposits, as¬
sociated with much silver, and occasionally copper ores,
occur in each of the local limestone districts. The expense
and difficulty of conveying stores to the mines, and the ore
to the market, are almost the only impediments to the pro¬
sperity of these mines, but they are sufficient to check it,
excepting when lead bears a high price in the market. The
lead ores of Spain are highly argentiferous, and of late years
a considerable quantity of this ore has been imported by us
from Spain. In the year 1851 we received 14,402 tons of
lead. In 1854 the imports from Spain were 11,337 tons of
lead.
Sweden.
Produce
of British
lead mines.
I he lead of Sweden is highly argentiferous, and is worked
chiefly with a view to the silver. In Daouria are nume¬
rous mines lying in a rich transition limestone which rests
on primitive rocks, the lead being neglected in consideration
of the silver. It is thought that the galena of the primitive
formations contains more silver than that of the calcareous
or carboniferous limestones.
It has often been supposed that England, so rich in regard
to iron, copper, and tin, is comparatively poor in lead, or
that her lead mines are of secondary importance; but this
is so far from being correct, that it will be found that our Mines and
own country supplies more lead than any other in the Mining,
world. We do not speak of the amount contained, but of
that raised. I he following table will show the amount of
lead ore raised, and lead smelted, in the United Kingdom
during nine recent years; and the table subsequent to it
being included, we shall have the quantities for the last ten
years:—
Years.
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
Lead Ore.
Tons.
78,267
74,564
83,747
77,864
86,773
93,043
101,964
91,236
85,121
cwt.
0
0
0
0
0
8
12
8
Lead.
Tons.
52,695
50,161
55.703
54,853
58.703
64,572
65,110
64,987
61,021
cwt.
0
0
0
0
0
14
11
The annexed table will still further exhibit the lead dis¬
tricts of the United Kingdom, with the produce of each in
ore and metal, from returns for one year, viz., 1854, being
the latest as yet made:—
Summary of Lead and Silver Produce of Great Britain
and Ireland.
County.
Cornwall  
Devonshire 
Cumberland 
Durham and Northumberland.,
Westmoreland 
Derbyshire 
Shropshire 
Yorkshire   
Cardiganshire 
Carmarthenshire 
Denbigshire 
Flintshire   
Montgomeryshire 
Merionethshire 
Glamorganshire 
Ireland 
Scotland 
Isle of Man 
Lead Ores. Lead.
Tons.
7,460
4,139
9,890
22,329
383
7,554
3,797
9,244
7,034
901
1,824
7,027
1,184
98
62
3,069
1,753
2.800
90,548
Tons.
5,005
2,612
6,662
10,669
289
4,508
2,765
6,476
4,948
666
1,363
5,408
894
63
45
2,210
1,279
2,137
63,999
Silver.
Ounces.
179,675
119,288
42,020
78,577
80
”184
33,418
1,455
28,588
3,238
352
18,096
5,426
52,262
562,659
The number of mines is 322. They give employment
to 14,499 male persons in England, to 5982 in Wales, and
to 897 in Scotland; as well as to 371 females employed in
works at the surface. The total is 21,749 persons. The
price of pig lead in the London market in 1853 was L.23,
10s. per ton ; in 1854 it was the same, and in 1855 it was
L.24 per ton. It has been rising from 1844, when it wras
L.17, 5s. per ton.
When we examine the returns of the principal lead mines
in each of the above districts, we find considerable differ¬
ences in the yield of the several mines in different years.
Thus, in 1850 the richest lead mine in Cornwall was East
Huel Rose, then yielding 4206 tons of ore, equalling 2524
tons of lead; but in the returns of 1854 we observe the
same mine yields only 1215 tons of ore, equalling 828 tons
5 cwt. of lead. On the other hand, we find South Tamar
Consols Mine in Devonshire yielding in 1850 only 477
tons of ore, but. in 1854 as much as 1469 tons 19 cwt.
Another instance of this difference for the same two years
is noticeable in the Brownley Hill Mine in Cumberland,
which in 1850 produced 263 tons 4 cwt. of ore, while in
1854 it yielded no less than 1722 tons of ore. To take a
MINES AND MINING.
Mines and mine in the north of England, Derwent produced in 1850
Aiming^ the amount of 1770 tons 1 cwt.; in 1854 only 1000 tons.
Y ^ 1 he above-named mines are about the most productive in
their respective districts for one or other of the two years
named. 4 he galena of the Beer-Alston mines in Devon
has sometimes contained from 80 to 140 ounces of silver
per ton of lead.
The lead ores1 most interesting in the arts are:—1. Sul-
phuret (or bisulphuret) of lead (specific gravity from 7'4 to
r 6), or, as it is commonly called, galena, almost the only
lead ore which occurs in sufficiently large masses to become
the object of mining and metallurgy. It is found amongst
the older rocks, as talc-schists and clay-slates, but is much
more abundant among the transition rocks where it exists
in interrupted beds, masses, and veins. The blackish tran¬
sition limestone is that rock which of all others contains
most galena in Normandy, the Hartz, and in Sweden. 2.
Seleniuret of lead. 3. Native minium, or red lead. 4.
Carbonate of lead, or white lead. 6. Vitreous lead, or
sulphate of lead. 7. Green lead, or phosphate of lead/ 8.
Chromate of lead.
In our own country the lead of Cornwall and Devon is
found in veins in killas or clay-slate. The galena of the
Leadhills of Scotland occurs in a transition slate of a simi¬
lar character. But in North Wales, as well as in Cumber¬
land and the whole northern lead district, and in Derby¬
shire, the galena occurs in the carboniferous limestone
which underlies the coal measures. Technically speaking,
galena occurs in plutonic, metamorphic, and fossiliferous
sedimentary deposits. A specimen of a lead vein from the
Laxey Mines (Isle of Man) represents the total thickness
of the lode, which amounts to nearly 23% inches. The spe¬
cimen is about 5 feet long by 30 inches wide. It consists
of five solid layers or veins of galena separated by thin
bands of sulphate of barytes. It was in the Great Exhi¬
bition, and was presented to the Museum of Practical
Geology in London.
A magnificent lump of galena from the mines of Snail-
batch or Snailbeach near Shrewsbury, is still more curious.
It is composed of an assemblage of large cubes of galena
measuring 3T5 inches a side, and of rhombohedral crystals
of violet-coloured calc-spar 9 J inches long, the edges re¬
placed by large facets. This specimen measured above 55
inches by 43^- inches, its thickness being 14 inches. (For
the metallurgy, &c., of lead, see the article Lead.)
I he great lead-mining country of the north of England lies
around the junctions of the counties of Northumberland,
Cumberland, Westmoreland, Durham, and Yorkshire. It
comprises Alston Moor, the mountain ridge of Cross Fell,
the dales of Derwent, East and West Allendale, Wear-
dale, and Teesdale. The three rivers—the Tyne, the
Wear, and the Tees—take their rise from the bold and lofty
hills in that locality.
characters^ ^le COa^ ^e(^s 80 exfensively worked at Newcastle-on-
Tyne and in the Durham coal district gradually rise to the
west, and one by one crop out, or basset, according to the
undulations of the country. At length at about 20 miles
W. of the German Ocean, the lowest of the beds crops out,
and from beneath it gradually appear the limestone strata,
which continue to rise nearly coincidently with the general
rise of the country, until they reach the summit of Cross
Fell (2901 feet). This general and very gradual inclination
of the strata is a feature of the greatest importance in the
practice of mining. In a thickness of about 2000 feet of
the alternating beds of sandstone, clay, and limestone, which
form the mining districts of Allendale, Alston, and Wear-
dale, there is one single bed of limestone, named the “ Great
Limestone,” the metallic veins in which have produced
243
nearly, if not quite as much, lead ore as all the other strata Mines and
put together. This stratum lies at a depth of about Mining.
850 feet below the summit of Kilhope Law. A little
more than 2 miles eastward of this, at Allenheads, the top of
the Great Limestone is 230 feet from the top of a shaft called
Gin-Hill Shaft. Its thickness, which is tolerably uniform over
several hundred square miles of country, is about 60 feet.
Kilhope Law is a hill rising 2200 feet above the level
of the sea, on the boundary line of the counties of North¬
umberland and Durham, and is the highest point in Dur¬
ham. About a quarter of a mile to the W. of Kilhope
Law, the great limestone and all other associated beds are
thrown down a depth of about 150 feet, for a space of nearly
700 feet; and again, at the distance of nearly a mile from
Allenheads, a vast dislocation takes place by which the
Great Limestone is brought nearly to the surface, the amount
of displacement being about 400 feet. By far the most
extensive portions of the workings of the Allenheads
Mines are situated in the Great Limestone. These mines
being for the most part at depths from the surface varying
from 200 to 600 feet, they are drained by ordinary water¬
wheels, and partly by the new hydraulic engines of Arm¬
strong, four of which are now in use for draining and other
mining purposes at the Allenheads mines. The most ex¬
tensive mineral property in England, in the hands of a
single individual, is in the mines of East and West Allendale
and Weardale, belonging to Mr Wentworth Blackett Beau¬
mont, M.P. The produce from these mines in 1854 was
12,220 tons of lead ore, or 9200 tons of lead, and 49,000
ounces of silver. The pigs of lead manufactured from the
produce of these mines bear the well-knowm mark “ W. B.,”
and weigh each l-J cw't. The number of pigs commonly
made in one year, if laid in a continuous line, would
extend upwards of 70 miles. The produce of the Beaumont
mines is about one-sixth of the total amount of lead raised
in Britain, and about one-tenth of that of all Europe.
This part of the country happens to be at once about the Mining
centre of our island, and by tar the most elevated part; district!?,
and is thickly peopled. Scattered over hills and dales,
w hich present to the eye a succession of verdant fields and
heathy moors, are to be found some thousands of inhabi¬
tants, nearly the whole of them being employed either in
lead mines or in smelting mills, or indirectly deriving a
livelihood from the lead-mining business. Allenheads forms
a central position in the midst of these mines. The agent’s
house is 1400 feet above the level of the sea, and is said to
be the highest house of its magnitude in Great Britain;
not many even of the shepherds’ cottages and other moor¬
land habitations in England having a greater elevation.
The mining district of Alston Moor (situated at the
south-eastern extremity of the county of Cumberland)
comprises tbe whole of the parish of Alston ; but by far the
most extensive and productive mines are situated in the vale
of the small river Trent, a tributary of the Lyne. In the
vale of the Lyne, from Alston to Lynehead, are also
numerous mines; and trials for mines and workings, which
occasionally yield lead, are seen all over the parish. This
mining district belongs principally to the commissioners of
Greenwich Hospital, who let the mining ground on leases
to various companies of adventurers, by whom the mines
are wrought. The principal of these is the London Lead
Company, producing about one-half of the ore raised in
the manor.
One of the most celebrated of the Alston Moor mines,
Hudgill Burn, was commenced by the Flow Edge Mining
Company: a level driven 250 fathoms in the bed under
the Great Limestone, and found only two weak veins. They
sunk shafts and pursued other operations, discovering only
1 Plumbago, graphite, or black lead, is one of the numerous forms in which carbon occurs, and is familiar to us in lead pencils. The
celebrated Borrowdale mines, in Cumberland, supplied pieces which could be sliced and used in the natural state. It is not a lead ore.
244
MINES AND MINING.
Mines and another small vein, which they explored for 20 fathoms, and
Mining. proc]uce(J but a few trifling specimens of ore not worth
V'—washing and cleansing. Having lost L.2000, this com¬
pany abandoned the undertaking, which then lay neglected
for eight years. In 1812 some miners obtained leave to
continue the search, and their success was so great that
their discovery has proved a source of wealth to themselves,
and has afforded employment to vast numbers of the labour¬
ing classes.
A work of great interest in this district is the Nent
Force Level, which drains the numerous mines of Alston
Moor. This is a stupendous aqueduct 9 feet broad, and in
some places from 16 to 20 feet high. For more than 3
miles it passes under the course of the River Nent to
Nentsbury engine shaft, and is navigated underground by
long narrow boats. At the distance of a mile in the inte¬
rior, daylight is seen at the mouth like a star, which con¬
tinually enlarges as the passenger proceeds outwards, until
he finds himself in open daylight.
Lead veins. The veins of lead are similar in their nature to the lodes
of copper, tin, &c., in Cornwall, though the accompanying
strata are different. A lead vein may be popularly described
as a crack descending in a nearly vertical direction through
the various beds, which have usually been separated not
only a few inches or feet (forming the thickness of the
vein, and subsequently filled with veinstone, rider, and
galena), but also by a vertical shift or dislocation, so that
a vein may be between limestone on one side and sand¬
stone on the other, or sandstone and clay may be opposite.
One vein throws the strata down 25 fathoms (150 feet).
The lead miner obtains all his treasures in those very dis¬
locations which interrupt coal workings, and are by coal
miners called faults and troubles.
Old miners have distinguished the lead veins by the names
of rake, pipe, and fiat veins. Rake veins are the most
common in Cumberland, &c. They are generally nar¬
rower in the sandstone that covers the limestone than in
the calcareous and siliceous beds. In the rich vein of
Hudgill Burn the thickness is 17feet in the Great Limestone,
while it does not exceed 3 feet in the overlying sandstone.
I he influence exercised on metallic veins by the inclos¬
ing rock has been mentioned before, and is confirmed by
wide observation in other countries, particularly in the veins
of Kongsberg in Norway. Perhaps, however, the pheno¬
mena are nowhere more satisfactorily displayed than in the
north of England. The mining districts consist of shales, grits,
and limestones, traversed by east and west, and north and
south veins, which variously dislocate the strata. In thecourse
of these unequal dislocations, coupled with unequal thick¬
nesses of strata, various oppositions of the argillaceous, arena¬
ceous, and calcareous rocks take place. It is chiefly in the
limestone that the veins are productive, although the fissures
traverse a vast thickness of overlying strata, as shales, grits,
and coal. In a series of limestones, gritstones, and shales,
adjoining or forming the margin of a vein, it happens that
when inclosed between cheeks or walls which are both argil¬
laceous, the vein will be unproductive and generally nipped or
reduced in width. With argillaceous beds on one side, and
gritstone or limestone on the other, the same effects appear,
but in an inferior degree. Gritstone opposing gritstone
yields irregular results, according to the mass or quality of
the gritstone; so that in several districts (as Allenheads,
Grassington, &c.) much lead ore has been found in such
situations. But when limestone is opposite to limestone the
vein is almost always most productive. Of the stratum
called the Great Limestone, and its metallic productiveness,
we have already written. The rake vein is by some di¬
vided into two kinds, one of which, the slip vein, prevails
most commonly in Alston Moor. Pipe veins are seldom
of great length, but often have considerable width. They
appear to be the result of a segregation of the metallic
contents of a vein into portions inclined at various angles in Mines and
different veins, but nearly parallel in the same vein. The Mining.
pipes or shoots are usually very productive for a long course
in a long vein. Flat veins seem to be expansions of the
matter of the vein between the planes of the strata, and
contain the same ore as the veins in their vicinity. When
metalliferous, they are worked along with the adjacent rake
vein, and are productive only to a certain distance from
that vein, unless they become enriched by crossing a rake
vein. The rake veins are the most productive of all in the
north; and observations made in Derbyshire point to the
conclusion that nearly the same conditions govern the lead
veins in that county. An opinion prevails in the north
that the greater number of lead veins are at right angles to
the plane of stratification, and this opinion is not without
foundation.
The numbers of males employed in lead mining in the
northern counties of England are as follows :—In Durham,
2628 ; in Northumberland, 1070; in Cumberland, 1840;
in Westmoreland, 317 ; in all, 5855.
Considerable numbers of young persons are employed at
the surface works in dressing the ores. This process con¬
sists in—1. The sorting and cleansing of the ores; 2. The
grinding; 3. The washing, properly so called. These ope¬
rations are much alike in the English lead districts, but they
are most perfect in the north.
The lead and argentiferous lead districts of South Wales Welsh lead
lie chiefly along the shores of Cardigan Bay. The districtmines-
containing the known argentiferous and lead ores stretches
from about the centre of Carmarthenshire on the south,
through Cardiganshire, and some distance into Montgomery¬
shire, on the north, and from about 5 to 20 miles from the
sea towards the interior, or from W. to E. The most
productive portion of the country as regards silver lies about
7 miles to the eastward of Aberystwith, perhaps the most
beautiful of the Welsh watering-places. This contains the
great mines Cwm Symlog, Goginan, Daren, Cwm Sebon,
Bwlch Consols, &c. I he district in which these mines are
situated abounds in majestic scenery ; the great mountainous
region, commencing at Snowdon on the northward, passes
southward through its centre, Plynlymmon being in the
midst of the metalliferous deposits, and rising at 17 miles
from the sea to the height of 3300 feet above its waters.
The views on the rivers are amongst the most beautiful in
the British Isles, and the well-known Devil’s Bridge over¬
spreads a cataract on one of the streams, and falls over a
ledge of rocks from a height of 480 feet into the bed of the
Rheidol.
The present annual produce of these mines must not be
taken as showing the produce in past years, for some of the
mines formerly yielded immense profits. The lode in
Esgair-y-Mwyn Mine is said to have been filled with lead
for 30 feet wide, nearly solid; and although a royalty of
L.3 per ton was paid to Earl Powis, it is not improbable
that the mine has returned L.600,000 worth of ore. Of
the other more profitable mines, it is estimated that Cwm
\ stwith has yielded L.500,000, Grogwinion L.250,000, and
Logylas L.200,000 worth of ore. In the main silver-lead
districts of Cardiganshire, amongst the mines of which are
Goginan, Bwlch Consols, Daren, &c., the total produce has
been estimated to have been L.1,500,000 for lead, and
L.1,000,000 sterling for silver. Yet the whole of these
mines have been worked to but a comparatively shallow
depth.
I he group of mines adjacent to Talybout, 7 miles north
of Aberystwith, includes Esgair-fraith, formerly called the
“Welsh Potosi,” and famous for having yielded immense
masses of ore. The history connected with these mines is
very remarkable, but we can only briefly notice it. The
estimate of Mr Waller sounds extravagant to us at this day ;
but it is believed that he proposed to realize a profit of
MINES AND MINING.
Mines and L.75,000 a-year from these mines alone. It is reported that
Mining. Sir Carberry Pryse (ancestor of the Gogerddan house) re-
's’—“V"’^ fused L. 75,000 for a moiety of them. It may be presumed
that the whole of the mines in this part have actually yielded
not less than ores worth one million sterling. It is very curi¬
ous, when we are made acquainted with such facts, to read
this passage in Cicero’s Letters (Epist. ad At.) written
almost immediately after the disembarkation of Caesar’s
troops on our island:—“ One thing we are already certain
of, that there is not a grain-weight of silver in that island,
nor the least prospect of plunder, but from the slaves that
may be brought away.”
The metalliferous district of Cardiganshire and Mont¬
gomeryshire is formed exclusively of clay-slates and grit¬
stones underlying the lowest beds in the Silurian system
of Murchison. Large portions of this principal district are
as yet not known to contain mineral veins; and the inter¬
mediate parts which are the most noted for their pro¬
ductiveness, are defined by certain limits intimately related
to the lithological character of the rocks. The prevail¬
ing strike of the beds is from N. by E. and S. by W.,
to N.N.E. and S.S.W.; and in the same direction bands
of various width may be traced in which a number of the
most successful mines have been worked. There are several
anomalous features in this district, if compared with other
mining districts. The presence of ore cannot be directly
ascribed to the proximity of granites or porphyries, since
this is the only large portion of the slaty rocks of Wales in
which not a vestige of any rock of igneous origin is met
with. The various directions of the lodes gives no clue to
the determination of their relative age.
The band known about two centuries ago as the “ Welsh
Potosi,” from the enormous returns it yielded to Middleton
(afterwards Sir Hugh Middleton), is at the present day dis¬
tinguished by the mines of Goginan, Cwm Sebon, Cwm
Symlog, Daren, &c. The slaty rock there assumes a paler
tint, inclining to a bluish or greenish gray, and exhibiting
on the whole a more massive bedding, in consequence of
which it would appear that the mineral veins increase in
width, expanding in some cases to upwards of 20 feet.
This ore is generally argentiferous, sometimes to the amount
of 38 oz. in the ton. Several facts have been observed with
reference to the ore-bearing portions of the lodes, which are
in perfect accordance with the experience of other districts.
When the lodes approach each other under a small angle,
the junction is nearly always marked by a larger deposit of
ore. The lead veins of this part of Wales differ from those
of Cornwall in one point, upon which all the miners are
agreed,—viz., that when they pass from a harder to a softer
rock, their mineral contents decrease. In Cornwall, how¬
ever, we observe, that at the exceedingly productive mine
of East Huel Rose, not only is the killas or clay-slate very
soft, but the lode itself, including its saccharoid quartz, is
in so disintegrated a condition that a blow with the pick
will often cause it to run down like a quantity of sand or
mud.
There are about 120 named lead lodes in Cardiganshire,
—some worked, and others not. The most productive of
those at present in work are, first, those named Pen-y-Gist
South Lode, Logaulas, &c., forming the Lisburne Mines.
From these the lead ore returns in 1845 were 2492 tons ; in
1846, 1724 tons; in 1853, 2752 tons; in 1854, 2595 tons.
500 persons were employed there. Secondly, the next most
productive mines are Goginan North and South Lodes,—
the lead ore returns being 1768 tons in 1845, and 1627 tons
in 1846. The number of persons then employed was 400.
The above mines were very far more productive than the
remainder in the county. In Montgomeryshire we find 38
named lodes, of which the principal are,—that named Llech-
wydd-ddu, a rich and regularly-worked vein; and Esgair-
galed, which averages 15 feet wide, and has been produc-
245
tive in former times. Both these united yielded in 1845 Mines and
586 tons of lead ore, and in 1846, 557 tons of lead ore ; Mining,
the number of persons employed being 200. In 1854 we v''—V-—
find the most productive mine in this county to be Mach¬
ynlleth, which, including Delife, yielded 637 tons of ore,
affording 470 tons of lead.
Many considerations tend to encourage the development of
the mineral resources of this district: the great number of lodes
lying idle, or only in some cases tried to a small depth ; the
probability of the existence of many more, in consideration of
the difficulty of discovering them from the surface ; the faci¬
lity of drainage ; and the fact of the resumption of the two
most profitable mines from very fortuitous circumstances,—
the very profitable mines of Logaulas and Goginan. Logaulas
had been erroneously worked, and the true lode was missed,
until the present holders, after making an accurate survey,
altered the drivings, and shortly discovered, not only the
lode, but a rich bunch of ore, parallel to which their predeces¬
sors had been toiling for many a fathom through barren rock
at the distance of only a few feet. The mine has ever since
continued to yield several thousand pounds of profit yearly.
Still more hopeless did the condition of Goginan appear
to be when commenced; yet the mine has since produced
upwards of 1500 tons of silver-lead ore yearly. The mode
of working these veins is very similar to that adopted in
our southern counties, and most of the mining captains are
Cornishmen.
In Derbyshire the metalliferous limestone occupies a Derby-
length of about 25 miles from north-west to south-east, with shire,
a very variable breadth, which, however, towards the south,
amounts to 25 miles. Castleton to the north, Buxton to the
north-west, and Matlock to the south-east, lie nearly upon
its limits. This limestone district is surrounded nearly on
all sides by the millstone grit which covers it, and which
is in its turn covered by the coal strata. The nature of
the rocks beneath the limestone is not well known. In
Cumberland the metalliferous limestone includes a bed of
igneous rock, called trap (from the Swedish word for stair)
by mineralogists, but locally whinsile. Igneous rock is
much more abundant in Derbyshire, where it is termed
loadstone (probably from the German todstein, dead rock),
and it is there thrice interposed between the beds of lime¬
stone. These two rocks of themselves constitute the whole
mineral mass through a thickness of about 550 yards, mea¬
suring from the millstone grit; only in the upper portion
that is, near the millstone grit—there is a considerable
thickness of argillaceous schists. The toadstone is of va¬
rious thicknesses and colours, and is sometimes very por¬
ous, and presents the appearance of scoria or volcanic lava.
It is the miner’s dread, as it is thought to cut off the vein
of ore. On Tideswell Moor, however, where toadstone
intersected the vein that was worked in the incumbent
limestone, it at once cut off the vein ; but when the miners
cut through the toadstone, they met with the limestone
underneath, and the continuation of the lost vein. At Black
Hillock Mine, where the vein was cut off by toadstone, they
sank for 600 feet in its mass, and yet could not get through
it; while at a distance on either side miners got through the
toadstone in a few fathoms. It appears that though the vein
may be retraced on the other side of the toadstone in the
limestone again, yet it is generally very thin, and some¬
times extremely poor.
The veins in this district are of three descriptions :—1st.
The pipe-vein, which lies between two rocks of limestone
extending regularly above and below. It consists of several
lines or branches running nearly parallel to each other;
and although they sometimes deviate from that course, they
generally return after a short distance. The branches com- ■*>
municate with each other by means of slender threads or
leadings. Sometimes the surrounding rock is penetrated by
these transverse threads, and by pursuing the thin veins
246
MINES AND MINING.
and a Tiew repository of metal may be discovered. 2d. Rake
v ining't veins traversing the strata; and, 3c?. Flat veins, forming
beds along with the horizontal strata, and generally lying
near the surface. A variety of the ore, termed by the miners
slickensides, abounds in some parts, and forms the sides of
cavities. Some fabulous tales of its explosive violence are
narrated in the district. It presents a smooth surface with
a bright metallic lustre. The blocks of lead bearing Latin
inscriptions, which have been found here, have led some
to think that the mines of this county were wrought in the
time of the Romans.
General In the table of lead-ore returns for 1854 it will be seen
returns. that those of Flintshire are nearly equal to those of Cardi¬
ganshire. The most productive mines in Flintshire are
those called Talargoch, which in 1854 yielded of lead ore
1910 tons ; and these afforded 1490 tons of lead, from which
was extracted 10,430 ounces of silver. The next richest
mine is Maes-y-safn, yielding 1423 tons of ore, equalling
1117 tons of lead and 3071 ounces of silver.
The most important items of returns from other lead¬
mining districts for 1854 are as follows:—Derbyshire yielded
7554 tons of lead ore, affording 4508 tons 15 cwt. of lead.
The largest mines in Yorkshire are Swaledale and Arken-
dale, yielding 4817 tons of ore, or 3276 tons of lead; Gras-
sington is the second in yield. In Scotland the Wanlock-
head Mines yielded 795 tons of ore, or 596 tons of lead.
In Ireland the Newtownards Mine afforded 1379 tons of
ore, and 1084 tons of lead ; the Luganure Mines in Wicklow
yielding 1095 tons of ore, and 710 tons of lead and 4970
ounces of silver. In the Isle of Man the principal mines,
the Foxdale, yielded 1900 tons of ore, or 1449 tons of lead,
the proportion of silver being 19,926 ounces.
IRON.
For information respecting iron, its localities, &c., see the
article Iron.
Zinc.
Arsenic.
MINES OF ZINC, ARSENIC, ANTIMONY, &C.
Our islands produce considerable quantities of zinc.
There were obtained from the mines of Cornwall, Wales,
Cumberland, and the Isle of Man, during the year 1855,
not less than 5000 tons of zinc ore, in the form of sulphuret
of zinc or black-jack, and calamine, a carbonate of zinc.
The estimated value of this product was at least L. 17,000.
As the price for zinc is advancing, and as it is now selling
at prices varying from L.2, 10s. to L.3 per ton, we may
expect a new business for our zinc mines. The great supply
of zinc for this country has hitherto been derived from the
works of the Vieille Montagne Company. Our imports in
the last five recent years have been as annexed:—
Years.
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
Zinc.
Tons.
18,626
22,986
18,505
23,418
19,583
Oxide of Zinc.
Tons.
170
495
787
342
336
Cwt.
16
9
9
0
0
Calamine is very abundant in England, as in the Mendip
Hills and parts of Somersetshire ; at Holywell, Flintshire ;
at Castleton, Derbyshire, and in Cumberland. In 1854
the English zinc mines produced 4531 tons 3 cwt. of sul¬
phuret of zinc, and 280 tons 11 cwt. of calamine. The
value of the zinc smelted in England in 1854 was about
L.16,500.
Cornwall and Devonshire yield annually not less than
1500 tons of arsenic, a considerable proportion of which
is employed to give the required whiteness to copper in our
white-metal manufactures, and hardness to steel; and a large
quantity is exported to Russia and other places, where it is Minos ami
used in dressing furs and skins. Mining.
We have also in our country antimony, nickel, cobalt,
manganese, and some other metals, which are of use in the Antimony,
arts. ^ Cornwall formerly supplied antimony to the type- nickel,
founuer, but now we import nearly all the antimony we co^>aih &c.
use. Antimony is found at Rosenau in Hungary ; in Saxony
and the Harz ; in Spain, Tuscany, France, Siberia, Mexico,
and the Indian Archipelago. The St Austell Consols Mine
sold two years ago about 150 tons of nickel and cobalt;
and the mines of the Duke of Argyle in Scotland produced
about 300 tons, averaging about 6 per cent, for nickel. All
the nickel which our white-metal manufacture requires is
supplied from Norway and Germany. Cobalt is of interest
to us as being the basis of the blue colour in our earthen¬
ware, &c., and nickel as an essential ingredient in various
metallic alloys, such as albata and German silver. The two
metals are often associated in the same mass. A specimen
of ore found near Keswick, Cumberland, contained from
2 to 3 per cent, of cobalt, but no nickel. The ores found
in Cornwall include both nickel and cobalt; but as they
seldom contain more than from 2 to 7 per cent, of available
metallic matter, while the ores on the Continent frequently
contain from 12 to 15 per cent., the process which may
answer in the reduction of the richer ores may prove too
costly in the poorer ones. The Swedish method has been
tried with the Cornish ores, and failed.
This metal, used as a glaze or pigment by potters, &c., Manganese,
occurs native in the Hartz Mountains, in Piedmont, in the
Mendip Hills, Somerset, and in the counties of Devon and
Aberdeen. It has been recently found that a certain pro¬
portion of this metal, added to steel manufactured from Bri¬
tish iron, produces a cast-steel nearly equal to that obtained
from Swedish iron. Great quantities of the peroxide have
been found near Tavistock in Devonshire and Launceston
in Cornwall.
When sulphur was high-priced, considerable quantities Sulphur
were manufactured from our iron pyrites; but its presentfrom iron
comparative cheapness has greatly reduced the demand for pyrites-
our own sulphur. Some, however, being still employed in
our chemical works, it is produced from a few mines, chiefly
from the Irish. Since 1839 the mines of Wicklow have
sold, in fifteen years, 338,368 tons; the mines of Arklow,
606,972 tons ; collectively, 945,340 tons. In the last year of
the fifteen, viz., 1854, the quantities were,—Wicklow, 34,000
tons; Arklow,90,000tons; collectively, 124,000tons. Cum¬
berland and Westmoreland sold in that year 2400 tons. The
Wicklow and Arklow mines, which produce the iron pyrites,
all contain the same “ sulphur course,” which traverses them
in a north-eastern and south-western direction. The iron
pyrites consists, in 100 parts, of iron 46,67, sulphur 53'33.
Rock-salt is mined in some countries, and especially at
Wielizka, near Cracow, in Poland (in the Cretaceous for¬
mation), where the excavations are of vast extent, and have
been continued, it is said, from the year 1251, extending
more than a league from east to west. The salt is of an
iron-gray colour, in which are found rocks of a pure white.
The annual product is reported to be about 2,000,000
cwt.
The great beds of rock-salt in the New Red Sandstone of Salt.
Cheshire, in our own country, are known to extend one
mile and a half north-east and south-west, and to be up¬
wards of three quarters of a mile wide. There are two beds
lying one over another, and at Northwich at least 60 feet
in thickness. The top of the lower bed is about 220
feet from the surface ; and no bottom has been found. The
salt is mostly of a reddish hue, and is so hard that blasting
by gunpowder is often necessary for its extraction.
The brine springs do not fall within the description of
mines. A remarkable deposit of rock-salt has recently been
discovered on the Marquis of Downshire’s property at Car-
MINES AND MINING.
Mines and rickfergus, about 8 miles from Belfast, Ireland. The dis-
Mining. covery was made in searching for coal, and at a depth of about
^ r ^ J 5o0 feet from the surface. It is comprised in a series of strata
tying, contiguous to each other, and the aggregate thick¬
ness is about 100 feet. T.he quality is said to be superior
to the Cheshire rock-salt. Hitherto no springs have been
discovered. The low price of coals in Cheshire will always
be in favour of the manufactures there. From all these
sources the British and Irish production of salt in 1854 has
been nearly as follows:—
From Cheshire about  ... 85On00O
„ Worcestershire about  100,000
950,000
From vicinity of Belfast  15,000
Total ~965/300
MANAGEMENT AND FINANCE OF MINES.
247
From this statement an idea may be formed of the magni- Mines and
tude of business in British mining companies. There is a Mining.
Mining Exchange in London.
Mining schools have long been established upon the con- Mining
tinent of Europe. The most celebrated in Germany are schools,
those of Freiberg in Saxony, and Clausthal in the Hartz.
Schemnitz in Hungary has a good mining academy, founded
about 1760; France has its Mining School; and generally
the foreign mining districts are well provided with scientific
instruction. In England there has been a lamentable de¬
ficiency of mining schools. However, the Government
School of Mines was opened in London on 6th November
1851, in connection with the Museum of Practical Geology.
It is a well-provided institution, having able professors, a
fine museum, many models, and a good library. A mining
school has been established, after many difficulties, in Truro,
Cornwall, and one smaller in Bristol.
Many of the foreign mines are under the control and
management of the respective governments. This is not
the case with British mines, some of which belong to private
individuals (as the lead mines of Mr Beaumont), some to
institutions (as the Greenwich Hospital Lead Mines), and
many to public and private companies.
When a company undertakes to work a mine, the lord
of the land must be arranged with, and he grants a lease
(sett is the mining term) upon certain terms, and demands
a rent (royalty) either in ores or money. A ratio of one-
fifteenth may represent the lord’s average dues. Mines
are worked by a greater or less number of adventurers or
shareholders, either on what is termed the “ cost-book
system,” or under joint-stock laws.
The cost-book system is very peculiar, and differs mainly
from that of joint-stock companies in the control directly
exercised by the whole body of the shareholders over the
management of the concern. They appoint a purser, who
acts as the financial servant of all, and renders an ac¬
count to the shareholders at their frequent meetings.
There are many advantages in this system ; but legal ques¬
tions and complications may arise which are difficult to
decide. Many of its customs or usages are still sub judice.
Coal mines alone are under government inspection, and that
exclusively with reference to accidents, their causes, and
preventives. The numbers of shareholders of which the
associations for working mines consist are very various;
but they are more than in ordinary trading partnerships, on
account of the risks and expenses of mining. In the old ad¬
ventures in Cornwall the number of shares in each mine
was commonly either 64 or 128. It is now desired by many
to increase the number of adventurers in these concerns.
If the mine be a scrip concern, there are directors, &c. In
Cornwall the mining agents are termed captains; and
these are divided into “ grass-captains” (at the surface), and
“ underground captains.” The purser is the chief financial
and managing officer. (Cornwall; its Mines and Miners,
pp. 136, &c.)
The amount invested in British mining in 1852 was about
five and a quarter millions, and these investments yielded
dividends of L. 1,409,060. Of these, mines representing
L.2,345,624 produced something more or less; and mines
representing L.1,476,666 produced nothing. Of the former
class, mines representing L.498,196 produced dividends of
L.253,057, or on the average 50 per cent. The amount of
dividends paid on mining in the first nine months of 1856
may be thus classified:—
English mines L.288,869
Irish „   17,970
Welsh „   15,485
Isle of Man    11,240
L.333,564
GENERAL VIEW OF THE MINERAL WEALTH AND PRODUCE
OF THE PRINCIPAL COUNTRIES OF EUROPE.
Great Britain is the most favoured country in the world Great
for the development of mineral industry, as well as for its Britain,
mineral possessions. Fuel, the indispensable agent in the
treatment of metalliferous ores, and the most powerful ele¬
ment in the production of motive force, is distributed, though
unequally, throughout the three countries of England, Scot¬
land, and Ireland. The coal formation in these three divi¬
sions of the British Empire occupies rich and widely-spread
basins, several of which (especially those of Newcastle-on-
lyne, Scotland, and Wales), being situated near to the sea,
which surrounds the whole country, are enabled to export
the coal to those places in which the metalliferous ores
exist in abundance ; but in some districts (as in Corn¬
wall), the absence of fuel renders the work costly and diffi¬
cult. The ores of iron, abundantly distributed in several
of the coal basins, add greatly to their value. Each coal
basin so situated has become the centre of a metal-working
district, where numerous works produce iron at a price so
comparatively moderate, that no nation has as yet been able
to compete with us with any great success. The insular po¬
sition of Great Britain allows the coal to be conveyed at a
minimum cost wherever it is wanted, and is equally import¬
ant in permitting iron or other metals to be shipped to any
part of the world. Hence the importance of these particu¬
lars of situation, &c., is strongly shown when we state, that
while England is thus enabled to supply her iron at a price
which ejects all rivals from the market,—and while she
exports annually upwards of 800,000 tons (her mean an¬
nual importation during the five years ending 1852 being
32,197 tons), and could supply the whole European conti¬
nent,—yet the quality of her iron is considered by foreigners
to be but middling, and it is not applicable to the purposes
for which she imports the finer iron; while for the manu¬
facture of steel she imports from Sweden and Russia. The
manufacture of steel is very backward in Russia. Asia and
European Turkey take more than two-fifths of the Russian
exported iron, England and the United States nearly two-
fifths, and other countries somewhat less than a fifth.
From time to time a few conjectural estimates have been
formed of the value of the produce of the British mines.
Dr Buckland, in his address to the Geological Society in
1840, remarked,—“ The average value of the annual pro¬
duce of the mines of the British Islands amounts to the
enormous sum of L.20,000,000, of which about L.8,000,000
arise from iron, and L.9,000,000 from coal.” Sir Henry de
la Beche in 1851 stated, that “the raw mineral produce
of Great Britain and Ireland is valued at L.24,000,000 per
annum, or about four-ninths of that of all Europe! includ¬
ing these islands; the coal being estimated at the pit’s
mouth, the iron in the pig, and so on.”
248
MINES AND MINING.
Mines and
Mining.
The following is Mr Hunt’s estimate of the annual value
of our produce of metals and minerals for two recent
years, taken from the Government Geological Survey:—
Value of British Produce for
1853. 1854.
Iron (pig) L.10,000,000 L.9,500,000
Copper  1,500,000 1,229,807
Lead  1,000,000 1,472,115
Tin   400,000 690,000
Silver  210,000 192,500
Zinc  10,000 16,500
Coal at pit’s mouth... 11,000,000 14,975,000
Other minerals, as 'j
Nickel, Arsenic, l 400,000 500,000
Sulphur J
Total, L.24,520,000 L.28,575,922
The number of persons employed in British mining is
as follows:—
Men and Women of all ages.
Coal 219,995
Iron  26,106
Copper    21,169
Tin   14,764
Lead  21,769
Zinc, &c  174
Total  303,977
An analysis of this number affords the following particu¬
lars :—
Males under 20 years of age  86,647
Do. 20 years old and upwards  208,520
Total Males ^    295,167
Females under 20 years of age  4,994
Do. 20 years old and upwards  3,816
Total Females    8,810
Total Males and Females ... 303,977
According to the estimates of Tegoborski [Commentaries
on the Productive Forces of Russia, by M. L. de Tego¬
borski, Privy Councillor, &c. of the Russian Empire, 8vo,
London 1855, vol. i., p. 213). the latest and most reliable
Russian authority, the principal products of the Russian
mines of gold, silver, platina, iron, copper, lead, zinc, coal, and Mines and
salt, together represent a value of L.5,460,000 sterling, of Mining,
which more than 55 per cent, is gold alone. This estimate
excludes the accessory products of the mines,—granite, mala¬
chite, gems and precious stones, &c., found in mountains of
Siberia. With the addition of these secondary articles of the
mines and quarries, the author carries the gross value of the
whole productions of the Russian mineral kingdom to
L.6,333,333 sterling.
In Austria, the whole products of mines, salt excepted, Austria,
on an average of the years 1841-1844 inclusive, represented
a value of 22,102,000 florins. Adding the gross value of
salt, at 1 florin per quintal, the gross total product of the
mines will be 27,602,000 florins, equal to L.2,750,000
sterling. Taking into account the progress of production
during preceding years, the present total Austrian produc¬
tion is estimated at about L.3,166,666.
In Prussia, according to statistical information published Prussia,
in the Berlin newspapers, the total produce of the mines
amounted in 1848 to nearly L.5,000,000 sterling.
In France, according to M. Schnitzler’s statistics, founded France,
on official returns, the total produce of the mines repre¬
sented in 1843 a value of L.16,640,000, and according to
the progress of production assigned by this author, it may
now be carried to about L.16,800,000 sterling; but in the
French estimates the produce of quarries and peat bogs, to
the amount of L.1,600,000, is included. It would appear,
too, that M. Schnitzler’s rates of valuation are much higher
than those of Tegoborski.
Thus an approximative comparison may be instituted,
from which it would follow that the produce of mines in
Russia exceeds that of the mines of Austria in the propor¬
tion of 2 to 1 ; exceeds Prussia by more than a third; but
attains only two-fifths of the mining produce of France, and
is therefore, of course, greatly inferior to that of Great Bri¬
tain.
An approximative attempt at exhibiting a complete view
of the metallic produce of the world for 1854 has been
made in the subjoined table by Mr Whitney, an Ameri¬
can :—
Table of Metallic Produce for 1854.
Countries.
Russia 
Sweden  
Norway 
Great Britain  
Belgium 
Prussia 
Hartz 
Saxony  
Rest of Germany 
Austria 
Switzerland  
France  
Spain 
Italy 
Africa  
East Indies and So. Asia 
Australia, Oceania  
Chile 
Bolivia 
Peru 
Ecuador and N. Granada 
Brazil  
Mexico 
Cuba 
United States (includ. California)
Total
Gold.
Lb. Troy.
60,000
2
00
6
00
42
4,000
25,000
150,000
1,000
1,200
1,900
15,000
6,000
10,000
200,000
Lb. Trov.
58,000
3,500
17,000
70,000
30,000
30,000
60,000
3,000
90,000
5,000
125,000
8,000
250,000
130,000
30,000
130,000
700
1,750,000
22,000
479,950 2,812,200
Mercury.
Lb. Avoird.
500,000
2,500,000
200,000
1,000,000
7,000
ioo
"so
”io
5,000
1,500
4,200,000
13,660
Copper.
Tons.
6.500
1.500
500
14,500
1,500
150
50
3,3*00
500
250
600
3,000
3,500
14,000
1,500
2,000
3,500
56,850
Zinc.
Tons.
4,000
40
1,000
16,000
33,000
10
00
5,000
Lead.
60,550
Tons.
800
200
61,000
1,000
8,000
5,000
2,000
1,000
7,000
1,500
30,000
500
Iron.
15,000
133,000
Tons.
200,000
150,000
5,000
3,000,000
300,000
150,000
7,000
100,000
225,000
15,000
600,000
40,000
1,000,000
5,792,000
MIN
Alines, The following table of the values of the metallic pro-
Alihtary duce 0f different countries, showing the ratio of their pro-
Aliniature
Painting.
Countries.
United States  
Great Britain   
Australia  
Mexico  
Russian Empire 
France  
Chili  
Rest of South America.
Austrian Empire  
Value of metals
produced in
pounds sterling.
L.16,630,625
20,035,375
8,214,167
6,350,000
5.258.333
3,177,604
2.738.333
3,370,000
355,958
Ratio of production to
that of
United Great
States. Britain.
1-00
1-205
•494
•382
•316
•191
•165
•203
•147
5-6
1-
5-12
1-3
4 15
16
215
1-6
1-8
M I N
249
duction as compared with that of the United States and that Minnesota,
of Great Britain, has also been compiled by Mr Whitney:— v>«—
Countries.
Prussia  
Belgium 
Spain 
Sweden and Norway.
Saxony  
Harz District  
Italy  
Switzerland  
Value of metals
produced in
pounds sterling.
L.4,100,000
1,953,125
1,670,087
1,137,687
303,125
239,081
173,437
78,125
Ratio of production to
that of
United Great
States. Britain.
•121
•118
•100
•068
•018
•014
10
•005
1-10
1-10
1-12
117
1-67
1-86
1-120
1-240
With reference to Great Britain, mining operations are
carried on to a greater or less extent in 21 English coun¬
ties and the Isle of Man, in 12 Welsh counties, and in 17
counties in Scotland. Coal and iron, of some varieties, are
found in greater or less proportions in nearly all the coun¬
ties of England. In examining the counties in Wales and
Scotland, we find a similar wide diffusion of coal and iron,
and in Wales of lead. In Ireland we observe a wide diffu¬
sion of coal and lead, and argentiferous lead. Other mine¬
rals are far more rare. (j. R. L.)
MINES, Military. See Sapping and Mining.
MINGRELIA. See Caucasus.
MINHO (the ancient Minim), a river of Spain, rising
in the N.E. part of the province of Galicia, about 30 miles
N.E. of Santiago, and flowing southward till it reaches the
borders of Portugal. It then takes a westerly direction,
and forms the boundary between Galicia and Portugal to
the sea, which it enters at Caminha, after a course of about
130 miles.
Minho, or Entre Douro e Minho, a province of Portugal.
(See Entre Douro e Minho.)
MINIATURE PAIN TING, a delicate kind of paint¬
ing, consisting of little points or dots, usually done on ivory,
vellum, or drawing-paper, with very thin, simple water¬
colours. Miniature painting is generally limited to por¬
traits, which are for the most part executed on ivory, owing
to the superior durability of that material and the peculiar
brilliancy with which it bears out the colours. In compo¬
sition, drawing, and finishing, the execution of miniatures is
subject to the same laws as painting, although the process
of miniature painting in water-colours is not at all similar
to that employed in water-colour drawings generally. The
outline, which must be extremely delicate, is traced upon
the ivory with a silver-pointed pencil, and is afterwards
drawn in with thin carmine. The colours, instead of being
washed on or applied by successive tints laid over each
other, are entirely dotted on the surface after what is called
the dead colouring has been applied. In the dead colour¬
ing, which consists in laying on the colours in the smoothest
manner, as painters do in oil, the shades are left less dark
and the lights stronger than they ought to be ; the finish¬
ing being performed by tbe process of dotting already re¬
ferred to. The speediest method of dotting is the patch¬
ing process, which consists of drawing delicate lines inter¬
secting each other in all directions till the surface presents
a regularly dotted appearance. The artist generally com¬
mences his shading with vermilion and carmine, using in¬
digo afterwards for the bluish shade, and ochre and vermi¬
lion for the yellowish tints employed on those parts of the
face which rise towards the light. The backgrounds,
which, when very dark, are composed of bistre, umber, or
Cologne earth, are formed by two coats, the first being of
a light thin nature, and the last of a darker tint of the
same colour. The most usual and appropriate dark grounds
are of a greenish colour, consisting of a mixture of black,
Dutch pink, and white. This ground is mostly preferred,
owing to the rich appearance which it communicates to the
carnation or naked parts of a picture. Landscapes and
VOL. xv.
flowers are also occasionally done in miniature ; but as the
process requires great nicety and patience, it is scarcely
fitted for any subject beyond the face and bust of a figure.
It is accordingly very seldom used except for likenesses,
which, besides being portable, are much admired for the
rich softness and delicacy of the colouring.
MINNESOTA, a territory of the United States of
North America, bounded on the N. by British America, E.
by Lake Superior and the state of Wisconsin, from the
latter of which it is separated chiefly by the St Croix River
and the Mississippi, S. by the state of Iowa, and W. by
Nebraska, from which it is separated by the Missouri anil
White Earth Rivers. It lies between Lat. 42. 30. and 49.
N., and Long. 89. 30. and 103. 30. W., and is 630 miles
in length from E. to W., by about 380 in breadth from N.
to S.; area 141,839 square miles. Minnesota occupies
the most elevated tract of country between the Gulf of
Mexico and the Arctic Sea, and forms the watershed of
three of the greatest basins of North America—the Missouri,
Mississippi, the St Lawrence, and the Hudson’s Bay. The
sources of the Red River of the North, and of the Missis¬
sippi, are nearly in the centre of the territory, at an eleva¬
tion of about 2000 feet above the Gulf of Mexico. The
Hauteurs de Terre, or Highlands, are a range of heights
which extend W. by S. about 300 miles, and form the divid¬
ing ridge between the Mississippi and Lake Superior. The
region W. of the Mississippi has several plateaus or table¬
lands, which mark the limits of various river basins. The
most remarkable of these are the Coteau des Prairies, or
Prairie Heights, about 200 miles in length by from 15 to
40 in breadth, running through the middle of the southern
part of Minnesota; and the Coteau du Grand Bois, or
Wooded Heights, extending for more than 100 miles nearly
parallel with the Coteau des Prairies, and mostly covered
with an extensive forest of hard wood. A range of less
altitude than the Coteau des Prairies, but continuing in the
same direction, forms the watershed of the streams flowing
into the Missouri on the W., and those flowing into the
Red River on the E. The rest of the country generally
alternates between sandhills and swamps, river bottoms and
prairies.
One of the most distinguishing features of the territory is
the great number of its lakes of every size, from 40 miles to
less than 1 mile in extent. The largest of these lakes are
the Lake of the Woods, Rainy Lake, Red, Minni-Wakan,
Leech, and Spirit Lakes. These have generally clear peb¬
bly bottoms, and are well stocked with fish. The rivers
and streams of Minnesota are also very numerous. The
2 i
250
MIN
Minnesota. Mississippi takes its rise in Lake Itasca, which it leaves by
a small rivulet only a few feet in width, and subsequently
flows through a number of small lakes. Its length in this
territory is about 800 miles, for 500 of which (200 below
and 300 above St Anthony’s Falls) it is navigable. The Red
River, passing north, and ultimately falling into Hudson’s
Bay, is the outlet of numerous small lakes. It has a wind¬
ing course of about 500 miles in Minnesota. The Rum
and St Croix tributaries of the Mississippi drain the S.E.
portion of the territory, the latter of the two forming the
boundary between Minnesota and Wisconsin. The slope
toward Lake Superior is drained by the St Louis River, and
by a chain of small lakes forming the N.E. boundary. The
great valley formed by the slopes of the Coteau des Prairies
and the Coteau du Bois is drained by the St Peter’s, which
flows first S.E. and afterwards N.E., till it falls into the
Mississippi, after a course of about 460 miles. It is navi¬
gable for steamers for about 60 miles, and for flat-bottomed
boats for about 120. Its principal affluent is the Blue Earth
or Mankato River. The Riviere k Jacques and the Sioux
are the principal affluents of the Missouri from this terri¬
tory. They have both an almost directly S. course, the
former being about 600 and the latter about 350 miles
long. The Missouri, which forms the western boundary
of the territory, is navigable by steamboats throughout
Minnesota.
The larger part of Minnesota, including the central and
N.E. portions, appears to belong to the igneous and meta-
morphic formations. In the N. and S.E. districts there are
extensive formations of Lower Silurian rocks ; and in the
valleys of the St Peter’s and Mississippi magnesian lime¬
stone forms the basis of many of the bluffs. Extending
from the centre eastward to Lake Superior is a narrow
band of new red sandstone, and on the shores of the lake
are alternations of metamorphic schists, slates, and sand¬
stones, with volcanic grits and other bedded traps and por¬
phyries, intersected by basaltic and greenstone dykes, with
occasional deposits of red clay, marls, and drift. The Mis¬
souri through its whole course in Minnesota appears to
flow through cretaceous rocks, which are bordered on the
E. by tertiary formations. The mineral resources of the
country are as yet little known. Iron and coal exist in the
southern parts, but it is not supposed that either are very
widely diffused. Copper and lead have also been found,
the latter on the Waraju River, and the former in masses
having the appearance of having been carried by the action
of water. Salt is abundant in the N.W. The most re¬
markable mineral, however, is the red clay, from which the
Indians manufactured pipes, and which is believed to be
peculiar to the region of the Coteau des Prairies.
The winters of Minnesota, especially in its northern and
western sections, are extremely severe ; but owing to the
great stillness of the air, the coldest weather in winter is
endurable. At Pembina settlement, under the 49th parallel
of latitude, the cold is frequently so intense as to freeze
mercury. The mean temperature of the month of January
1847 was 12^° below zero, and the greatest cold 48° below
zero. The hottest day in the month of July was 96°, show¬
ing a range of 144° between the greatest heat and the
greatest cold. From the 17th of June to the 17th of July
1848 the mean temperature was 69°. The weather nearer
the lake is milder, and of course the climate in the south
yields to the influence of the latitude. The rivers are
frozen over early in November, and generally remain close
to the middle of April. On the whole the climate is dry;
and while the early winters prove unfavourable to the ripen¬
ing of Indian corn, the steady cold, and the dryness of the
atmosphere, are favourable to wheat and other winter
grains.
The soil varies greatly in different parts. In the valleys
of the rivers it is mostly excellent, especially those of the
Minorca.
MIN
St Peter’s, and of the Mississippi and its tributaries in the Minor
S.E. of the territory. Above the Falls of St Anthony,
with the exception of the river alluvions and some prairie
land, the country is generally covered with drift, inter¬
spersed with marshes too wet for cultivation ; but much of
the elevated portion is often of tolerable fertility, though
inferior to the calcareous land of the river bottoms, and
not unfrequently covered with dwarf timber. The country
on the Red River, however, is excellent, and equal in soil
to the best bottom lands of Illinois, producing fine crops of
grain, fruit, &c. Wild rice, berries of various kinds, plums,
wild grapes, and the crab-apple, are indigenous. Accord¬
ing to the census of 1850, there were only 5035 acres of
land under cultivation, producing 1401 bushels of wheat,
125 of rye, 16,725 of Indian corn, 30,582 of oats, 10,002
of peas and beans, 21,145 of potatoes, 200 of sweet
potatoes, 1216 of barley, 515 of buckwheat, 2019 tons of
hay, 85 lb. of wool, 2950 lb. of maple sugar, 80 lb. of bees’
wax and honey. Value of live stock, L.l 8,575 ; of market
produce, L.31; and of slaughtered animals, L.570. Parts
of Minnesota are densely covered with pine forests, though
it cannot be said to be a well wooded country. According
to Professor Owen, a belt of forest crosses the territory in
Lat. 44. 30. On the Rum, St Croix, and Pine Rivers,
there are extensive forests of pine. The ridges of the drift
districts are usually covered with small pine, birch, maple,
ash, elm, fir, and poplar. In the swamps between the
ridges the tamarisk and cypress are found; while the river
bottoms furnish a good growth of oak, ash, linden, elm,
walnut, maple, &c. Wild animals abound. Vast herds of
buffalo, elk, deer, antelope, and other game, roam over the
western plains, and occasionally the grizzly bear is met with.
The black bear, wolverine, otter, mink, musk-rat, wolf,
and raccoon abound; and over the prairies grouse, phea¬
sants, and partridges are plentiful. The golden and bald-
headed eagle are occasionally met with, and many kinds of
water-fowl are common.
Previous to the organization of the state of Wisconsin,
all that part of Minnesota lying on the E. side of the Mis¬
sissippi River had been included in the territory of Wis¬
consin ; and all the portion W. of that river had been in¬
cluded in the territory of Iowa. By the act of Congress
3d March 1849, Minnesota was erected into a territory.
The government comprises a governor appointed by the
president of the United States for four years, a Council of
9 members elected in districts for two years, and a House
of Assembly of 18 members elected for one year. Mem¬
bers of either body must be resident in their districts, and
every district is represented according to its population. The
suffrage is vested in every white male inhabitant twenty-one
years of age, and who has taken an oath to support the
constitution. In 1850 Minnesota was (divided into nine
counties, and had a total population of 6077; of whom 3695
were white males, and 2343 white females ; 21 free coloured
males, and 18 free coloured females. In 1855 the popula¬
tion of the territory was estimated at 45,000 to 50,000, and
the counties had increased to 29. St Paul, the capital, is
situated on the left bank of the Mississippi, at the head of
the steamboat navigation, 15 miles below the Falls of St
Anthony. Pop. (1850), 1338; (1855), estimated at 5000
to 6000.
MINOR, in Music. See Music, §§ Intervals, Scales.
MINORCA, or Menorca, the second in size of the Ba¬
learic Islands, is situated between 39. 47. and 40. 4. 55.
N. Lat., and 3. 48. and 4. 20. E. Long.; 27 miles E.N.E. of
Majorca, 140 miles S.E. of Catalonia, the nearest European
coast, and 180 miles N. of Bujia in Africa. Its surface is
uneven,—flat in the S., and rising irregularly towards the
centre, where the mountain named El Toro has an altitude
of 5250 feet. Owing thus to want of shelter from mountains,
the climate is not so equable as that of Majorca, and it is
MIN
Minorca, exposed in autumn and winter to the violence oftheN. winds.
1 his want of shelter also, and the sterility of the soil, are the
causes of the scarcity of trees and of the frequent failure of
the crops, f he surface is rocky, and the soil of very un¬
equal quality; that of the mountains being light, fine, and
fertile, and producing regular harvests without much labour
or cultivation; while that of the plains is chalky, scanty,
and alike unfit for pasture and the plough. Some of the
valleys have a good alluvial soil; and where the hills have
been terraced, they are cultivated to the summit. The
wheat and barley raised in the island are sometimes suf¬
ficient for home consumption : rarely is there a surplus.
Wine, oil, potatoes, legumes, hemp, and flax are produced
in moderate quantities; fruit of all kinds, including melons,
pomegranates, figs, and almonds, is abundant. Horned
cattle, sheep, goats, &c., are reared, and the island abounds
with small game. Stone of various kinds is plentiful; a
soft stone, easily quarried, and acquiring hardness by expo¬
sure is used for building. In the district of Mercadal and
in Mount Santa Agueda are found marbles and porphyry
superior to those of Italy. Lead, copper, and iron are
said to be abundant, but owing to the scarcity of wood,
would not repay the expense of working. There are manu¬
factures of the wool, hemp, and flax of the island ; and for¬
merly there was a good deal of boat-building, but, with the
exception of agriculture, all branches of industry are in
decay.
The coast is deeply indented, especially on the N., with
numerous creeks and bays, that of Port Mahon, the capital,
being the most considerable ; after it come those of Addaya,
Fornells, Ciudadela, and Nitja.
Port Mahon is situated on the E. coast, in 39. 52. N. Lat.,
4. 20. E. Long., and occupies an eminence on the S. side,
and 2 miles from the mouth, of a bay a league in extent.
Its lofty position gives it a picturesque appearance, and
contributes to its extreme salubrity. The city is of modern
construction, and contains some fine public buildings, four
churches, two ex-convents, two hospitals, a normal school,
and one for higher instruction, with other private schools.
The bay forms the finest and most capacious harbour in
the Mediterranean, and one of the largest in the world, as
a saying of Andrea Doria testifies,—
“ Junio, Julio, Agosto y puerto Mahon,
Los mejores puertos del Mediterraneo son.”
“June, July, August, and Port Mahon are the best
harbours of the Mediterranean.” On one side stand the
fine large lazaretto and the marine arsenal; and on the
largest island in the bay is the naval hospital, begun by the
English in 1722 and finished in 1795. Of the fort of
San Felipe, famous in the history of the island, and once
deemed impregnable, no vestige remains since 1805. A
road of 29 miles in length, S.E. to N.W., connects Port
Mahon, by Alayor, Mercadal, and Ferrerias, with Ciudadela,
the second city in the island; this road was constructed in
1713 by Brigadier Kane, to whose memory a marble mo¬
nument was erected at the first milestone. The surround¬
ing country produces abundant crops of wheat, some barley,
excellent cheese, and honey; horned cattle are reared in
considerable quantity, and there are fisheries. There are
manufactures of tackle, soap, earthenware, &c.; these, to¬
gether with the commerce, now confined to the coasting
trade, are in a state of progressive decay. Pop. (1846)
13,280.
Minorca was taken possession of in 1287 by Alfonso,
grandson of Jayme, the conqueror of the Balearic Isles, and
continued under Spanish rule till 1708, when Port Mahon
was taken by the English under General Stanhope, and
the island secured to them by the peace of Utrecht. In
1756 it was invaded by a force of 12,000 French, who,
after defeating Admiral Byng, captured Port Mahon. Re-
MIN 251
stored to England in 1769 by the peace of Versailles, the Minos
island remained in our possession till 1782, when it was II
retaken by the Spaniards. Again taken by the English in Minsk.
1798, it was finally ceded to Spain by the peace of Amiens Vs—’
in 1803.
The Menorquins, especially those of the district of Ma¬
hon, who have been under English influence, are an enter¬
prising and industrious, grave, and religious people. The
general decay of manufactures and commerce has caused of
late years a large emigration, chiefly to the French colony
of Algeria, where they prosper. In 1846 the population
amounted to 31,443.
MINOS, a king and lawgiver of Crete, was the son of
Lycastus, and is sometimes confounded with another Cre¬
tan monarch of the same name, who was the son of Jupiter
and Europa, and one of the judges in the infernal regions.
He married Pasiphae, the daughter of Sol, and became by
her the father of Catreus, Deucalion, Glaucus, Androgeus,
Acalle, Xenodice, Ariadne, and Phaedra. According to
the prevailing legend, he aspired to the vacant throne of
Crete on the death of King Asterius. To prove to the
people that his claims were favoured by the gods, he as¬
serted that he could obtain from Neptune whatever he
might choose to ask. He prayed that the god might send
forth a bull from the sea. His prayer was granted, and the
crown in consequence was immediately yielded up to him.
But since the bull was not sacrificed to Neptune, as Minos
had vowed, the god in revenge infected Pasiphae with a
passion for the brute. The queen concealed herself in a
wooden cow constructed for the purpose by Daedalus, and
thus became the mother of the Minotaur. This monster,
who had, according to some, the head of a man on the body
of a bull, and according to others, the head of a bull on the
body of a man, was imprisoned by the king in the famous
labyrinth. Minos is said to have been the master of a
powerful fleet. With this he wasted the Greek islands of
the iEgean, and cleared the neighbouring seas of pirates.
He also sailed to Athens, and in revenge for the supposed
murder of his son Androgeus, forced the Athenians to send
him annually seven youths and seven maidens as food for
the Minotaur. His next expedition was made to Sicily in
pursuit of Daedalus. There he is reported to have been
deceitfully put to death by Cocalus the Sicilian king. The
legislative code of Minos is said to have been framed with
the advice of Jupiter, and to have been the model of the
Spartan lawgiver Lycurgus.
MINSK, a government of Western Russia, between 51.
12. and 55. 50. N. Lat., and 25. 10. and 30. 45. E. Long.
It is bounded N. by Witepsk, E. by Mohilev and Tchernt-
gov, S. by Kiev and Volhynia, and W. by Grodno and
Wilna. Area 34,467 square miles. The surface is for the
most part very flat, except towards the N., where a low
chain of hills separates the rivers which flow into the Black
Sea from those which flow into the Baltic. The principal
rivers of the government are the Diina and the Dnieper ;
the former constituting the frontier between it and Wilna,
and the latter flowing between this government and that of
Tchernigov. The principal rivers that join the Diina are
the Desna and the Ulla; and the Dnieper receives in
this government the Pripetz and the Beresina. Besides
these, Minsk is also watered by the Niemen and its tribu¬
tary the Vilia, both of which take their rise in the govern¬
ment. The northern parts of Minsk are covered with
extensive forests, and the soil is there dry, and in many
places sandy; but the southern regions are marshy, and
the country is generally inundated in the spring time, so as
to present the appearance of a large lake. Although the
soil is generally poor and sterile, there are neverthe¬
less some fertile tracts. Agriculture forms the chief em¬
ployment of the inhabitants, and the produce is more than
sufficient for the consumption of the inhabitants. Rve is
252 MIN
Minsk the sort of corn grown in the greatest quantity, but barley,
II oats, and wheat are also produced. Flax and hemp are
'Minstrel grown jn great abundance. The inhabitants are also em-
pi0ye{J in cutting timber in the forests, and conveying it
down the rivers. Cattle and sheep are reared in large
numbers, but they are generally of inferior breed, and the
wool of the sheep is very coarse. The country abounds in
deer, wolves, bears, wild boars, foxes, and other sorts of
game ; and the rivers are well stocked with fvsh, but the
quantity got is not equal to the demand, so that large sup¬
plies are imported from other parts. The principal manu-
iactures are weaving and distilling, but these are not car¬
ried on to any great extent. The trade also is far from
extensive, and is chiefly in the hands of foreigners; the
chief articles of exportation being timber, flax, hemp, corn,
honey, cattle, &c. The inhabitants belong for the most
part to the Greek Church, but there are also many Ro¬
man Catholics and some Protestants; and the towns and
villages are principally occupied by Jews. Pop. (1850)
1,067,000.
Minsk, the capital of the above government, is situated
on the Swistocz, a tributary of the Beresina, 154 miles
E.N.E. of Grodno ; Lat. 53. 40. N., Long. 27. 40. E. The
towm is irregularly built, with narrow and dirty streets ; but
it contains some good public buildings, among which are
a cathedral, an abbey, and a theatre, besides several hand¬
some palaces belonging to the nobility. It is the seat of
the government of the province, and of a Greek archbishop
and Roman Catholic bishop ; and has manufactures of cloth,
hats, and leather, as well as a considerable trade. Pop.
(1851) 25,352.
MINSTREL, an ancient term applied equally to a
singer and an instrumental performer, derived from the
French menestral, and not used in this country before the
Norman Conquest. Our old monkish historians, in speak¬
ing of this class, characterize them by the epithet mirnus,
histrio, joculator, or some other word which implies gesti¬
culation. Hence it would seem that the minstrels, occa¬
sionally at least, set off their singing by mimicry or action,
uniting the powers of melody, poetry, and dancing. Ac¬
cording to Percy, “ the minstrels were an order of men
in the middle ages who subsisted by the arts of poetry and
music, and sang to the harp verses composed by themselves
or others.” The Teutonic races generally, and especially
the Danes, had been accustomed to hold men of this pro¬
fession in the highest reverence. Their skill was considered
as something divine, their persons were deemed sacred,
their attendance was solicited by kings, and they were
everywhere loaded with honours and rewards. In short,
poets and their art were held in that rude admiration which
is ever shown by an ignorant people towards such as greatly
excel them in intellectual accomplishments. When the
Saxons were converted to Christianity, in proportion as
letters prevailed amongst them, this rude admiration began
to subside, and poets were no longer a peculiar class or
profession. The poet and the minstrel became two persons.
Poetry was cultivated by men of letters indiscriminately, and
many of the most popular rhymes were composed amidst
the leisure and retirement of monasteries. But the min¬
strels continued to be a distinct order of men, and obtained
their livelihood by singing verses to the harp at the houses
of the great. There they were hospitably and respectfully
received, and retained many of the honours conferred upon
their predecessors, the bards and the scalds. Although
some of them only recited the compositions of others, many
of them still composed songs themselves, and all of them
could probably invent a few stanzas upon occasion. There
is no doubt that most of the old heroic ballads were pro¬
duced by this order of men. Although some of the longer
metrical romances might come from the pen of the monks
or others, yet the shorter narratives were probably com-
M I N
posed by the minstrels who sung them. From the strik- Minstrel,
ing variations which occur in different copies of these old i >
pieces, it is evident that they made no scruple to alter one
another’s productions, and the reciter added or omitted
whole stanzas, according to his own fancy or convenience.
That in the early ages this profession was held in great
reverence amongst the northern tribes is curiously illustrated
by incidents recorded of several Saxon and Danish princes
(of whom the most noted are Alfred the Great among the
Saxons, and Anlaff among the Danes), who assumed the
disguise of gleemen, and chaunted to the harp, while they
successfully explored the camp of the enemy.
From the Conquest downwards, through long ages in
England, the profession of the minstrel was a popular and
privileged one. There was no period, however, immediately
subsequent to the Conquest, in which this entertaining class
met with so much royal patronage as during the reign of
Richard I. This brilliant Crusader, himself an adept in the
minstrel’s art, invited to his court, according to Hoveden,
many minstrels and troubadours catitores et joeulatores”)
from France, whom he loaded with honours and rewards,
such as arms, clothes, horses, and money. And the well-
known story of Richard’s favourite minstrel, Blondell de
Nesle, discovering his master by singing a French chanson
under the walls of the German castle in which royalty lay
imprisoned, if more popular than well authenticated, pos¬
sesses at least the merit of recording symbolically the
traditional devotion of the royal minstrel to his art. It ap¬
pears from a passage in a letter of Hugh, Bishop of Co¬
ventry, that the superior officers of Richard’s court had
also learnt to patronize these “ Jestours that tellen tales;”
for William, Bishop of Coventry, chancellor to the king,
brought over French minstrels, and loaded them with
handsome presents, to sing the praise of Cceur de Lion in
the public streets.
We occasionally find the minstrels a.n<\ jestours, or reciters
ofjest.es (gestes) or tales, named separately, as in a prologue
of Nassyngton ; but they for the most part belonged to the
same class. The minstrels were also sometimes distin¬
guished from the harpers. “In the year 1374,” says
Warton {Hist, of Eng. Poet., vol. ii., p. 369), “ six minstrels,
accompanied with four harpers, on the anniversary of
Alvvyne the bishop, performed their minstrelsies at dinner
in the hall of the convent of St Swithin at Winchester,
and during supper sung the same gest, or tale, in the great
arched chamber of the prior.”
The instances of regard shown to minstrels during sub¬
sequent reigns are very abundant. Edward II. rewarded
his minstrel William de Mode, known as “ Roi de North,”
with certain houses in the vill of Pontefract, which had
previously belonged to the degraded minstrel John de Bo-
teler, called “ Roi Brunard.” We find from Rymer, in his
Fcedera, that in 1415, when Henry V. was on his voyage
to France, he was accompanied by eighteen minstrels,
who were to receive twelve pence a day each. Indeed,
the minstrels were often in those days more amply paid
than the clergy. “ In this age, as in more enlightened
times,” says Warton (vol. ii.309), “the people loved better
to be pleased than instructed. During many of the years
of the reign ofHenry VI., particularly in the year 1430, at the
annual feast of the fraternity of the Holie Crosse at Abing¬
don, a town in Berkshire, twelve priests each received four
pence for singing a dirge; and the same number of min¬
strels were rewarded each with two shillings and four pence,
beside diet and horse meat. Some of these minstrels
came only from Maydenhithe or Maidenhead, a town at no
great distance in the same county. In the year 1441
eight priests were hired from Coventry to assist in cele¬
brating a yearly obit in the church of the neighbouring
priory of Maxtoke; as were six minstrels, called mimi,
belonging to the family of Lord Clinton, who lived in the
min
Mint adjoining castle of Maxtoke, to sing, harp, and play in the
|] hall of the monastery, during the extraordinary refection
nue , allowed to the monks on that anniversary. Two shillings
weie given to the priests and four to the minstrels ; and the
latter are said to have supped in camera picta, or the
painted chamber of the convent, with the sub-prior, on
which occasion the chamberlain furnished eight massy tapers
of wax.” J 1
So late as the reign of Henry VIII. these reciters of
verses found free access into all companies; into the
mansion of the noble as well as into the plebeian tavern.
Yet they were gradually sinking into contempt and ne¬
glect, and were seldom called upon to furnish a speci¬
men of their venerable art, except when some royal or
other great personage condescended on some public oc¬
casion to smile benignantly upon the rude pastimes of their
ancestors. It should not be forgotten, however, that the
genuine minstrel was now seldom to be found in England;
that, indeed, the name had become so far degraded as
popularly to denote a mere musician. So singular a phe¬
nomenon had a veritable minstrel become in the reign of
Queen Elizabeth, that when that august personage was
entertained at Kenilworth Castle in 1575 by the perform¬
ance of one of those ancient singers, his appearance and
dress excited so much wonder among the spectators, that
old Laneham felt called upon to transfer to his book the
Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth, a provokingly minute
description of the person, dress, and adornments of this ex¬
traordinary man of the harp. After describing this “ squire
minstrel of Middlesex,” from his “ fair kembed,” “ finely
smoothed ” head, to his feet, which were encased in “ a pair
of pumps ; not new, indeed, yet cleanly blackt with soot, and
shining like a shoeing horn,” the author says,—“ After three
lowlie cooursiez, he cleered his voice with a hem and a
reach, and spat out withal, wiped his lips with the hollo of
his hand, for fyling his napkin, temper’d a string or two
with hiz wreast, and, after warbling on his harp for a pre¬
lude, came foorth with a sollem song, warranted for stoory
oout of King Arthurz acts.”
Towards the end of the sixteenth century this class of
men had lost all credit, and were sunk so low in the public
opinion, that in the thirty-ninth year of Elizabeth a statute
was passed, by which “ minstrels,” wandering abroad, were
included amongst “ rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars,”
and were adjudged to be punished as such.
(For valuable information respecting the minstrel’s cha¬
racter and poetry, see Wright’s Biographia Liter aria Bri-
tanmca, Anglo-Saxon Period, pp. 3-7; with illustrations
from the early Anglo-Saxon poem of Beoivulph.)
MINT. See Coinage.
MINUCIUS, Felix. See Felix.
MINUET, a very graceful kind of dance, consisting of
a coupee, a high step, and a balance. It begins with a
beat, and its motion is triple.
The invention of the minuet seems to be generally as¬
cribed to the French, and particularly to the inhabitants
of the province of Poitou. The word is said by Menage
and Furetiere to be derived from the French menue or menu,
small or little, and in strictness to signify a small space.
The melody of this dance consists of two strains, which,
from being repeated, are called reprises, each having eight
or more bars, but never an odd number. The measure
consists of three crotchets in a bar, and is thus marked f,
though it is commonly performed in the time f. Walther
speaks of a minuet in Lully’s opera of Boland, each strain
of which contains ten bars, the sectional number being 5 ; a
circumstance which renders it very difficult to be danced.
Modern instrumental composers have introduced into their
symphonies and quartets, &c., minuets of a rapid move¬
ment and fanciful character, and which are followed by
trios in a different style.
M I R 253
MlOSEN, a lake of Norway, in the province of Chris- Mitisen
tiania, and 36 miles N.E. of that town, has a length of 55 II
miles, and a breadth at the widest part of 12 miles. It is fed Mirabeau.
by the large river Lougen, which has a length of 130 miles,
and falls into the lake at the village of Lillehammer. The
surrounding scenery is very fine, the banks, which rise
gradually from the surface of the water, being covered with
forests and pastures. A steamer plies upon the lake; and
a railway is projected from Christiania to its southern ex¬
tremity. In 1755, at the time of the great earthquake at
Lisbon, the waters of Lake Mibsen were much agitated,
rose suddenly to the height of 20 feet, and then as suddenly
subsided.
MIRA BAUD, Jean-Baptiste de, a French writer, w-as
born at Paris in 1675. His intercourse with La Fontaine
was the means of inducing him to abandon the military
profession which he had adopted, and to devote himself to
literature. To obtain greater facility for study, he entered
the Congregation of the Oratory. His French translation
of Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata, in 2 vols. 12mo, Paris,
1724, first introduced him to notice. The French Aca¬
demy recognised his merit by admitting him soon after¬
wards among their number, and by electing him in 1742
their perpetual secretary. He died in 1760. The other
works of Mirabaud are a translation of Ariosto’s Orlando
Furioso, in 4 vols. 12mo, Paris, 1758; Alphabet de la Fee
Gracieuse 12mo, Paris, 1734 ; Opinions des Anciens sur
les Juifs, 12mo, 1769 ; Ze Monde, son Origine et son An-
tiqnite, 8vo, Amsterdam, 1751; and Sentiments des Philo-
sophes sur la Nature de VAme, inserted in the collection
entitled Nouvelles Liberies de Penser, 12mo, Amsterdam,
1743. The atheistical work of Baron d’Holbach, entitled
Systeme de la Nature, was published under Mirabaud’s
name.
MIR ABE A U, Gabriel Honore de Riquetti, Comte
de, was born at his father’s chateau of Bignon, between
Sens and Nemours, March 9, 1749. He seemed des¬
tined from his entrance into the world to excite perplexity
and wonder. “Don’t be afraid!” said the nurse, as she
presented to his father a huge-headed infant already armed
with a pair of grinders, one foot twisted, and tongue-tied.
His calamities began early: at the age of three his remark¬
able face was seamed and disfigured by confluent small¬
pox, mismanaged through the impatient anxiety of his
mother. “ Your nephew,” wrote the Marquis to his brother
the Bailli, “ is as ugly as the nephew of Satan.” Still
uglier in the eyes of the pedantic Friend of Men was the
exuberant activity of the boy. At four years old he was
incessantly burrowing among books and papers ; all Paris
talked of his precocity,—the “ marmot” had all at once be¬
come waggish, very inquisitive, and very troublesome. The
Marquis’s bulletins regarding him varied with his humour.
At one time he “ promises to be a very fine subject,” though
“ turbulent, yet mild and easily controlled;” he shows a
“ high heart under the jacket of a babe, a strange instinct of
pride—noble nevertheless—the embryo of a dishevelled
bully, that would swallow all creation before he is twelve
years old;” possesses “an intelligence, a memory, and a capa¬
city that strike, amaze, and terrify.” At another time he is
“a type quite unparalleled of baseness, absolute senselessness,
and the quality of the dirty rough caterpillar, that will never
uncrust itself;” he is “a nothing set off' with trifles, who will
throw dust in the eyes of gossips, but will never be but the
fourth part of a man, if, perchance, he be anything ;” “an
almost ungovernable maniac, possessing all the vile quali¬
ties of the maternal stock ;” and so on. The Marquis’s feel¬
ings towards his too promising child would, in fact, notwith¬
standing his eccentricity, be quite inexplicable, did we not
know what evil influence reigned at the family hearth. The
Marchioness had retired, on the death of her father in 1757,
to his estates in Limousin; during her absence a certain
254 MIKA
Mirabeau. Swiss lady, by name De Pailly, came to reside at Bignon,
and the Marchioness returned no more. This bird of ill
omen carried discord and misery into the peaceful house
of Mirabeau, thenceforth divided against itself. Keeping
in view, then, the influences amid which Mirabeau was
trained, and the tyrannous pertinacity with which they were
directed to his ruin, the wonder is, to find this excitable and
headstrong being pass through it all so little injured ; to
see him still reverentially kissing the rod that had smitten
so unjustly and so sorely; still nourishing in his wild and
lacerated heart that “unutterable tenderness,” that genero¬
sity, that love of virtue, which even “ so much scoria” could
not obscure.
At length it was evident that Gabriel had become too
strong for his mild tutor M. Poisson, and he was put under
the care of M. Sigrais, a retired officer, and friend of the
family ; but, to the annoyance of the Marquis, the new go¬
vernor became quite “ fascinated” by his pupil, and gave far
too flattering an account of him. A severer discipline was
ordained; and in June 1764 young Mirabeau, now fifteen
years old, was placed with the Abbe Choquard, who kept
a military school at Paris. The Abbe was instructed not
to spare the rod ; and a more grievous than bodily punish¬
ment was administered in his being entered under the ficti¬
tious name of Pierre Buffiere. Choquard soon reported
very favourably; his pupil studied passionately, and with
prodigious success, classics, modern languages, mathematics
(under Lagrange), drawing, music, &c. An unfortunate
discovery checked this hopeful progress. The Marchioness
had been “secretly sending money to that reprobate;”
Gabriel was absolutely forbidden to correspond with any
member of his family; and at the suggestion of the enemy,
it was resolved to remove him. On the J9th July 1767 he
was entered as a volunteer into the Berri regiment of ca¬
valry, commanded by the Marquis of Lambert, a man no¬
torious for severity. He was accompanied by a man named
Grevin, an auxiliary of Madame de Pailly, duly authorized
by the Marquis to “ watch and denounce” M. Buffiere.
Despite this vile espionage and the extreme harshness of
discipline, the fiery youth behaved so well as to extort
some expressions of satisfaction even from his father. The
sunshine was brief, however; nature took her way in spite
of the furca. The Marquis, whose errors of judgment and
heart were as remarkable as his genuine sagacity and kind¬
ness, seemed to think that pocket-money was a sinful lux¬
ury even for the heir of all the Mirabeaus. That the young
soldier, then, contracted “ a few debts” will not be surpris-
ing; that being inexperienced in gaming, to which he
never was inclined, he lost 40 louis at play, will admit of
palliation ; that he, still farther, took leave to fall in love
with a pretty maiden of Saintes, and even to win her heart,
will not shock the most lofty moralist. Unhappily, how¬
ever, the close conjunction of these discoveries was coupled
with other aggravating facts:—the ugly young subaltern
had outrivalled his colonel; stung by insults and oppres¬
sion, he had fled to Paris to complain to his friend the
Duke of Nivernois; when brought back to his regiment
and confronted with his superiors and accusers, he had
energetically defended himself;—all which, to the stern eye
of the Friend of Men, afforded conclusive proof that his
son was a “ sink of vice,” fit only to be securely hedged
within four stone walls,—nay, perhaps to be more effectually
got rid of under the burning heat and pestilential vapours
of Surinam. On second thoughts, the anxious parent (who
at this very time was intensely occupied in the establish¬
ment of public ovens for economical baking) decided on
t le less barbarous alternative, and the young Count was duly
Sj in the fortress of the Isle of Rhe, there to soothe
ms chafed spirit with the wintry roar of the Bay of Biscay.
. .Ihe.bai111 °f Aulan, governor of the castle, had strict
injunctions to allow his prisoner no manner of liberty; and
BEAU.
the spy Grevin, whom the unsuspecting youth had begged Mirahean
as a favour to have with him, fulfilled his base office admir- v
ably. But in vain : not many days had passed before the
teirible gift of familiarity,” the frank and fascinating
warmth of the prisoner, had made a captive of his gaoler,
who presently became his intercessor, and recommended his
i el ease. The French expedition to Corsica against the
native patriots offered an eligible opening for a trouble¬
some monster : Mirabeau received a second lieutenant’s
commission in the Legion of Lorraine under the brave
Baron de Viomenil; and on the 16th April 1769 embarked
for Coisica. During a year of active and harassing service
he distinguished himself by his courage, ability, and in¬
dustry, winning the esteem and confidence of his superiors
and even some qualified approbation from the Friend of
Men. On his return he was permitted to go and kiss his
uncle’s hand at Mirabeau: the honour of beholding the pa¬
ternal countenance was as yet too much to grant. The Bailli
was delighted with his nephew, and sounded his praises day
after day. “ I think I never encountered so much wit; it
quite absorbed my poor brains—quite astounded me; he
would cast the very devil into the shade. “ Still better,
this brilliant youth showed “a feeling heart,” and the
grave Abbe de Castagny was ready to cry when he ex¬
claimed to him in a transport—“ Alas, that my father would
deign to know me; I know he thinks I have a bad heart,
but let him only try me!” To these affecting relations
the iron Marquis responds very cautiously; he is glad
to hear them, but will take his own way; there is no neces¬
sity for throwing off restraint too soon with a fellow whose
head is a wind and fire mill;” he never approved of
“ fathers and sons being hail-fellow-well-met.” From a
distance he condescends to direct and mould the mind
of the too aimless and romantic youth : there must be no
more reveries, literary or military—no more voyagings in
the planets; he must set himself steadily to the study of
the paternal science ; otherwise he will be a laughing-stock,
and disgrace his father.
These repeated advices were unfortunately quite thrown
away on M. le Comte Ouragan, who, so far from aspiring
to the apostleship of political economy, could see nothing
in the whole system but radical falsehood and barren pe¬
dantry. This blasphemous opinion was never hazarded in
his father’s presence, but easily found its way to his ears,
with such result as may be imagined. The young Count
had strong leanings towards a military life. “ It is in battle
only,” he said, “ that I am cool, calm, and lively without
impetuosity. I then feel myself grow taller.” The Friend
of Men, however, was determined to throw cold water on
his son’s “ smoke and military fire :” “ does he think I have
money to get him up battles like Harlequin and Scara¬
mouch ?” He must “ become rural;” must be well crammed
in the Economics and Ephemerides. Rural, accordingly,
the young man did for a time become, active employment
being for him a necessity of nature; and in surveys of the
Mirabeau estate, and plans for all kinds of improvements,
he found abundant occupation, working “like a galley
slave.” The Bailli was charmed by his nephew’s energy
and industry, and gently pressed his brother to relax a
little. “ You will find,” he said, “as I do, that the furnace
is hot,—very hot; but, my dear brother, let us bear in mind
his age, and the brimstone peculiar to our blood. It is well
that he should be within reach of being known ; for, being
perfectly open to reason, he listens to nothing else, and
finds it a frightful task to submit to any other human re¬
straints.” At length the Friend of Men gave in; and
received his son with what he called “ tenderness.” A
course of lecturing followed, with the best effect; and
shortly after the young Count was permitted to assume his
proper title. A severe famine, attended by much misery
and disorder, soon gave occasion for a display of his wonder-
MIRABEAU.
255
Mirabeau. ful power of dealing with men. He exerted himself from
v—morning to night, found work and food for the people, and
cheered them by his vivacious example, working with them
and presiding at the head of the common table. His father
had planned a court of rural arbitration for the settlement of
the disputes which abounded in the district, but despaired of
getting it established. Not so his son. By dint of energy and
tact, frankness and persuasion, he “ reconciled everybody,”
and set the new institution agoing with success. “ In one
word,” said the Marquis, “ he is the demon of the impos¬
sible” As the reward of his good conduct, the Marquis
allowed him, in the spring of 1771, to visit Paris. There,
as elsewhere, the young Count took everybody by storm,
astonishing even the old stagers of Versailles. In the sum¬
mer he was sent back to Limousin, the “black lady” becom¬
ing jealous of the good understanding between father and
son. Happily his mission prospered, and a still more diffi¬
cult and even dangerous errand to the Mirabeau estate was
crowned with like success.
His prospects, at their brightest, now began to be clouded.
The Marquis, separated from his son, and restored to De
Pailly influence, soon relapsed into his old mood, listen¬
ing to all ill reports, and doing wTell, as he thought, to be
eternally angry. The perpetuation of the name and hon¬
ours of the Riquetti lineage was with him at all times a
fixed idea, amounting to a kind of mania, and to get his
fatiguing “ wolf-cub” off his hands there seemed no better
device than marriage. After some looking about in the
market, it was decided that an alliance with the rich Mar¬
quis of Marignane was highly eligible. His only daughter,
Marie Emilie de Covet, was eighteen years of age, small,
plain-featured, and dark-complexioned; but she had fine
eyes and hair, a gay and amiable though weak disposition, and
“ great expectations.” Her the young Count consented to
woo ; but richer rivals were in the field. His overtures were
rejected, and he at once drew off. Spurred on, however,
by the taunts of his father, he again entered the lists, de¬
termined to carry all before him, and he succeeded. His
matchless powers of persuasion conquered not only the
young lady, but “all the female relations, both old and
young and on the 22nd June 1772 she became his wife.
The income assigned to the young pair was far short of
the original bargain, and utterly inadequate to maintain
their position in society. Mirabeau was already in debt,
and the bridal arrangements had been made regardless of
expense. No wonder, then, if the exchequer soon ran
empty. Help from the Friend of Men being out of the
question, Mirabeau appealed to his father-in-law, who offered
to lend him 60,000 livres if his father approved. A per¬
emptory refusal, backed by threats, was the reply; and
Mirabeau, now driven into a corner, retired from Aix to
his patrimonial castle. Here, however, his thoughtless
magnificence of taste, and his passion for improvements,
brought matters to a crisis. The Marquis, ever ready to
believe the worst, adopted his infallible resource, a lettre de
cachet, and Mirabeau was forced to retire, an interdicted
exile, to the small neighbouring town of Manosque. In
this banishment he lived more than a year, during the
course of which his wife bore him a son. Here also,
warm from the study of Tacitus and Rousseau, he gave the
first vent, in an Essay on Despotism, to that fiery hatred of
oppression which was the ruling impulse of his life. Though
full of haste and imperfections, its merits are as conspicuous
as its faults.
And now came the chivalrous offence which led to
new and deeper woes. That reckless ride of 20 leagues, to
save a foolish young chevalier from matrimonial shipwreck—
that fatal meeting on the highway with the aristocratic
bully who had insulted his sister and refused satisfaction—
that incontinent hiding of the noble recreant on the spot—
who has not sympathized wiih? The whipped Baron
instituted criminal proceedings; sentence was delayed for Mirabeau.
two years ; but a less tardy vengeance had been de-
creed by the inexorable Marquis; and on the 23d of
August 1774 Mirabeau was caged in the gloomy for¬
tress of If, perched on a barren rock near the entrance
of the port, of Marseilles. A friend had provided the
means of escape, and urged him to fly, but he submitted
obediently to the paternal mandate. The governor was
instructed to use the utmost severity, and bar all com¬
munication with the world; and to add to the prisoner’s
sorrows, his wife, who had retired to her father’s residence,
declined to join him. They never met again. But no re¬
strictions could prevail against that winning frankness and
buoyancy which vanquished every heart of man or woman
that ever came under their influence; and as usual the
governor became his friend and intercessor. As usual,
also, the prisoner was busy with his pen, and composed
during this confinement the interesting sketch of the
family history prefixed to his Memoirs.
In vain did his wife and family pray for his release, and the
commandant Dallegre bear testimony to his irreproachable
patience and resignation. The Friend of Men had his own
plans; and on the 2oth May 1775 the prisoner was removed
(passive as before, though armed, and with but a single
keeper) to a still drearier lodging, the castle of Joux, far
up among the snow and clouds of the Jura Mountains.
In this “ owl’s nest, enlivened by a few invalids,” Mira¬
beau at first abandoned himself to solitary gloom. His
keeper, the Count of St Mauris, was not a person to sweeten
his solitude ; but he permitted the prisoner occasionally
to visit the neighbouring town of Pontarlier. Here
Mirabeau was introduced to the only noble family in the
place, that of the Marquis de Monnier. This wealthy
and aged seigneur had, four years before, in revenge for
the marriage of his daughter against his consent, taken
to wife (or, properly speaking, bought) the daughter of
M. de Ruffey, a Burgundian law dignitary. His years
were seventy-one—hers eighteen; his character and habits
were reserved and ungenial,—she was beautiful, ardent,
and high-spirited. But home was dreary, and the choice
lay between the old man and a convent. So early sacri¬
ficed to parental avarice and senile revenge, her gloomy
life at length suddenly irradiated by the light of genius
and kindred sensibility, the result was inevitable. For some
time Mirabeau endeavoured to resist the fatal attraction
that now drew him to Pontarlier. He avoided the society of
Madame de Monnier, and wrote to his wife, passionately urg¬
ing her to come and share his confinement and strengthen
his resolve. In reply he received “ a few cold lines,” in
which his gay little wife, otherwise occupied, gently insinu¬
ated that he had lost his senses. What wonder that the
Riquetti flesh and blood took their way,—that the desolate
prisoner continued to prefer the society of Pontarlier to
that of his harsh-grained Cerberus at Joux? Meantime
the jealous governor, himself a baffled suitor of Madame
de Monnier, found a ready pretext for venting his spite on
the prisoner, and Mirabeau learned that aggravated horrors
were in store for him. His father, now in the thick of
a law-suit with his wife, was “ interested in continuing the
confinement of the rascal, lest he should come and support
his mother.” Roused to desperation he escaped, January
16th 1776, into Switzerland, returning, however, in two
days to Pontarlier, where he lived concealed. Madame de
Monnier, subjected to the most humiliating bondage, at last
broke loose and fled to her family at Dijon, Mirabeau follow¬
ing close behind. On the 24th March, she was sent back
to Pontarlier, and immediately thereafter Mirabeau sur¬
rendered himself to the authorities. He lost no time in
appealing to the benevolent Malesherbes. A commission
was appointed to examine his case, and reported favour¬
ably ; but meantime his lather pressed for his removal
256 MIRA
Mirabeau. to another fortress, and the minister, now on the eve of
retirement, could only advise him to go abroad and enter
foreign service. Nothing remained but flight; and hav¬
ing got back his parole, he set out for Verrieres, thence
to Geneva, and back to Lyons. Here he met his sister,
Madame de Cabris, accompanied by her “ friend” Brian-
son, a low and worthless adventurer. This foolish sister,
for whose sake he had suffered so much, had no better
advice to give than that he should escape with Sophie
to a foreign country, she and Brianson lending their aid.
Distracted, but not yet wholly lost to reason, he chose
rather to hide himself for a season in Provence. Forced
to fly, he went to Nice, and thence to Turin. Sophie
meanwhile, goaded by daily persecution, overwhelmed
him with passionate letters. The climax came at length :
' she tells him that her situation is too terrible to be borne;
it must have an end—“Gabriel or death!” Such ap¬
peals were hard to resist. But the paternal vengeance
was now on his trail; and for nearly two months he was
hunted over hill and dale, over ford and ferry, through
Nice and Turin, over the Great St Bernard, and down
into the Valais. His route had been betrayed by his base
companion Brianson, and on the 23d August, as he de¬
scended on Verrieres, the enemy were only two days’march
behind. But they were too late ; that night Sophie, dressed
in man’s attire, crossed the garden wall by a ladder, and
flew to Verrieres.
On the 7th October they reached Amsterdam. Mirabeau,
who had assumed the name of St Mathieu, was now left en¬
tirely to his own resources, and at once applied for employ¬
ment to the booksellers. After waiting for three months, he
was at last successful, so far at least as quantity was con¬
cerned ; he was “ overwhelmed with work.” Among the
books which he partially translated were Mrs Macauley’s
History of England, Watson’s Philip II., and some of
Gesner’s works. Of his original compositions the most
important was his Advice to the Hessians, an eloquent
pamphlet against the Hessian subsidy to Britain for putting
down the American revolution. Rest in this quiet haven
was not long permitted to the fugitives; their retreat became
known in France, and the Marquis de Monnier offered to
take back his wife. Mirabeau would listen to no such pro¬
posal, and the Marquis instituted a criminal action. On
the 10th May 1777 the bailiwick of Pontarlier convicted
Mirabeau of “ forcible abduction and seduction ” {rapt et
vol), sentencing him to be beheaded (in effigy), with 40,000
livres of damages; while Sophie was condemned to life
imprisonment in the Besanfon house of correction, with
forfeiture of marriage rights and dowry. The parents on
both sides were not satisfied with a mere sentence; the
police were again unleashed, and on the 14th May their
old pursuer, Inspector Brugnieres, descended on his prey.
Sophie was carried off to a private penitentiary in Paris;
Mirabeau to the donjon of Vincennes.
Now at length the unmanageable heir of the Riquettis
was tightly fixed under thefurca, no more to spring up and
shoot his arms at his own wild will; straitly trained to a
stone wall, he might bring forth the fruits of repentance at
his leisure. The Marquis was now satisfied: his son was
ruined ; but he had brought an heir to the house of Mira¬
beau, and that was his “ chief end” as man. That end
having been attained, the future destiny of the criminal
was fixed with icy determination. After the usual com¬
munion with his “ conscience,” he resolved on perpetual
imprisonment. As to the opinion of the stupid world,
what mattered it? He would, so long as health and
spirits lasted, “ please God, play the part of Rhadaman-
thus. Thus, then, the door of hope seemed absolutely
shut. But hope and effort were never, save for one brief
season of utter despair, abandoned by the prisoner. Shut
up in a chamber ten feet square, environed in winter by
B E A U.
“ smoke and ice miserably clothed ; tormented by fail- Mirabeau.
ing eyesight, stone, gravel, and blood-spitting; visited i
only by a turnkey charged to silence; one hour a day for
exercise ; few books, and these bad; denied the solace of
music or any other recreation,—this ruined man battled
indomitably with fate, and laboured as industriously as any
journeyman in Paris. The extraordinary interest which he
inspired in all his keepers won him, even in this stronghold
of despair, unwonted privileges. Through the kindness of
Lenoir, head of the police, he was permitted to correspond
with his mistress, on condition that all letters should pass
under the eyes of his confidential assistant, Boucher, and
afterwards remain in his keeping. For three and a half
years the lovers interchanged their passionate sympathies,
their tender reminiscences, their griefs and their hopes.
The version of these letters given to the world in 1792,
through the unscrupulous greed of Manuel, procureur of
the commune, is, according to M. Montigny, neither com¬
plete nor faithful; but how far the reckless prurience of the
editor may have tampered with the originals, it is neither
possible nor important now to determine. Of Mirabeau’s
other compositions during his confinement, the most im¬
portant by far was his Lettres de Cachet and State Prisons,
a work of immense labour, directed with vehement zeal
towards a very noble end. His Espion Devalise, his Col¬
lection of Tales, his translations of Tibullus, of Boccaccio,
and of the Basia of Johannes Secundus, are little worth.
Of the Biblion Eroticon and Conversion, judging by re¬
port, the less that is said the better. Besides all these,
were an elaborate treatise on Inoculation, drawn up for
the benefit of his own and Sophie’s child; translations of
Horace, Ovid, Catullus, Propertius, and Tasso’s Aminia ; a
general grammar; dramas; treatises on Mythology, on Reli¬
gious Houses, on Standing Armies, &c.,—all which have been
lost. Assuredly, whether well or ill employed, the prisoner
was not idle. The idea of escape, save by legitimate means,
seems never to have crossed his mind ; and he perseveringly
pleaded his cause, though without effect. He had been
fifteen months in prison when the death of his son, “ the
last hope of our race,” fell like a thunderbolt on the Friend
of Men, who began to think himself “ an especial object of
Heaven’s wrath,”—he, who had sounded his “ conscience”
every day, and “ never did, nor wished to do, injury to a
human being.” In vain, however, was this occasion used
to excite relentment. To his brother’s timid remonstrances
he answers in this truly Rhadamanthine style,—“ I have
rendered justice in my capacity of natural and domestic
judge, and I could see, unmoved by remorse, the mother
in the pillory and the son on the gallows tree! I should
nevertheless carry my head erect and my bosom bare.”
The good Bailli still persevered; and the gradual progress
of the intercession, as revealed in their correspondence, is
one of the most interesting parts of the adopted son’s
memoirs. His favourite daughter, Madame du Saillant,
assiduously aided her uncle ; and at length Rhadamanthus
announced that, “ for his own purpose, as well as ours, he
should be liberated after trial.” “Our purpose” was the
perpetuation of the family: “ If my grandson had lived,
I should never have swerved from the word I gave to keep
the father in prison.” The happy day came at last; and
on the 13th December 1780, after 42 months of dur¬
ance, Mirabeau, with scarcely a rag to cover him, strode
forth from his dungeon. At the hotel of his brother-in-law
the grim portrait of the Marquis looked down on him from
the wall; he burst into tears, uttering only the words, ‘ My
poor father!’ Here is his first meeting with that father after
an interval of nine years :—“ I found myself face to face
with him one day as I left Desjobert’s. His eye was piercing
—his appearance strong and healthy. He cast down his
eyes, drew to one side as far as he could, and I passed on.”
Mirabeau’s first work on regaining his liberty was the
MIRA
Mirabeau. attempt to settle the long warfare of his parents; but the
only result of his interference was an irrevocable alienation
from his mother’s love. She succeeded in her suit, and
the report having spread that her defeat was to be the
signal for the Marquis’s reconciliation to his son, the old
man determined to falsify it by receiving him at once.
Boucher, the “ good angel ” of Vincennes, acted as media¬
tor ; and on the 20th May 1 <81, amid the tears of a friendly
circle, the prodigal knelt at his father’s feet. He spent the
next eight months at Bignon, exerting himself to help and
please his father, and so successfully, that the old man now
found it necessary to defend himself and his prodigal from
the mild sarcasms of the Bailli. “ A son” he said, “ can¬
not be amputated like an arm.” Something told him, in
spite of all outward appearances, that his son was “ not more
dangerous than a stuffed scarecrow; that the sternness
with which he has contrived to invest his person, his re¬
putation, and his mighty deeds, is nothing but smoke ; and
that at bottom there is no man in the kingdom less capa¬
ble of committing a deliberate act of wickedness.” During
this period took place that last melancholy interview be¬
tween Mirabeau and his long-lost Sophie. There had been
jealousy and suspicion, now there were reproaches and re¬
criminations; “the anger on both sides passed all reason¬
able boundsand so the lovers parted for ever.
And now Mirabeau girded himself to the great task of
“ replacing his head on his shoulders,”—getting the Pont-
arlier sentence reversed. The most able criminal lawyers
pronounced the case frightfully complicated. His father
and uncle, dismayed by the difficulties, scandal, and ex¬
pense, proposed to solicit letters of abolition ; in other
words, to get the sentence quashed by a royal edict. But
Mirabeau scorned a remedy which would absolve himself
alone; and though Sophie generously urged him to yield,
he was peremptory in his resolution to clear both or neither.
“ Since the days of the late Julius Caesar,” said the old
man, “ audacity and rashness have never existed in such
strength.” On the 2d February 1782 he left Bignon, ac¬
companied by an able advocate named Desbirons, who
soon, to his surprise and vexation, found his part in the
business reduced to that of merely copying and examining
documents for his client. Conciliation having been first
attempted, with indifferent success, Mirabeau surrendered
himself a prisoner at Joux, and a few days after obtained a
provisional release. Against this the prosecutor appealed,
and the prisoner was remanded. Mirabeau now opened
his guns on the enemy, and continued firing till all France
resounded with the “ Case of the Count of Mirabeau.” On
the 5th March he appeared at the bar, and for ten hours
was confronted with two of the principal witnesses, whom he
succeeded in utterly demolishing, though “ well crammed,”
and that touching things that had passed under their own
eyes. The Marquis was in high dudgeon : he had “humi¬
liated the witnesses, exasperated the judges, and insulted
everybody.” The Bailli took a calmer view of the whole
business:—“ Who, in that infamous Babylon, where every¬
thing scandalous in such an affair is soldered, cicatrized, and
settled, is not, either by deed or will, guilty of all that is es¬
sentially blameable in the conduct of the Infallible cf It is
true that he has given it more eclat; but the groundwork
of the thing is the same,—adultery, rape, and seduction, sup¬
posing him to be guilty of all three, though he is guilty only
of one, form the history of almost all men ; in his case there
is only a noisy publicity in addition.” Here was the secret
of all the terrible ill-lame of the Count of Mirabeau,—he
had dared to break through the trammels of fashionable
decorum, doing openly and bravely what it was “ proper”
to hush and veil under the polite forms of a corrupt society ;
BEAU. 257
and that society, irritated and alarmed at the exposure, Mirabeau.
shuddered, not at the crime, but at the monstrous courage v >
that justified it unabashedly in the face of day. Such a
sin was, and ever has been, unpardonable.
Mirabeau’s appeal for release was rejected ; and three
days after, he appealed the whole case to the Grand Cham¬
ber. His father sent his son-in-law, the Count du Saillant,
to negotiate a compromise, but the undaunted prisoner
would hear of none. He had reserved his heaviest ar¬
tillery to the last, and now discharged his Third Case into
the besieging camp. The prosecutor, Sombarde, who had
throughout displayed the most indecent animosity, was
within the prohibited degree of relationship to the accuser,
and on this ground Mirabeau founded a most withering
philippic. “ If this,” said he, with his sublime self-esteem,
“ be not eloquence unknown to these slavish times, I know
not what that gift of heaven is, so seducing and so rare!”
The enemy’s fire was fairly silenced; and, after some de¬
lay and quarrelling, the matter was finally settled on the
14th August, Mirabeau getting his own terms, and satis¬
factorily proving his father’s admission, that he was “ in
extreme cases very superior to a wise man.” The Pont-
arlier sentence was reversed, the Marquis and Marchioness
de Monnier separated, her dowry returned, and a conditional
annuity of 12,000 francs a year settled on her. Having
thus triumphantly replaced his head on his shoulders, the
freed prisoner remained four days at Pontarlier, and exhi¬
bited himself in all public places for the benefit of his old
friend Count St Mauris, or any other gentleman who might
wish to speak with him, feeling, as he told his sister, “ sadly
in want of being run through the body.”
The Friend of Men, while granting a qualified approba¬
tion to these proceedings, was as tough as ever on the
subject ot money; and in this melancholy predicament
Mirabeau, having some MSS. to dispose of, retired for two
or three months to Neufchatel. Here, in spite of private
woes, his public spirit found vent in a long and eloquent
letter to the Count de Vergennes, showing the injuries
inflicted on the Genevese republic by the intervention of
France in favour of aristocracy. Meantime his sister
pleaded for his return, and the Marquis requested the
Bailli to receive him. He endeavoured to make the recep¬
tion as ceremonious as possible, but quite failed ; the cor¬
diality of his nephew was too infectious, and the enthusiasm
of the peasantry, “ though he was in debt to some of them,”
passed all bounds. It was now time for Mirabeau to set
about his second great task,—a reconciliation with his wife.
The obstacles seemed insurmountable; she was passive in
the hands of her exasperated father, and Mirabeau’s letters
were at first answered coldly, then with insults, and finally
sent back unopened. The Bailli seconded his nephew's
endeavours, while the Marquis held disdainfully aloof. Fie
had no wish “ to throw himself at the feet of that troop of
play-actors1 to beg for posterity it was time to stop that
universal question, “ Shall we never hear anything else but
about that unruly race of the Mirabeaus ?” All means of
conciliation being exhausted, proceedings began in form,
and on the 20th March 1783 the case came on for hearing
at Aix. The court was crowded to excess; on the one
side were the Marquis of Marignane, surrounded by a host
of friends and advocates ; on the other Mirabeau appeared
with but three companions, and these three Englishmen,
no Frenchman daring to stand by him. Two young advo¬
cates had lent him their assistance, but he pleaded his own
cause. Restraining his usual vehemence as suited the line
of defence, he spoke with great gentleness and moderation,
with moving softness and dignity. Old Marignane at first
sneered and tittered; as the speaker proceeded he bent his
1 We are informed, on the Bailli’s authority, that the Countess “ acted plays and received the news of her husband’s condemnation to
death on a stage erected over the remains of her child.”
VOL. XV.
2 K
258
M I R A B E A U.
Mirabeau- head, and at last he wept, as did half the audience.
The pleading closed amid a tumult of enthusiasm, and
Mirabeau’s demand for a provisional reunion was sus¬
tained ; but this temporary triumph only heightened the
bitterness and activity of the enemy. The case came for
final hearing before the Grand Chamber of Aix. On
three several days Mirabeau pleaded before intensely ex¬
cited audiences. On the final day the sensation reached
its climax. Despite police and barricades, all doors and
lobbies were stormed, and the very roofs of the neighbour¬
ing houses swarmed with human beings eager to catch even
the distant hum of the pleader’s voice.1 So far as the public
was concerned the triumph was complete ; but one-half of
the judge were relatives of Marignane! In proof of
his kindness to his spouse, Mirabeau had quoted a letter
dated May 28, 1774, proving his forgiveness in the case
of a grave faux pas. This point was eagerly caught at
by the public prosecutor as a ground for nullifying the
husband’s claim to cohabitation, and on it the whole case
was made to turn. On the 5th July the chamber decreed
a separation of body and goods, a sentence which was re¬
ceived with hisses by the angry public. The popular sym¬
pathy was some consolation to the defeated husband, and
in due time bore fruit; he had made himself “ the idol of
the whole country.” He resolved to appeal to the Court
of Cassation at Paris; but the indefatigable intrigues of
the enemy, and his own recklessness, defeated his efforts.
A new Case, issued by him at Lyons, was suppressed by
the keeper of the seals, whom he vainly attempted to en¬
lighten on the subject of civil liberty; an appeal to the
king was equally fruitless. As a parting shot, he repub¬
lished his Case in Belgium, appending a sarcastic account
of his interview with the seal-keeper ; and, foreseeing
troubles, made sail for England, accompanied by his fair
friend Madame de Nehra.
His fortunes were now at their lowest ebb, and for the
next five years his life was one of perpetual strait and
struggle, of wandering and embarrassment, of hand-to-
mouth expedients and reckless improvidence, of incessant
and vehement activity, of headlong controversy, and of evil
reputation—but a life still of high endurance, of patriotic
zeal, of unconquerable independence. In England he re¬
sided eight months, of which some record is preserved in
a collection of letters written during that period. He
was, of course, an acute, and, for a foreigner, an unusually
fair observer of the national peculiarities. In his wrestlings
with despotism he had often turned an eye of respect and
longing towards Britain, and now he was able to see the
practical working of that constitution which, in spite of
defects and anomalies, seemed to him the best pattern
tor other nations to follow who had their own to rebuild.
Among his most intimate friends were Romilly, Sir Gilbert
Elliott (afterwards Lord Minto), and the Earl of Peter¬
borough ; and despite his formidable fame, he had access
to “ good society,” in both senses of the term. As usual,
he was full of great literary schemes ; but the English pub¬
lishers were not easily caught by flaming prospectuses.
He wrote much, but published only Considerations on the
Order of Cincinnati, a bulky volume, spun out from a
thin pamphlet by an American, on a subject no longer in¬
teresting ; and Doubts on the Freedom of the Scheldt—a
defence of the Dutch monopoly against the designs of the
Emperor Joseph II. At the end of seven months he sent
out Madame de Nehra from the ark to spy the aspect of
things abroad, and soon after followed her, reaching Paris
on the 1st April 1785.
He now meditated a retirement to Provence for the Mirabeau.
composition ot some great undefined work of history, but the
illness of his (so-called) adopted son detained him in Paris,
and his thoughts soon turned into a new channel. Intimacy
with the Genevese exile Claviere, and his compatriot the
banker Panchaud, directed his attention to the subject of
finance, into the mazes of which he plunged with charac¬
teristic energy. I he stock-jobbing fury was at this time at
a climax in France, and Mirabeau determined to attack the
hydra. At three of its principal heads were his thrusts
directed,—the Bank of Discount, the Bank of St Charles,
and the I axis W ater Company. Between the months of
May and December he issued five large pamphlets on these
topics. His Genevese friends supplied the raw material;
the arguments, the eloquence, the vituperation, were all his
own. A rapid fall in the shares showed that his blows had
told; and the rage and hostility excited were as the rousing
of a nest of hornets. The new minister at first counted
anced him, but having got into deep waters, soon found it
expedient to shake off his fiery ally ; and two of Mirabeau’s
pamphlets, one of which M. Calonne had himself revised,
were successively suppressed. The attack on the Water
Company was answered by the witty author of Figaro with
a^ delicately cutting irony, to which Mirabeau, now in
Brussels, replied with a vehemence of invective redeemed
only by the utmost magnificence of style.
At the close of 1785 he left Brussels with a vague design
of visiting the north of Eux-ope, but once beyond the Rhine
he felt strongly drawn towards Berlin, where the great
Frederick, now scant of breath, but as fresh in head and
fiery in texnper as ever, was nearing the end of his long life-
march. The king had ceased to receive foreigners; but to
the general surprise, and the special chagrin of all the French
residents, he twice gave audience to the doubtful stranger,
whom his sharp eye had already noted as one fit to speak in
the gate with kings. Mirabeau’s first work on arriving was
a long and bitter letter to M. Calonne, justifying himself
against the minister; but his friends in Paris, to whom he
sent it for x-evision, wisely refrained from publication. He
worked incessantly at Berlin, but published only a pamphlet
on Cagliostro and Lavater, castigating the impudent quack¬
ery of the one and the more honest but fanatical reveries
of the other. About this time, also, he composed one of his
best productions, published in the following year,—an Essay
on Moses Mendelssohn and the Jews, in which he advo¬
cates principles of toleration not yet carried out towards the
ancient people. At the end of four months he returned to
Paris, and in a few weeks he was on his way back, commis¬
sioned as a secret agent to the Prussian court. On the day
after the great Frederick’s death he addressed his successor
in a long and eloquent letter,replete with very noble counsel,
delivered with such dignified frankness as i-arely finds way
to royal ears. His correspondence, and the accumulation of
materials for a great work on the Prussian monarchy, occu¬
pied him constantly during six months. Two causes moved
him to return to Paris : he had grown weary of his under¬
hand employment, and wished a more honourable and ac¬
knowledged position. He had received the tidings, too, of
the convocation of the Notables, and was in hopes of being
appointed their secretary, having been the first to suggest
the measure. In this hope he was disappointed; and, un¬
sheathing his pen, within three weeks he wrote and pub¬
lished his Denunciation of Stock-jobbing. In this slashing
pamphlet he commenced his assaults on Necker’s financial
measures, which he followed up with blow upon blow most
perseveringly, most courageously, but also with most in-
9 til]1?1,0’1!3 ^ i!aJcluls,s yei;sion of the affair :—“ My poor brother writes to me that his nephew spoke and pleaded from a quarter past
Hark i ° C °V "r 1°;^ sP1^^nS or blowing his nose. But I tell you that this posthumous Cicero is nothing more than an incorrigible
, , aw an.;,a fool\ . 9ri the same severe authority we learn, that the opposite counsel, the celebrated Portalis, got such a dressing
e was 01 ne fainting out of the Court,’ and kept his bed for days, a victory unparalleled in the annals of the long robe.
MIRA
Mirabeau. temperate personality. The Denunciation had great suc-
cess, and even the king acknowledged that Mirabeau had
done the state good service. It was suppressed, never¬
theless ^ and the denouncer received warning of a seven¬
teenth lettve de cachet in readiness for him. He took
refuge in Liege; and on the 24th May he set out to¬
wards Berlin for the purpose of completing his book. He
lemained three months at Brunswick with his friend and
helper Major Mauvillon, encouraged in his labours by the
Duke, through whom he obtained the King of Prussia’s
authority to consult state papers. The book appeared a
year after in 8 vols. 8vo (and 4 vols. 4to). It was by far the
most important and elaborate work he had yet produced,
and greatly enhanced his reputation as a writer. His
excellent coadjutor, to whom the credit of the composition
was often attributed, has warmly disclaimed any right of
paternity,—any merit save that of a most industrious and
faithful Gibeonite.
At the close of September he returned to Paris, and
was greatly shocked by the state of public affairs. The
Parliament of Paris had just been banished to Troyes by
Brienne, and things were daily looking worse. Advances
were made to him by that crafty minister, but they were
firmly declined. He was determined to preserve his inde¬
pendence till the fit hour came. While avowing his desire
for active employment, he would remain in his obscurity
“ until there succeeds to the present confusion a regular
order of things'—until some great revolution, whether good
or evil, command a good citizen, always accountable for
his suffrage, and even for his talents, to raise his voice.
That revolution cannot tarry long.” The day after the re¬
fusal of the Parliament to register the enormous loan of 420
millions, he wrote to M. de Montmorin, showing in impas¬
sioned terms the fatal tendency of events, the wisdom of
timely concessions, and the necessity of announcing the
States General. But the curse of eyes that saw not, and ears
that would not hear, had visited the rulers of France. They
still hoped to do without the States General; and finding the
Parliament obstructive, Mirabeau was strongly urged to write
against it. The answer was noble from a man steeped to the
lips in poverty, and with nothing to lose save the conscious¬
ness of independence: “Do not compromise a zealous servant
who, when the time comes to devote himself to his country,
will count the danger as nothing, but who, for all the thrones
in the world, will never prostitute his name in support of an
equivocal cause, where the end is uncertain, the principle
doubtful, and the course dark and bodeful.” In the summer
of 1788, his friends Romilly and Dumont visited Paris.
Mirabeau’s character, the latter tells us, was “ in the lowest
possible state of degradation.” Feared and suspected, the
proud ruined aristocrat lived like an Ishmaelite—too well
known but ignored, too honest to be bought, too poor to be
courted. His old friends were afraid to compromise them¬
selves by renewing the acquaintance, but they could not
resist him ; he took them by storm ; and Dumont ere long
was delighted and proud to hew wood and carry water for
his gigantic friend.1 Soon after this, doubtless under the
pressure of sheer penury, he committed the grievous folly
and wrong of publishing, under the title of Secret History
of the Cabinet of Berlin, his confidential letters to the
French ministry. This scandalous publication excited in¬
tense wrath against the author, and was ordered to be
burned by the hands of the executioner.
At length the hour struck, long wished for, long delayed.
On the 8th August 1788 De Brienne announced the con¬
vocation of the States General for the 1st of May 1789;
BEAU. 259
and Mirabeau was up and doing. At length, out of the Mirabeau.’
depths of darkness and humiliation, there broke upon him
the light of day—the vision of a new and great arena, of vic¬
tories and triumphs for his country and for himself. Now he
would purge away the shame of the past in the glory of the
future; France was to be saved, and saved by him! In Janu¬
ary 1789 he took wing for Provence, launching, before his
departure, another furious tirade against Necker, at that
moment the idol of France. He presented himself for
election to the nobility of Provence,—“ the most ignorant,
greedy, and insolent body of nobles ” he had ever seen,—
opposing them all single-handed in the discussions as to the
mode of election, and drawing down upon himself their
implacable hostility and rage. In reply to their attacks, he
published a pamphlet literally blazing with indignant elo¬
quence. “ Generous friends of the peace !” he exclaims,
“ I do here appeal to your honour, and summon you to
declare what expressions of mine are wanting in the respect
due to the royal authority or to the nation’s rights ! Nobles
of Provence, Europe is attentive ; weigh well your reply !
Priests of the living God, beware ; God hears you ! But
if you maintain silence, if you entrench yourselves behind
the vague declamations you have hurled at me, then suffer
me to add one word:—In all countries, in all ages, the
aristocrats have implacably persecuted the people’s friends ;
and if, by some strange combination of fortune, such an
one have arisen from among themselves, him above all have
they struck at, eager to inspire terror by the choice of their
victim. Thus perished the last of the Gracchi by the
hand of the patricians ; but struck with the mortal blow,
he flung dust towards heaven, calling to rvitness the
avenging deities, and from that dust sprang Marius—
Marius, less great for having exterminated the Cimbri than
for having overthrown in Rome the tyranny of the no¬
blesse !” At the next meeting it was decreed that Mira¬
beau, having no fiefs of his own, had no right to sit in the
Assembly; and the proud tribune, casting the dust from
his feet, now threw himself into the arms of the Plebs.
4 he story of his having, to win their favour, opened a
clothiery shop at Marseilles, is too absurd for belief had it
even rested on good authority. Mirabeau needed no such
devices to ingratiate himself with the enthusiastic Pro-
ven^aux : he was already adored by them. Plis reception
at Aix was triumphant beyond parallel. The whole country
turned out; the air rang with vivats, with the thunder of
cannon, and the pealing of bells ; there were processions
by day and illuminations at night. At Marseilles the en¬
thusiasm was equal, and on the day of his departure he
was escorted by “a hundred and twenty thousand” people
and a retinue of three hundred carriages. At both cities
famine, riot, and disorganization soon called for an exhi¬
bition of his magical faculty for subduing and pacifying the
most formidable elements. Shortly after he was elected
deputy both for Aix and Marseilles: on consideration he
decided to sit for Aix.
At this point Mirabeau’s history mingles with that of
France. Into the remaining twenty-four months of his
life were crowded events and labours fit for many years—
labours that finally cut short the thread of a life in more
senses than one too fast for human strength. Raised, as
soon as prejudice had been conquered by his personal in¬
fluence and the urgency of affairs, to indisputable supre¬
macy in the Assembly, his aims throughout corresponded
with his first professions. “ War with the privileged and
with privileges, that was his motto : “ To crush the minis¬
terial despotism and relieve the royal authority f that was
1 This excellent man, whose Recollections of Mirabeau contain a good deal of striking truth and some very graphic pictures with
much confusion, vague reminiscence, and doubtful statements, amusingly describes his own feelings “ When 1 worked for Mira
beau I seemed to feel the pleasure of an obscure individual who had changed his children at nurse, a~nd introduced them into a great
family : he would be obliged to respect them, although he was their father.” °
260 MIRA
Mirabeau. hjg ajm, fJe soon found that the wreck of despotism was
v>—dragging with it the throne, that the blows which shook
the one were undermining the other; and when he saw the
very existence of the monarchy at stake he placed himself
single-handed in the breach—too late, indeed, for his own
fame and the good of his country. That he loved the breath
of popular applause is true; that he scorned and braved
the fierce ardor civium, when conscious of right, is not less
so. His haughty soul may have inly spurned the many¬
headed monster which he had helped to loose. But let it
not be denied him that he truly loved the People and battled
for their rights, and as truly loved and battled for the
Crown. How to reconcile these two—herein was his diffi¬
culty; a difficulty that might well have entangled and foiled
a spirit less compassed with infirmity, an ambition more
severely regulated than belonged to him. But that he
basely pandered to the rage of a faction, and then sold
himself in secret to the enemy with whom he professed to
war—this is a view of his character that must be left to
those whose special pleasure it is to lower our estimate of
human nature, and who ever choose the worst hypothesis to
account for what is dubious or abnormal in the conduct of
men raised above their fellows.
On the 4th of May 1789 the national deputies marched
in procession from Versailles to Notre Dame, amid the
feverish expectation of all Paris and all France. Of the
600 members of the third estate, one alone attracted every
eye. Among others who crowded the balconies of Versailles
was Madame de Stael, who thus vividly pictures what she
saw:—“You could not but look long on this man when
once you had observed him. His immense black head of hair
distinguished him among them all; you would have said
his force depended on it like that of Samson ; his face
borrowed new expression from its very ugliness. His
whole person gave you the idea of an irregular power, but
a power such as you would figure in a tribune of the
people.” On his first appearance in the Assembly his
name was greeted with murmurs; before many weeks had
passed he swayed 'it at his wilL He had already arranged
for the publication of a Journal of the Slates General.
Being free in its sarcasms, on Necker in particular, it
was suppressed after the second number; but Mirabeau
continued to enlighten the public in Letters to his Consti¬
tuents, soon after converted into the Courier of Provence,
under which name the journal went on long after he had
ceased to have any concern in it. In this work he secured,
with his usual marvellous power, the services of zealous co¬
adjutors,—Dumont, Duroverai, Reybaz, and others. These
assisted him also in the preparation of his speeches; and if
Dumont speaks truly, he did not scruple to deliver orations
wholly composed by other hands.1 At first lie spoke seldom,
till he felt his way. He very soon discerned the dangerous
and destructive temper of the Assembly; and while the
question of the verification of powers was obstructing pro¬
gress, he communicated his fears to the government through
Malouet, a friend of Necker, urging them to be wise in
time, and concluding with this offer:—“ If they have a plan,
and that plan be reasonable, I shall defend it.” Unfortu¬
nately they had no reasonable plan. A meeting indeed
took place between Mirabeau and Necker, but the severely
respectable minister received the scandalous Count with
chilling coldness and reserve. Mirabeau left him in indig¬
nation, saying, “ I will go to him no more, but he shall hear
of me!”
On the 23d of June occurred the memorable De
Breze scene, the turning-point of the Revolution. From
t iat day Mirabeau was felt to be the foremost man, the
BEAU.
ruling spirit of the Assembly. He was greatly moved at Mirabeau.
not having been warned beforehand of the intentions of the
court. “ It is thus,” he said, “ that kings are led to the scaf¬
fold.” On the 11th of July the old Marquis died at Argen-
teuil, having lived to rejoice unstintedly in the triumphs of
his son. Mirabeau,though urged by hisfriends to offer himself
as a candidate for the mayoralty of Paris, with good prospect
of success, hastened to attend to his father’s obsequies, and
for three days, days of terrible commotion, he mingled
little in public business. Bertrand de Moleville, searching
for the cause of this silence, attributes it to “profound in¬
tentions !” The truth is, that Mirabeau viewed with deep
horror the frantic excesses of the populace, and in his letters
to his constituents openly expressed his belief that “ the
continuance of popular dictation would expose the public
liberty more than the plots of its enemies.” “ Too often,” he
added, “danger rallies absolute rule; and in the midst of
anarchy a despot may even seem a saviour:” words pro¬
phetically true. On the 1st of September, in the face of
fierce opposition and popular excitement, he spoke in favour
of the King’s absolute veto. On the 24th he defended the
income tax of his enemy Necker, believing it necessary
for the public salvation. “ The force,” says Dumont, “with
which he presented so commonplace a subject was miracu¬
lous ; he elevated it to sublimity. They who heard this speech
will never forget it. From that day Mirabeau was considered
as a being superior to other men : he had no rival. There
were indeed other orators, but he alone was eloquent.”
The suspicions of his complicity in the tumults of the 5th
and 6th October, and of conspiring with the Duke of Orleans,
have been utterly refuted by the testimony alike of friends
and enemies. As has more than once been said, he never
had any “ party;” his only party was “his head.” On the
6th November he opposed with all his energy the insidious
motion against a deputy’s being minister, or vice versa. His
defeat on this occasion deeply wounded him; for the words
“no deputy,” he bitterly said, it might be as well to substi¬
tute “ no deputy of the name of Mirabeau!”
Towards the close of the following spring appear to
have begun his communications with the court, through
the medium of his friend the Count de Lamarck. For a
considerable time he had been comparatively silent, viewing
the proceedings of the Assembly with a kind of sorrowful
anger and disdain. In reply to the overtures made, he gave
a full statement of his views in a letter dated May 10, 1790.
He declares his invincible repugnance to enter on a new
part, if he were not convinced that the restoration of the
King’s legitimate authority is the only means of saving
France. He sees the nation daily drifting into anarchy,
and he is “ indignant at the bare idea of having contributed
only to a vast demolition.” He engages to serve the King
with all his influence, but is as “utterly opposed to a coun¬
ter-revolution” as he has been to the excesses already com¬
mitted. He requires two months to collect his forces and
arrange his plans ; his conduct must not be judged by single
speeches or acts; he promises finally to the King “ loyalty,
zeal, activity, courage,—everything but success.” In con¬
formity with this programme, he at once commenced ope¬
rations, and established an agency throughout the kingdom
for conveying intelligence and furthering his designs. That,
in consideration of these services, in which Mirabeau really
acted the part of an unrecognised prime minister, a few of his
debts were paid from the civil list, and a monthly pension
assigned him, which there is ground for supposing never to
have been regularly drawn, are facts known to the world.
How far they establish the cliarge of venality must be left
to individual judgment; this at least is certain, that he in¬
to u™on . while doing his own best to strip Mirabeau of “ his borrowed plumes,” confesses that “ Mirabeau had certainly a right
consi er imself the parent of all these productions, because he presided at their birth, and without his indefatigable activity they
ou n<.\ei iave seen the light.” He is speaking of other works, but the application holds good for all.
MIRA
Mirabeau. curr^d ,arge expenses in the interest of the Kinp:, and that
v , / he died insolvent. Those who incline to the more favour¬
able view of his conduct will see some force in the saying
ascribed to himself,—“ A man like me might accept 100,000
crowns, but I am not to be bought for that sum ”1 Be that
as it may, from this time Mirabeau’s whole strength was
bent on the salvation of the monarchy. On the 20th May
he supported the King’s right to declare war or peace in a
long and masterly oration. Great efforts were made to in¬
timidate him ; hawkers went bawling through the streets of
Paris, “ Grande Trahison du Comte de Mirabeau !” and the
very tree was marked on which he was to hang. On the
morning of the 22d the avenues leading to the Salle de
Manege were thronged with angry crowds. His friends
entreated him not to venture out, but his courage was of
the kind that danger stimulates. “I know it well enough,”
he said, “ I must come hence to-day triumphant or piece¬
meal !” Triumphant he did come.
About the end of May took place his celebrated interview
with the Queen. What had passed between them none ever
knew, save that the Queen was delighted with Mirabeau, and
he with her. But neither Queen nor court thoroughly or sin¬
cerely co-operated in the great schemes of Mirabeau ; they
had their own little schemes, ever varying with the feelings
and changes of the hour. On the 30th Decemher he ad¬
dressed a long memorial to the Queen, expounding in detail
his plans, and offering advices,—plans and advices far too
wise and simple to be followed, though perseveringly urged
up to the time of his death.
On the 1st Feb. 1791 he took his place as President of the
Assembly, a distinction hitherto withheld through envy, and
now yielded in the hope of lessening his influence by com¬
pelling him into silence. A foolish miscalculation; there,
racked by internal pains, his neck swathed in linen to
stanch the blood of leech-bites, administered between the
sittings, his life consuming fiercely as it neared the close,
the great tribune, never so great as now, sat and swayed the
elements that raged around him. “Never,” says Dumont,
“had this office been so well filled. He displayed in it a
new kind of talent. He introduced a degree of order and
clearness into the proceedings of which no member had
previously the least conception. He simplified forms, could
render the question clear by a single word, and also by a
single word put down tumult.”
The end was approaching; for many weeks he had felt
that his life-blood was being drained. Confident in his
great strength, he had never slackened his pace, never stinted
his labours or his indulgences. “ Had I not lived with
Mirabeau,” says Dumont, “ I never should have known all
that can be done in one day, or rather in an interval of
twelve hours. A day to him was more than a week or a
month to others. The mass of business he carried on si¬
multaneously was prodigious; from the conception to the
execution not a moment wras lost.” And now, added to
frightful anxiety, toil, and excitement, came fever, ophthal¬
mia, rheumatic swellings, and fiery pains. “If I believed
in slow poisons,” he said to Dumont, “ I should think my¬
self poisoned; for I feel that I am dying by inches— that
I am being consumed in a slow fire.” But there was no
rest for him : on the Sundays, indeed, he was down at
BEAU. 261
Argenteuil, among his flowers; on all other days “ not an Mirabeau.
instant of rest from seven in the morning till ten or eleven
at night; continual conversations, agitations of mind, and
excitement of every passion; too high living,—in food only,
for he was very moderate in drink.” On the 27th of
March, though frightfully ill, he proceeded to the As¬
sembly, where he spoke five times; he left it exhausted,
and had a bath ; thought he could sit out the Italian opera,
but had to go homeward after a few minutes to bed, to
rise no more. His friend and physician Cabanis found
death written on his face. The sensation throughout
Paris was indescribable ; all day the Chausee d’Antin was
thronged with sad inquirers ; bulletins were handed out
every three hours to the eager multitudes, and messen¬
gers from the King came twice a day for tidings. All
medicines were tried in vain, and Cabanis sat despond-
ingly by the bed-side. “ Thou art a great physician,” said
his patient, gazing on him, “ but the Maker of the wind
that overthrows all things,—of the water that penetrates and
fructifies,—of the fire that quickens or decomposes all things,
—He is a greater physician than thou !” Even in the in¬
tervals of convulsive agony, with the sweat of death on
his brow, and its shadows gathering around him, his supreme
self-consciousness never forsook him; he was himself to
the end. “He dramatized his death,” said Talleyrand. His
friend Frochot supported his head. “Yes,” said the sick
man, “ support that head; would I could bequeath it
thee!” At daybreak of the 2d April his windows were
opened to let in the fresh breath of spring. He called
Cabanis: “ My friend,” he said, “ I shall die to-day; there
remains but one thing more to do; perfume me, crown me
with flowers, environ me with music, so that I may enter
sweetly on that sleep from which there is no awaking.”
For three-quarters of an hour he discoursed with Lamarck
and Cabanis on his own and the public affairs. “I carry
in my heart,” he said, “ the dirge of the monarchy ; its re¬
mains will now be the spoil of the factious.” Towards
night he was speechless, and in his dreadful pain he signed
convulsively for drink ; he waved the offered potions away,
and hastily put down the words “Dormir /” He prayed for
opium, but the doctor resisted; recovering utterance, he re¬
proached his friend for hesitating to cut short his agony.
For some time he lay silent, till the sound of distant guns
broke upon his ear, and he asked—“ Have we already the
Achilles funeral?” A moment after, he had ceased to
breathe.
So passed away, at the age of forty-two, the last Count
of Mirabeau. Amid the tears of the French nation, with
honours never before paid to any citizen, seldom to any
king, his body was laid in the church of St Genevieve,
the newly-consecrated Pantheon of France. Thence it was
removed at the dead of night, in September 1794, to the
churchyard of St Catherine, in the Faubourg St Marceau,
the resting-place of criminals.
The memoirs of Mirabeau by his adopted son, M. Lucas
Montigny (Paris, 1836,8 tom. 8vo), are as yet, in spite of
grievous defects, the most valuable source of information on
the subject. Of innumerable briefer productions, there is
but one demanding special notice,—the inimitable essay of
Mr Carlyle. (a.n.)
1 “ I imagine,” Dumont shrewdly observes, “ that in this kind of reputation Mirabeau has paid the usury of some offences to others.
Exaggeration is the first penalty inflicted by the code of public opinion, lie was so fully aware that if he had enjoyed personal con¬
sideration, all France would have been at his feet, that there were moments when he would have consented to pass ‘ seven times through
the heated furnace ’ to purify the name of Mirabeau. I have seen him weep with grief, and heard him say, almost suffocated with sobs,
‘ I am cruelly expiating the errors of my youth !’ ”
262
M I R
Mn-abeau. Mirabeau, Victor Riquetti, Marquis de, tlie father of
” v-*- the great Mirabeau, and one of the most eminent teachers
of the doctrines ot the Economists in France, was born
at Perthuis on the 5th of October 1715. He was the
heir of an ancient Italian family of the name of Arrighetti,
afterwards corrupted into Riquetti, who had been expelled
from Florence during some civil broil in 1267, and had
found a refuge and a home in Provence. His ancestors
had bequeathed to him a lawless, stormy, and imperious tem¬
perament, that sought its proper element in some all-en¬
grossing action or in the prosecution of some arduous pro¬
ject. This restless energy first found vent in the pursuit
of war. He entered the army at an early age, fought bravely
at the sieges of Kehl and Philipsburg, at the battles of Det-
tingen and Clusen ; and won the Cross of St Louis in 1 743.
By this time his father had died, and had left him an inde¬
pendent fortune. The new Marquis now appeared in the
character of a complete aristocrat, swelling with hereditary
importance, stiff with haughty affectation, and enveloped in
an atmosphere of contemptuous indifference, which was ever
liable to be dispersed by storms of lurking passion. Quit¬
ting the army, he married the Marquise de Saulvebeuf, and
taking up his abode in the old family castle of Mirabeau,
on the banks of the Durance, he thought to lead on his
tenantry to his ideal standard of improvement, to exact
from them in return the most reverential respect, and to
reign a despotic sovereign on his own estate. But all his
ardent and benevolent exertions could not bend his stiff¬
necked peasantry into that pliability of submission upon
which his imperious soul was so intent. He therefore aban¬
doned his hereditary castle for ever, and settled in his
newly-bought estate of Bignon, about 15 miles from Paris.
Flere his restless mind found a new crotchet in the political
economy of Quesnay. Becoming a thorough-going disciple
of that philosopher, he commenced to advocate his peculiar
views in a work entitled Ami des Hommes, and in several
other books and tracts. The only prominent result was,
that he was lodged for some time in the Bastile. Never¬
theless, on his release he continued pertinaciously to write
on, indulging in strange and whimsical speculations, en¬
tangling his thoughts in hopelessly-complicated sentences,
venting his pent-up passion in covert satire and bursts of elo¬
quence, and sinning against all good taste by his egotisms,
mannerisms, and forced metaphors. At the same time his
whole parental authority was kept perpetually on the strain
in endeavouring to mould his rising family into a conformity
with his own educational theory. But the young Mira-
beaus, rigid with the self-will of their race, could not be bent
by the paternal efforts, persistent though they were. The
result was an endless series of domestic broils, w’axing
hotter and hotter. The employment of confidential ser¬
vants exasperated the turmoil, and the introduction into the
household of an artful Swiss lady, Madame Pailly, brought
it to a crisis. The wronged wife abandoned for ever the
home in which she had lived for fifteen years. It W'as
shortly after this that the Marquis directed the full torrent
of his educational fury against his eldest surviving boy,
Gabriel Honore, and began that merciless system of tutor¬
age which, howrever well meant, only resulted in bringing
into play the wild irregularities of his great son’s charac¬
ter. After the boarding-school and the army had failed to
tame the fiery young spirit, the exasperated father did not
hesitate to employ harsh imprisonment. Then his eye was
ever on the watch to detect any attempts to escape from
- ImP7se^ punishment, and his hand w^as alwrays ready to
iiust is culprit into severer bondage, if occasion required,
e even thought upon banishment to the unhealthy climate
ot Surinam as an ultimate cure. At the same time the
arquis was instituting a series of law-suits against his wife,
™ade him the subject of the gossip and scandal of
the entire country. He was also ruling the rest of his
MIR
children with a rod of iron, and was issuing against them
numeious de cachet. Once, it is said, he held his
entire family under confinement, and sat alone by his house-
hold hearth in stubborn resignation, consoling himself with
his political economy. Yet, like all his other projects, this
project ot subduing his family proved impracticable. The
aw-suits, after lasting for fifteen years, were decided against
mm to the almost utter ruin of his fortune. His son Ga-
biiel Honoie turned out to be the most daring despiser of
those very conventionalities which he had been so lono-
forcing him to respect. _ The rest of his children went their
own several ways in spite of him. These disappointments
seem to have combined with advancing old age to soften
down the asperities of the Marquis’s character. His im¬
perious temper became subdued into a perverse censorious¬
ness. His philanthropy assumed the more definite form of a
morality, grim, austere, and pompous, as became the na-
tuie of the man. He called his children together, wras re¬
conciled to them, and declared himself only fit now for
sitting in the chimney-nook, and “ patching his brains to¬
gether again.” Yet scarcely had he ceased from his life-
longand ineffectual struggles, wdien theaggrandizementof his
family name,—that object at w'hich he had so long aimed,—
was suddenly achieved by a stroke of destiny. The French
revolution opened up for his gifted son a path to the highest
influence and renown. The hereditary pride of the old
Marquis was at length gratified. He died on the 13th July
1789, when the name of Mirabeau had already become
famous throughout Europe.
MIRACLES. A miracle is usually defined to be a sus¬
pension of the laws of nature, or a deviation from the uni¬
form manner in which God exercises his power throughout
the created world, or from the uniform method in which
second causes operate and produce their effects. It follows
that a miracle cannot be performed by human power. It
is necessary, however, to distinguish between the negative
and the positive element in miracles. A phenomenon is
miraculous in the former sense when it is simply inexpli¬
cable by any known laws; but in the latter sense inexpli¬
cable events require to bear upon the interests of religion,
as distinctive signs, in order to be considered miraculous.
In the negative sense, a real deviation from ordinary phe¬
nomena may be admitted without necessitating an acquies¬
cence in miracles in the positive and religious sense. Not
a few phenomena in physical science are possessed of this
negative element of miracles without being considered
miraculous. They exhibit the character of a prodigium,
or repots, without being what the religious miracle always is,
a crpfxeiov, or sign by which the Divine power is made known.
It is in the latter sense that miracles are regarded here.
I he person who professes to have received a revelation
from God to be communicated to his fellow-men is bound
to produce his credentials, in order that they may know that
he is not either a deceiver or deceived. They have a right,
and it is their duty, to demand sufficient evidence that’ll is
revelation is really from God before they place entire
confidence in its truth and Divine authority. The working
of a miracle will furnish incontestable proof that his state¬
ment is true. If an effect be produced which cannot be
i eferred to the operation of natural laws, we at once recog¬
nise it as the act of Flim who is the God of nature, and who
alone can suspend its laws and produce effects in another
way. If, therefore, a miracle be wrought by one who
claims to be the bearer of a Divine revelation, we are war¬
ranted to conclude that his claims are well founded, and
that God speaks by him. Man indeed is so constituted
that he must draw this conclusion ; for, “ to try the theorem
upon a simple case,” after the example of Paley, if any
man in the possession of his senses were to witness the
performance of a miracle,—the restoration, for example, of
sight to the blind, or the raising of the dead,—under circum-
Miraclea;
MIRA
Miracles, stances which satisfied him that there could be no deception
or mistake, he would, without doubt, believe that he who
wrought the miracle was the messenger of God, and spoke
God s truth. I he evidence of supernatural and Divine
interposition in this way would be irresistible. Jesus
himself has given his sanction to this x'easoning, for He
expressly suspends the authority of his doctrines, and his
claims to man’s belief, on the fact of his miracles: “ The
works that I do in my Father’s name, they bear witness of
me, &c. He repeated in the presence of the messengers
of John the Baptist many of his most wonderful works : He
healed the sick, cleansed the lepers, restored sight to the
blind, raised the dead, and then dismissed them with this in¬
junction,—“ Go your way, and tell John what things ye have
seen and heard.” These miracles were proofs both of Di¬
vine power and of Divine goodness. They are works of a
nature far superior to those which the uniform experience
of mankind has taught us to consider as lying within the
range of human power,—works, in short, which no man
could do unless God were with him. At his word the storm
was hushed into a calm, the deaf heard, the dumb spake,
and the dead were raised to life; at his touch diseases fled,
the blind saw, the lame walked, and the lepers were cleansed.
His miracles were not only above the reach of human power,
but they were benevolent in their motives and eminently
useful in their effects. They tended in every instance to
alleviate suffering and wretchedness, or to teach an import¬
ant moral or doctrinal lesson. The benevolent tendency,
therefore, of these miracles, as well as their wonderful charac¬
ter—the combination in them of might and mercy—proved
that they were of God. They were performed by Christ
for the express purpose of proving his claims to a Divine
commission, and were constantly appealed to by Him as
signs and seals of that commission,—as proofs of the truth of
the system of doctrines and moral precepts which He taught.
And it is obvious, that unless the doctrines which Jesus
promulgated had received the Divine approbation, these
miracles could not have been performed. Nicodemus gave
expression to the instinctive feeling of human nature when
he said to Jesus, “We know that thou art a teacher come
from God, for no man can do those miracles that thou
doest except God be with him ” (John iii. 2).
A similar inference must of course be drawn from the
miracles performed by the Apostles and Evangelists. Their
works, like Christ’s, were beyond the unassisted powers of
man. Like Him, too, they appealed to these miraculous
works as the credentials of their Divine commission. They
affirmed “ that the things which they taught, God had
revealed to them by his Spirit.”
But were these miracles actually performed ? What
evidence is there that these alleged miraculous works are
not, as Strauss and his followers affirm, a collection of
myths, or, as others say, mere illusions.1 First of all, these mi¬
racles, if they were either illusions or frauds, were imposed
alike on friend and foe, and triumphed over not only the
strongest prejudices, but the deepest enmity. They were
C L E S. 263
publicly performed in open day before multitudes of in- Miracles,
veterate enemies, who had every motive to induce them
keenly to scrutinize the evidence, and to detect and expose
the deception, if the miracle was not genuine. We are
expressly informed that the Pharisees narrowly examined
into the reality of a miracle performed by Jesus on a man
that w'as born blind ; and we may be sure that they must
have done so in the case of other miracles also. Prejudice,
self-interest, and malignant hatred of Christ, must have
made them eager to detect any falsehood or fraud in his
conduct, if such had existed ; and yet they were constrained
to acknowledge with the Sanhedrim, in the case of the cure
wrought by Peter and John on the lame man who sat at
the gate of the temple, “ that indeed a notable miracle had
been done, and they could not deny it.” Modern infidels
deny the reality of the miracles related in the New Testa¬
ment ; but the ancient infidels who lived on the spot at the
time, and were eye-witnesses of the events, were compelled
to admit their miraculous character, though they ascribed
them to the agency of evil demons. This acknowledg¬
ment by unbelieving Jews and pagans of the reality of the
miracles of Christ and his apostles, shows that the evidence
for them, after the strictest hostile scrutiny, was unde¬
niable.2 * * *
Secondly, The miraculous facts of the gospel history are
proved by the testimony of the Apostles and Evangelists,
who have narrated what they saw and heard. They were
not only competent, but also unprejudiced and disinterested
witnesses; not only had they no prepossession to mislead
their judgments and bias their minds in favour of the
claims of Jesus of Nazareth, and no interest to serve by
falsifying or misrepresenting what they had heard or seen,
but they had many deep-rooted prejudices to overcome in
embracing the religion of Christ, and many powerful mo¬
tives to induce them to “ resist even the evidence of their
senses, and stifle the very firmest convictions of their mind.”
Like the rest of their countrymen, they entertained most
erroneous notions respecting the character and office of the
expected Messiah ; and it was not till some time after the
resurrection and ascension of Christ, that the pleasing
dream of temporal grandeur which had captivated their
minds was completely dispelled, and they became thoroughly
convinced that their Master’s kingdom “ is not of this
world.” The witnesses of Christ’s miracles, therefore, had
none of the motives which usually influence human con¬
duct to induce them to become his followers or to bear
testimony in his behalf. On the contrary, they were so¬
licited by the united ties of nature, of habit, of education,
and of interest, to reject the claims of a religion which dis¬
appointed all their early associations and prejudices, all
their favourite hopes and schemes. So that it is impossible
to account for their conduct on any rational principle, ex¬
cept that they were fully convinced of the truth of what
they declared, and “ could not but speak the things which
they had seen and heard.”
Thirdly, the credit given to their testimony, and the
1 The absurdities of the theory propounded by Paulus of Heidelberg, that the disciples of Christ mistook natural phenomena for super¬
natural occurrences, have been thus forcibly exposed by Quinet:—The pen which wrote the Provincial Letters would be necessary to
lay bare the strange consequences of this theology. According to its conclusion, the tree of good and evil was nothing but a venomous
plant, probably a manchineel tree, under which our first parents fell asleep. The shining face of Moses on the heights of Mount Sinai
was the natural result of electricity ; the vision of Zechariah was effected by the smoke of the chandeliers in the temple; the Maoian
kings, with their offerings of myrrh, of gold, and of incense, were three wandering merchants who brought some glittering tinsel fo^the
Child of Bethlehem; the star which went before them, a servant bearing a flambeau; the angels in the scene of the temptation, a caravan
traversing the desert, laden with provisions ; the two angels in the tomb, clothed in white linen, an illusion caused by a linen garment •
the Transfiguration, a storm.” ( Voice of the Churches, by Dr Beard.)
“ “ But some people may say that the ancient Jews and pagans, who so readily believed in magical arts and the power of demons
must have been very W’eak and credulous men, and that therefore they may have given credit to tales of miracles without making any
careful inquiry. Now there is, indeed, no doubt that they were weak and credulous ; but this weakness and credulity would never&have
led them to believe what was against their early prejudices, and expectations, and wishes: quite the contrary. The more weak and cre¬
dulous any man is, the harder it is to convince him of anything that is opposite to his habits of thought and inclination. He will readily
receive without proof anything that falls in with his prejudices; and will be disposed to hold out against any evidence that o-0es against
them.” (Whately’s Introductory Lessons on Christian Evidences.) ° " h
264 MIRA
/
Miracles, consequent establishment and propagation of Christianity,
can be accounted for only on the supposition that the
miracles were really performed. Indeed, the Apostles, so
far from commanding belief, would never have obtained
even a hearing among the wealthy, refined, and proud in¬
habitants of the great Roman and Grecian cities, if they
had not at the outset produced their credentials, and roused
men’s attention by the display of superhuman powers. T he
doctrines the Apostles preached were alike obnoxious to
Jewish prejudices, destructive of Jewish hopes, and offen¬
sive to Grecian pride. To the one class they were “ a
stumbling-block,” and to the other “ foolishness.” Their con¬
verts had to make a total revolution in their whole habits,—
to incur the loss of all things, often of life itself,—to encounter
foes in their own household,—to be separated from all they
held dear in life,—to suffer ridicule, and contempt, and
calumny, and violent persecution. And yet in a few years
this mere handful of obscure and illiterate Jews induced vast
multitudes of all ranks, and of different races and nations,
to renounce the religion of their ancestors and to embrace
the faith of Jesus of Nazareth. On the supposition that
the miracles to which they appealed in confirmation of
their statements were spurious, this is altogether unaccount¬
able, and indeed incredible. The difficulty, therefore, as
Whately remarks, of believing that the Christian religion was
propagated by means of miracles, is nothing in comparison
with the difficulty of believing that it could have been propa¬
gated without any. In the well-chosen words of Butler,
“ the miracles are a satisfactory account of the events of
which no other satisfactory account can be given, nor any
account at all, but what is imaginary merely and invented.”
We are met, however, by the oft-repeated assertion, that
a miracle is an impossibility, and therefore that no amount
of evidence can prove that a miracle has been performed.
This is the fundamental axiom of Strauss, who acknowledges
that if it were not true, he would not think it worth while
to attack the credibility of the Scripture history. “ No just
notion,” he remarks, “of the true nature of history is pos¬
sible without a perception of the inviolability of the chain
of second causes, and of the impossibility of miracles.”
(Strauss’s Life of Jesus, voi. i., Introduction, sect. 13.) The
assumption that miracles are an impossibility is probably the
most specious and widely-urged objection to Christianity in
our day ; and though enunciated with all the pretension of
a new discovery, w'as one of the main arguments of the older
infidels, as it is of their modern successors still. The
main difference is, that the deists of a former day accounted
for the miracles on the supposition of the grossest fraud
acting on the grossest credulity; while Strauss and his dis¬
ciples explain them by the theory of illusion or myth.1
Strauss seems to regard the assertion as a self-evident truth,
for he offers no argument whatever in its support. But it
would not be difficult to show that the man who denies the
possibility of miracles in any circumstances cannot consist¬
ently stop short of atheism. The atheist who repudiates
C L E S.
the notion of a distinct and independent Deity, and con“ Miracles,
founds Him with what is called Nature, may consistently
deny the very possibility of a miraculous interposition ; but
he who believes in the existence of a God must admit that
a miracle is at least not impossible. Surely the Being who
created the universe can govern it as seems good in his own
sight, and He who established what are called the laws of
nature is not restrained by an invincible necessity from
altering them as He sees fit, but may at his pleasure sus¬
pend their operation in any given instance, or introduce
amongst them a new cause which will produce a new and
different effect. Neander profoundly remarks on this sub¬
ject:—“Although, from their very nature, miracles transcend
the ordinary law of cause and effect, they do not contradict
it, inasmuch as nature has been so ordered by Divine wis¬
dom as to admit higher and creative agencies into her
sphere, and it is perfectly natural that such powers, once
admitted, should produce effects beyond the scope of ordi¬
nary causes. In the Divine plan of the universe (of whose
fulfilment the connection of causes in the visible world
manifest only one side), miracles stand in relations of reci¬
procal harmony to events occurring in accordance with
natural laws. From the chain of causes involved in that
great plan, indeed, no events, natural or supernatural, are
excluded; both circles of phenomena belong to the realiza¬
tion of the Divine idea.” {Life of Christ, b. iv., part 2.)
It is asserted by others, who do not venture to deny the
possibility of miracles, that they are so improbable, that if
they were wrought, no evidence could establish them.
“ Miracles are incredible,” says Hume, “ because they are
contrary to experience.” “ But strictly speaking,” as
Paley remarks, “ a miracle is only contrary to an expe¬
rience when it is said to have been performed at a
time and place, at which time and place, we being present
and looking on, perceived no such event to have taken
place ; and this is a contrariety which no evidence cun sur¬
mount.” But it is preposterous to say that we are entitled to
draw the same conclusion in the present instance, and to
affirm that the miracles of Christ did not take place, merely
because we have never witnessed a like event. Ten
thousand of our Lord’s Jewish contemporaries might have
said that no such event as the raising of Lazarus from the
dead ever occurred within their observation or experience,
and their testimony might have been quite true ; but it would
in no way contradict the testimony of the Apostles, who
declared that they were present and witnessed the resurrec¬
tion of their Master’s friend. In the same way, the testi¬
mony of all the men of the present day, that they have
never seen the blind restored to sight or the dead raised to
life, does not contradict or invalidate the evidence of those
who say they did witness these miraculous interpositions.
The truth of the one testimony does not disprove the truth
of the other, for both may be true. They differ from,
but do not contradict, each other. Experience teaches us
that diseases are generally cured by the application of
1 “ Myths have been defined as fabulous narratives allegorically describing some physical or moral phenomena, philosophical principles,
systems, &c., under the figure of actions performed by certain ideal personages; these allegories having been afterwards, through the
mistake of the vulgar, believed as history.” {Historic Doubts, p. 51.) On this mythical theory Dr Strauss explains the whole of the
evangelical history, and affirms that the acts attributed to Christ are to be regarded, not as historic verities, but as allegorical fables, or
at least as combining only a very slender portion of facts and truth with an immense mass of fiction and fable. He admits at the same
time that strict historic investigations bring this collection of myths within thirty or forty years of the very time in which all the al¬
leged wonders they relate are said to have occurred. According to this theory, Christianity is a system of mythology which originated
in one of the most enlightened ages the world has ever seen, while all other mythologies have had their origin in an age of barbarism
and of remote antiquity, before the commencement of authentic history. All other mythical systems have been of slow and gradual for¬
mation and reception, but the Christian “myths” sprung up at once within a single generation, and were received as historic facts by
multitudes who must have been well aware of their recent origin. They originated among a people who expected a Messiah entirely
different from Jesus of Nazareth, and were attached with the most intense bigotry to the faith which his gospel proposed to supersede.
\\ bile other mythologies rarely, if ever, extend beyond the limits of the races which have originated them, Christianity was embraced
by thousands of different races and nations, to whom it was most obnoxious on every ground—national, political, religious, and personal.
And, finally, this accidental collection of fable and fiction, with a few facts interspersed, in a few years, though unaided by military
power, or court authority, or philosophy, or science, triumphed over the prejudices of ignorance and superstition, and the vigilance of
scepticism, the policy of government, and every other obstacle. The man who can believe this may believe anything. {Eclipse of Faith,
3d edition, pp. 209-212.)
MIRA
Miracles, medical remedies; the testimony of the Apostles affirms
^ that they were sometimes removed at the mere word or
touch of the Saviour; but these facts are not necessarily
inconsistent or irreconcileable. “ Each fact may arise
from its own proper cause, each may exist independently
of the other, and each is known by its own proper proof, be
itofsenseortestimony.” (White'sBamptonLecture,?. 285.)
If, then, we are told that miracles are incredible because
they are contrary to uniform experience, we ask the ob¬
jector what he means by experience ? Does he speak of his
own experience and that of his friends and neighbours ?
Then, on this principle, the Indian prince of whom Hume
speaks, who affirmed that there could be no such thing as
ice because it was contrary to his experience, was right in
rejecting the possibility of such an occurrence. Does he
mean the general experience of mankind? If so, his state¬
ment is true, but it is nothing to the purpose. Miracles
are, from their nature, comparatively of rare occurrence,
and being rare, are necessarily at variance with the ex¬
perience of the greater part of mankind. If they were not,
they would, as Paley remarks, be no miracles. Or does
the objector mean that miracles are contrary to the uni¬
form experience of all mankind in all ages? This were a
mere begging of the question in dispute. He affirms that
no one has ever witnessed a miracle, and when challenged
to produce his evidence, he merely asserts in effect that no¬
body has ever witnessed one. Besides, how does the ob¬
jector know that miracles are contrary to either the general
or universal experience of mankind ? Of course, by testi¬
mony and nothing else. So that, after all, it is on testimony
which he derides, and not on experience, that the weight of
Hume’s argument depends. Farther, the experience of
which Hume speaks extends to the mental and spiritual
as well as to the physical and material part of nature—to the
world of mind no less than to the world of matter. He ex¬
pressly admits “ that there is a uniformity in both the moral
and physical world, and that nature does not transgress
certain limits in either the one or the other.” Again he
says,—“ We readily and universally acknowledge a uniformity
in human motives and actions as well as in the operations
of body.” And he adduces an argument for the doctrine
of “ philosophical necessity,” drawn entirely from the gene¬
ral uniformity observable in the course of nature with re¬
spect to the principles of human conduct, as well as those
of the material universe, from which uniformity, he ob¬
serves, it is that we are enabled in both cases to form our
judgments by means of experience; “and if,” he adds
{Essays, p. 85, 8vo, 1817), “we would explode any forgery in
history, we cannot make use of a more convincing argu¬
ment than to prove that the actions ascribed to any person
are directly contrary to the course of nature.” It is ad¬
mitted, then, by the objector to miracles that there are
moral laws of nature as well as physical, and that the
violation of the one, no less than of the other, beyond a
certain point, is to be regarded as a miracle. Let
us apply this admission to the present case. Here we
have a considerable number of individuals declaring
that in their presence certain works of wonder, of which
they were competent to judge, were performed different
irom the usual manner in which the laws of nature operate,
and which could not be accounted for according to those
law^s; that they saw the most inveterate diseases healed
—the deaf, the blind, and the lame cured, and the dead
raised by the mere word of Christ. In proof of their belief
of these miracles, they renounced the religion in which they
had been educated, and to which they had been previously
attached with intense bigotry; they constantly adhered to
this testimony, not only without any assignable motive, but
in opposition to all the motives by which mankind are
usually influenced; they persisted in affirming that these
statements were true, in spite of ridicule and contempt, of
VOL. XV.
C L E S.
265
insult and wrong, of the scourge, the dungeon, the axe, the Miracles,
cross, and the stake. They had hundreds and thousands
of associates of both sexes and of all ranks and ages, and yet
not one of them was ever induced, either by the hope of
reward or the fear of punishment, to betray their cause or
to confess that it was an imposture. That this uniform and
inflexible constancy should have been displayed in support
of an unprofitable falsehood, by men who taught and
preached the purest system of morality the world has ever
heard of, is utterly at variance with all the principles of
human nature, and would be a greater miracle than any
work of wonder recorded in the Scripture history. If their
testimony be false, the physical miracles must of course be
false too ; but then the moral miracle must be true. The
denial of the one necessarily implies the belief of the other,
and the falsehood of such testimony, in the circumstances of
the case, would be more incredible far than the truth of the
miraculous interpositions which it attests. (Eclipse of
Faith, 3d edition, pp. 270-274.)
The argument of the sceptic has been most dexterously
turned against himself in the masterly refutation of infidelity
just referred to (p. 278). It is there shown that Strauss
and Hume, and others who affirm that a miracle is impos¬
sible, would, if they saw what seemed a miracle, distrust
their senses, and believe that they were deceived. The
position, then, of those who deny and of those who assert
miracles is exactly the reverse of Hume’s statement. The
man who believes “transubstantiation” distrusts his senses,
and rather believes testimony; and in the same way, the
man who believes that miracles are impossible, if he were to
witness any event that has a miraculous appearance, must, on
his principles, be prepared to deny the evidence of his
senses, and to trust to testimony—to that general experience
which comes to him, and can come to him only in that
shape. It is the infidel, therefore, and not the Christian,
who is affected by the argument of Hume.
The impossibility of a miracle—or at least the impossi¬
bility of proving a miracle—has been defended by Rousseau
on an entirely different ground. A miracle he defines to
be an exception to the laws of nature; and as we do not
know, he says, what the laws of nature are, we cannot
determine whether any given event be or be not a devia¬
tion from these laws ; and therefore it is impossible to prove
the reality of a miracle. It is true, we do not know univer¬
sally what the laws of nature are; but there are certain
events so different from their uniform results, that we may
confidently affirm that they cannot have been produced by
the operation of these laws. We do not know the full ex¬
tent of the powers of medicine; but we do know that the cure
of blindness, or deafness, or paralysis, by a word or a touch
is at variance with all medical laws, and must therefore have
been the result of another and totally different cause—the
special interference of a superhuman power. The fertility
of the earth varies in different countries and climates, and
may probably hereafter, by the applications of science, be
increased far beyond anything yet attained; but in no
country, and by no possible application of science, could a
few barley loaves and small fishes be instantaneously multi¬
plied so vastly as to suffice for a meal to five thousand per¬
sons faint with hunger. We do not know fully the nature
of fire or the utmost extent of its power; but this we do
certainly know, that it is the nature of fire to burn; and
therefore, when Daniel’s three companions were thrown into
the burning fiery furnace, and came out unhurt, this result
was contrary to the nature or the laws of fire, and must
therefore have been produced by a miraculous interposition.
Again, it has been said that no miracle can prove a moral
truth, because there is no natural relation between the dis¬
plays of physical power and any such truth. The perform¬
ance of a miracle, therefore, it is alleged, is a mere evidence
of extraordinary power, and is neither a proof of the veracity
2 l
266
MIRACLES.
Miracles, or Divine commission of the person by whom it is per-
's—formed, nor of the Divine authority of the religion which he
may teach. It is true that a miracle, considered by itself,
proves merely that its author is endowed with superhuman
power over the operations of nature; but the miracles of
Christ do not stand alone—they form only one link of the
chain of Christian evidences, and must be taken in connec¬
tion with their circumstances and the purposes for which
they were performed. Their character and tendency, as
well as their miraculous nature, must be taken into account,
together with the fact that they were constantly appealed
to by our Lord as credentials of his mission. It is not from
the miracles of Christ, considered merely as superhuman
works, but from their benevolent character, which proves
that they originated in a benevolent source,—the union in
them of power and goodness, combined with the fact that
they were performed in attestation of his claims to the office
of Messiah, and in support of the system of doctrines and
precepts which he taught,—that we draw a conclusive argu¬
ment in favour of his Divine authority.
Lastly, it has been alleged, that whatever may have been
the original strength of the evidence of the Scripture mira¬
cles, it has undergone a very serious diminution by being
transmitted through a number of successive individuals and
generations, and will in the end become extinct. “ Suppose
a fact to be transmitted,” says Laplace, “ through twenty
persons,—the first communicating it to the second, the
second to the third, &c.,—and let the probability of each
testimony be expressed by nine-tenths (that is, suppose that
of ten reports made by each witness, nine only are true),
then at every time the story passes from one witness to
another, the evidence is reduced to nine-tenths of what it
was before. Thus after it has passed through the whole
twenty, the evidence will be less than one-eighth.” That
is, the chances for the fact thus attested being true will be
less than one in eight. “ The diminution of evidence,” he
adds, “ by this species of transmission may be compared to
the extinction of light by the interposition of several pieces
of glass. A small number of pieces will be sufficient to
render an object entirely invisible which a single piece
allowed to be seen very distinctly.” (Laplace, JS'ssat Philo-
sophique sur les Probabilites.) Now it must be admitted
that if any statement as to a matter of fact were to be trans¬
mitted successively through twenty persons, and we our¬
selves were to receive the account from the twentieth
narrator alone, the credibility of the report would be very
considerably diminished ; in other words, the probability of
error or mistake would be largely increased. But in the
present instance we have not merely the testimony of the
last, but of every preceding witness, to the truth of the
gospel narrative. We can travel back step by step, in
regular and unbroken order, through every link in the chain
of testimony from the present time to the days of the Apostles,
the eye-witnesses and original relaters of our Lord’s mira¬
cles. We have not only the testimony of those who heard
the Apostles tell their simple story, but of the Apostles them¬
selves, who have declared what they heard and saw. In
this way, to recur to the illustration of Laplace, we can re¬
move one by one the interposing pieces of glass which inter¬
cepted the rays of the light of truth, until wre are enabled
to see the object presented to our view as clearly, and to
judge of it as correctly, as the original spectators. (Benson’s
Uulsean Lectures for 1820, p. 80.)
1 he truth of the miracles recorded in the books of Moses
can be established by similar arguments to those which have
been adduced in proof of the reality of Christ’s miracles.
Both have all the marks which are necessary to prove them
worthy of full credit. The four well-known rules laid down
by Leslie as infallible tests of the genuineness of an alleged
miracle, all meet in the works of wonder performed by
Moses as well as by Christ; and they never have met, and
never can possibly meet, in any imposture or pretended
miracle: 1. That the facts related be such as that men’s
outward senses their eyes and ears—can be judges of them;
2. I hat those facts be done openly and publicly in the face
of the world; 3. That not only public monuments, but
outward institutions and actions, should be appointed and
perpetually kept up in memory of them; 4. That these
institutions should commence from the time the facts were
done. The miracles of Moses,—the passage through the
Red Sea, the miraculous supply of manna and of water
from the rock in Horeb, and the passage over Jordan, &c.,——
were all events regarding which the senses of the spectators
could not be deceived. These miracles were performed
in the most public manner, and in the presence of many
witnesses ; so that there was every opportunity to subject
them to the most searching scrutiny. Not only were public
monuments erected, but various institutions—such as the
feast of the Passover—were appointed at the time to be
observed in remembrance of these miraculous interpositions,
and were observed by the Jewish nation in all succeeding
ages,—institutions which, from their nature, it would have
been impossible to induce any people to observe unless
fully satisfied of their Divine authority. And the books in
which these miracles are related are not only a history of
the Jewish people, but their very statute-book, containing
their municipal as well as civil and ecclesiastical laws, which,
like the history, are inseparably connected with the miracles
wrought by the legislator. (See Leslie’s Truth of Christi¬
anity Demonstrated; and Short and Easy Method with
the Deists.)
In comparing the evidence for the miracles recorded in
Scripture with that which can be offered in support of any
other miracle, it is proper, as Paley shows, to lay out of
the case—
1. Such accounts of supernatural events as are written a
long time after their alleged occurrence. On this principle
we may at once set aside the miraculous story of Pytha¬
goras, written 800 years after his death; the prodigies of
Livy’s history; the fables of the heroic ages; the whole
of the Greek and Roman mythology; a great part of the
accounts of Popish saints; the miracles of Apollonius Ty-
anaeus, published more than 100 years after his death ; and
the miraculous powers ultimately claimed for Ignatius
Loyola.
2. We may lay out of the case accounts published in
one country of what passed in a distant country, without
any proof that such accounts were received or known at
home. The Gospels are not only a contemporary history,
but they were first published, and the Christian church first
planted, in the place where its Founder lived and performed
his miracles, and died; while the accounts of the alleged
miracles of Apollonius Tyanaeus, of Francis Xavier, and
others, were published at a great distance from the supposed
scene of the wonders.
3. We ought to lay out of the case transient rumours.
On the first publication of any story, unless we are person¬
ally acquainted with the facts of the case, we cannot know
whether it is true or false. We look to the confirmation
or contradiction of the account by its increasing notoriety
or its dying away, and to its permanency or disappearance
for the discrimination of truth from falsehood. Tried by
this criterion, the miracles recorded in Scripture are pre¬
sented to us in the most favourable light.
4. We lay out of the case what may be called naked
history,—history found merely in a book, unattended with
any evidence that the accounts given in the book were
credited and acted upon at the time when the events are
said to have occurred, and unsupported by any collateral
or subsequent testimony, or by any important visible effect.
This certainly is not the case with the history of the
miracles of Christ. That history is to be combined with
Miracles.
MIR
Miramichi the institutions of Christianity, with the time and place and
Miranda c*rcumsfancfs *ts or*gin and progress, as collected from
v i other historical sources, with its prevalence to the present
day, with the fact of our present books having been received
by the advocates of Christianity from the first, with a great
variety of subsequent books referring to the transactions
recorded in the four Gospels, and containing accounts of
the effects which flowed from the belief of those transac¬
tions, those subsequent books having been written with
very different views, “ so disagreeing as to repel the suspi¬
cion of confederacy, and yet so agreeing as to show that
they were founded in a common origin.”
5. A mark of historical truth, although only to a certain
degree, is particularity in names, dates, places, circum¬
stances, and in the order of events preceding or following
the transaction. The gospel history, in this respect, affords
extraordinary facilities for detecting its falsehood if it were
an imposture, and it has stood the test most triumphantly.
6. We lay out of the case stories of supernatural events
upon which nothing depends, and in which no interest is in¬
volved,—stories which require only an indolent assent, and
which pass from one to another without examination.
7. We lay out of the case those miracles which were
performed in confirmation of opinions already adopted. It
is easy to account for the reception of those alleged miracles
which go to support a system of religion already established ;
but Christianity is the only religion that was ever intro¬
duced—and introduced among enemies—by miraculous
pretensions. (See Whately’s Introductory Lessons) The
miracles recorded in the gospel history “ were wrought in
the midst of enemies, under a government, a priesthood,
and a magistracy decidedly and vehemently adverse to
them and to the pretensions which they supported. They
were Protestant miracles in a Popish country; they were
Popish miracles in the midst of Protestants.” They made
converts among those who were most unwilling to credit
these evidences, and who, in consequence of believing them,
were required to abandon their most deeply-rooted opinions
and inveterate prejudices.
8. We lay aside all those events which can be ac¬
counted for by a heated imagination, false perception, mo¬
mentary insanity, or any other natural principle. But the
miracles of Christ cannot be accounted for in any such way,
or be resolved into the operation of the common powers of
nature. When a person born blind was restored to sight,
or the deaf and dumb to hearing and speech, or a man who
had been dead four days was restored to life, we are sure
that such events must be ascribed to a superhuman cause.
(Paley’s Evidences of Christianity ; Douglas’s Criterion of
Miracles; Leland’s Deistical Writers; Campbell On
Miracles. (j. t—R.)
MIRAMICHI, a river of North America, the second in
size of those of New Brunswick, is formed by two branches,
called the N.W. and the S.W. Miramichi respectively ; and
after a course of about 100 miles, falls into the Gulf of St
Lawrence, forming by its estuary the Bay of Miramichi.
I he banks of the river and the adjacent country are
covered with pine forests; and timber is exported in large
quantities from the river and bay. The mouth of the
Miramichi is impeded by a sand-bar; but there is sufficient
depth of water for vessels of 600 or 700 tons; and the
river is navigable for a distance of 40 miles from its mouth.
The most important towns on its banks are Newcastle and
Chatham. The bay is about 20 miles wide at its mouth,
and stretches inland for 21 miles. It contains several islands,
the principal of which are Fox Island and Portage Island.
MIRANDA, Don Francisco, the founder of the inde¬
pendence of Spanish America, was descended from a noble
family, and was born at Caraccas, in South America, about
the middle of the eighteenth century. He early began to
meditate the liberation of his country. While holding the
MIR 267
commission of colonel in the Spanish service, he endea- Miranda,
voured to excite a revolution among the soldiers. His de-
signs, however, were detected, and he was forced to flee
into exile. After he had travelled through several Euro¬
pean countries, acquiring their respective languages, liber¬
alizing his opinions, and receiving encouragement in his
patriotic aspirations from the leaders of the English oppo¬
sition and others, he settled at St Petersburg. The Rus¬
sian empress, Catherine II., patronized him, and pressed
him to enter her service. But Miranda had for some
time been observing in the French revolution the outburst
of a freedom that might yet extend to his native country.
He therefore repaired to Paris in 1790, was recommended
by Pitt to Pethion, and was appointed a major-general by
the Girondists. In this capacity he attended Dumouriez
in his campaign against the Prussians. Yet in spite of his
native sagacity, and his skill in strategy and engineering, he
was foiled in his attempt to takeMaestricht, and was defeated,
along with his superior in command, at the battle of Neer-
winden, in 1793. For the latter of these disasters, Miranda
was blamed by Dumouriez, and was arraigned before the re¬
volutionary tribunal. But after a trial of eleven days he was
acquitted by the unanimous verdict of the jury. The fall of
the Girondists, about the same time, left him exposed to the
malice of the Mountain party. He was impeached before
the Directory on the eighteenth Fructidor, and would have
suffered transportation had he not opportunely contrived to
escape into England. His return to France in 1803 was
met by a verdict of banishment from the government of
the First Consul. Miranda now began to use more direct
measures for effecting the favourite project of his life. In
1806 he set sail from New York in a vessel manned by
volunteers. After chartering two schooners at St Domingo,
he was approaching the shore of his native country, when
he was stripped of his late reinforcement by Spanish cruisers,
and escaped with difficulty in his own vessel. On landing
at Venezuela in the month of August, he was received
with cold indifference by the inhabitants, and was forced
to re-embark. A more successful attempt was made in
1810, and resulted in 1811 in the triumph of republican
principles. But the friends of the Spanish monarchy gained
the ascendancy in the following year, and obtained posses¬
sion of General Miranda. In utter violation of the condi¬
tions on which he had surrendered himself, he was con¬
veyed to Spain, and cast into the dungeons of the Inquisi¬
tion, where he died in 1816.
Miranda, Saa de, an eminent Portuguese poet, was
born of a noble family at Coimbra in 1495. Destined by
his parents for the legal profession, he studied law, and was
appointed professor of jurisprudence in his native city.
But no sooner had his father died, than he threw up his
appointment, and resigned himself to the far more congenial
pursuit of poetry. A lengthened visit which he then paid
to Spain and Italy was the cause of his introducing a new
and striking feature into the literature of his country. On
his return he began to publish eclogues in the Spanish lan¬
guage, and in the forms of the Italian poets Dante and
Petrarch. He was thus the introducer of the Italian style
into Portuguese poetry, and of the custom which led many
of the subsequent poets of his native country to write in
the language of Spain. Saa de Miranda was greatly esteemed
and liberally patronized during his lifetime. He held an
appointment at the court in Lisbon, until a quarrel with some
nobleman forced him to resign it. With no great reluc¬
tance he repaired to his country seat near Ponte-de-Lima,
in the hope of spending the rest of his days in rural amuse¬
ments, domestic enjoyments, and the cultivation of his genius.
For some time his expectation was not disappointed. From
the fondness he manifests of introducing into his poetry
rural pictures and rural allusions, we may imagine how
pleasantly his days would glide past amid the sights and
268
MIR
Mirandola sounds of the country. But the death of his son in 1553
Mirecourt cast a s^a^ovv over this pleasant scene. The loss of his
^ J / wife soon afterwards surrounded his existence with a settled
gloom ; and he died in 1558 of a broken heart. Besides
eclogues, Saa de Miranda wrote two dramas in the style of
Macchiavelli and Ariosto, and several lyrics and poetical
epistles. As a writer of the language of Spain he occupies a
high position among the authors of that country. His com¬
positions in his native language also place him in the first
rank of Portuguese poets. Of the many editions of his
works, that of 1614 is the best.
MIRANDOLA, Giovanni Pico della, Count and
Prince of Concordia, one of the most brilliant scholars of his
day, was the youngest son of Gianfrancesco della Mirandola,
and was born in 1463. After receiving his elementary
education from his mother, and astonishing every one by the
precocity of his talents, he was placed at Bologna at the
age of fourteen to study the canon law. In the course of
two years, however, he abandoned this branch of knowledge
in disgust, and turned with eager delight to philosophy and
theology. The next seven years were spent by him in
visiting the most celebrated universities of France and Italy,
in sitting at the feet of eminent professors, in entering the
lists against the most redoubtable controversialists, and in
the most assiduous private study. His memory was now
so tenacious that it retained every fact that was presented
to it; his elocution was fluent and forcible; and his mind
could unravel the most intricate problems with unfailing
tact and rapidity. Thus equipped with his extensive
acquirements and ready talents, Mirandola appeared at
Rome in 1486 as a controversial champion. Propounding
as the subjects of debate 900 theses on every possible
branch of knowledge, he threw down the gauntlet to the
whole learned world. At the same time he promised to
defray the expenses of all those disputants who should come
from a distance. No one responded to his challenge. His
puerile vanity, however, was not suffered to enjoy this tri¬
umph long. Some dignified individuals, disgusted with the
selt-conceit, and envying the accomplishments of so young
a scholar, accused him before the Pope of advocating heresies
in 13 of his propositions. This was the beginning of a per¬
secution which, though resulting in a full vindication of his
orthodoxy, humbled his vanity and deepened his devotional
feelings. He now renounced the study of profane litera¬
ture, threw into the flames five books of amatory poems
which he had composed in Italian, and devoted all his time
to investigations into religion and the Platonic philosophy,
fo reconcile the tenets of Plato with those of Aristotle be¬
came his favourite attempt, and is the object of his treatise
Z>e JEnte et Uno. The latter part of his life was spent at
Horence in the midst of his books, in the enjoyment of a
liberal fortune, and in daily intercourse with the most en¬
lightened men of that time. He was cut off at the age of
thirty-two in 1494. His collected works, published at
Basel in 1601, contain treatises on the Lord’s Prayer, the
Kingdom of Christ, the 15th Psalm, the Rules of a Christian
Life, &c. A Life was prefixed to his works by his nephew
and pupil Gianfrancesco Pico Mirandola. More valuable,
however, is the biography by the Rev. W. Parr Gresswell,
8vo, Manchester, 1805.
MIRECOURT, a town of France, in the department of
Vosges, on the Madon, 17 miles N.W. of Epinal. It is
irregular and ill built, but is pleasantly situated, and adorned
by several fountains. It has a civil tribunal and one of
commerce, and a library containing 7000 volumes. The
\ principal manufacture is that of musical instruments, for
\ . c/1 tlle town is somewhat noted. In the town and
neig bom hood are about 20 establishments, giving employ¬
ment to more than 6000 hands, and producing annually up-
\ ?var s™arn’^’on r’f'viohnS; guitars, organs, and other musical
instruments. Lacemaking, embroidery, and similar occupa-
M I S
tions are also extensively carried on, and afford employment Mirepoix
to many females in the town and surrounding country. II
Mirecourt has a considerable trade in the produce of these ^ isenum.^
manufactures, and in wines and cattle. Pop. (1851) 5443.
MIREPOIX, a town of France, department of Ariege,
on the Lers, 14 miles E. of Panders. It is clean and well
built, and contains several squares adorned with trees and
fountains. It was formerly surrounded by ditches, but
these have been filled up, and are now used as boulevards.
The principal buildings are,—the parish church, a town-hall,
a communal college; an hospital, with several schools
attached to it; a handsome stone bridge of seven arches;
and a square tower, all that remains of its ancient castle.
Coarse woollen stuffs, linen, cotton, flannel, worsted, and
soap are manufactured here; and there is a considerable
trade in grain, and in the iron which is obtained in consi¬
derable quantities in the neighbourhood. Pop. 4476.
MIREVELT, Michael Jansen, an eminent portrait-
painter, was the son of a goldsmith, and was born at Delft
in 1568. While a pupil of Blocklandt, he made such rapid
progress that he soon rivalled his master. His first works
were altar-pieces for some of the churches in his native town.
In a short time, however, he turned to the more lucrative
vocation of painting portraits, and speedily rose into repute.
He was often summoned from his settled residence at Delft
to the Hague, to paint the princes of the House of Nassau.
The Archduke Albert conferred upon him a considerable
pension. In 1625 he was invited to England by Charles L,
and would have complied with the request had not the
plague been then raging in London. Meanwhile Mirevelt
must have been amassing a fair fortune, since the very
smallest of his numerous works was sold for no less than
150 florins. He died at Delft in 1641, after he had exe¬
cuted, according to Sandrart, nearly ten thousand portraits.
“ The portraits of Mirevelt,” says Stanley in his Dutch and
Flemish Painters, “are well drawn, full of expression,
solidly coloured, and with a proper degree of finishing with¬
out the appearance of labour.” Mirevelt’s son Peter pos¬
sessed some merit as a portrait-painter.
MIRGOROD, a town of Russia, in the government of
Poltawa, situated on the Khorol, about 50 miles N.W. of
the town of Poltawa. It contains three churches, and is the
principal seat of the ecclesiastical dignitaries of the govern¬
ment. It has an extensive trade in earthenware and other
articles; and five annual fairs are held here, which are of
considerable importance. Pop. (1852) 8951.
MIRROR. See Optics, and Burning-Glasses.
MIRZAPORE, a town of Hindustan, and the principal
place of the district of the same name. It is situated at
the foot of a range of hills on the south bank of the River
Ganges. The town consists of handsome European houses
and native habitations, with clusters of Hindu temples
crowding the banks of the Ganges, and making a lively ap¬
pearance when seen from the river. It is one of the greatest
inland trading towns in Hindustan, and the depot of all the
cotton from Agra and the Mahratta countries. It has also
an extensive manufacture of carpets and some iron-works.
Several opulent merchants and indigo planters, both native
and European, reside in the town and its vicinity. The
travelling distance from Benares is 30 miles. The East
India Railway from Calcutta to Delhi passes by this town.
E. Long. 82. 38., N. Lat. 25. 6.
The district of which this city is the capital has an area
of 5235 square miles, with a population of 831,388, most of
whom are Hindus, the Mohammedans being comparatively
few. A portion of the tract was ceded to the East India
Company by the Vizier of Oude in 1775, and the remainder
in 1801.
MISENUM {Capo di Miseno), in ancient geography, a
famous promontory on the coast of Campania, which formed
the northern boundary of the Sinus Cumanus (Bay of
M IS
Mishna Naples). It is said to have derived its name from Misenus,
Missions, h, Vi^by1°ne aS a comPanion of Ulysses,
W , but fy an^ others as the trumpeter of ^neas. To-
wai ds the close of the Republic its vicinity became a favou-
nte site tor the summer residences of the citizens of Rome.
vLrT’-0n t le birTof.n hil1 comrnanding an extensive sea¬
ward view, stood the villa of Marius, which afterwards, in the
possession of Lucullus, attained to a more than regal magni¬
ficence. I he promontory is mentioned by Cicero as a
resort of the Cihcian pirates. In the reign of Augustus its
and-locked harbour became the permanent station of the
fleet that was entrusted with the defence of the Lower Sea.
theCnorf epre tt0,wnr1” consequence gradually rose around
tht « ri‘ P a7 he Eld<;)r was stationed here in command of
the Classis Misenensis, when he was induced, a.d. 79 to
V1SMTQMTV APtl0n of ]VJ0Unt Vesuvius in which he perished.
MISHNA, a part of the Jewish Talmud, containing the
Gemara is a commentary. (See Talmud.)
f cij Z,Ia-market_t0wn of Hungary> capital of the
county of Borsod, is situated on the Sinwa, at the foot of
he valley of Dios Gyor, 25 miles N.E. of Erlau. The
town is well built, containing many fine houses and two
squares, ^eluding a Roman Catholic church and convent,
1 Greek and 2 Protestant churches, a synagogue, several
schools and a county-hall. The inhabitants are chiefly
1 rotestants, and are employed for the most part in agri¬
culture. The town has a large trade in fruit, wine, and a
peculiar sort of bread for which the place is famous. Iron
of nne quality is extensively mined in the vicinity. Markets
are held at Miskolcz weekly; and there are five'annual fairs
of considerable importance. Pop. (1846) 30,000.
MISSAL, the Roman Catholic book containing the seve-
ra said °n Partic.uIar days- (See Mass.)
ISSIONS, Religious. It is impossible within the
limits of our article to give even a hasty sketch of those
great religious movements which have exercised their in¬
fluence at the dawn of every civilization on the face of the
globe, and have done more to change the features of na¬
tional life than the sword of kings or the scourge of con¬
querors. I he civilization of Egypt, can be traced upwards
to sacerdotal colonies, slowly effecting a religious revolu¬
tion, and prosecuting missionary work from centres of re¬
ligious influence which at first were isolated and weak,
from these religious schools swarms of colonists, chiefly
priests, migrated into other lands and planted a sacerdotal
civilization wherever they went. Not dissimilar in kind
was the advance of the Brahmins over India, spreading by
colonies and conquest a religious culture not indigenous to
the country; and the progress of the Buddhists, who dis¬
seminated a foreign creed as far as Japan and Central
Asia. In the traditions of many barbarous nations there
is a floating recollection of religious change, and of a time
when their present worship was adopted by their ancestors
as an improvement, at the suggestion of teachers from some
other clime. Unlike the forms of worship that rose and
ell around it, Judaism seems to have made few converts in
the days of its prosperity ; and when its doctrines became
known in the Western World by means of the dispersions,
it was the internal tenacity of the system, and not its ex¬
pansive power, that gave it a missionary character. The
Jewish colonies, although they commanded respect from
their heathen neighbours, served as little more than step¬
ping-stones conveniently placed for the spreading of Christi¬
anity when it should be revealed. From the Greek tono-Ue
and the Greek race Christianity borrowed the great ma¬
chinery of its speedy diffusion. Even in the East its chief
seats were the Greek colonies, and from them “ it spread
into China and Tartary, and from its ancient success in
these quarters kept in suspense the emperors who wielded
the sceptre of Zengis, whether they should desolate the
world with the sword in the one hand and the Koran or
MIS
269
j ?lb e *n the other. In apostolic times the choice Missions,
long hung trembling in the balance whether the efforts of
.the first preachers were to be directed to the East or to the
West; and to the operation of a few seemingly trivial
causes we owe it that western Christianity is now carrying its
gospel to the East, instead of missionary societies in Tartary
sending their agents to convert the savages of Britain
Under the supremacy of Rome much more might have
been expected of the popes for the diffusion, if not of reli¬
gion, at least of tenets that were favourable to their own
interest and sovereignty, than was actually performed by
them. I heir attention was too much distracted by the
quarrels of nominal Christendom, and the more tempting
opportunities of increasing their power at home at the ex¬
pense of Christian kings, to enable them to look steadily
and far abroad or to form any settled plan for extending
their spiritual dominion over foreign nations. Another ob¬
stacle presented itself; the Papists were inferior in know¬
ledge to the Moslem; the Greek church might boast of
some superior civilization, but the Franks were despised by
the baracens for their ignorance and barbarity, as well as
held m abomination for their gross idolatry. Their mis¬
sions, therefore, were there chiefly confined to tribes of
kindred and German origin, whose conversion was facili¬
tated by the greater number of their own tongue and blood
having already submitted to the papal sway.
But if the popes did little in comparison with their re¬
sources, individuals did much. The mission of St Patrick
to Ireland may compare in zeal and in success with what¬
ever had been undertaken for the spread of Christianity
since the times of Constantine; and its effects were not
confmed to Ireland, but spread over Scotland and the north
ot England, and reached even to Germany. The nones
indeed, when aroused by the fear of a Tartar invasion, de¬
spatched an ill-contrived and hopeless mission to the sove¬
reigns of Tartary, in order to avert the danger which
threatened Europe, by converting them; but any real and
disinterested zeal throughout the dark ages is chiefly to be
ound in individuals who, like the ingenious but fantasti¬
cal Raymond Lully, were meditating plans for extending
religion whilst the rest of the Christian world were careless
and asleep.
,,'rbe Eeformation gave a revival to Popery itself; and as
the Cai thagmians sought to regain the resources which
they had lost nearer home by founding a new empire in
bpain, so the Roman Catholics endeavoured to counter¬
balance the loss of the third of Europe by extending the
spiritual dominions of the church over the regions of the
boundless and populous East. Of all religious revivals,
ie 1 eformation least abounded in missionary efforts be¬
cause in its origin and spread it was least of all dependent
on the personal exertions of missionaries. It was the first
great manifestation of the power of printing, and for a time
so new and mighty an engine seemed to supersede all
other exertions. It is true that so early as September 1556
fourteen Swiss missionaries took their departure from Geneva
or Brazil, and the example was followed by many of the
Reformed Churches; but not till the Reformed faith had
suffered a long eclipse and been again restored to vigour
were any commensurate efforts made to carry the gospel
to heathen territory. In modern times the scale of mis¬
sionary effort has rapidly risen, until at the present moment
thei e are few sects of Christians, however weak, who do
not bestow some of their activity on this work. Instead of
entering into particular details, which must be sought for
in the lives of eminent missionaries given in this work we
prefer to begin our survey by a comprehensive table, con¬
taining a list of the principal missionary bodies, the sphere
o t icir missions, the number of communicants reported
Aeir scSI40 ^ ChUrCheS’ and ofscholl>re attending
270
Missions.
MISSIONS.
Origin.
17011
1786
1792
1795
1799
1816
1840
1844
1844
1845
1850
1796
1796
1825
1835
1842
1843
1840
1714
1732
1797
1821
1822
1828
1833
1835
1836
1836
1836
1842
1846
1850
1810
1814
1819
1820
1833
1837
1837
1842
1843
1845
1845
1848
SOCIETIES, &c.
The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in
Foreign Parts 
The Methodist Missionary Society  
f The Baptist Missionary Society 
[ Jamaica Baptist Union 
The London Missionary Society    
The Church (of England) Missionary Society.
The General Baptist Missionary Society 
The Welsh Foreign Missionary Society 
The (Free) Presbyterian Church in England 
The Patagonian Missionary Society 
The Naval Missionary Society for the Loochoo
Islands   
The Chinese Evangelization Society 
The Scottish Missionary Society    
The Glasgow Missionary Society 
The General Assembly of the Church of Scotland
The United Presbyterian Synod 
The Beformed Presbyterian Synod   
The General Assembly of the Free Church of
Scotland 
The General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church
in Ireland.... 
CONTINENTAL.
The Royal Danish Mission College.
The United Brethren 
The Netherland Missionary Society 
The German Missionary Society (Basle) 
The Paris Society for Evangelical Missions 
The Rhenish Missionary Society 
The Berlin Missionary Society 
The Swedish Missionary Society (Stockholm)..
Gossner’s Missionary Society.    
The Evangelical Lutheran Missionary Society..
The North German Missionary Society 
The Norwegian Missionary Society 
The Swedish Missionary Society (Lund) 
The Berlin Missionary Union for China 
MISSIONS.
AMERICAN.
American Board for Foreign Missions.
American Baptist Missionary Union 
American Methodist Episcopal Missionary Society
India, Ceylon, Borneo, South Africa, British
Guiana 
West Indies, Western Africa, Southern Africa, In¬
dia, Ceylon, China, New Zealand, Friendly Islands,
Fiji Islands, Hudson’s Bay Company’s Territory
India, Ceylon, Western Africa, West Indies 
Jamaica   
South Sea Islands, South Africa, India, China, Bri¬
tish Guiana, Jamaica, Mauritius 
Western Africa, Eastern Africa, India, Ceylon,
China, New Zealand, British Guiana, Hudson’s
Bay Company’s Territory, Greece, Asia Minor,
Palestine, Egypt, Mauritius 
India (Orissa)   
India (Hill Country N.E. of Bengal) 
China.  
Patagonia  
Loochoo Islands 
China, Penang   
The missions established by these societies in India,
Jamaica, and Caffraria, are now carried on by the
General Assembly of the Free Church and by the
United Presbyterian Synod.
India.
Jamaica, Caymanas, Trinidad; West Africa (Old
Calabar), Caffraria
New Hebrides 
India, Caffraria.
India.
American Episcopal Board of Missions  
The Free-Will Baptist Foreign Missionary Society
American Evangelical Lutheran Foreign Mission¬
ary Society  
The General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church
in the United States    
The Seventh-Day Baptist Missionary Society 
The Baptist Free Missionary Society 
American Methodist Missionary Society (South)...
The Missionary Board of the Southern Baptist
Church      
The American Missionary Association  
The American Indian Mission Association 
The Synod of the Presbyterian Church in Nova
Scotia 
Greenland 
Greenland, Labrador, Indians in North America,
Danish and English West India Islands, Surinam
South Africa, Australia 
Dutch East India Islands, China 
Western Africa, India, China 
South Africa 
South Africa, Borneo, China 
South Africa  
Lapland 
India, New Holland, &c 
Southern India, New Holland 
Western Africa, New Zealand 
South Africa (Zulu country) 
China 
China 
Commu¬
nicants.
India, Ceylon, China, Sandwich Islands, Micronesia,
Indians in United States, Greece, Turkey, Asia
Minor, Syria, Assyria, Persia, Western Africa,
South Africa   
Burmah, India, Siam, China, Indians in United States
Indians in United States, Liberia on West Coast of
Africa, China 
Greece, Western Africa, China 
India (Orissa) 
India.
India, Siam, China, Western Africa, Indians in
United States, Chinese in California 
China.
Haiti 
Indians in United States, China.
Western Africa, China 
United States, Jamaica, Western Africa, Siam.
United States     
Scholars.
5,576s
75,091
4,588
15,106
15,150
18,786
329
28
47
3,182
44
582
20
19,583
1,009
1,283
985
2,111
New Hebrides.
26,976
14,274
2,718
265
79
86
900
6
66
4,308
644
1,320
50
39,335
3,476
3,036
246
193
58
132
1,975
3,100
8,791
472
2,062
310
7063
19,366
3,000
131
409
4,595
' 2654
600
177
Missions.
1 The first missionary institution in England was “The Corporation for the Propagation of the Gospel in New England and the
adjacent parts of America.” It was erected in 1649. Of this society the Honourable Mr Boyle was^about thirty years the governor.
2 This return includes only India and Ceylon. 3 India.
Indians.
'
Missions.
MISSIONS.
The following is a Table of the Countries in which Missions have been established by these Societies :■
271
Missions.
Europe.
Lapland
Greece
Turkey
Asia.
Asia Minor
and Ar¬
menia
Syria
Palestine
Assyria
Persia
India
SOCIETIES, &c.
Swedish Missionary Society at
Stockholm 
Church Missionary Society, Ame¬
rican Board, American Episco¬
pal Board of Missions 
American Board  
American Board, Church Mission¬
ary Society 
Ceylon
Burmab
Siam
Dutch East
India
Islands
Borneo
China
Loochoo
Islands
New Hol¬
land
American Board 
Church Missionary Society 
American Board 
Do. do 
Baptist, London, Church, Metho¬
dist, General Baptist, and Welsh
Missionary Societies; Propaga¬
tion Society; General Assem¬
blies of the Church of Scotland,
of the Free Church, and of the
Irish Presbyterian Church; the
German (Basle), Evangelical
Lutheran, and Gossner’s Mis¬
sionary Societies; American
Board, General Assembly of
Presbyterian Church, Baptist
Missionary Union, Free-Will
Baptist, and Evangelical Lu¬
theran Foreign Missionary So¬
cieties  
Baptist, Methodist, and Church
Missionary Societies; Propaga¬
tion Society; American Board
American Baptist Missionary Un¬
ion  
American Baptist Missionary Un¬
ion, General Assembly of the
Presbyterian Church in the
United States, American Mis¬
sionary Association 
Netherland Missionary Society...
Propagation Society, Rhenish Mis¬
sionary Society 
London, Church, and Methodist
Missionary Societies; Chinese
Evangelization Society, Free
Presbyterian Synod in England;
Netherland, German (Basle),
Rhenish, and Swedish Mission¬
ary Societies; Berlin Mission¬
ary Union for China; Ameri¬
can Board, Baptist Missionary
Union, General Assembly of
Presbyterian Church, Episcopal
Board of Missions, Methodist
Missionary Societies (North and
South), Seventh-Day Baptist
Missionary Society, Board of
Southern Baptist Church 
Naval Missionary Society 
United Brethren, Gossner’s Mis¬
sionary Society, Evangelical
Lutheran Missionary Society...
Commu¬
nicants.
Scholars
148
478
80
"so
100
93
1,058
816
243
1,230
19,370
3,447
13,807
37
64,806
13,972
924
1,467
Countries.
Africa.
Western
SOCIETIES, &c.
Southern
Eastern
Northern
America.
Greenland
Labrador
British
America
(Indians)
United
States
(Indians)
West In¬
dies (Ne¬
groes)
Patagonia
Polynesia
Society
Islands
Hervey
Islands
Naviga¬
tor’s
Islands
Loyalty
Islands
New Zea¬
land
Friendly
Islands
Fiji
Islands
Sandwich
Islands
Micronesia
New He¬
brides
Church, Methodist, and Baptist
Missionary Societies; United
Presbyterian Synod; German
(Basle), and North German Mis¬
sionary Societies ; American
Board, General Assembly of
Presbyterian Church, Method¬
ist Missionary Society, Episco¬
pal Board of Missions, Board of
Southern Baptist Church, Ame¬
rican Missionary Association...
United Brethren, London, and
Methodist Missionary Societies;
Propagation Society; General
Assembly of Free Church;
United Presbyterian Church;
Paris, Rhenish, Berlin, and
Norwegian Missionary Socie¬
ties ; American Board 
Church Missionary Society 
Do. do. do. (Egypt)
Danish College of Missions, United
Brethren 
United Brethren 
Church Missionary Society, Pro¬
pagation Society,Methodist Mis¬
sionary Society, United Breth¬
ren  
United Brethren, American Board,
Baptist Missionary Union, Me¬
thodist Missionary Societies
(North and South), General As¬
sembly of Presbyterian Church,
American Missionary Associa¬
tion, American Indian Mission
Association   
United Brethren, Methodist, Bap¬
tist, and London Missionary So¬
cieties ; Jamaica Baptist Union;
United Presbyterian Church;
American Missionary Associa¬
tion, Baptist Free Missionary
Society 
Patagonian Missionary Society...
Commu¬
nicants.
Scholars.
16,508
11,945
8881
370
2,158
12,338
841
9,228
London Missionary Society.
Do. do. do. .
Do.
Do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
Church, Methodist, and North
German Missionary Societies...
Methodist Missionary Society 
Do. do.
American Board
do.
Do. do 
Presbyterian Synod in Nova Sco¬
tia, Reformed Presbyterian Sy¬
nod in Scotland  
88,807
2,272
1,312
2,17
67
9,125
6,265
4,251
22,766
94
1,400
18,064
6,844
10,555
11,0592
In the preceding tables we have stated the number of com¬
municants connected with the principal Protestant missions,
so far as we have been able to ascertain them. If we had
given also the baptized, the numbers would have been
much greater, and they would have been still further aug¬
mented, if to them we had added others under special instruc¬
tion. Thus, in the missions of the United Brethren the
numbers of these several classes in 1856 were as follows :—
1 United Brethren.
3 S:rh^ the Sf.ndrif Isl!"ds arerJesul*s of the mission> they are now entirely supported by the Hawaiian Government,
course under the truth 1CUlar y m ^ SeCOn<1 ^ arG “ Vari°U9 instances incomplete. Where they are so, the numbers given are of
272
MISSIONS.
Missions.
Communicants 
Baptized adults  
Baptized children 
Candidates for baptism, new people, and
excluded 
19,583
10,607
21,245
19,912
Total 71,347
In the missions of the Society for the Propagation of the
Gospel in Foreign Parts, these classes in India were as fol¬
lows :—
Communicants 
Baptized adults and children  ....
Unbaptized persons under instruction
5,133
19,901
6,697
Total 31,731
In most missions, however, the numbers of the baptized
and unbaptized persons connected with them bear a much
less proportion to the communicants.
With the view of giving some idea of the expense of
such varied and extensive operations, we shall here subjoin
a statement of the receipts and expenditure of the prin¬
cipal missionary bodies for one year:—
English. Year.
Society for the Propagation of the Gos- 1
pel in Foreign Parts, General Fund j
Methodist Missionary Society 1856
Baptist Missionary Society  1856-7
London Missionary Society  1856-7
Church Missionary Society  1856-7
General Baptist Missionary Society... 1856-7
Free Presbyterian Ch. in England... 1856-7
Miss. Society for the Loochoo Islands. 1854
Chinese Evangelization Society  1857
General Assemblyof the Ch. of Scotland 1856-7
United Presbyterian Synod  1856
General Assembly of the Free 1 -.n-/. h
Church of Scotland ...v J
Edin. Medical Missionary Society 1856
General Assembly of Presbyterian 1 -iq-a 7
Church in Ireland  / iaotw
Continental.
The United Brethren   1856
Netherlands Missionary Society  1854-5
German Missionary Society (Basle)... 1854-5
Paris Society for Evangelical Missions 1855-6
Rhenish Missionary Society  1850
Berlin Missionary Society 1853
Ameuican.
1856-7
1856-7
1855-6
1855-6
1855
Receipts. Expen.
L.66,753 L.65,6721
American Board of Foreign Missions...
American Baptist Missionary Union...
American Episcopal Board of Missions
Free-will Baptist Foreign Mission-1
ary Society   J
Evangelical Lutheran Foreign Mis- 1
sionary Society (average of 2 yrs.) j
General Assembly of Presbyterian 1
Church in United States j
Baptist Free Missionary Society 
Missionary Board of the Southern 1
Baptist Church  ... )
1856-7
1855- 6
1856- 7
119,205
21,467
68,095
123,175
2,940
1,549
302
2,255
3,538
14,284
12,273
715
112,8082
22,039
74,003
118,658
3,196
1,146
637
2,355
4,647
13,269
15,317
698
3,653 3,243
13,565
7,499
13,012
4,545
5,992
4,152
13,353
6,206
14,124
5,371
5,184
3,448
73,486 74,081
23,184 22,824
14,512 14,533
1,583 1,193
1,229 1,196
43,226 45,524
594 339
6,652 6,927
These statements are nearly complete as regards the
societies of this country ; but they are imperfect regarding
those of the continent of Europe and America. We have,
however, found about L.380,000 expended in one year on
British missions among the heathen ; about LAS,000 on
continental, including those of the United Brethren, and
about L.167,000 on American. The continental and Ame¬
rican societies which are not included in the above list,
are for the most part inconsiderable; and if we make a
moderate allowance on account of them, we shall have an
expenditure of about L.600,000 a year by the Protes¬
tant churches on missions among the heathen.
It is a fact not unworthy of notice, that of the heathen Missions,
races who have been brought to receive the gospel, by far ^ m~ . — J
the greatest numbers are Negroes and their descendants. In
the West Indies, including British and Dutch Guiana, and
on the western coast of Africa, the communicants con¬
nected with various missions amounted to no fewer than
105,315. In 1843 there were also 128,410 black and co¬
loured people, members of the Methodist Church in the
United States, and it is probable the numbers have since
that time greatly increased. There were also considerable
numbers connected with the Baptist, the Presbyterian, and
other churches in that country. We are well aware, in¬
deed, that the instruction which is given to the slaves in
the Southern States is in many, perhaps most cases, very
defective, and in some shamefully perverted; yet even
among them, we doubt not, there may be found many real,
though perhaps not very intelligent converts. Taking
these several statements into account, we would not be sur¬
prised though it should be found, that in the present day
there are more real converts from among the Negro race
than from among all other heathen nations put together.
But be this as it may, the facts we have stated furnish a
striking example of the providence of God overruling the
wickedness of man for good, seeing it has been through
means of the system of slavery, as carried on by men call¬
ing themselves Christians, that so many of the Negro race
came to have an opportunity of receiving any religious in¬
struction whatever.
Missions and missionaries have been very falsely esti¬
mated both by their friends and advocates, and by those
who have been hostile or indifferent to them. Such as
were opposed to them commonly looked on missionaries as
ignorant, weak-minded enthusiasts ; while their friends and
advocates have no less erred in looking on them as men
of more than ordinary piety, zeal, disinterestedness, and
devotedness. In engaging in this work, some noble spirits
are doubtless animated by what has been emphatically
called “ a passion for missions,” and some by “ the romance
of missions; ” but the generality, there is ground to con¬
clude, make choice of the service on the same principles,
and with the same views, as most persons choose their em¬
ployments in life, and, in a special manner, from the same
motives (often very much mixed) as many choose the Chris¬
tian ministry as their profession. The truth is, missions
afford to many an opening in life,—opportunities of rising in
the w’orld, or at least of obtaining a position which they
might not so readily otherwise obtain. There are, of
course, differences among them, corresponding somewhat
to the characteristics of the several churches to which they
belong ; but in general they will not be found superior, as
regards piety, zeal, disinterestedness, devotedness, and
other moral qualifications, to the better class of ministers
in their respective denominations who remain at home.
Many people associate ideas of hardships, privations, and
sufferings with their picture of missionary life; but in reality,
with a few exceptions, missionaries are generally better off,
in regard to salaries and the outward accommodations of life,
than most of them could have expected to be in their own
country. The chief points in regard to which missionaries
are often placed in disadvantageous circumstances are, an
unhealthy climate, and the difficulties they often have regard¬
ing the education and settlement of their children in life.
Intellectually, the character of missionaries has latterly
much improved. When missionary societies were formed
in England and Scotland, toward the end of the eighteenth
century, an idea appeared to prevail, that persons would do
well enough as missionaries to the heathen whom no one
T? ' • h lar£er portion of the funds of the Propagation Society are raised for, and expended on, the English Church in the
J ritis colonies. Of the sum above mentioned, the portion expended on missions among the heathen probably did not exceed one-third.
1 art of this expenditure is on account of missions in Ireland, France, Germany, and in various of our colonies.
MISS
Missions, would have thought of for ministers at home. But the
standard of the education of missionaries has gradually
risen; and a large proportion of those who are now sent
out as missionaries are well-educated men, and have for
the most part enjoyed a regular training for the ministry.
Several of the societies established institutions for the edu¬
cation of missionary students; while numbers who had re¬
ceived the usual education for the ministry, particularly
in this country and America, have offered themselves for
the service. In the early stage of our missionary societies
individual medical men were also sent out, and some even
of those who had enjoyed nothing more than a common
education were put in the way of receiving some medical
instruction before leaving their native country ; but latterly,
in America especially, a physician has been a very common
constituent of a mission ; and some years ago a society was
established in Edinburgh under the name of the “ Medical
Missionary Society,” which is chiefly under the manage¬
ment of gentlemen of the medical profession in that city,
who have shown great interest in the cause.
Missionaries, many imagine, are not much to be relied on
as to the accounts which they send home; but we are satis¬
fied that for such suspicions there are no sufficient grounds.
There may have been individuals who, giving way to their
imaginations, or studying effect in their narrations, or seek¬
ing to raise themselves in public estimation, have sent
home coloured and exaggerated accounts of their labours,
successes, and prospects ; but of the general truthfulness
of the letters and journals of missionaries we are perfectly
satisfied. We may not always form the same judgments
as they form of the things related by them, nor be pre¬
pared to draw the same conclusions from them; but the
simple facts themselves it seldom enters into our minds
to question.1 We cannot, however, say so much for the
advocates of missions at home. In printed books, in ser¬
mons, and in speeches at public meetings, we frequently
meet with coloured, exaggerated, one-sided representations.
Though the success of missions has been considerable,
yet it is by no means equal to what is commonly supposed.
Of the difficulties in the way of the conversion of the
heathen few persons have any adequate idea. To say no¬
thing of the many and powerful moral obstacles, the dark¬
ness of the heathen mind is such, that it must generally be
exceedingly difficult even to lodge Christian ideas in it,—
ideas so foreign and often so opposite to all its previous
ideas and its habitual trains of thinking. Nor is the success
of missions to be estimated by mere figures. Though the
numbers of the baptized, and even of the communicants,
in the several missions, and especially in those of particular
societies, may appear considerable, yet there can be no
question that a large portion of these can be reckoned as
converts only in name. Missionaries who exercise much
strictness in the admission of members into the church,
though the numbers they receive should be compara¬
tively small, are probably more really useful than such as
open the door wide, and count their converts by hundreds
or by thousands.
Though the following statements have reference to con¬
verts from among the Hindus and Africans, they are pro¬
bably extensively applicable to converts from among hea¬
then nations. Speaking of Hindu converts, Dr Brown re¬
marks :—“ Of the general character of the converts we wish
we could speak favourably; but it must be acknowledged
that even in those missions in which considerable care is
exercised in the admission of persons to baptism, it was for
the most part very imperfect. Of the sincerity of many
IONS.
who professed Christianity there was room to doubt; but
even those who, it was hoped, were truly converted, la¬
boured under many and great defects.”
Dr Livingstone gives the following as his impressions of
the effects produced on the natives of Africa by missionary
labours :—“Many hundreds of both Griquas and Bechuanas
have become Christians, and partially civilized, through the
teaching of English missionaries. My first impressions of
the progress made were, that the accounts of the effects of
the gospel among them had been too highly coloured. I
expected a higher degree of Christian simplicity and purity
than exists either among them or among ourselves. I was
not anxious for a deeper insight in detecting shams than
others; but I expected character such as we imagine the
primitive disciples had, and was disappointed. When,
however, I passed on to the true heathen, in the countries
beyond the sphere of missionary influence, and could com¬
pare the people there with the Christian natives, I came to
the conclusion that, if the question were examined in the
most rigidly severe or scientific way, the change effected
by the missionary movement would be considered unques¬
tionably great. We cannot fairly compare these poor
people with ourselves, who have an atmosphere of Chris¬
tianity and enlightened public opinion, the growth of cen¬
turies, around us, to influence our deportment; but let
any one from the natural and proper point of view behold
the public morality of Griqua Town, Kuruman, Likatlong,
and other villages, and remember what even London was
a century ago, and he must confess that the Christian mode
of treating aborigines is incomparably the best.
“ The Bechuana mission has been so far successful, that,
when coming from the interior, we always felt, on reach¬
ing Kuruman, we had returned to civilized life. But I
would not give any one to understand by this that they are
model Christians,—we cannot claim to be model Christians
ourselves,—or even in any degree superior to the members
of our own country churches. They are more stingy and
greedy than the poor at home; but in many respects the
two are exactly alike. On asking an intelligent chief what
he thought of them, he replied, ‘ You white men have no
idea of how wicked we are ; we know each other better than
you. Some feign belief to ingratiate themselves with the
missionaries; some profess Christianity because they like
the new system which gives so much more importance to
the poor, and desire that the old system may pass away ;
and the rest—a pretty large number—profess because
they are really true believers.’”2
It may appear surprising that so many of the converts from
heathenism should turn out to be only nominal Christians.
It might naturally be thought, that in giving up with the
religion of their country and their forefathers, and embrac¬
ing a new religion of an entirely opposite character, we
might calculate on its being the result of inquiry and con¬
sideration, and that, if not particularly intelligent, the gene¬
rality of them would yet be true Christians. But to say
nothing of the fact, that in all countries and in all ages
(unless, perhaps, in apostolic times) the great majority of
professed Christians have been Christians only in name,
there are circumstances which, especially in some countries,
will account for the natives coming over to the religion of
the missionaries, without there being any substantial or
spiritual change in their own state and character. Nowhere
in modern times have missions been considered as achiev¬
ing such great and glorious triumphs as in the South Sea
Islands; yet, while we have no doubt that much good was
in various ways effected in these islands, it yet appears
1 In making these observations, it must not be imagined that we mean to detract from the intellectual character of missionaries.
Among them there are men of highly respectable talents and acquirements, and taking them generally, they will be found to possess a
fair average measure of ability and sound-headedness. We have, for the most part, a great respect for their judgment; only we are
not disposed to receive it implicitly, just as we are not disposed to receive implicitly the judgments of any other class of men on other
subjects. 2 Livingstone’s Travels in South Africa, pp. 107 and 109.
VOL. XV. 2 M
273
Missions.
274 MISS
Missions, that the religious revolution which took place in many of
them was materially the result of the example and influence
of the chiefs,—more, in the first instance, than of the teach¬
ing of the missionaries. So long as the chiefs adhered to
the religion of their fathers, the people had no thought of
changing it; but as soon as they declared in favour of the
new religion, their subjects were ready to follow them.
They would now destroy their morais, burn or deliver up
their idols, profess to be Christians, erect places of worship,
observe the Sabbath-day with great outward strictness,
while yet they continued to indulge in the most degrad¬
ing vices, living like the beasts of the field. As regards
the great body of the people, the revolution wanted not
only purity, but reality. Christianity now became in a
manner the national religion, and the mass of the popula¬
tion outwardly conformed to it. It is also worthy of men¬
tion that, among the Sandwich Islanders at least, it was a
great object of ambition to be received as members of the
church. “ A tabu meeting {i. e., a meeting consisting of
selected persons) was to the mind of a Hawaiian one of
the most desirable things on earth. Hence the constant
pressure by them at the door of the church. It would have
been the easiest thing imaginable to have added as many
to it in one day as the Apostles did on the day of Pentecost.”
Among the Hottentots it was also observed there was a
great anxiety to be received as members of the church.
We have already seen that the numbers of communicants
of the Negro race are very great as compared with other
classes of heathens; and though we do not recollect ever
to have seen it stated as a fact, yet we greatly suspect
that pride is often at the bottom of their desire to be bap¬
tized,—that their being so raises them in their own estima¬
tion above their unbaptized countrymen, and brings them
a step nearer to White men, to whom, though often their
oppressors, they cannot help looking up as their superiors.
These circumstances, and in some cases self-interest in one
form or another, will explain how professed converts from
among the heathen are so often only nominal Christians.
The earlier missions of our societies were directed chiefly
to uncivilized tribes; and it was strongly argued by many
who were opposed to the whole scheme, that civilization
must of necessity precede Christianization, and that it
was vain to think to communicate the sublime principles of
the gospel to barbarians and savages. But the promoters
of missions had then scarcely access to civilized nations
(India and China, for example, were in a manner closed
against them), and unless they sent to barbarous tribes,
they could scarcely send forth missions at all. But they
had a still further answer to the objection, namely, that
the gospel was adapted to, and intended for, all mankind,
whether civilized or uncivilized,—“ to the Jew and the
Greek, the barbarian and the Scythian, the bond and the
free.” This answer was no doubt well founded; but it is
not unworthy of remark, that what might then perhaps be
deemed only theory has since that time been completely
established by numerous, varied, and undoubted experi¬
ments. Numerous missions have been established in North
America among various tribes of the Indians; in the islands
ot the Pacific Ocean,—the Society, the Hervey, the Navi¬
gator, the Friendly, the Fiji, and the Sandwich Islands, and
also in New Zealand ; among the Negroes in the West India
Islands and on the Western coast of Africa ; and in South
Africa, among the Hottentots, the Griquas, the Bechuanas,
the Kafirs, and the Zulus. Numerous missions have also
been established among civilized or demi-civilized nations,
as in the East Indies, in Burmah, in Siam, and in China.
Now, though we may not be able to state with anything
like exactness the comparative amount of labour bestowed
on civilized and uncivilized countries, nor yet the compara¬
tive extent of success in the one and the other, yet it will
be seen from the preceding statistics that great numbers
IONS.
from among barbarous tribes have been brought to profess Missions,
themselves Christians through the labours of missionaries,
and there is ground to hope that among them there have
been many who have been brought to something more than
a mere profession of Christianity,—have, in fact, been
genuine believers in Christ. The number of both these
classes among uncivilized nations is even greater than
among the civilized nations of the East, in India, Burmah,
Siam, and China.
It would, however, be a grievous mistake to conclude
from this that uncivilized countries are to be preferred as
fields of missions to civilized countries, and that the pro¬
spects of success are greater among barbarous and savage
tribes than among more cultivated nations. Though the
statement of the opponents of missions, as to the necessity
of civilization in order to Christianization, possessed no
weight as an objection, there was great weight in it as a
consideration, involving important truth, which was de¬
serving of much more attention than it has received to this
day,—the connection between civilization and Christianiza¬
tion, and their mutual influence and bearing upon each other.
“ Christianity and barbarism are certainly not incompatible
with each other, yet they are antagonist principles. They
may exist together, but they cannot flourish together. Bar¬
barous and savage tribes are generally inconsiderable as
regards population, and are often widely scattered and
commonly migratory. Their language, from its imperfec¬
tion and poverty, is ordinarily little fitted for expressing the
truths of religion, or, indeed, any idea beyond their daily
and immediate wants. It is also commonly unwritten, and
they are without books and mental culture of any kind. The
untrained and unthinking minds of savages are for the most
part less able than educated minds, even supposing them to
be inclined, to give continued attention to instruction, and
are less capable of understanding, remembering, and applying
the instruction given them. If any of them are brought
under the influence of religion, their piety partakes of their
degraded character and low condition, and there is little
prospect of raising up among them a well-qualified native
agency to carry on the good work among their country¬
men, or among neighbouring tribes and nations. The
advantages to which we have alluded are to be found only
among nations somewhat advanced in civilization, and in
its ordinary accompaniments, education and literature. It
is a remarkable and not uninstructive fact, that Judea, the
point from which Christianity originally emanated, was the
very centre of the then civilized world, and that the countries
in which it was at first chiefly propagated, so far as appears
from the New Testament and other authentic records,
were the countries in which civilization, education, and
literature principally prevailed.”
It is not unworthy of remark, that while considerable
numbers of pagans have been brought to embrace Chris¬
tianity, there have been very few Mohammedan converts.
This is no doubt partly accounted for by the fact, that where
the ruling power is Mohammedan, it is death for any one to
renounce the faith of the prophet and to embrace another
religion; and with death thus staring them in the face, we
need scarcely wonder that few or none should embrace the
gospel. But in countries where the ancient churches are
still in existence—Turkey for example—there are other and
powerful obstacles besides these to the conversion of the
Mohammedan population, arising out of the character of
these churches. The Mohammedans in the Levant sus¬
tain a better character than the Christians. The universal
testimony of the Franks is, that there is more honesty, more
fair dealing, and more punctuality to engagements among
the Turks than among the Christian sects. “ It may even
be fairly made a question, whether Mohammedanism is
not a better religion than the Christianity of the East, from
which they naturally take their ideas of W'hat Christianity
MISSIONS.
275
Missions. js. Assuredly It Is in various respects a less absurd religion.
V™*-' The form in which it is daily presented to them is as a
system of idolatrous worship, of gross superstition, of sense¬
less rites and ceremonies, of absolute and pure mummery;
while both priests and people are, in point of morals, gene¬
rally much below themselves. They have thus exhibited
before their eyes very natural and very plausible reasons
for rejecting Christianity; and it is no wonder that these
objections should carry entire conviction to their minds,
and lead them to think any further inquiry in regard to it
perfectly unnecessary.” But even in those countries where
the government is not Mohammedan,—India for example,—
the Mussulman part of the population are much more op¬
posed to Christianity than the Hindu. They at once
despise and hate it. We accordingly find comparatively
few converts among the Mohammedans even in India.
Missionary societies have not confined their labours to
heathen nations. Several of them have also established
missions among the members of the ancient churches, as
among the Greeks, the Armenians in Turkey, the Copts
in Egypt, the Abyssinians, the Syrians, and other sects in
the mountains of Lebanon, the Nestorians in Persia, and
the Christians of St Thomas, on the coast of Malabar. It
is not unworthy of notice, that these societies, though dif¬
fering essentially from each other in their character and
views on other subjects, wonderfully agreed in the principles
on which they proposed to carry on their missions among
the ancient churches. The grand object which they had
in view was to introduce and diffuse Scripture truth among
them, and thereby to revive spiritual life among them, in the
hope of effecting their reformation through the instrumen¬
tality of their own members: they repudiated the idea
of drawing converts out of them, or forming them into
separate churches. But after the several societies had
prosecuted this scheme for many years, they came, one
after another, to the conclusion that it had entirely failed
of its great object, and that the only way to deal with these
churches was to receive the converts from them and to
unite them with their own churches, just as they would
do with heathen or Mohammedan converts. The result
of such experiments might, we think, have been easily fore¬
seen, and having now been fully tried, we trust they will
not be again repeated.
“ It is a remarkable fact, how generally missionaries in
various parts of the world, and among diverse tribes and
nations, bear testimony to the equality of the acquiring
faculties of the children in the schools with that of Euro¬
pean children. We could adduce testimonies to this effect
regarding the Greenlanders, the North American Indians,
the Negroes in the West Indies, the South Sea Islanders,
and even the savages of New Holland. Nor do we recol¬
lect of ever meeting with a single testimony of a contrary
nature. It may therefore be considered as an established
fact, that whatever differences there may be in the original
intellectual capacity of individuals, there is no material dif¬
ference in the original intellectual capacities ot tribes and
nations, so far as the learning faculties are concerned, at
least in regard to the more common branches of education,
with the exception, perhaps, of arithmetic. Whether their
original powers of reasoning, of imagination, of invention,
are equal, is another question. On that point we have not
sufficient evidence to enable us to form an opinion.”
Missionaries have contributed largely to the science of
philology. They have drawn up grammars, vocabularies,
and dictionaries of numerous languages, most of them never
before reduced to writing, or little known to scholars; and
they have made translations of the Holy Scriptures, in whole
or in part, and also of other books, into many of them.
Many of these works are probably not very well executed,
their authors not having been previously much engaged in
the study of languages ; but others of them, we doubt not,
are scholar-like productions; and the whole cannot but be
held a valuable contribution to philological science. In
the oriental languages missionaries have particularly dis¬
tinguished themselves ; there are, in fact, few men to whom
oriental literature is under such great obligations as to the
missionaries in the East.
It is also worthy of notice into how many countries the
printing-press has been introduced by means of missions.
As regards the extension of the press to new countries, and
its application to new languages, there is no class of men
to whom mankind are under such obligations as to the mis¬
sionaries of modern times. India itself is deeply indebted
to them, particularly to the Baptist missionaries, who,
though they were not the first to employ the press in that
country in printing the oriental languages, contributed greatly
to its extension and improvement. This powerful engine in
diffusing opinions is now in extensive use by the natives
themselves, and is employed by them in defence of Hin¬
duism, Mohammedanism, and Parseeism, and in attacks on
Christianity itself. The weapons of the missionary are
thus turned against himself.
Missions.
These statements refer exclusively to Protestant missions;
but before we close we shall make some brief references to
the missions of the Roman Catholic Church. She entered
on the work earlier than the Protestant churches, and has
prosecuted it for a much longer period. Having at the
Reformation lost much ground in Europe, she sought to
retrieve her losses by extending her power in other
quarters of the world. In this service the Franciscans,
Dominicans, and Capuchins, but especially the Jesuits, par¬
ticularly distinguished themselves. They established mis¬
sions in India, in Siam, in China, in Japan, and in some of
the East India Islands; in Abyssinia, on the Western
coast of Africa, in Canada, in Louisiana, in Paraguay,
and many other parts of the world; and brought, great
numbers of the inhabitants of these countries within the
pale of the Romish Church. But in the course of the
eighteenth century the Catholic missions greatly declined;
their pecuniary resources were materially dried up; the
missionaries died, and no successors were found for them ;
and the consequence was, that many of them fell into a
state of decay. {Annals of the Propagation of the Faith,
vol. v., p. 134.)
But in 1822 an “Institution for the Propagation of the
Faith” was formed at Lyons, with a view to the promotion
of missions by the Romish Church. It now carries on its
operations through two councils, one at Lyons, the other in
Paris; and it has drawn to itself the support not only of
the rest of France, but of the various countries of Europe,
and other parts of the world, where Roman Catholics are
found. Through its influence and exertions the ancient
spirit of missions has been revived in the Romish Church;
many of the old missions have been restored to somewhat
of their former vigour, and many new ones have been
undertaken in various parts of the world, including our own
and other Protestant countries—to which, indeed, their eyes
appear to be specially directed. To show the extent ot
their missions in the present day, we shall here state the
number of bishops and priests engaged in them, and the
amount of money expended on them.
In 1844 the number of bishops and priests engaged in
them was as follows:—
Bishops. Priests.
In Europe  27 843
„ Asia  71 2736
„ Africa  6 168
„ America  28 890
„ Oceanica  7 113
139
4750
Since that time the number of labourers of one description
276
MISSIONS.
Missions, or another, including Sisters of Charity, appears to have
been greatly increased. {Annals, vol. v., pp. 138, 148, 153.)
In 1856 the receipts of the Institution for the Propaga¬
tion of the Faith amounted to 3,905,067f. 71c., which,
taking the exchange of the franc at 10d., makes L. 162,711,
3s. Id. sterling; and its expenditure on account of the mis¬
sions was 3,689,663f. 22c., or L.153,735, 19s. 4d., viz:—
Missions in Europe  819,221f. 70c.
„ Asia  1,314,796 87
„ Africa   277,642 0
„ America    909,397 35
„ Oceanica  368,605 30
3,689,663 22
The following were the receipts and expenditure in Great
Britain, her colonies in America, the United States, and in
India and China, in 1856:—
Receipts. Expenditure.
England  40,825f. 65c. 123,500f. 0c.
Scotland  3,528 0 58,000 0
Ireland  132,446 68 100,000 01
British America  64,661 3 235,690 35
United States  51,643 23 596,707 0
India and Ceylon  1,979 15 379,604 57
Chinese Empire    347,031 71
295,083f. 74c. l,840,533f. 63c.
It thus appears that the expenditure on the missions in
Great Britain and the other countries now named, forms
just about one-half of the whole expenditure of the Society
on missions throughout the world. {Annals of the Propa¬
gation of the Faith, vol. xviii., pp. 150, 158, 160, 162, 174,
179,181,183.)
As regards the methods of conversion employed by Pro¬
testant and Romish missionaries, there is little in common.
1 here is one means of regeneration employed by the latter
which seems quite a favourite measure with them, and is
deserving of notice as a specimen of their system,—the
baptizing of sickly and dying infants, a singular compound
of gross error, frivolity, and deception.
4' F or along time”—(we here quote the Annals of the Pro¬
pagation of the Laitli)—“ it was not possible to regenerate in
the waters of baptism the children of infidels—only in some
isolated places. I he number of those who went from the
cradle to the grave with the seal of baptism was still
small, and for this reason we have seldom made mention of
it in our Annals. But of latter years this benefit has been
extended in a most consolatory degree. Our missionaries,
with the assistance of the alms of the Association, have suc¬
ceeded in rendering it general among the principal Chris¬
tian congregations of Asia. We shall soon have much to
do to reckon the young elect with which they will people
heaven. Even now the account of those whom they have
sent there is sufficiently large to draw forth the gratitude
and the admiration of our faith ; and accordingly we offer
it to our associates with a religious eagerness. It will con¬
sist of figures only; but figures are very affecting when
they express a multitude of souls gained for the happiness
of heaven.”
) 1 he mission of Su-tchuen,” writes his lordship, Doctor
1 erocheau, vicar-apostolic of Su-tchuen, “ continues its
v\ork of baptizing children in danger of death, and the
Eoi d continues to bless it. Each year the number of those
" “om they regenerate goes on increasing:—
It was in 1839  12,483
» 1840  15,766
» 1841  17,825
» 1842  20,068
>, 1843...    22 292
This year (1844) amounts to   24]381
have remarked that about two-thirds of the number
of these children died in the year in which they were
baptized. I bus, out of the number of 1844, 16,763
winged their flight a short time afterwards to everlasting
bliss. °
‘• We pay some Christian men and women, who are ac¬
quainted with the complaints of infants, to go, seek out,
and baptize those whom they find to be in danger. It is
easy for them to meet them, particularly in the towns and
large villages, where on fair days there is to be seen a
ciowd of poor people, reduced to the greatest poverty, who
come to seek alms. It is in winter especially that the
number is highest, because want is more pinching at that
time. You see them on the roads, at the gates of the
towns and villages, or crowded together in the streets ; poor
people without number, with hardly any clothing, having
neither fire nor lodging, sleeping in the open air, and so
attenuated by the protracted torture of hunger, that they
are nothing but skin and bone. The women, who are in
this case the most to be pitied, carry on their backs chil¬
dren reduced to the same extremity as themselves. Our
baptizing men and women accost them in the gentle
accents of compassion, offer them gratis pills for their
little expiring creatures, give often to the parents a few
farthings, always with great kindness of manner, and an ex¬
pression of the liveliest interest in their situation. For
these poor creatures it is a sight of transport almost un¬
heard of. They willingly allow our people to examine
into the state of the child, and spill on its forehead some
drops of water, which they declare to be good for it, while
at the same time they pronounce the sacramental words.”
{Annals of the Propagation of the Faith,xo\. vi., pp. 322,324.)
Dr Perocheau does not appear to reckon so much on the
success of his mission among the adult population as with
these poor children, and he glories in the great increase of
their numbers. In a letter dated Sept. 4,1848, he thus
writes:—“In spite of the obstacles which the mandarins
throw in the way of the conversion of the infidels, we have
received as catechumens 1280 neophytes, and baptized 888
adults in the year. God be praised ! Ilut our Angelical
Society it is which gives ns the greatest consolation.
The number of the children of the infidels baptized in
danger of death continues constantly to increase. This
year it amounts to 84,416, about two-thirds of whom,
already in possession of unutterable felicity, will love and
praise God eternally. The more we receive aid from
Europe, the more will this work extend its benefits. We
have opened in several cities small shops, where Christian
physicians gratuitously distribute pills for young persons
who are sick, and generously give attention of all kinds to
the children brought to them. This work produces
marvellous effects, causes a very large number of children
to be baptized, and singularly pleases the heathens. In
order to explain the prodigious success of our angelical
work, you must be informed that all China is covered with
poor persons, reduced to the last degree of wretchedness,
and burdened with numerous families. Their children
lack everything; no food, no clothes, almost no shelter.
The mothers die of hunger and cold; the infants they
support perish with them. It is these nurses which give
an abundant harvest to our baptizers, who seek these poor
wretches in preference to others, accost them with kind
words, testify a warm interest in their young families, give
pills, and sometimes add alms. They are therefore re¬
garded as angels descended from heaven, and are easily
allowed to baptize the perishing little ones. Some of our
physicians have often effected wonderful cures, and though
their skill is small, enjoy extraordinary repute. Hippo-
Missions.
beimr able to SU™ 011 account of “ Missions of the Rev. Father Oblates of Mary in England and Ireland,” not
neinj, able to apportion the particular sums appropriated to each country. ^
MIS
Missions, crates was not lauded so much. Sponges are here un-
known. We fell on the idea of getting some from Macao,
as more convenient than cotton for baptizing. The pagans
admire these sponges, and regard them as an infallible
remedy. They are delighted at seeing the foreheads of
their sick children laved with so marvellous an instrument.
We hope that next year the number of our baptized infants
will reach a hundred thousand; by and by it may
amount to two hundred thousand a year if you send us
good support. In no other part of the world can your
money achieve the salvation of so many souls. After the con¬
version of China, which contains more than three hundred
million of inhabitants, you may compute the multitude
of little Chinese which will every year ascend to heaven.”
Dr Retord, bishop and vicar-apostolic, Tong-King,
after reporting the baptism of 9649 infants in 1849, states
as among the means of this success the following :—“ A col¬
lection is made, and a small capital acquired. This capital
is employed in trade, or laid out in the purchase of a piece
of land. With the income we purchase boards to make
coffins and religious and funereal tokens; then, when the
children of the pagans die, the society give them a solemn
interment, with music and a drum, and a troop of little
children of both sexes, who follow the procession. The
heathens are ravished with the pomp; so that when one of
their children falls sick, they of their own accord entreat us
to go and baptize it. There is in the mission at present a
great zeal for this work ; but to sustain this ardour I must
t get many books, images, and chaplets made. All the objects
of the kind you have sent me are used for this purpose;
but they are not enough. I am getting made here many
chaplets for this purpose. Nevertheless, we shall never
reach the number of baptisms in China, for the people here
are very fond of their children.” (“ Annales de la Propa¬
gation de la Foi,” 1850, p. 127, and 1851, p. 273, in
Journal of Sacred Literature, April 1852, p. 23.)
M. Fontaine, missionary-apostolic in Cochin-China,
gives the following account of the plans followed in that
country:—“ You will receive with pleasure some parti¬
culars concerning one of our works, little in appearance,
but productive of great results for the salvation of souls; I
allude to the pagan children baptized on the point of
death. Every one can take part in it; but we may say
that it is principally the business of the women: they can
more easily get into the houses, and people are less on their
guard against them than against men. Through their
charitable cares a considerable number of these little
creatures have hardly received life before they exchange
it for the unending joys of paradise.
“In a village of which the mayor is a Christian there
exists a house of nuns, whom his lordship (the bishop) sends
out in different directions to look for these hapless children.
They go generally two by two,—an old one and a young
one ; and while the elder one enters into conversation, the
other, who, in good manners, should leave her to speak,
draws near the mother, who is holding the sick child, or sits
down near the mat on which it is left. She fondles it,
takes it in her arms, and whilst she caresses it, she succeeds
in dropping on its forehead a little water out of a bottle
which she keeps concealed in her long, wide sleeve. [Annals
of the Propagation of the Faith, vol. vi., p. 328.)
The missions in the South Sea Islands have been esta¬
blished but of late years; but here also we find a similar prac¬
tice. “I have always with me,” says Dr Battaillon, bishop
and vicar-apostolic, “a flask of scented water and a flask of
plain water. I begin with sprinkling a little of the scent
on the head of the infant, under pretence of comforting the
babe, and whilst the mother takes pleasure in spreading it
over the baby’s face, I dexterously change the flask, and use
the water which conveys regeneration, without any suspicion
being excited of the nature of the action.”
Mis 277
We also read the following statement in a letter inserted Missis-
in the Annals:—“ The child which we baptized so hastily, sippi.
since it seemed at its last hour, died last night, to our great
joy, for its death ensures its eternal happiness.”
We leave these statements to speak for themselves. We
would scarcely have ventured to give them if they had not
rested on the most undoubted Roman Catholic authority.
(Fora general history of Protestant Missions, we may refer
to Dr Brown’s History of the Propagation of Christianity
among the Heathen, in 3 vols., third edition, 1854. We
regret we are not able to name any general history of
Roman Catholic missions.) (w. B—N.)
MISSISSIPPI, one of the largest of the southern
states of the North American Union, is bounded,—N. by
Tennessee, W. by the Mississippi River, which separates it
from Arkansas and Louisiana, S.W. by the Pearl River,
S. by Louisiana and the Mexican Gulf, and E. by Alabama.
It lies between N. Lat. 30. 10. and 35., and W. Long.
88. 12. and 91. 36. It extends for about 330 miles from
N. to S., with a mean breadth of 120 miles, and contains
an area of 47,156 square miles, or 156 square miles more
than that of New York. The state, in its physical aspect,
presents no prominent hill-ranges, but abounds in rivers.
The Mississippi with its tributaries on the west, the Tom-
bigbee and Pascagoula on the east, Pearl River in the
central section, and the Tennessee skirting the north-east
corner, drain the entire territory. Among the tributaries
of the Mississippi the principal are,—the Yazoo, which flows
from N.E. to S.W., almost parallel with the main stream,
and joins it near Vicksburg ; and the Big Black, a smaller
tributary, which joins the Mississippi some forty miles
lower down. All of these rivers are navigable for steamers.
A chain of lagoons and bays form the southern or gulf
coast of Mississippi, among which are Pascagoula Inlet,
Biloxi Bay, St Louis Bay, &c. The upper portion of the
state, which has been in cultivation for about twenty years,
possesses an undulating surface heavily wooded with oak,
hickory, &c.; it is, however, but scantily watered. The
uplands produce abundantly, but only for a short time;
while the soil of the valley lands is much firmer, though
liable to be submerged by quantities of sand brought down
from the higher grounds during the heavy floods. The
prairie or Tombigbee country covers the north-eastern
section of the state. Its surface is uniformly level, pre¬
senting an almost unbroken flat, with scarcely a tree,
covered with rank grass, and dotted with pools and marshes.
The soil, formed of a dark heavy loam, has, however, sur¬
prising strength and fertility. East Mississippi, along with
the southern and south-eastern sections, is the healthiest
part of the state : the air is pure and the water good. Its
soil varies very much in quality, in some quarters being
deep and rich, while in others exceedingly poor. It is
generally well adapted for pasturage ; and indeed the rearing
of cattle forms the chief employment of the inhabitants.
The section of the state washed by the Gulf of Mexico is
well known for its healthy watering-places, which are fre¬
quented during the hot season by the wealthier classes of
the entire southern country. The interior of this portion
of the territory between Pascagoula and Pearl Rivers is
occupied by a sandy, broken tract, covered with pines,
which have been recently used for the production of tur¬
pentine. The most fertile soil of the whole state, however,
is to be found in the valley of the Mississippi, where it
possesses all the strength without the adhesive and corrosive
nature of the prairie land. The climate of this region is
likewise not insalubrious. A great drawback, however,
exists here in the frequent occurrence of inundations, which
have as yet not been wholly prevented by the construction
of dykes sufficiently strong and elevated.
In such portions of the state as are removed from stag¬
nant waters, which in this climate must always be deleter!-
278
MISSISSIPPI.
Missis¬
sippi,
Agricul¬
ture.
Manufac¬
tures.
Commerce.
Internal
communi¬
cation.
Constitu¬
tion.
ous to health, and where access to pure spring water is to
be had there is perhaps no part of the Union where the
inhabitants enjoy better health. Though bilious attacks
are generally prevalent, the people are exempt from pul¬
monary and catarrhal affections, so fatal in the more
northern states. The central and southern sections have
a climate similar to that of South Alabama, Georgia, and
the northern portions of Louisiana and Florida.
Every product of the South may be grown in Mississippi,
including the sugar-cane,—which, however, is but little culti¬
vated,—tobacco, corn, rice, cotton, potatoes, indigo, grapes,
oranges, figs, peaches, See. Cotton, the grand staple of the
state, comes to perfection in every part of it, and is almost
the exclusive object of attention with agriculturists. In 1850
there were 15,110 cotton plantations, producing annually
more than five bales each, being a larger number than in
any other state except Alabama. The cotton crop of Mis¬
sissippi is one-fifth of the whole North American growth,
and is almost exclusively the product of slave labour. The
number of slave-holders at the last census was 23,116 ; and
of these 3640 possessed only one slave, 6228 held from
one to five slaves, 5143 from five to ten, 4015 from ten to
twenty, 2964 from twenty to fifty, 910 from fifty to a hun¬
dred, and 216 from one hundred to five hundred. In 1850
the state contained 33,960 farms, comprising 3,444,358
acres of improved land, whose cash value amounted to
L.11,403,631 ; that of the implements employed thereon
to L.1,190,609. The number of horses, asses, and mules,
at the same date, was 170,007; of neat cattle, 733,970 ;
sheep, 304,929; and swine, 1,582,734. There were also
137,990 bushels of wheat produced, 22,446,552 bushels
of Indian corn, 5,003,277 of Irish and sweet potatoes,
193,401,577 lb. of cotton, 2,719,889 lb. of rice (rough),
49,960 lb. of tobacco, and 559,619 lb. of wool. The above
are the leading agricultural products. Besides these there
are rye, oats, barley, buckwheat, hay, hops, seeds, butter
and cheese, pease and beans, fruit, honey, wax, poultry,
wood, molasses, sugar, silk, wine, &c.
Manufactures are in their infancy in Mississippi, and do
not seem likely to make any early advances. The capital
invested at last account was but L.361,962; the produc¬
tion about L.625,000; and the hands employed, 3178. Of
this capital L.7916 was employed upon cotton manufac¬
tures, and L.20,883 upon iron castings.
Commerce is confined almost entirely to the operations
connected with cotton, and to the retail trade ; and although
there are several towns of considerable population, nearly
the whole foreign commerce of Mississippi is conducted
through the cities of New Orleans and Mobile.
Within the last two years much spirit for internal im¬
provements has been evinced in Mississippi. The South¬
ern Railroad extends from Vicksburg to Brandon, 60 miles,
and it is intended to connect it with the railway system of
Alabama. The New Orleans, Jackson, and Great North¬
ern Railroad will traverse the entire state in the direction
of Nashville ; and some portion of the work is already
completed. The Central Railroad is also being constructed
with vigour, and is intended to connect the capital with
Holly Springs, and, pursuing a northerly direction, with
the mouth of the Ohio River. The Charleston and Mem¬
phis Railroad passes through a small part of the northern
portion of Mississippi. From the facilities of construction,
it may be asserted that the railway system of Mississippi
will soon exceed that of any other south-western state.
In 1855, 239 miles of railroad were completed, and 755
were in progress.
Ihe state constitution of Mississippi was adopted in
1817, and revised in 1832. Suffrage is free. The legis-
latuie consists of a Senate and House of Representatives,
and meets biennially. The governor is elected for two
years, and receives a salary of L.800 per annum. The
judiciary consists of a high court of errors and appeal, Missis-
circuit courts, a superior court of chancery, district courts sippi.
of chancery, and a probate court in each county. All
the judges are elected by the people, this being one of the
earliest states to adopt that system, the bitter fruits of which
are beginning to show themselves in many quarters.
In 1855 the expenditure of the state government was
L.65,260, the principal items of which were—Executive
department, L.2900 ; judiciary, L.21,500 ; university,
L.3280 ; internal improvements, L.20,600. The net re¬
venue amounted to L.100,775, the sources of which were,
—Taxes, L.68,970; internal improvement fund, L.13,200 ;
school land fund, L.12,400. In 1856 there were 15,913,532
acres of land subject to tax.
On the 1st of January 1856 the Northern Bank of Mis¬
sissippi had a capital of L.50,000 ; loans and discounts of
L.101,750; specie, L.1619; circulation, L.67,516; de¬
posits, L.7000.
An asylum for the blind, one for the deaf-and-dumb, and Education,
a lunatic asylum, are in operation, under the support of the
state, at Jackson, where the penitentiary is also located.
There is no uniform common school system for the whole
of the counties; each county has its school lands, allotted
by government and leased for long periods, the money being
invested for the benefit of the schools. There is also a
fund made up in the several counties; but the whole is
very inadequate to the wants of the state. In 1850 there
were 11 collegiate institutions in the state, with 862 stu¬
dents ; 782 public schools, with 18,746 pupils, and
L.53,000 income; and 171 academies or other schools,
with 6628 students; total number attending school, 48,803.
There were at the same time 1016 churches, of which 385
were Baptist, 454 Methodist, 13 Episcopalian, 143 Presby¬
terian. Four tri-weekly papers were published, 46 weekly,
and several daily. The public libraries of schools, colleges,
Sec., contained 22,000 volumes.
The settlement of Fort Rosalie near Natchez was the History,
first permanent one made in Mississippi by the French,
under Bienville ; but a general massacre of the whites soon
followed, which left the country again in the hands of the
savages. A series of conflicts ensued, terminating generally
in favour of the whites; and at the peace of Paris 1763
Mississippi became a part of the English territory. Settlers
from Nova Scotia and the eastern states soon followed fast
upon each other. The district was surrendered to the
United States after the peace of 1783; and in 1804 the
Mississippi territory comprised the whole of the present state
of Alabama, from the 31st to the 35th degree of north
latitude. This territory was organized under that name
in 1798; but in 1818 the eastern portion was separated,
and the remainder was admitted into the Union as the
state of Mississippi.
The following statistics will show the progress of Missis¬
sippi in population from the earliest records :—
The following are the principal towns of Mississippi, with
their population at the last census :—Vicksburg, 3678 ;
Natchez, 4334; Columbus, 2611 ; Jackson, 1872 ; Yazoo
City, 1910.
Mississippi (Missi Sipi, “ The Great Water”), the most
important river in North America, and, with the Missouri, its
principal affluent, or more properly its main branch, the long¬
est river in the world. In N. Lat. 47. 10., W. Long. 94.54.,
and at a height of 1680 feet, on the summit of the Hauteurs
MISSISSIPPI.
279
Missis- de Terre, a dividing ridge from the Red River basin of the
sippi. north, are the sources of this great river. At first, a little
rivulet, it pursues its timid course over sand and pebble,
ever and anon blending with kindred streams, and at length
forming a small lake. Another rivulet issues thence with
increased velocity, giving rise to more decided bends, and
emptying at last into the Itasca Lake. There, beyond the
haunts of civilized man, the “ father of waters” takes his
course through glades, over crags and precipices,—now a
broad stream, and now a confined impetuous torrent,—
gradually gaining in strength and vigour as kindred waters
meet and sweep on together, leaving the savage intract¬
able forest, and the creatures which inhabit it, to be cheered
by sounds of industry and toil as it nears the ocean.
After flowing in a very tortuous course through various
climates and eighteen degrees of latitude, and washing the
shores of many populous states, the Mississippi empties it¬
self through several mouths into the Gulf of Mexico, in
Lat. 29. N., Long. 89. W.
The following table is made up on the authority of the
engineer Nicollet, who in the service of the American
government explored this region :—
Distances on the Mississippi.
From
Gulf of Mexico. Altitude.
Miles. Feet.
New Orleans cathedral   104 10'5
Mouth of Red Hi ver  340 76
Natchez  406 86
Mouth of Yazoo  534
New Madrid, Missouri  1115
Mouth of the Ohio, north side  1216 324
St Louis cathedral  1390 382
Mouth of Illinois River  1426
Prairie du Chien  1932 642
Upper Iowa River  1978
Mouth of St Peter’s River  2192 744
Falls of St Anthony   2200 856
Lake Cass  2775 1402
Itasca Lake  2890 1575
Utmost sources of the Mississippi  29861 1680
If the Missouri be considered as a continuation of the Mississippi,
the length of the entire river will be 4350 miles.
The following table, prepared for his Geographical Dic¬
tionary by Mr Darby, gives the area of the Mississippi
valley, or the region drained by that river and its tri¬
butaries :—
Miles.
Valley of the Ohio  200,000
Mississippi proper    180,000
Missouri   500,000
Lower Mississippi   330,000
1,210,000
The valley of the Mississippi comprises nearly one-half
of the territory of the American states.
Professor Riddell of Louisiana estimates the true super¬
ficial area of the delta of the Mississippi, or that portion of
its basin below Baton Rouge, where the last bluffs show
themselves, at 15,000 square miles,—the alluvial mass being
200 miles in length, 75 miles in width, and £th of a mile in
depth. The rise of the basin of the river is only 9 feet be¬
fore reaching New Orleans, and beyond that not more than
an average of 6 inches in the mile. The delta gains upon
the sea not more than a mile in 100 years ; and Professor
Lyell estimates that 100,000 years were required in its for¬
mation.
Large sums are continually appropriated by the govern¬
ment for deepening the channels, but hitherto without
permanent effect In the early part of 1857 a fleet of
vessels were aground in these passes at the same time. Missis-
Old channels are continually being filled up, and new ones sippi-
formed.
As indicative of the vast growth of the Mississippi valley,
it may be stated, that in 1790 the whole population of the
valley amounted to 205,280; in 1800 to 582,619 ; in 1810,
1,337,946; in 1820, 2,419,369; in 1830, 3,794,477; in
1840, 5,983,707; in 1850, 8,641,754; and in 1857, may be
safely set down at between 10 and 11 millions. Even this
is but a density of about 7 persons to the square mile, while
the average density of the Atlantic states is 19‘98 to the
square mile, and of the middle states 57*79 : that of Eng¬
land is 332 to the square mile. With this last density, the
valley of the Mississippi could accommodate more than
400,000,000 persons, or about one-half of the present popu¬
lation of the earth.
The inauguration of steam on the western waters in
1811 was the first step in the enormous progress of this
valley, and without which it must have remained a wilder¬
ness, notwithstanding the great lines of communication that
have been opened to the Atlantic coast. In 1815, 14
steamers were employed; in 1829, 230; in 1843, 600;
and in 1856, 1500. The total commerce afloat in 1852
was estimated by the secretary of the Treasury, Mr Corwin,
at L.70,729,738, -or, with the great lakes, L.136,245,042,
nearly equal to double the foreign imports and exports to¬
gether of the entire Union at that time.
Steamers of magnificent size and accommodation ply on
this river, and make the trip from New Orleans to St Louis
in five days, to Louisville in about the same time, to Cin¬
cinnati in six or seven days, and to Pittsburgh (2175 miles)
in ten days, at a charge for passengers of the first class
ranging from L.3 to L.5. In no part of the world can such
economy in travelling be found.
Below the mouth of the Ohio the depth of the Missis¬
sippi varies from 90 to 120 feet, and its breadth from 600
to 1200 yards. At New Orleans the width is £d of a
mile, and the depth 100 feet. The lower river is restrained
within its channel by embankments thrown up with great
labour and expense. The average height of the flood of
the river below the Missouri is 15 feet; at the mouth of that
river, 25 feet. Below the Ohio the rise is often 50 feet;
at Natchez it seldom exceeds 30 feet; and at New Orleans
12 feet. Large ships have seldom ascended the river
higher than Natchez.
The Mississippi had been casually visited in 1542 by De
Soto, but not in any proper sense discovered. He saw but
a few leagues of its course, from which no idea was ob¬
tained of its rise, direction, extent, or relations with the
continent. It is mentioned in Coxe’s Carolana, that in
1678 a number of persons went from New England to
Mexico, in which expedition they crossed the Mississippi,
and on their return gave an account of their discovery to
the governor at Boston. During the missionary labours of
the Jesuits in Canada, two fathers, Joliet and Marquette,
having heard vague rumours of the existence of the “ Great
River” left Mackinac in 1673, ascended the Fox River
from Green Bay in canoes, passed to the Wisconsin, and
down that river to the vast waters of the Mississippi, which
they navigated for 1100 miles. Some years afterwards
La Salle reached the Mississippi from Canada, and, re¬
turning to France, fitted out an expedition to explore the
river from the gulf. The expedition made land on the 1st
January 1685, 100 miles westward of the mouth of the
river, which but a small portion of the party succeeded in
reaching, and returned thence to Canada. In 1700 M. Iber¬
ville colonized the country ; in 1769 it was ceded to Spain ;
in 1800 was retroceded to France ; and in 1803 passed into
the possession of the United States. (j. d. b. De b.)
1 Schoolcraft makes the distance 3160 miles.
280
MISSOURI.
Missouri
Physioal
aspect.
Mineral
resources.
MISSOURI, one of the middle western states of the
North American Union, bounded on the N. by Iowa, E.
by Illinois, S.E. by Kentucky and Tennessee, S. by Ar¬
kansas, and W. by the Indian territory and the territories
of Kansas and Nebraska. It is the largest of the states in
the American Union, with the exception of Texas and Cali¬
fornia, having an area of 67,370 square miles.
A large portion of the south-eastern section of the state,
to a considerable distance W. from the Mississippi River,
is low, swampy, abounding in lakes, and subject to inun¬
dations. Beyond this the country swells into roundish
hills, rising continuously to the mountainous districts of
the lead mines. Farther still it is broken and hilly, until it
reaches the boundless prairies of the western limits of the
state. The lands of Missouri are generally more loamy and
friable, and the soil less stiff, than upon the Ohio. The rich
uplands are of a darkish gray colour, except about the lead
mines. The poorer uplands are generally covered with
white oak, and are of a light yellow colour; the prairies
are for the most part level, and of an intermediate character
between the richer and poorer uplands. Those which are
alluvial, as in the N. between the Mississippi and Missouri,
are always rich; as are also the bottoms of all the water¬
courses. Those of the Missouri are loamy, intermixed with
sand ; those of the Mississippi are blacker, more clayey, less
sandy, and, if not so immediately fertile, are more inex¬
haustible. Great varieties of soil abound in Missouri, from
best to worst, and there are extensive tracts of each; but
in general the better districts are of great fertility, indicated
by a rank and abundant vegetation.
^ The Ozark Mountains traverse a large part of Missouri.
The Missouri River, which gives name to the state, and the
Mississippi washing its boundary, give to Missouri the navi¬
gation of two of the greatest rivers in the world. By means
of this navigation she can open her commerce with the
Gulf of Mexico, and by the waters of the Ohio with the
Atlantic states. The tributaries of the Missouri within the
state are the Chariton and Grand Rivers from the N., and
the Osage and Gasconade from the S.; whilst the Missis¬
sippi receives the Salt and the Maramec. The St Francis
and White Rivers are on the south-eastern part of the state,
and pass on to Arkansas.
1 he mineral wealth of Missouri has long been prover¬
bial. Of lead the state produces immense quantities. The
iron mountains are estimated to contain 600,000,000 tons
of that metal. Copper is next in importance, and has been
discovered in the Current River and on the Maramec, and
in the southern parts of the state. Cobalt occurs in the form
of black oxide and sulphuret, and is found in thin layers or
in connection with manganese. Zinc also abounds in the
lead mines, and might be worked to great advantage. It is
estimated that the average quantity of silver contained in
the Missouri lead mines is from six to eight ounces to the
ton ; but it has never been attempted to separate this before
bringing the lead to market. Tin also is found. Nickel ac¬
companies the copper; and cobalt and manganese are abun¬
dant over the southern parts of the state. Limestone is
found in great quantities, and also marbles, beautifully crys¬
talline and veined; gypsum, sandstone, porphyries, sienite,
saltpetre, kaolin, and inferior clays. Bituminous coal exists
in vast beds on both banks of the Missouri; and the largest
body of cannel coal known is in Callaway county. A geo¬
logical survey of the state has been ordered, and is in pro-
giess. Ihe coal trade of St Louis alone in 1856 was esti¬
mated, on high authority, at L.528,150. The coal beds of
the state, says the state geologist, can furnish 100,000,000
tons annually for 1300 years. In 1855 nine iron establish¬
ments at St Louis produced L.521,000, and the whole
capual °f the city invested in that branch of industry was
H )0V- • ^ ^le sme^ing works engaged in Mis¬
souri in 1856 were estimated to produce 35,000 tons of pig-
metal ; and the state geologist says,—“ There is ore enough Missouri,
of the best quality above the surface of the valleys to pro-
duce 1,000,000 tons per annum for 200 years, which would
be worth L. 1,042,000,000. But this is but a small part
of the iion resources of the state, which would reach nearer
L.20,000,000,000.” (Western St Louis Journal, vol. xv..
No. 3.)
Below the mouth of the Ohio the climate approximates Climate,
to that of the southern states. Throughout the state, how¬
ever, it is generally of a variable character. The transitions
are in many parts rapid and unfavourable to health. Winter
commences about the last of December, when the Missouri
becomes one solid mass of ice; and is mostly over in Feb¬
ruary. Ihe snows are not deep. The greater part of the
summer is intensely hot, though the freedom of the country
from mountains admits of more or less breeze. The air is
dry and pure. Autumn is serene, temperate, and delightful.
Except in deep bottoms and unfavourable situations, how¬
ever, the chances of life are as great in Missouri as in most
countries reputed to be healthy.
Farming is very easy. The soil is readily worked, and Agricul-
generally fitted for the plough. Fencing material is the only ture'
deficiency, and artificial hedges have been resorted to. In
1850 there were 54,458 farms or plantations, containing
2,938,425 acres of improved and 6,794,245 acres unim¬
proved lands. The average number of acres to each farm
was 179, and the average value, L.242: total value of
farming lands, L.13,172,000; value of fanning materials,
L.829,500. The chief agricultural productions of the state
were,—Swine, 1,702,625; wheat, 2,981,652 bushels; oats,
5,278,079 bushels; Indian corn, 36,214,537 busliels; po¬
tatoes, 1,274,511 bushels; hemp, 16,000 tons; cotton,
121,1221b.; tobacco, 17,113,784 lb.; wool, 1,627,1241b. It
will thus be perceived that tobacco, hemp, Indian corn, and
wheat are the leading agricultural products of Missouri.
Among the smaller products were,—rye, barley, buck¬
wheat, hay, hops, seeds, wax, honey, wood, flax, maple,
sugar, molasses, rice, silk, wines ; besides dairy, garden, and
orchard products. In the state there were 5762 families
holding 1 slave ; 6878 holding more than 1 and under 5 ;
4370 holding 5 and under 10; 1810 holding 10 and under
20; 345 holding 20 and under 50; 420 holding over 50.
1 he value of the real estate of Missouri in 1850 was
L.13,917,128 ; personal, L.6,623,600 as rated for taxation ;
but the true value of both was given at L.28,593,270.
This state, like others of the west and south-west, has as Manufao-
yet made but small advances in the manufactures. The tures.
latest official reports show that the capital invested was
L.1,891,600; raw material used, L.2,593,000; hands em¬
ployed, 16,870; wages paid, L.663,500; annual product,
L.4,947,760. Of the above capital L.21,250 was invested
in cotton manufactures, L.4375 in woollen, L. 129,000 in
pig-iron, L.39,000 in castings, L.8770 in wrought iron,
L.62,500 in breweries and distilleries. The present amount
of manufacturing capital in Missouri may be stated at double
of the above statistics. In 1855, 603,352 barrels flour were
manufactured in St Louis alone.
The large andgrowingcommercial importance of StLouis, Commerce,
the chief city of Missouri, is universally acknowledged. Its
chief receipts in the year ending 1st January 1856 were,—
1,307,818 sacks corn ; 331,368 bushels flour; 315,556pigs
lead; 18,000 hhds. and packages tobacco; 407,000 sacks
salt; 58,215 hhds. sugar; 81,328 barrels and 8712 casks
pork; 52,046 barrels molasses; 22,767 casks and 959,635
pieces bacon; 98,000 barrels and kegs lard; 93,186 bales
hemp; 136,610 sacks coffee; 21,000 barrels and tierces
beef; 64,868 sacks barley ; 1,769,768 sacks wheat; 68,488
barrels whiskey. The number of arrivals of steamboats in
the same year was 3449, of a tonnage of 918,791. Real
estate, which in 1820 reached in value but L.857, in 1853
was valued at L.8,600,000. The foreign direct trade of
MISSOURI.
281
Missouri. Missouri is very small, and scarcely exceeds L.200,000 or
L.250,000.
Internal The internal improvement system of Missouri is so de-
inprove- vised that the business to be conducted will receive acces-
u.ents. sions from almost every road that can be constructed to the
W. of the Mississippi. Diverging from a common point, and
extending to the state line, her railroads wall each form the
basis of a system in the adjoining states; and as the reve¬
nues of the great west and of the Mississippi are developed,
their business must increase to an amount almost incredible.
The state is very liberal in its grants of aid to the rail¬
roads. Among those in progress are,—the Pacific Railroad,
extending westward to Kansas, &c.; the Hannibal and
St Joseph; the St Louis Iron Mountain ; the North Mis¬
souri, connecting with Iowa: estimated length of these roads,
922 miles ; and estimated cost, L.8,600,000. The actual
miles in operation in the state are from 75 to 100. Missouri
has pledged her state credit to the extent of L.3,960,000 in
aid of this magnificent system of public works.
The state constitution of Missouri was adopted in 1820,
but was amended in 1822, 1843, 1848, and 1850. The
right of suffrage is free to all citizens of the United States
who have resided one year in the state. The legislature
meets biennially. The governor is elected for four years.
The judiciary consists of a supreme court, circuit, county,
and justices’ courts, &c. The judges are elected by the
people.
In 1856 the total expenditure of the state government
was L.98,810, of which the poll tax was L.8224; land tax,
L.32,660 ; slaves, L.13,240. The state debt of Missouri,
as the railroads progress, will soon reach L.1,300,000. The
banking capital in 1856 was L.251,000, with a specie basis
of L.380,000, and a circulation of L.579,850.
There is a state lunatic asylum, with 80 inmates; a deaf-
and-dumb asylum, with liberal endowment; an asylum for
the blind; and a state penitentiary.
The school fund reaches in amount L.l 39,500, the re¬
venue from which, and from state and from public schools,
reaches yearly L.29,000, which is distributed among the
counties. In 1850 there were 9 colleges, with 1009 stu¬
dents; 1570 public schools, with 51,754 students; and 204
other schools, with 8829 pupils. There are 2 medical schools,
with 210 students; and the state university is liberally
endowed. There were 878 churches, of which 300 were
Baptist, 250 Methodist, 125 Presbyterian, 65 Catholic;
value of church property, L.322,732. About 10 daily and
75 weekly or monthly newspapers are published in the
state. The population of St Louis, the chief town, in 1850
was 77,860, and in 1857 was estimated at 125,000. The
following statistics will show the progress of Missouri in
population from the earliest records :—
By the state census of 1852, the white population was 623,319;
free coloured, 2526; slaves, 87,172;—total, 713,017.
The region now known as Missouri was included by the
French and Spaniards in the Illinois country, but was popu¬
larly and historically known as Upper Louisiana. In 1755
St Genevieve, the oldest town in the state, was founded,
and in 1764 St Louis. Early settlements were made from
Canada. When this country came into the possession of
the United States in 1803, it was divided into two terri¬
torial governments,—Orleans, including the present Lou¬
isiana ; and Louisiana territory, embracing Missouri and the
VOL. xv.
upper regions of the Mississippi. In 1812 the name was Missouri,
changed to Missouri Territory; numerous American pio-
neers flocked in from Kentucky, Tennessee, Ohio, &c.; and
American habits, institutions, and laws, soon became pre¬
dominant. In 1817 application wTas made for admission as
a state into the Federal Union, which led to fierce and
stormy debates in Congress regarding the admission or
exclusion of slavery. The discussion raged for two years,
threatening the existence of the Union, and was only ad¬
justed by a compromise, in which it was agreed that the
institution of slavery should be recognised in Missouri, but
in no other state north of the latitude of 36° 30' which might
be formed out of the territories of the Union. This com¬
promise was abrogated by a new one made upon the ad¬
mission of California; and when the territorial governments
of Kansas and Nebraska were formed, the abrogation was
distinctly referred to and confirmed. The supreme court
of the United States has recently pronounced such a com¬
promise to be unconstitutional, thus leaving the territories
open to slavery or not, as may be determined upon by
their inhabitants.
Missouri River. The Missouri River has its sources
high in the Rocky Mountains, in Lat. 45. N., and Long.
110. 30. W., almost in the regions of British America. Its
course is at first nearly N. to the Great Falls, when it bends
to the E.N.E. till it joins the White Earth River, whence
its course to its confluence with the Mississippi is ge¬
nerally S.E. But little serious impediment to navigation is
interposed lower down than the Great Falls, a distance of
2575 miles from the mouth. The Missouri drains a basin
of half a million square miles, and its whole length to its
junction with the Mississippi is estimated at 3090 miles.
Its course throughout is irregular and turbulent, abounding
in rapids and bars. The United States engineers, who sur¬
veyed its whole extent in 1853-54, arrived at the conclu¬
sion that a steamer loaded, and drawing 24 inches, could
navigate, from the opening of the season until the 1st of
September, as far as Fort Union; and that one drawing
20 inches could go up even beyond Fort Benton. From
the very elaborate report of these engineers, employed by
the government to survey the several routes for a railroad
to the Pacific, we condense the following interesting par¬
ticulars in regard to the course of the river, its length,
characteristics, and tributaries.
The Missouri enters the Mississippi in Lat. 38. 50. 50. N.,
and Long. 90. 13. 45. W. of Greenwich. Below the mouth
of the Kansas its course is nearly E., and lies almost en¬
tirely in the state of Missouri. This portion is continu¬
ously settled with flourishing cities and towns; and the soil
is of surpassing fertility, abounding in coal, iron, and other
minerals. Its average velocity in this section is a little over
five miles an hour. Concealed snags and sawyers are liable
to occur in any part of the river, and its banks are heavily
wooded from the mouth of the Kansas to the Mississippi.
The principal tributaries between the mouth and Fort
Leavenworth are the Osage, Grand, and Kansas Rivers,
which are navigable,—the first, for six months in the year,
200 miles ; the second at all seasons; and the last 150 or 200
miles, obstructed, however, by two sets of rapids. The valley
of the Missouri possesses great resources for future wealth
and influence. From the mouth of the Kansas to near the
parallel 40. 38. N. Lat., this river separates the state of
Missouri from the Indian territory, and from that point to
the Big Sioux, separates Iowa from the Indian territory.
Before reaching the Platte, the Nodawa, Little Tarkio,
Big Nemaha, Nishnabotana, and Little Nemaha, minor
streams, enter the Missouri. In uniting with the Missouri
the Platte forms a delta, and debouches through three
channels varying from 30 yards to 350 yards in width.
The delta is composed of sand-bars, and intersected by
numberless slousrhs. From its mouth to Fort Laramie the
2 n
282 MIT
Mitau Platte is 700 miles long, and is less tortuous than the Mis-
Mit hell sou”' Below the fork the bed of the stream is occupied
v ^ 'j with vast quantities of drifting sand or quicksand, so that
y^“1j tiie depth may not be more than 3 feet, and cannot be made
available, it is thought, for purposes of navigation. The
course of the Missouri from the mouth of the Platte to the
Kansas is S.E., and its length 236 miles. Carboniferous
limestone and coal measures form the principal geological
features of this part of the river. From the mouth of the
Platte to Fort Pierre the distance is 638 miles; from Fort
Pierre to the Big Sioux the direction of the river is S.E.
Council Bluff, situated on the left bank, is the last town now
seen on ascending the Missouri, and is the ordinary head of
steamboat navigation. The soil of the bottoms on this part
of the river is very rich. The Big Sioux is 100 yards wide
at its mouth, and navigable for steamers to the rapids ; it is
susceptible of improvement. Within a few years the channel
of the Missouri has changed here several miles from north to
south. From the mouth of the Platte to Fort Pierre the Mis¬
souri varies in width from 400 to 1000 yards, and its valley
becomes less fertile. From the mouth ofthe Big Sioux to that
of the White Earth the Missouri separates Minnesota from
the Indian territory. From the mouth of the White
Earth to Fort Clark the course of the river is S.E., and
then is S. to Fort Pierre,—the whole distance being 715
miles. Here the great northern bend of the river is found.
The Yellow Stone enters still further up, and is navigable
200 miles to the rapids. The channel of the Missouri
becomes now entirely choked by sand-bars. In 1853 a
steamer ascended in forty-two days to Fort Union, and
returned to St Louis in seventeen days more ; and but for
the ice, steamers might even ascend to Milk River through¬
out the year, this being the highest point to which navi¬
gation has been carried.
The Missouri is affected by two annual floods, which
greatly facilitate navigation by larger steamboats. The
first and lesser flood is caused by the melting of snows on
the prairies, and generally takes place in May; the second
is occasioned by the melting of the mountain snows, and
occurs in June. Steamers, heavily laden, and bound for the
Yellow Stone, should leave St Louis about the middle of
April, in order to have the benefit ofthe June rise. The river
above Council Bluff City is closed by ice from about the
middle of November to the 1st of April. (j. D. B. Be B.)
MITAU, a town of Russia, capital of the government of
Courland, situated in a flat marshy country on the Aa, near
its confluence with the Drixe, 27 miles S.W. of Riga. The
town, which is built principally of wood, covers a large
space, and is well provided with gardens and pleasure-
grounds. Its streets are narrow, irregular, and are for the
most part unpaved. The principal building of the place
is the castle, built by Marshal Biron in 1739 on an island
inclosed by the Aa canals, and formerly the residence of
the dukes of Courland. There are also a museum, an obser¬
vatory, two public libraries, a gymnasium, and two credit¬
able picture galleries. The manufactures, consisting of
linen, leather, and soap, are of little importance; and its
trade is carried on chiefly during the great fair which is
held here in midsummer. In 1788, after a devastating fire, a
great part of the town was rebuilt; and subsequently it was
honoured by the residence of Louis XVIII., then travelling
under the title of Count de Lille. Pop. (1852) 13,819,
about half of whom were Germans and nearly a sixth Jews.
MITCHELL, Thomas, a philologist, was the son of a
riding-master, and was born in London in 1783. From
Christ’s Hospital he passed as an exhibitioner to Pembroke
College, Cambridge, in 1802. As he did not enter into
orders, a fellowship which he subsequently obtained at Sid¬
ney Sussex College was taken from him at the end of a
limited period, and he was forced to support himself by
private tuition and by writing for the press. Several essays
MIT
in the Quarterly Review on Aristophanes, and a metrical Mitchell
translation of the plays of that poet, were the groundwork _ II
of Mitchells reputation. These were followed by editions ^Btford.
of five dramas of Aristophanes and the entire works of
Sophocles. Mitchell died at his house near Woodstock in
1845.
Mitchell, Sir Thomas Livingstone, one of the most
successful explorers of Australia, was the son of Mitchell of
Craigend in Stirlingshire, and was born there in 1792.
From 1808 till the end of the Peninsular War he served
in Wellington’s army. He was then raised to the rank of
major, and employed by government to make surveys of
the great battlefields in the Peninsula. At a later period
the office of surveyor-general of New South Wales was
conferred upon him. In this capacity, between 1831 and
1836, he led three exploring expeditions into the interior
of Australia, undergoing great hardships, and exposing him¬
self to imminent peril, yet sedulously collecting all possible
information, both on geography and natural history. The
results of these journeys were the discovery of the Peel
River, the Nammoy, and Australia Felix, and the explora¬
tion of the courses of the Darling and the Glenelg. Major
Mitchell published an account of his three expeditions, in
2 vols. 8vo, London, 1838. While in England superin¬
tending this publication he was knighted by the Queen, and
received the title of D.C.L. from the university of Oxford.
His last great exploring tour was begun towards the close
of 1845, and aimed at discovering a route between Sidney
and the Gulf of Carpentaria. The result was published in
his Journal of an Expedition into the Interior of Tropical
Australia, 8vo, London, 1848. Sir Thomas Mitchell died
at Sydney in October 1855, and was honoured with a pub¬
lic funeral.
MITCHELSTOWN, a market-town of Ireland, county
of Cork, pleasantly situated on the slope of a hill near the
Puncheon, 30 miles N.N.E. of Cork. The town consists
of a large square and two main streets, and contains several
well-built houses. It contains a handsome parish church, a
large Roman Catholic chapel in the form of a cross, a na¬
tional school and library, besides a charitable institution,
called Mitchelstown College, endowed for the maintenance
of twelve gentlemen and eighteen gentlewomen of the
Protestant faith. The inhabitants trade in pigs, grain, and
butter ; while in the vicinity there are both flax and blanket
factories. Near the town is the seat of the Earl of Kings¬
town, one of the finest mansions in Ireland, built in 1823.
Pop. (1851) 3091.
MITFORD, Mary Russell, one of the most success¬
ful delineators of English rural life, was the only child of a
physician, and was born at Alresford in Hampshire in De¬
cember 1786. At the age of ten she was sent to a London
boarding establishment. She was placed at the same time
under the private tuition of Miss Rowden, a lady who was
an indefatigable writer of verses, was fond of going to the
play, had already educated Lady Caroline Lamb, and was
yet destined to educate !< L. E. L.” and Fanny Kemble.
Under such a governess Miss Milford became inspired with
a passion for poetry and the drama. She pored over the
tragic authors of France, and doated on Shakspeare and his
great contemporaries. In a short time her own fancy was
quickened, and she produced within two years three volumes
of juvenile poetry, which were afterwards published, and
received a grave censure from the Quarterly Review. At
the age of fifteen Miss Mitford left the boarding-school and
returned home. Her father, a good-natured spendthrift,
was now squandering the last remains of a competent for¬
tune. The gaining of a Chancery suit soon afterwards
brought him to bankruptcy, and left him a burden in the
hands of his daughter. She was now forced to adopt litera¬
ture as a profession, and commenced to write for the stage. '*
Pier first successful drama, the tragedy of Julian, was per-
MIT
Mitford. formed at Covent Garden in 1823. About this time also,
/ some happy hour, she thought of describing the rural
scenes and simple inhabitants in the place of her residence,
the small hamlet of I hree-Mile-Cross, near Reading. Her
fresh and genial sketches appeared in the Lady’s Magazine,
under the title of Our Village/'’ and attracted general atten¬
tion. They were published in a volume in 1824; and were
afterwards continued until, in 1832, they had filled four other
volumes. Meanwhile Miss Mitford had been diversifying
such light and congenial occupation with the severe task of
dramatic composition. Her tragedies Foscari and Rienzi
were acted with success,—the former at Covent Garden in
1826, and the latter at Drury Lane in 1828, She was now
in the enjoyment of a full reputation. It was the custom
among young writers to try to catch the tone of her simple
rustic sketches. Her cottage of Swallowfield, in the hamlet
of rin ee-Mile-Cross, was visited by the highest and the
most accomplished in the land. Yet necessity compelled
hei to ply her pen under much ill health and discomfort.
In 1838 a pension from government alleviated her cares,
but did not slacken her industry. She continued to en¬
gage in new literary enterprises, to publish corrected edi¬
tions of her former works, and to treat her friends with
great affection and sweetness of temper, till death closed
her career in January 1855.
Miss Mitford also wrote Atherton and other Tales;
Country Stones ; Belford Regis ; Lights and Shadows of
American Life ; Recollections of a Literary Life ; Tales
for Young Persons; Charles the First, a Tragedy, and
other dramatic works.
Mitford, If illiam, author of a History of Greece, was
the eldest son of John Mitford of Exbury in Hampshire,
and was born in London in 1744. He studied at Queen’s
College, Oxford ; but he showed no taste for any branch of
knowledge except Greek, and left the university without a
degree. His legal studies at the Middle Temple were be¬
coming equally unsatisfactory, when the death of his father,
in 1761, transferred the family estate into his hands, and
rendered it no longer necessary that he should adopt a pro¬
fession. He therefore fixed his residence at his country
seat, and turned his attention from the hard details of law
to his favourite Greek authors. In 1769 Mitfbrd, entering
as captain into the South Hampshire Militia, became ac¬
quainted w ith Gibbon, who was major in the same corps.
His intercourse with the future historian, whose brain was
then teeming with literary projects, gave form, and perhaps
origin, to his purpose of writing a history of Greece. The
first volume of this great work appeared in 1784, and the
four remaining volumes followed in 1790, 1797, 1808, and
1818, respectively. The increasing infirmities of age pre¬
vented the historian from carrying his narration of events
beyond the death of Alexander the Great. Meanwhile he
had successively represented in Parliament Newport in
Cornwall, Becralston, and New Romney. He had also
been appointed professor of ancient history in the Royal
Academy. His death took place at his hereditary seat in
1827. An edition of the History of Greece, with a Life
of the author by his brother, Lord Redesdale, was pub¬
lished in 10 vols. 8vo, London, 1829. The other works of
Mitford are,—An Lnquiry into the Principles of Harmony
in Languages, and of the Mechanism of Verse, Modern and
Ancient, 8vo, London, 1774 ; and A Treatise on the Mili¬
tary Force, and particularly the Militia of this Kingdom,,
8vo.
Previous to the publication of the great historical works
of Grote and Thirlwall, Mitford wras reckoned the highest
authority on Grecian history. More intimate with the
original narratives of Thucydides, Xenophon, and Arrian,
than any of his predecessors, he discovered much that was
new concerning the events and political questions of ancient
Greece. Some of his most manifest faults are a cum-
MIT 283
brous style, a deficiency in reflective power, and an occa- Mithri.
sional dullness in narration. Worse than all these, however, dates,
is that obstinate prejudice which invariably leads him to
advocate tyranny and to misrepresent democracy.
MI THRIDA TES, the name of several kings of Pontus,
of whom the most distinguished was Mithridates VI., sur-
named Eupator, and usually styled “ The Great,” Kino-
of Pontus, who succeeded his father, Mithridates V., at
the age of eleven, about 120 b.c. Elis reign began amid
daring conspiracies, which summoned up prematurely his
great tact and intrepidity. Afraid of being poisoned by
his treacherous subjects, he followed the practice of swal¬
lowing antidotes, until his frame became thoroughly for¬
tified against the action of the most deadly drugs. The
more open attempts against his life he baffled by inces¬
sant activity. There was no warlike exercise in which he
did not engage, and none in which he did not excel. He
was also a keen and daring hunter, pursuing his sport into
distant and desolate regions, disturbing the lair of the most
savage animals, and sleeping on the ground under the most
inclement skies. Under such a thorough training, he ac¬
quired an iron strength, great agility, a stature almost
gigantic, and a spirit indifferent to the presence of any
danger. His mind meanwhile w’as not neglected. He
studied with success the physics and philosophy of that
age, and cultivated his mind with so much diligence, that
he is said to have acquired the languages of no less than
twenty-five of the neighbouring nations. At the age of
eighteen Mithridates began to govern in his own person.
One of his first public acts, it is said, was to render his
claim to the throne undisputed by the assassination of his
mother and brother. He then directed the entire strength
of his kingdom to foreign conquest. Leading his armies
eastward along the shore of the Euxine, he conquered
Lesser Armenia, Colchis, and other barbarian kingdoms.
The wild Scythians of the Tanais, who had dared the might
of so many conquering kings, were compelled to submit to
his yoke; and his generals being then entrusted with the
command of his armies, extended his conquests as far as
the River Tyras {Dniester), and exacted tribute from the
Tauric Chersonese. Shortly afterwards he seized upon
the sovereignty of Bosporus, left vacant by the death of
Parisades.
With his strength and resources thus augmented, Mi¬
thridates formed the design of wresting all the Asiatic
states from the powerful grasp of Rome. Cautiously mak¬
ing his preparations, he first travelled in disguise through
Asia Minor, and employed his intimate knowdedge of the
different languages of that country in ascertaining from the
inhabitants the state of their defences and their feelings
towards their Roman masters. He then formed an alli¬
ance with the Parthians and Iberians, and married his
daughter to Tigranes, the powerful King of Armenia. He
even entertained the gigantic design of banding together
in one great league all the foes of Rome, and of convulsing
her sovereignty in all parts of the world by one general
shock. His legates accordingly travelled as far as the pil¬
lars of Hercules, negotiating with the rebel Marsians and
every people and predatory band that were up in arms
against the Romans. Before these preparations were com¬
pleted he became involved in a war with his nephew
Ariarathes, King of Cappadocia, who was an ally of the
Romans. Ariarathes fell in battle, and Mithridates placed
his own son upon the vacant throne. Rome, however, in¬
terfered, and seized the Cappadocian crown for Ariobar-
zanes, a creature of her own. Mithridates succumbed for
a time ; but about 90 b.c. he openly attacked and deposed
the puppet of the Romans. At the same period he wrested
the sceptre from the young King Nicomedes of Bithynia,
another tributary of the Romans. Both the wronged sove¬
reigns laid their cases before the senate of Rome, and were
284 M I T H ft I
Mithri- reinstalled in their dominions. Mithridates again submit-
dates. ted; but no long time had elapsed before he was lying at
the head of an army of 300,000 waiting for the Romans or
their allies to strike the first blow. He did not wait long.
Nicomedes, at the instigation of the Romans, invaded
Pontus. Mithridates then poured his troops into Cappa¬
docia, and in a short time overran and subdued the whole
country. As speedily did his generals Archelaus and
Neoptolemus prostrate the might of Nicomedes in a great
battle on the banks of the Amnias, and wrest Bithynia
from the remnants of his army. The neighbouring states,
eagerly hailing the outbreak of a war that seemed likely to
free them from the insatiable rapacity of their Roman op¬
pressors, raised the standard of revolt. All the cities of
Asia Minor, with a few exceptions, flung open their gates
to the victorious King of Pontus, and he marched westward
without opposition to the shores of the ASgean Sea. Lesbos,
Delos, Euboea, and the islands of the Cyclades, were next
subjected to his sway, and even Athens was betrayed into
the hands of his general Archelaus. In the height of his
triumph Mithridates repaired to Pergamus, and abandoned
himself to luxury and pleasure. It was then that he issued
a decree for the extermination of all the Roman citizens
in Asia Minor. With an eager promptitude the vengeful
natives obeyed the order ; and the massacre of 80,000, or,
according to some, of 150,000 Romans, cut off Mithridates
from all chance of reconciliation with his powerful foes.
About the middle of 87 b.c. he was roused to his former
activity by the news that a Roman army under Sylla was
approaching Greece. He immediately despatched Taxiles
with an immense force to co-operate with Archelaus. In
the following year, however, the news arrived that Athens
had been captured, and that his troops had been routed at
the battle of Chaeronea. With unslackened perseverance
he equipped another army of 80,000, and sent it under the
command of Dorylaus to the scene of conflict. But the
tide of fortune was running against him ; and in 85 b.c. his
position had become critical. The time-serving Asiatics,
estranged by his growing misfortunes, were rising in revolt
around him, and assassinating the tetrarchs he had placed
over them. An army sent by the Marian party at Rome
had invaded Asia Minor, had defeated a large force under
his son Mithridates, and was pursuing himself from place
to place. About the same time he received the intelli¬
gence of the almost utter annihilation of his Grecian troops
at Orchomenus. Almost his only resource, therefore, was
a treaty of peace. This, after some difficulty, he purchased
from Sylla in 84 B.c. at the expense of 2000 talents, 70
ships, and all the territories he had wrested from the
Romans.
In spite of this treaty, Mithridates knew well that nothing
less than his complete humiliation would satisfy his haughty
enemies, and therefore he resolved to prepare for the worst.
Several years were spent in building navies, in collecting
magazines of arms and provisions, in recruiting his army,
and in gathering hordes of mercenaries from every quarter
both in Asia and in Europe. He equipped his troops with
Roman arms, and attempted to infuse into them the mag¬
nanimous Roman valour by subjecting them to the severe
Roman discipline. He even entered into an alliance with
Sertorius the great Marian general in Spain. After such
preparations he was bold enough, on the death of Nico¬
medes III. in 74 b.c., to lay claim to the vacant throne of
Bithynia. He then burst into that country with a mighty
army, swept through it without encountering opposition,
and overwhelmed the forces of Cotta the praetor under the
walls ot Chalcedon. Marching then into Mysia, he sat
down before Cyzicus, and invested that city by land and sea.
Thither Lucullusthe Roman general fbllowedhim. For some
time the two armies lay encamped near each other without
meeting in any general engagement. At last Mithridates,
DATES.
unable to provide for so large an army in so narrow a ter- Mithri-
ritory, was forced to raise the siege and to commence a dates,
retreat towards the west. Lucullus then hovered about -
his rear, threw his army into confusion, and took many pri¬
soners. With great difficulty Mithridates embarked his
shattered forces and set sail homewards. On the way a
storm sunk his fleet, and he arrived in his own dominions
with a fragment of that magnificent army with which he
had set out. Yet Mithridates still retained his invincible
energy, and that soon supplied him with another army. By
the spring of 72 b.c. he had organized a large force of his
own subjects, of Scythians, and of Parthians, and awaited
the arrival of Lucullus in an impregnable position among
the mountains at Cabira. Lucullus arrived, but found that
his enemy had learned a lesson from former misfortunes,
and that he was resolved to act merely on the defensive.
He attempted to dislodge him, but was repulsed with great
loss. In a short time he discovered that his provisions were
effectually cut off, and that want was beginning to lay
waste his camp. At this crisis an accident saved him. The
forces of Mithridates, compelled by a misfortune to shift
their camp, were struck with a sudden panic. A headlong
flight ensued, and their ranks were cut to pieces and scat¬
tered over the whole country by the pursuing Roman
cavalry. The King himself, after braving many dangers in
his desperate attempts to rally his troops, fled to the king¬
dom of his son-in-law Tigranes, and left all his dominions
in the power of Lucullus.
In 69 B.c. Tigranes mustered a large army to vindicate
the cause of his father-in-law, and at the same time to defend
his own territories against the invading Romans; but
risking, in opposition to the advice of Mithridates, a pitched
battle at Tigranocerta, he was defeated by Lucullus with
great slaughter. The ensuing winter was spent by Mithri¬
dates in equipping a select force of 70,000 with Roman
armour, and in inuring them to Roman discipline. In the
summer of 68 b.c. he commenced to harass the advance of
Lucullus into Armenia by cutting off his foraging parties,
and by galling his rear with bodies of skirmishers. At
length he was brought to a general engagement near Ar-
taxata, and suffered a severe defeat. But no sooner had
the enemy marched into Mesopotamia to lay siege to the
strong fortress of Nisibis, than Mithridates betook himself
to Pontus at the head of 4000 chosen troops, and com¬
menced a sudden and daring guerilla war. Garrison after
garrison was surprised and wrested from the Romans ; his
old soldiers rallied round his standard ; the army under
Fabius, the lieutenant of Lucullus, was cut to pieces ; and
when winter suspended the contest, Triarius was the
only Roman commander who was capable of offering any
effectual resistance. With him Mithridates prepared to
engage in the spring of 87 b.c. A pitched battle soon
took place, in which the Romans, after an obstinate
struggle, fled, leaving their camp in the hands of the
enemy and 7000 of their officers and private soldiers lying
dead on the field. This defeat, the most disastrous blow
that had fallen upon Rome for many years, left the greater
part of Pontus in the hands of Mithridates.
The King of Pontus was engrossed with the re-organi¬
zation of his government when Pompey the Great arrived
in Asia in 66 b.c. to supersede Lucullus. That able ge¬
neral immediately formed an alliance with the Parthian
king, and thus rendered it necessary for Tigranes to keep
his troops for the protection of liis own dominions. Mithri¬
dates was accordingly left to meet his great antagonist all
alone. At first he tried negotiation, but scorned to stoop
to the conditions that were offered to him. He then placed
himself at the head of 32,000 well-disciplined troops, and
resorted to his former plan of defensive warfare. For some
time he attended the movements of the Romans, intercept¬
ing their provisions, destroying their foragers, and baffling
MIT
ilitrowicz all their attempts to force him to a general en<Ta°'ement.
At length desperation drove Pompey to attack him by night
M it we ma; Qn the banks of t]le Euphrates. An accident spread a panic
through the king’s forces; in a few moments there was
a general flight; and the greater part of the Pontine
army were either slain by the Romans or drowned in at¬
tempting to cross the river. Mithridates himself, at the
head of a few horsemen, cut his way through the lemons
of the enemy, and escaped to the border stronghold of
Synoria. Thence he hastened with a considerable bodv of
troops to take refuge in Armenia. But dread of the Ro¬
mans prevented Tigranes from giving him any counte¬
nance. The only retreat now left to him was the king¬
dom of Bosporus, over which his son Machares reigned.
Thither, therefore, he directed his course by forced marches
through the country of Colchis, until he arrived at Dioscu-
rias. Assured then that he was beyond the reach of Pom¬
pey, he halted, and passed the winter enlisting troops and
equipping a fleet for the remainder of his journey. In 65
b.c. he continued his march through the midst of the most
savage tribes, exciting the opposition of some and the en¬
thusiastic admiration of others, yet pressing onwards with
resistless constancy. At length he arrived at Panticapaeum,
the capital of the kingdom of Bosporus, and found that his
son Machares, who had formerly sent in his submission to
the Romans, had put an end to his life on hearing of his
approach. Mithridates accordingly seated himself in the
vacant throne. His newly-acquired power was far beyond
the reach of the grasping tyranny of Rome, and he might
now have rested from that disastrous struggle in which he
had been engaged for the last twenty-six years. Yet
hardly had he organized his government, when he conceived
the daring plan of marching at the head of a large army
round the north and west coasts of the Euxine, of rallying
round his standard all those barbaric tribes who cherished
a deadly enmity towards Rome, of bursting with an over¬
whelming horde into the Roman possessions, and of even
penetrating into Italy and striking at the Eternal City
itself. With all possible speed he set himself to muster
the strength of his kingdom, and soon saw himself at the
head of an army of 36,000, supported by a considerable
fleet. However, as the desperate nature of the coming
expedition began to be generally known, the soldiers began
to falter in their allegiance. This growing disaffection
speedily swelled into open revolt, through the intrigues of
Pharnaces, the king’s own son and heir. In vain did Mith¬
ridates attempt to awe his troops into obedience, and to
excite filial regard in his son. He w'as forced to flee for
his life into a strong fortress. There he resolved to die,
that he might not fall alive into the hands of his remorse¬
less subjects. He tried to poison himself; but his iron
constitution, .even at the age of sixty-eight, wras proof
against the deadly drug, and he was compelled to die on
the sword of a faithful Gallic mercenary.
Mithridates is described by Peterculus as “ a man who
can neither be mentioned nor passed over without caution ;
most valiant in war, unrivalled for valour,—renowned at
one time for success, at all times for magnanimity,—a ge¬
neral in council, a soldier in action, and a very Hannibal in
his hatred of the Romans.”
MITROWICZ, a town of the Austrian dominions, in
the Slavonian military frontier, on the left bank of the Save,
24 miles S.S.W. of Peterwardein. The town possesses a
castle, several churches and schools, and is the head¬
quarters of the Peterwardein regiment. It has also some
Roman remains, and is supposed to occupy the site of the
ancient Sirmium. Pop. 5500.
MITWEIDA, a manufacturing town of Saxony, in the
circle of Zwickau, on the Zschopau, 35 miles S.E. of
Leipsic. It produces woollen, cotton, and linen stuffs, and
is provided with large bleachfields. Pop. 7012.
M N E 285
MITYLENE, or Midullu (the ancient Lesbos), an Mitylene
island of the Grecian Archipelago, belonging to Turkey, |j
and lying off the west coast of Asia Minor. It is about 45 Mnemo-
miles in length by 30 in extreme width, and contains an nics-
estimated area of 168,320 acres. The island is traversed v—^
by wooded hills, beautifully diversified by plains and val¬
leys ; while the two inlets Ports Culoni and Lero extend
into the land for several miles, almost severing the island
into two portions. The soil is excellent, and the climate
salubrious; but want of proper irrigation has much impeded
farm operations. The principal articles produced are,—
olive oil, silk, cotton, fruit, and indifferent wine. Grain is not
grown in sufficient quantity to supply the home consump¬
tion. The principal towns are Castro, on the S.E. coast,
with 10,000 inhabitants; Molivo; and Culoni. Mitylene suf¬
fered much in the Greek war of independence, in the course
of which it lost nearly the half of its inhabitants. Pop. 40,000,
the majority of whom are Turks. (See Lesbos.)
MNEMONICS, or Mnemotechny (from iJ-vrjjx-q, me¬
mory, and Te^yy], art), is the art of improving the memory
by artificial means. Its discoverer is said to have been
Simonides the poet, who flourished about B.c. 500. The
story is, that he had been employed by Scopas, a rich Thes¬
salian nobleman, to compose a song in commemoration of
a victory gained by him at the Olympic games. This was
sung at a banquet given in honour of the occasion; but
Scopas was so displeased that part of it was occupied with
the praises of Castor and Pollux, that he said he would
pay the poet only one-half of the stipulated reward, as he
had received but one-half of the praise, and that he might,
if he chose, apply to his friends the Tyndaridee for the re¬
mainder. Shortly after this, and while yet at the feast, a
message was brought to Simonides that there were two
young men at the gate very anxious to speak to him.
When he went out he found no one; but while engaged
in the search, the house he had just left fell down, killing
Scopas and all that were with him. The bodies were so
mutilated that they could not be recognised; but Simonides,
by calling to mind the place that each had occupied at the
feast, was able to distinguish them ; and hence his attention
was first directed to the important aid afforded to memory
by the observation of material objects.
1 his art was practised and recommended by more than one
of the ancients, amongst whom is Cicero, who says,—“ There
can scarcely be any one of so acute a memory that he can re¬
tain the order of words and sentences without observing and
associating them with material objects; nor, on the other
hand, is there any one of so dull a memory as not to receive
aid from the use of this plan, .... those things being
most fixed in the mind which have been given to it and
impressed upon it by sense.” In modern times the subject
of Mnemonics does not seem to have generally received that
amount of attention which its importance demands. Various
works have indeed been written upon the subject, and va¬
rious systems advocated, but none of them have met with
any great degree of success. This is doubtless chiefly to be
accounted for from the fact that the propounders of the va¬
rious systems have had more in view the exhibiting of mere
feats of memory, than the applying of the principles of the
art to matters of real value and importance. What Lord
Bacon says of the systems of his time is still in a great
measure true, that those “ now in use are but barren and
useless. For immediately to repeat a multitude of names
or words once repeated before .... I esteem .... no
more than rope-dancing, antic postures, and feats of acti¬
vity ; and, indeed, they are nearly the same things, the one
being the abuse of the bodily as the other is of the mental
powers; and though they may cause admiration, they can¬
not be highly esteemed.”
I he value of any system of Mnemonics must necessarily
depend upon the extent to which it is based upon the prin-
286 MNEMONICS.
Mnemo- ciples and laws of memory. This term, as it is commonly
nics. used, implies both the power of retaining and of recalling
whatever may have already been before the mind. These
powers vary greatly, not only in different, but even in the
same individual,—some having a good retention but a bad
recollection, while others have a good recollection but a
bad retention. Though thus apparently different in char¬
acter, they yet seem in reality to be the result of one
general principle; a good or a bad retention, as well as
a good or a bad recollection, being alike and entirely
dependent upon the laws of association. Indeed, so far
as retention is concerned, it is held by many philosophers
that there are no individual differences,—that whatever
has once been the object of consciousness is ever there¬
after retained, and that its being or not being recalled
depends entirely upon association. In support of this doc¬
trine we have numerous instances of persons recollecting,
in the delirium of a fever, things that in ordinary circum¬
stances had long been beyond the power of recall. Thus
there have been instances of persons in such a state talking
fluently in a language, that of their childhood, which they
had long forgotten. In dreaming, too, many things are sug¬
gested to our minds which we know must be resuscitated
ideas, even though we cannot recognise them as such.
Memory, then, depends upon what are by philosophers
termed the laws of mental association, suggestion, or re¬
production. The great law of association, and that to
which probably all the others may be referred, is that of
contiguity. Ideas that have been in the mind together, or
in close succession, ever after manifest a tendency to recall
or reproduce each other. As a general rule, we find this
tendency most marked, as indeed was to be expected, in
persons with few ideas among the ignorant and uneducated.
Shakspeare’s Mrs Quickly is an admirable instance of this,
as she narrates with amazing minuteness the various inci¬
dents that happened at the time when Sir John Falstaff
had made her a promise of marriage. Where, however,
the mind has been actively at work, and has stored up a
great number of ideas, those that have been frequently
before it have become associated in a variety of ways with
numerous other ideas. Such then have the power of sug¬
gesting, not only ideas that may have been associated with
them at any particular time, but also those that may have
been connected with them at various times. Were in
such cases every idea to bring before the mind all with
which it had at any time been connected, the result wrould
be endless confusion. Instead, therefore, of a host of ideas,
we find that generally only one or a few rise before con¬
sciousness. That some rather than others are selected and
brought before the mind depends upon a variety of circum¬
stances,—such as their affinity to immediately preceding
ideas or to the general habits of thought of the individual,
their recentness or abstractedness from other ideas, or their
affinity to the suggesting idea, arising from the frequency
or length of time they may have been associated with it.
An idea, however, may give rise to other ideas, with
which it had never previously been associated. Thus,
Hannibal may immediately suggest Napoleon, though they
may have never been previously together in the mind. This
is done by means of a third idea common to both : among
the various ideas that have been associated in the mind
with Hannibal, one is that he crossed the Alps with an
armed force; but this latter idea has been also associated
in the mind at another time writh Napoleon, and hence he
is immediately suggested. The common idea is here evi-
ent; but frequently it does not come before consciousness,
though in every case its influence may be traced. This is
w rat rs called the law’ of similarity, though in reality it
seems to be merely a modification of that of contiguity,—
the one idea suggesting the other, not directly, but by
means of a third idea common to both. To this same
principle of contiguity, w’e think, may also be referred that Mnemo*
tendency of the mind to proceed from one idea to its con- mcs.
trary, as from virtue to vice, from light to darkness, from
riches to poverty,—there being in every such case an inter¬
mediate idea common to both, of which the one is an
abundance and the other a deficiency. It is this principle
of association by similarity that we find to predominate in
men of genius, as poets, artists, philosophers, and others. It
wTas this that led Sir Isaac Newton to see the one principle
of attraction governing alike the falling of an apple and the
revolution of a wrorld. Though depending chiefly on natural
endowment, it is also to a great degree capable of cultivation.
Another principle of association is that of a part suggest¬
ing its whole, or a w’hole one or more of its parts. Most of
our ideas are made up of a number of others. The paper
I write upon is, in my mind, made up of ideas of form,
colour, smoothness, &c. The mind has the power of ana¬
lyzing and reducing such an idea to its component parts, so
that it becomes merely a number of associated ideas. Any
one of these may, in accordance with the ordinary principles
of reproduction, suggest the whole idea, or the whole idea
may suggest one or more of its parts. Paper may imme¬
diately suggest to the mind whiteness, and this whiteness
may suggest another, or a number of other things, of which it
is likewise a property. In like manner, a word may be re¬
solved into its component parts or syllables, any one of
which tends to suggest other words of w’hich it forms a
part. Thus, one word may suggest another word or words
having the same initial or terminal syllables; and hence
the rhythmical terminations of the lines in poetry make it
much more readily remembered than prose, and the alliter¬
ation so frequent in proverbs renders them pleasing to the
memory and easy of recall. The principles of mental as¬
sociation are w’ell illustrated by Coleridge in the following
passage :—“ Seeing a mackerel, it may happen that I im¬
mediately think of gooseberries, because I at the same time
ate mackerel with gooseberries as the sauce. The first
syllable of the latter word being that which had co-existed
with the image of the bird so called, I may then think of a
goose. In the next moment the image of a swan may arise be¬
fore me, though I had never seen the two birds together. In
the first two instances, I am conscious that their co-existence
in time was the circumstance that enabled me to recollect
them; and equally conscious am I that the latter was re¬
called to me by the joint operation of likeness and con¬
trast. So it is with cause and effect; so too with order.”
It follows naturally, as a principle of contiguity, that, as a
general rule, the closer ideas are brought together in the
mind, the more strongly will they be associated, and the
greater will be their power of reproducing each other.
When an interval takes place between ideas brought before
consciousness for the purpose of being associated together,
there is ever a tendency of irrelevant ideas to spring up in
the mind and interfere with their adhesion. This is espe¬
cially marked when our circumstances are such as to readily
suggest ideas to our mind apart from those we wish to im¬
press upon it. Hence the importance to memory of sound
health and a mind free from anxieties. Sensations exercise
an important influence in the direction of our thoughts, and
in giving rise to new trains of ideas; and indeed it seems
highly probable that there are conditions of body, even be¬
yond the pale of consciousness, that exert an important in¬
fluence in this respect.
Memory, probably more than any of the other faculties of
the mind, is dependent on the physical condition of the body.
We may smile as we read in old works on Mnemonics of
“ plaisters to prevent a decay of memory,” “ a ponder for
the memory,” or “ a perfumed apple for comforting the
brain and memory ;” but these all indicate a belief in the
dependence of memory upon the physical condition of the
body; and we find in the present day so high a medical
M N E
Mnerno- authority as Sir Benjamin Brodie supporting the same opinion
nics. when he says, “ It is possible that by accurate observation the
proper means may be discovered of preserving that tem¬
perament of the brain which is favourable to memory, and
of remedying the disorders of that temperament.”
Some ideas are much more easily retained and recalled
than others, those presented to us by the senses occupying
in this respect the chief place, ihe mind is first awakened
to consciousness by sensations, and these are ever the most
easy of retention or reproduction. Of all the senses, that of
sight is the one that furnishes the mind with most ideas,
and these are always the most vividly and lastingly im¬
pressed upon it. In cases of loss of memory we frequently
find that, after all other sensational ideas have been lost,
those of sight may still be retained. Thus, a sentence when
spoken may convey no idea to the mind, while the same
when written may be readily understood ; and one may be
able to write what, from mere obliviousness of the sound, he
is unable to speak. Most persons, too, may have ex¬
perienced, when in doubt as to the correct spelling of a
word, that they have frequently been put right by recalling
to the mind the appearance of the word, or by writing it
down. When two or more of the senses are employed in
impressing a thing upon the mind, the advantage is greater
than if one only were employed. Every schoolboy knows
that he learns his lesson much more quickly by repeating
it aloud, for in this case he has both the ear and the eye to
assist him; and next to the eye the ear is, as an aid to me¬
mory, the most valuable of the senses.
We have been thus minute in explaining the principles
of memory, because, as already said, it is only in accord¬
ance with these that memory can be judiciously improved ;
and further, because we believe that no one system of
Mnemonics can be equally beneficial in every case. Mne¬
monics is the art of associating in the mind things difficult
with things that are easily remembered, so that the former
may be retained and recollected from being associated with
the latter. Memory, however, varies greatly in different in¬
dividuals, some manifesting the greatest facility in remem¬
bering places, others events, others names, and so on, ac¬
cording to the species of memory that each may have re¬
ceived from nature, or acquired by previous education. In
each particular case it is of importance to know where the
strongest points of memory lie, and to employ these in the
assistance of the weaker.
One great principle of mental association is to bring
together as nearly as possible in the mind ideas that w'e
wish to connect, as by this means we guard against irrele¬
vant ideas intervening that would injuriously affect their
adhesion. It is upon this principle that what is called the
Hamiltonian system of teaching languages is constructed,—
that, namely, of bringing the foreign word and the English
equivalent into the nearest possible proximity.
Another important principle that, from the foregoing con¬
siderations, we arrive at, is that of associating an abstract
idea that we wish to remember with a sensational. Most
personsmust haveobserved, that in passing along aroadwhich
they had formerly travelled in the company of afriend, the par¬
ticulars of a conversation in which they were then engaged
are frequently suggested by the objects they meet with. They
recollect that in such a place a particular subject was started,
and as they pass the various houses, plantations, rivers, &c.,
on the way, the parts of the subject under discussion when
these were last seen are immediately suggested to the mind.
The same result will be obtained, though less perfectly, by
merely bringing the various objects before the mind in
imagination—the ideas associated with each will spring up.
We may in this way connect ideas that we wish to remember
with the public buildings of a town, the houses of a street, or
the furniture of a room, and by going over these objects in
reality or in imagination, the ideas formerly associated with
M N E 287
them will spring up. This is the system of Mnemonics as Mnemo-
recommended and practised by Cicero, Quintilian, and others. syne.
Another principle, even more important than the last,
because it belongs to a higher and more advanced state of
mind, is that of associating what we wish to remember with
ideas already in the mind; and according to the familiarity
of those ideas will be their value as a means of reproduction.
As the mind enlarges and becomes stocked with ideas, we
find that suggestion comes to depend more and more upon
what are commonly called the laws of similarity or contrast.
In reading the account of a battle, for instance, one will
best remember it by associating it with another already in
his mind, and noting the points of resemblance or contrast.
It is the same with other branches of history, with biography,
or with more abstract subjects. Hence the great import¬
ance of exercise to the memory, by which it is not only
strengthened, but by which stores of materials are laid up
with which to associate new acquirements. A law prevails
in the mental world similar to that of chemical attraction
in the material,—a law by which ideas with certain affini¬
ties are attracted to each other and all others repelled.
It may be considered necessary, before concluding the
present article, to say something of the means commonly
adopted by Mnemonicians for performing their great feats
of memory. For this purpose a number of rooms are
selected, the walls and floor of which are each divided
in imagination into 9 equal parts or squares, 3 in a row.
On the front wall (that opposite the entrance) of the first
room are the units, on the right hand wall the tens, the left
hand the twenties, the fourth wall the thirties, and the floor
the forties. Nos. 0,10, 20, and 30 each find a place on the
roof immediately above their respective walls, while 40 is
placed in the centre of the roof. One room will thus supply
49 places, and with 10 rooms we may have 500 places, all
save one. Having fixed these in the mind so that the exact
position of each place may be readily ascertained it is then ne¬
cessary to associate with each of them a certain familiar ob¬
ject, so that, on the object being suggested, its place may be
recalled; or when the place is before the mind, its object
may immediately spring up. When this has been done
thoroughly, the objects can be run over in any order from
beginning to end, from end to beginning, or the place of
any one can at once be given. It will also facilitate refer¬
ence if the objects are arranged according to a certain plan.
Each room may be devoted to one class of objects, the
subdivisions of which may occupy the various places on the
walls and floor, on the same principle as a librarian arranges
the books of his library, or a naturalist the objects in his
museum. All that is further necessary is to associate the
subjects that we wish to remember with the objects in the
various places, by which means they are readily remem¬
bered, and can be gone over in any order. In this way
some are able to repeat in any order several hundred dis¬
connected, or even unmeaning, words or ideas, after having
once heard them.
To remember dates or sums, letters are substituted for
the figures, and formed into words. Thus:
t, n, m, r, l, d, c k g q, b h v w, p f, s x z.
The vowels are of no value, but are merely introduced be¬
tween the consonants to form words. In this way tin, tone,
ten, tun, &c., stand for 12; tins, tens, See., for 120; and tabled
for 1856. This last branch of Mnemonics, which we cannot
enter upon at greater length, will be found fully treated of
in Dr Grey’s Memoria Technica, and exemplified in history,
geography, astronomy, &c.
MNEMOSYNE (jxvqpoavvii, memory'), according to
fabulous history, one of the Titanides, and the daughter of
Uranus, who married Zeus, and became the motheT- of the
Muses. (Hesfod. Theog., 54, 915 ; and Cicero, De Natura
288 MCA
Moa Isle Deorum, iii. 21.) A statue was erected to her honour at
ii Athens ; and, according to Pausanias, she had a sacred well
Moabites. an[j t]irone near Trephonian oracle. The origin of this
fable of the maternity of the Muses had doubtless a relation
to the important part which the faculty of memory performs
in the development of art and in the growth of science.
MOA ISLE, in the eastern seas, is situated off the east¬
ern extremity of Timor, and intersected by the 128th
degree of east longitude. Lat. 8. 20. S.
MOABITES, a tribe descended from Moab, the son of
Lot, and consequently related to the Hebrews. (Gen. xix.
37.) Previous to the exodus from Egypt, the Moabites,
after expelling the original inhabitants, called Emims (Gen.
xiv. 5 ; Deut. ii. 11), had possessed themselves of the region
on the E. of the Dead Sea and the Jordan, as far N. as
the River Jabbok. But the northern portion of the terri¬
tory, extending from the Jabbok to the Arnon, had passed
into the hands of the Amorites, and hence the valley and
river Arnon constituted the northern boundary of Moab.
(Numb. xxi. 13; Judg. xi. 18; Josephus, iv. 5, 1.)
The Moabites, on the advance of the Hebrews towards
Canaan, fearing the numbers that were marching around
them, gave evidence of a spirit of hostility (Deut. xxiii. 3) ;
and their king, Balak, hired Balaam to utter prophetic
curses, which were converted into blessings in his mouth
(Num. xxii., sq.) The Gadites now took possession of the
northern portion of the territory, which the Amorites had
wrested from the Moabites, while the Reubenites occupied
the south. (Num. xxxii. 34 ; comp. Josh, xiii.)
We see the first hostilities breaking out in the beginning
of the period of the Judges, when the Hebrews had been
for a long time tributary to the Moabites, but threw off
their yoke under Ehud. (Judg. iii. 12-30.) Peace and
friendship, however, were afterwards restored; and Moab
appears often to have afforded a place of refuge to outcasts
and emigrant Hebrews. (Ruth i. 1 ; comp. 1 Sam. xxii.
3, 4; Jer. xl. 11; Isa. xvi. 2.) After Saul had waged
successful war against them (1 Sam. xiv. 47), David made
them tributary (2 Sam. viii. 2, 12; xxiii. 20); and the
right to levy this tribute seems to have been transferred to
Israel after the division of the kingdom (2 Kings i. 1, iii. 4 ;
comp. Isa. xvi. 1). To avenge an invasion of their terri¬
tory, in which the King of Judah had taken part, the
Moabites formed a powerful confederacy with the Ammon¬
ites, Edomites, and others, who marched in great force into
Judaea, and having formed their camp at Engedi, they fell
out among themselves and destroyed each other.
The most natural explanation of the x'ecovery by Moab
(Isa. xvi.) of the territory between the Arnon and the Jab¬
bok, and respecting which Jewish history is silent, is that
of Reland (Palcestina, p. 720), Paul us (Clavis, p. 110),
and Rosenmiiller (m loc.), that, after the carrying away of
Reuben and Gad into captivity, the Moabites occupied their
territory. Still later, under Nebuchadnezzar, we see the
Moabites acting as the auxiliaries of the Chaldaeans (2 Kings
xxiv. 2), and beholding with malicious satisfaction the de¬
struction of a kindred people (Ezek. xxv. 8-11); yet, ac¬
cording to an account in Josephus (Antiq. x. 9, 7), Nebu¬
chadnezzar, when on his way to Egypt, made war upon
them, and subdued them, together with the Ammonites,
five years after the destruction of Jerusalem. On the other
hand, there is no authority in any one ancient account for that
which modern historians have repeatedly copied from one ano¬
ther, viz., that Moab was carried into exile by Nebuchad¬
nezzar, and restored with the Hebrews under Cyrus.
Continual wars and contention must have created a feeling
of national hostility between the Hebrews and the Moab-
an^ ^1*s feeling manifested itself on the part of the
e. lews in bitter proverbs and in the denunciations of
t leir prophets. Moreover, the subjection of Moab finds a
p ace in every ideal description of splendid wars and golden
M 0 A
ages predicted for Israel (Isa. xi. 14, xxv. 10; Ps. lx. 8; Moabites.
Ps. Ixxxiii. 6). v
After the exile an intimate connection between the two
nations had found place by means of intermarriages (Ezra
ix. 1, sq.; Neh. xiii. 1), which, however, were dissolved by
the theocratic zeal of Ezra. The last notice (chronolo¬
gically) of the Moabites which occurs in Scripture is in
Dan. xi. 41, which contains an obscure intimation of the
escape of the Moabites from the overthrow with which
neighbouring countries would be visited; but Josephus, in
the history of Alexander Jannaeus, mentions the cities be¬
tween Arnon and Jabbok under the title of cities of Moab.
(Antiq. xiii. 15.) Thenceforth their name is lost under
that of the Arabians, as was also the case with Ammon and
Edom. At the time of Abulfeda, Moab proper, S. of
the Arnon, bore the name of Karak, from the city so called ;
and the territory N. of the Arnon, that of Belka, which
includes also the Ammonites. Since that time the accounts
of that region are uncommonly meagre; for, through fear
of the predatory and mischievous Arabs that people it, few
of the numerous travellers in Palestine have ventured to
explore it. (For scanty accounts, see Busching’s Asia, pp.
507, 508.) Seetzen, who in February and March 1806, not
without danger of losing his life, undertook a tour from
Damascus down to the south of Jordan and the Dead Sea,
and thence to Jerusalem, was the first to shed a new and
altogether unexpected light upon the topography of this
region. He found a multitude of places, or at least of ruins
of places, still bearing the old names; and thus has set
bounds to the perfectly arbitrary designations of them on
the old charts. From June to September 1812, Burck-
hardt made the same tour; and the details of this journey,
which are contained in his Travels in Syria and the Holy
Land, 1822, threw much light upon the ancient topography
and present condition of the lands of Moab and Edom. The
accounts of Seetzen and Burckhardt give the substance of
all the information which we even yet possess concerning the
land of Moab. The Travels of Irby and Mangles in 1818,
and Legh’s Supplement to Dr Macmichael’s Journey from
Moscow to Constantinople, 1819, furnish the most valuable
additions which have as yet been obtained to the informa¬
tion of Seetzen and Burckhardt. More recent travellers
in Palestine have added little to our previous knowledge
of the land of Moab.
From the sources already alluded to we learn that in the
land of Moab, which lay to the E. and S.E. of Judaea,
and which bordered on the E., N.E., and partly on the
S. of the Dead Sea, the soil is rather more diversified
than that of Ammon; and, where the desert and plains
of salt have not encroached upon its borders, of equal
fertility. There are manifest and abundant signs of its
ancient importance. “ The whole of the plains are covered
with the sites of towns on every eminence or spot conve¬
nient for the construction of one ; and as the land is capable
of rich cultivation, there can be no doubt that the country,
now so deserted, once presented a continued picture of
plenty and fertility.” (Irby and Mangles, p. 378.) The
form of fields is still visible, and there are remains of Roman
highways, which are in some places completely paved, and
on which there are milestones of the times of Trajan, Mar¬
cus Aurelius, and Severus, with the numbers of the miles
legible upon them. It was in its state of highest prosperity
that the prophets foretold that the cities of Moab should
become desolate, without any to dwell in them ; and ac¬
cordingly we find, that although the sites, ruins, and names
of many ancient cities of Moab can still be traced, not one
of them exists at the present day as tenanted by man.
MOAT. See Fortification.
MOBILE, a seaport-town of the United States of North
America, capital of a cognominal county in the state of
Alabama, is situated on the right bank of Mobile River,
MOB
MOB
289
Mobile, immediately above its entrance into the bay of the same
—v—' name, 165 miles E. by N. of New Orleans; N. Lat. 30.
41., W. Long. 88. 1. The site of the town is a sandy
plain, slightly elevated above the river, and affording a suffi¬
cient fall for the purposes of drainage ; while in its vicinity
are extensive pine hills, resorted to in summer for their
healthy exposure. The city itself is laid out in streets,
crossing each other at right angles, but which, excepting
in the mercantile quarter near the wharves, are rather in-
compactly built. Most of the wider streets have been
tastefully planted with trees; and the houses are copiously
supplied with excellent spring water. For many years,
however, it had the unenviable notoriety of being one of the
most unhealthy places on the Mexican Gulf; and indeed the
devastating epidemics of 1819, 1825, 1829, and 1843, gave
melancholy evidence of the fact. But subsequently there
has been a marked improvement in this respect, owing to
the filling up of the neighbouring marshes, and to the intro¬
duction of a system of drainage, as well as to greater atten¬
tion being paid to the sanitary affairs of the town. The public
edifices of Mobile are numerous : the chief are the Spring-
hill college, founded in 1830, and possessing a library of
7000 volumes ; the U.S. marine hospital; and a large new
custom-house; besides many charitable and literary insti¬
tutions. A battery, named Fort Morgan, defends the en¬
trance of the bay, and a lighthouse stands in the same
situation. Mobile is by far the most considerable town in
Alabama, in regard both to population and commerce, and,
after New Orleans, is the greatest cotton market in the United
States. Communicating with the interior by the rivers
Alabama and Tombigby, its harbour is supplied with the
produce of the great cotton plantations of the state with
ease, and at a trifling expense; while by railroads it will
in a short time be united with the Ohio and the great lakes
in the N., and with Georgia in the E. Its harbour may
be considered to be the entire Bay of Mobile, which forms
an inlet of great extent, and affords secure anchorage.
On account, however, of some obstructions of a removable
character, ships drawing more than 11 feet cannot reach
the city. During the year ending June 30, 1856, the
arrivals of shipping at this port amounted to 473,678 tons,
of which 301,498 tons were engaged in the coasting trade.
The clearances in the same year numbered 312,973 tons
only, 98,264 tons of which went coastwise. Of this amount
of tonnage about a fourth part belonged to Britain. The
imports of Mobile chiefly consist of salt, oats, flour, corn,
bacon, whisky, bagging, and railroad iron; but come con¬
siderably short in value of the exports, which comprise
cotton, timber (rough and manufactured), hides, oysters,
rosin, bricks, tar, and pitch. In the following table the total
values are given for the years 1853, 1854, and 1856:—
1856. 1854. 1853.
Imports (foreign) ... L. 163,992 L. 183,854 L. 162,381
Exports do. ... 4,903,419 3,296,792 2,943,362
Of the latter, cotton is the most important, 557,243 bales
having been shipped, coastwise as well as to foreign
ports, during 1856, = L.5,389,432. More than the half of
this was exported to Britain, and that chiefly in British
ships. The next articles in point of value were masts and
spars, amounting to L.35,678, and which were exported
chiefly to France for naval purposes. Ordinary rough and
hewn timber was exported in the same year to the value of
L.18,889, hides to that of L.12,208, oysters toL.11,573,
and rosin to that of L.8331. The manufactures of Mobile
are inconsiderable compared with its general trade; and,
with the exception of a cotton-mill, employing 180 hands,
the factories are all of small dimensions. The prosperity
of the city, however, can be better judged of by the valua¬
tion of the merchandise and real estate belonging to its
inhabitants: in 1840 the total value of these amounted to
L.3,388,986, and in 1850 to L.3,651,860.
VOL. xv.
The history of the place commences with the French
possession of Louisiana. In 1702 Bienville founded the
original town of Mobile at the mouth of Dog River, but in
consequence of inundations it was removed, nine years
afterwards, to its present site at the mouth of the Mo¬
bile River. An extensive fortress was built here, and the
seat of government permanently fixed. At the peace of
1763 the town passed into the possession of the English.
Under the latter its exports comprised indigo, raw hides,
tobacco, timber, pecan nuts, and a small amount of cotton.
In 1777 Bertram describes Mobile as extending back half
a mile from the river, with a few good buildings occupied
by the French or emigrants from England, Scotland, Ire¬
land, and the North American colonies. At the close of
the American revolution, the Spaniards again came into
possession under the general treaty of peace ; but on the
cession of Louisiana to the United States, the Americans
took final possession of Mobile without striking a blow.
Pop. (1788) 1468, (1820) 1500, (1840) 12,672, and in
1850, 20,515; of which 12,997 were whites, 715 free co¬
loured, and 6803 slaves; 752 were English and Scotch,
2009 Irish, 552 German, and 303 French. Total pop. in
1855, about 24,000.
MOBILIER, Credit {La Societe Generale de Credit
Mobilier), is a bank founded in Paris, under the sanction of
a decree of the imperial government, bearing date the 18th
of November 1852, and is of such a peculiar design and
nature as to deserve a lengthened notice. The name is
derived from an intentional contrast with companies known
on the Continent as Societes de Credit Fonder. These
companies, which are in the nature of land banks, advance
money on the security of real, or, in the language of conti¬
nental jurists, immoveable property, and raise the money
so to be used by the issue of debentures for sums of mo¬
derate amount, in some cases for so little as four pounds.
The Credit Mobilier, according to its original design, was
to obtain money in a somewhat similar way, by the issue of
debentures, and to employ the funds so obtained in giving
the same aid to the owners, or some of the owners, of
moveable property, that the companies of Credit Fonder
afforded to persons possessed of land. Such aid was not,
however, to be given by the new company in what are
clearly the simplest ways, by the discount of bills or ad¬
vances. There were already in France institutions, such
as the Bank of France and the Comptoir d’Escompte, which
aided commercial men by loans in these forms. The Credit
Mobilier was to effect a similar object in a mode less direct
and more peculiar.
“It is to play,” said M. Pereire, one of the original
founders of the company, “ with respect to the fixed capital
employed in industry, a part analogous to that which banks
of discount fill with respect to its circulating capital.
The first duty of our society,” he continues, “ is to aid the
development of national industry, to facilitate the comple¬
tion of great enterprises, which, w'ithout such assistance,
are perfected with so much difficulty.” And in language
which we give in the original, because the peculiar tone of
the language is most characteristic of the temper in which
the company has been planned, and can scarcely be pre¬
served in a translation, he remarks,—
“ La pensee du Credit mobilier est nee de I’insuffisance
des moyens de credit offerts a I’organisation des grandes
affaires du pays, de 1’isolement ou etaient reduites les forces
financieres, de I’absence d’un centre assez puissant pour les
relier entre elles.
“ Elle est nee du besoin d’amener sur le marche le con-
cours regulier de capitaux nouveaux destines & aider au
developpement du credit public et du credit industriel;
“ Elle est nee de 1’exageration des conditions auxquelles
se faisaient les prets sur fonds publics et des difficultes qui en
naissaient pour le classement definitif des meilleures valeurs.
2 o
Mobilier,
Credit.
290 MOBILIEE
Mobilier, ik £]]e est nee encore du besoin de centraliser le mouve-
CredTit. ment financier et administratif des grandes Compagnies et
^ notamment des Corapagnies de chemins de fer, d’utiliser
ainsi, au plus grand avantage de toutes, les capitaux dont
chacune dispose successivement, de maniere a menager les
ressources communes, aussi bien au profit des Compagnies
qu’ii celui de leurs nombreux actionnaires.
“ Elle est nee enfin de la necessite d’introduire dans la
circulation un nouvel agent, une nouvelle monnaie fiduciaire,
portant avec elle son interet de chaque jour, et faisant
fructifier les epargnes les plus humbles, aussi bien que les
capitaux les plus considerables.
“ Creer une telle institution, c’etait donner a I’industrie et
au credit public le plus puissant encouragement, c’etait
mettre a leur disposition Pinstrument le plus propre a leur
fournir it bon marche les capitaux necessaires a leur deve-
loppement.”
The simple statement of this rather enthusiastic language
is, that the Credit Mobilier is to employ its funds in taking
shares in companies whose public objects are important;
and that it is to obtain such funds by the issue of drafts
and debentures, some of which may pass as currency. As
will be evident from the remarks which we have cited from
the address of Pereire, the promoters of the undertaking
claim to have a public object, and distinctly undertake to
confer a great benefit on the French nation, as well as to
obtain a profit for themselves.
The opponents of the company, however, contest the
truth of these professions. They say that its promoters do
not really care about the completion of great national un¬
dertakings ; that they are wholly uninterested about the
actual construction of railways or canals; that it is only
intended that the company should buy and sell shares for
a profit; that the object of those who organized it is a
selfish one; in a word, that the sole intention is to specu¬
late in the share market.
Particular circumstances attaching to the politics of the
moment have given to the controversy between the par-
tizans of this company an unusual interest. The govern¬
ment of Louis Napoleon has been compelled to ally itself
rather closely with wealth, and especially with newly-made
commercial wealth. The single defence of the coup d’etat
was the necessity of preserving industry and credit from
the attacks of multitudes, who, either from bad theories or
bad motives, were anxious for a new distribution of pro¬
perty. The trading class, who live by their industry and
their credit, were influenced by this argument, and leaned
towards the new government. The classes connected with
the former governments of France were naturally disinclined
to it. The legitimist noblesse could not approve the re¬
vival of the Bonapartist dynasty; the literary and oratorical
statesmen of the Orleanist monarchy could find no place
for their characteristic abilities in a government which en¬
forced a silence on parliamentary eloquence and on news¬
paper eloquence, which did not wish to be supported by
abstract speculation, which only valued administrative abi¬
lity. These are the natural results of human nature. It
is, perhaps, equally so that the class of mercantile men who
would most rally round a court, would not be the highest
class. A close proximity to a gorgeous gaiety does not suit
a sober and stable industry. The eager speculator who is
in haste to be rich, in order that he may spend his riches,
will seek the scenes of expenditure the moment he is thought
to nave riches. From causes such as these, the imperial
government of France has been obliged to surround itself
witn a certain class of speculators rarely found in palaces,
wiipout a greater check from men of higher cultivation
ana more stable opulence. It has been contended that the
Credit Mobilier, which has been avowedly patronized by the
imperial government, is in reality a speculation of these
courtiers. “ I do not know,” said M. Berryer, in an action
CREDIT.
brought by a M. Goupo against the company, “ if, since Mobilier,
1828, M. Goupo has frequented the Bourse; but suppose Credit,
he has, who is it that reproaches him with it ? La Societe
de Credit Mobilier; that is to say, the greatest gambling-
house which the world has ever seen. We must not be
misled by words. These are magnificent ones, I know:
the protection of industry, the enfranchisement of the na¬
tional credit, the development of private credit, the conso¬
lidation of all commercial stocks,—a dream. All that is the
surface : they have given gambling a new name ; they call
it in their reports the industry of credit. The industry of
credit! what is that ? These twenty-eight millions of profit,
how have they been produced ? They are not due to the
prosperity of the enterprises in which the Credit Mobilier
has taken a share, and to whose aid it has brought its great
influence. No ; they are the realizations which represent
the difference between the price at which they sell, and
the price at which they buy. It is gambling which has pro¬
duced them. You are, then,” he tells the company, “an
institution of public utility; you have limited liability, and
you play ; you are irresponsible, and you gamble ; you are
a bank of play which sees the cards,” &c., &c. In order to
test the accuracy of these two conflicting views, we must
refer to the statutes of the Credit Mobilier which embody
its design, and the accounts which record its history.
The preamble to its statutes states that its object is to
“aid the progress of public works, and to consolidate into a
common stock the shares and bonds of trading companies ”
{de favor iser le developpement de V Industrie des travaux
publics et d’operer par voie de consolidation en un fonds
commun, la conversion des litres particuliers d’entreprises
diverses). The statutes specify that the company is to be
one of limited liability, with shares of L.20 each (made
out to bearer, and not the holders by name), and that its
capital is to be L.2,400,000. The detail of its operations
is to be as follows :—
“1. To subscribe or to acquire public funds or stocks;
and also shares or bonds in various industrial enterprises,
constituted on the principle of limited liability ; particularly
in railways, canals, mines, and other public works founded
or to be founded.
“2. To issue, to the extent of a sum equal to the sum
employed for purposes of the subscriptions and purchases
aforesaid, the separate obligations of the society itself.
“ 3. To sell, or give as security for advances, all eftects,
shares, and obligations acquired or held by the society ; and
to exchange such effects, shares, and obligations against
other values.
“4. To underwrite all loans, to undertake and realize
them; also to undertake and realize all enterprises for public
works.
“5. To lend on public securities, and on the deposit of
shares and bonds, and to open credits, on account current,
on the deposit of different kinds of value.
“6. To receive money on account current.
“7. To undertake all kinds of collections for companies,
as aforesaid; to pay their interest and dividend warrants;
and generally to undertake all business relating to such
companies.
“8. To open a bank of deposit for all the securities
issued by the companies aforesaid.—All other operations
are interdicted.
“9. It is expressly understood that the society shall
never undertake sales d decouvert [that is, sales of stock,
&c., merely for the account day or settlement], nor pur¬
chases d primes [that is, purchases which may be annulled
by the payment of a mere fine or option].
“ 10. After the complete issue of the joint-stock capital
of the society, the obligations created by the society may
attain a sum equal to ten times the said joint-stock capital
[that is, to (10 x 2,400,000) L.24,000,00'0].
Mobilier,
Credit.
MOBILIER, CREDIT.
291
“11. The accumulated amount of the sums received on
account current, and the obligations of the society created,
payable at less than one year’s date or sight, shall not ex¬
ceed twice the amount of the paid-up capital [that is, shall
not exceed (2 x 2,400,000) L.4,800,000].”
(This translation of the statutes, which seems to us quite
accurate, is taken from Tooke’s History of Prices, vol. vi.,
p. 105.)
. The government of the company is vested in a board of
fifteen directors, elected by the shareholders, of which three
go out annually, but are re-eligible. The board is bound
to elect a president and two vice-presidents every year,
who are likewise re-eligible, and to nominate a committee
of management of five of its members, wrho are to regulate
the detail of its afiairs. The general meetings of the
society are to be annual, but the directors have power to
summon special meetings. At each general meeting an
exact account of the financial state of the company is to be
presented to the shareholders, and every six months such
an account is to be laid before the minister of the interior,
the head of the police, and several other public departments ;
and the minister of finance is to be at liberty to demand a
statement in full detail of its intermediate operations when¬
ever he pleases. No particular form of periodical accounts
is prescribed; but by the seventh section of the statutes,
which regulates the appropriation of the profit, 5 per cent,
on the capital is to be first distributed to the share¬
holders by way of interest on such capital; 5 per cent, is
then to be added to the reserve fund, and the remainder is
to be divided between the directors and shareholders, in the
proportion of j^th to the former and ^ths to the latter,
—the directors being of course entitled to receive their
quota as shareholders in addition to the y^th set apart for
them by way of remuneration.
Of the annual accounts of the company, four have been
published. The two first it will not be necessary to give
in detail, but we shall most easily obtain a clear view of the
nature of the company by the following comparison of the
two last. The following were the liabilities of the establish¬
ment on the 31st December 1855, and 31st December
1856:—
Dec. 31,1855.
Capital   L.2,400,000
Deposits, current accounts  4,127,172
Bills payable, and sundries  34,576
Reserve fund   67,844
Total amount of profit in each year after
carrying the proper sum to the re¬
serve fund   1,073,116
Deo. 31,1856.
L.2,400,000
4,078,387
13,046
80,000
601,235
L.7,702,708 L.7,172,668
The assets of the company were,—
Deo. 31,1855.
Rents L.1,602,770
Debentures  1,313,784
Railway and other shares  2,377,364
L.5,293,918
Deduct for calls not made to 21st Dec.
1855   1,246,668
Dec. 31,1856.
L. 364,020
2,123,231
1,195,343
L.4,047,250 L.3,682,594
Investments for fixed periods in Trea¬
sury bonds, continuations and ad¬
vances on shares, debentures, &c  3,373,016
Premises and furniture  43,288
Balance on hand, and dividends to be
received on the 31st December last.... 239,254
2,031,201
53,456
285,417
And its profit and loss account,—
Mobilier,
Deo. 31,1855. Dec. 31, 1856. Credit.
Profit on investments    L.1,042,675 L.457,463 v*"*''
Income from do., and interest on loans 232,155 231,193
Less expenses
L.1,274,830
71,100
L.688,656
37,045
Less depreciation of securities, &c.
L.1,203,730 L.651,611
80,450 41,612
L.7,702,808 L.6,052,6681
L.1,123,280 L.609,999
Note.—The difference between the expenses in the two years is
principally owing to a sum of L.41,000 for interest on deposits,
which, owing to a change in the mode of making up the ac¬
count, does not appear in tlie second year. The depreciation
of securities, &c., included in the first year some miscellaneous
losses, to which there is nothing similar in the second year.
The difference between the amount of profit here given, and
that shown in the account of liabilities, has been carried to
the reserve fund.
From these data we can at once determine the charac¬
ter of the bank. About half the funds at present at its
disposal were, at the last date of which we have any in¬
formation, invested in the purchase of shares, debentures,
and similar securities of fluctuating value; and it is from
augmentations in the value of such property that its profits
are principally derived. Of the large profit of 1855, more than
L. 1,000,000 was so derived ; and the remarkable diminution
of entire income in the next year shows that the business of
the company, like every other depending on purchase or
sale, is very profitable in a rising market, and not by any
means equally so in a falling market (like that of the latter
months of 1856). The amount of profit so obtained would
be deemed by English bankers very great. In 1855, 44
per cent, was realized on the capital; in 1856, 25 percent.,
besides augmentations of the reserve fund in each year.
Some of the large joint-stock banks in London have, it is
true, on very rare occasions, made as much, or nearly as
much, as 25 per cent, on their respective capitals ; but then
those capitals are, in proportion to their liabilities, compara¬
tively small. The capital of the Credit Mobilier is more
than one-half its liabilities to the public ; the capitals of the
London and Westminster Bank, the London Joint-Stock
Bank, and the Union Bank, vary from a fourteenth to an
eighteenth of their respective liabilities. A comparison of
the actual amounts of profit earned place the contrast in a
more remarkable light. The London and Westminster
Bank have made of 15 millions of money in the peculiarly
profitable half year ending midsummer 1856, L.104,000,
which is at the rate of L.208,000 per annum ; the London
Joint-Stock Bank, of 11 millions and a half, L.77,000 in
the same half year, which is at the rate of L. 154,000; the
Union, of about the same amount of money, have made
L.156,000. As will be seen by the above accounts, the
income yielded by the Credit Mobilier was in 1855 five
times, and in 1856 three times as great as the highest of
these, with only seven millions of money to employ pro¬
fitably.
This amount of profit would generally appear to English
bankers dangerously large, and their apprehensions would
not be removed by the mode in which it is made. They
would consider that it was dangerous to employ the money
of other persons placed with them for brief periods in the
purchase of the shares and bonds of miscellaneous com¬
panies, which are not readily saleable in times of difficulty,
and are peculiarly fluctuating in price. The published
documents and accounts of the Credit Mobilier afford
no satisfactory reply to these suspicions. They tell us
1 The amount of assets in 1856 differs from that of the liabilities by L.120,000, because that sum (being 5 per cent, on the paid-up
capital) was paid to the shareholders before the dividend meeting.
292
Crfid'f ^ m01e than once that the money which they hold cannot
v, J y he hastily (brusquemenf) withdrawn from them; and
likewise that in its origin the company only professed
to receive the deposits of companies having the privilege of
limited liability, with which it could probably make special
agreements as to the time at which these deposits should be
repaid ; but the same documents also inform us that this in¬
tention has been departed from—that other money has been
received, and they omit to inform us on what terms. It is
much to be regretted that these authoritative expositions—
which, like most of the reports of French financiers, are
exceedingly elaborate, and, according to English notions,
wordy—should leave the possibility of a doubt on a point
so essential, and expose the company to the discrediting
suspicion of employing in investments that cannot be im¬
mediately realized, money which may at once be withdrawn.
We have obtained, however, from what we believe to be
very reliable authority in Paris, the following particulars,
which very much tend to diminish the importance which
we should otherwise attach to this consideration: We
learn, hist, that the Credit Mobilier holds deposits, repay¬
able either at call, or at five, ten, or thirty days’ notice ; and
that the term of notice is determined by the amount of the
deposit; the amount at call being limited in each case to
sums not exceeding L. 1000. Secondly, that though these
are the terms of notice, yet in practice the company has not
availed itself of its right to require such notice. Thirdly,
that the deposits consist chiefly of monies belonging to
railway companies, whose works are in progress, and that,
as in every case at least one of the directors of these rail¬
way companies belongs to the council of the Credit Mo¬
bilier, the latter has always in practice notice of the
time when the money will be asked for. Fourthly, that
the deposits, other than the monies of such railway com¬
panies, are only from L.50,000 to L.60,000. Fifthly, that
a uniform rate of interest at 2| per cent, is given by the
Credit Mobilier for all such monies. If these details are,
as we believe them to be, exact, the money held by the
Credit Mobilier is money over which they have a far
gi eater control than other bankers have over the money
t^em* ,J^le connection of the Credit
Mobiher with the companies who deposit such money is,
in all likelihood, so close as practically to allay all appre¬
hension of these deposits being demanded from feelings of
apprehension; and the time at which they will be required
for the works of the company to whom they belong must
be known with great exactness. The Credit Mobilier is
in the position of a banker who receives large deposits from
his personal friends ; so long as they are his friends, he can
be sure of their not being very hastily withdrawn from him.
t is evident, however, that the scale of the operations of
the Credit Mobilier must be correspondingly restricted.
I here cannot be any very great amount of money in a
position so peculiar as these deposits. As a general re¬
mark, no banker can have any very large number of personal
friends that leave money with him; similarly, the amount
o money in the hands of public companies very closely
connected with the Credit Mobilier must be of an amount
strictly limited. Accordingly, as will be seen from the
above accounts, the deposits did not increase during the
year 1856, when the company was in the height of pro-
sperity, its shares very high in price, and its dividend
more than 40 per cent.; and we can hardly expect that
favourabl increase ^ereafter> when circumstances are less
MOBILIER, CREDIT.
dpnn^’ •tier.if°r^ althe employment of the funds left in
J5 . 1 * [he Credit Mobilier is concerned, we have no
desio-ns witlf i!^at Can accomPlish the magnificent
from that Whlch lt YaS founded- The funds derived
are’ and must continue, too small to revo¬
lutionize industry, or to consolidate in one common stock
the shares of different companies. The original design,
as appears from the above citation from the statutes, was,
that the Credit Mobiher should derive additional funds by
the issue of bonds, the smaller of which should pass as
currency, and the larger be held by capitalists who were
desirous of investing their money at a fixed rate of interest.
l\ either of these operations has as yet been found practi¬
cable. I he imperial government has not permitted the
issue of any such bonds, and the resources of the company
have been therefore less than they were expected to be.
V\ e may, however, much question whether, even without
the prohibition of the government, the scheme would have
realized the expectations of its framers. The smaller
drafts which were to be issued as currency would have been
inferior in a material point to the notes of the Bank of
lance, which now constitute the French circulation of
paper. I he tendency of commercial improvement is to
confine the function of credit-currency more and more to
documents payable on demand. There used to be a very
extensive circulation of bills in Lancashire, but it has yielded
gradually to the superior convenience of the Bank of Eng¬
land note. Cceteris paribus, it is obvious that a note pay¬
able on demand is better adapted for circulation among
many persons than one payable at a distant date. Each
holder of the former feels that he can test its value when¬
ever he pleases; holders of the latter cannot do so until
the day on which it becomes due arrive. There are, we
believe, legal difficulties in France, as well as in England,
attaching to overdue negotiable instruments which render
all notes and bills payable at a fixed time inapplicable as
currency after that time. We cannot, therefore, anticipate
that the drafts of the Credit Mobilier will be able to
compete as currency with the notes of the Bank of France,
which have the additional advantage of being now in use.
If, however, the Credit Mobilier could succeed in main¬
taining its drafts in circulation, we should see no objection
to its so doing. They would have the ordinary advantage of
paper money; if they displaced other forms of circulating
credit, we may assume that the public, in giving that pre¬
ference, was not acting without some reason. If a portion
of metallic money were displaced, the French nation wmuld
to that extent benefit by an economy of capital. While,
therefore, we cannot expect, we do not dread that the
Ci edit Moblier will circulate its drafts as a currency. A
different objection applies to the bonds which were to be
purchased as fixed investments by capitalists, like railway
debentures, and the bonds of the Credit Foncier. The first
requisite of such bonds is a specific security. That of rail¬
way debentures is the revenue of a line of railway of which
accounts are constantly published; and that of the Credit
Foncier is the landed property on which the funds of the
society are advanced. The property on which the bond¬
holder is to rely, is in both cases very evident to him.
I his is not so with the property of the Credit Mobilier.
We do not in the least know the contents of its portefeuille,
which shares it holds and which it has disposed of, and
which it has never purchased. By the distinctive design
of the Credit Mobilier, the property belonging to it cannot
be so stable in value, or so generally intelligible in charac¬
ter, as the property of the Credit Foncier. No shares in
bonds or moveable property of a country can ever be so
fixed in price, or so well understood by the mass of men,
as the acreage of the country in which they live. It is
possible that along course of good management and success
may enable the Credit Mobilier to raise some money on the
security of shares and bonds whose names are not known
to the public ; but the progress of such an operation must
be slow, and its range very limited.
We cannot therefore anticipate for the Credit Mobilier
the enormous and beneficial influence which its promoters
announced and perhaps anticipated that it would have.
Mobilier,
Credit.
M O C
Mocha. This also appears to be the opinion of the public. The shares,
which, when L.10 only was paid on them, were worth L.70,
are now, with L.20 paid, worth less than L.30; and their price
has been for some months past (we write on the 20th of
December 1857) steadily dropping. At the same time, how¬
ever, we cannot expect from it the great evils which its
extreme opponents have predicted. The limitation of its
means tells on one side of the argument as well as on the
other. It may seem, indeed, that the L.4,000,000 of
deposits held by the company are a considerable sum for
Bourse operations, and would be adequate to the require¬
ments of a first-rate speculator. But the same circum¬
stance which gives the company a peculiar control over
these deposits, likewise controls the company, we have no
doubt, in their employment. The railway companies who
leave their money with the Credit Mobilier expect the latter
to take shares. The funds of the bank are doubtless largely
invested in the undertakings carried on by its depositors;
and it is only the amount not so invested which can remain
applicable to common speculation. The denunciations of
M. Berryer are therefore subject to important deductions,
as well as the eulogium of M. Pereire. If we regard the
company as a great railway bank, holding railway monies on
peculiar terms, and investing much of its funds in the pur¬
chase of railway property, we obtain a view of its operations
too distinct to warrant extreme apprehension or great hope.
It is mainly from political considerations that a bank of such
limited resources has obtained a European reputation.
(For further information as to the Credit Mobilier, we may
refer to two very able articles by M. Facade in the Revue
des Deux Mondes for 15th May and 1st June 1856; and
Tooke’s History of Prices, vol. vi., pp. 104-130. For the
ultimate data for these accounts of the company, as well as
of our own, the reader may consult its published reports
and accounts.) (w. B—x.)
MOCHA, or Mokha, a city and seaport of Arabia, in
the province of Yemen, is situated on the Red Sea, about
40 miles N.N.W. of the Straits of Bab-el-Mandeb; Lat.
13. 20. N., Long. 43. 20. E. The town is built on the
edge of a sandy plain, near the shore of a bay formed by
two low promontories, on which are built forts for the pro¬
tection of the harbour. The city, when viewed from the
sea, presents a striking and beautiful appearance, as the
houses along the shore, which are the best in the place, are
high, well built, and white-washed; while in the back¬
ground several mosques are conspicuous, one of which is of
great size. On a nearer approach, however, Mocha is by
no means so attractive; for its appearance is mean, and it
is disfigured by ruinous buildings and dirty streets. The
city is surrounded by walls, but the fortifications are not of
great strength. The principal building is the residence
of the dola, or governor. The bay is accessible to vessels
drawing 10 or 12 feet of water, but those of a larger size
are obliged to anchor in the roads outside the bay. The
principal article of export is coffee, for which Mocha is famous.
The plant does not grow in the immediate neighbourhood
of the town, which is a barren desert, but among the forests
and hills of the interior, whence the beans are conveyed and
sold to the Mocha merchants. Before the beginning of the
present century the great demand for coffee in Europe
contributed greatly to the wealth and prosperity of Mocha.
Since then, however, the cultivation of coffee in the West
Indies, and its exportation from thence at a cheaper rate,
have affected the coffee trade of this port. The quantity
annually exported is estimated at more than 10,000 tons.
The principal other exports of Mocha are,—dates, gum of
various sorts, frankincense, myrrh, balm, gold-dust, ivory,
sharks’ fins, rhinoceros’ horns and hides, aloes, &c.; and the
principal imports are rice, iron, hardware, &c. 1 he trade
of Mocha is chiefly in the hands of Banian Indians. Pop.
7000.
MOD 293
MODEL, in a general sense, signifies an original pattern, Model,
proposed for any one to copy or imitate.
This word is particularly used, in building, to signify an
artificial pattern in wood, stone, plaster, or other matter,
of some intended structure, with all its parts and propor¬
tions ; being intended to give an idea of the effect it will
have in its proper dimensions, and to serve as a guide in its
execution. In all great buildings, it is much the surest
way to make a model in relief) and not to trust to a bare
design or draught. Models are also used for the building
of ships, and for many other purposes.
In academies for painting and sculpture, the term model
is given to a naked figure disposed in any particular pos¬
ture, to assist the artist while executing a figure in a similar
attitude.
Models in imitation of any natural or artificial substance
are most usually made by means of moulds composed of
plaster of Paris. The particular manner of making models,
or casts, as they are also called, depends on the form of the
subject to be taken. The process is easy where the parts
are elevated only in a slight degree, or where they form
only a right or obtuse angle with the principal surface from
which they project; but where the parts project in smaller
angles, or form curves inclined towards the principal sur¬
face, the work becomes more difficult. Bodies that are
soft, however, may often be freed from the mould, even al¬
though they possess the latter shape. When a model is to
be taken, the surface of the original is first to be greased,
in order to prevent the plaster from sticking to it; but if
the substance itself be slippery, as is the case with the in¬
ternal parts of the human body, this need not be done.
When necessary, it may be covered over with linseed oil
by means of a painter’s brush. The original is then to be
placed on a smooth table, previously greased or covered
with a cloth, to prevent the plaster from sticking to it;
then the original is surrounded with a frame or ridge of
glaziers’ putty, at such a distance from it as will admit the
plaster to rest upon the table on all sides of the subject for
about an inch, or as much as is sufficient to give the proper
degree of strength to the mould. The liquid plaster is then to
be poured as uniformly as possible over the whole substance,
until it is everywhere covered to such a thickness as the re¬
quisite strength of the mould, increasing with the size, may
require. The whole must then be suffered to remain in this
condition until the plaster has attained its hardness. When
the frame is taken away, the mould may be inverted, and
the subject removed from it; and when the plaster is
thoroughly dry, let it be well seasoned. The mould being
thus formed and seasoned, it must next be prepared for
the cast by greasing the inside of it with a mixture of olive
oil and lard in equal parts. It may now be filled to the brim
with fine fluid plaster, and the thickness further increased by
the addition of coarse plaster, to form a strong basis or sup¬
port for the cast where this support is requisite, as is particu¬
larly the case where the thin and membranous parts of the
body are to be represented. After the plaster is poured into
the mould, it must be suffered to stand until it has acquired
the greatest degree of hardness it will receive, after which
the mould must be removed ; but this will be attended with
some difficulty when the shape of the subject is unfavour¬
able, and in some cases the mould must be separated by
means of a small mallet and chisel. If by these instru¬
ments any parts of the model should be broken off) they
may be cemented by making the two surfaces to be ap¬
plied to each other quite wet, interposing betwixt them a
little liquid plaster, and then smoothing the joint after being
thoroughly dry. Any small holes which may be made in
the mould can be filled up with liquid plaster, after the
sides have been thoroughly wetted, and smoothed over with
the edge of a knife. In many cases it is altogether im¬
practicable to prepare a mould of one piece for a whole
294
MOD
Modena.
subject; and therefore it must be considered how this can
be effected in such a manner as to divide the mould into the
fewest pieces. This may be done by making every piece
cover as much of the pattern as possible, without surround¬
ing such projecting parts, or running into such hollows, as
■would not admit a separation of the mould. To make a
mould upon a hard and dry substance, the surface must in
the first place be rubbed smoothly over with the mixture
of oil and lard above mentioned. Such hollows as require
internal pieces are then to be filled up with fluid plaster,
and whilst it continues in this state, a wire loop must be
introduced into it, by which, when hardened, it can be
pulled off.
After the mould is completely formed, it requires to be
dried either naturally or by a gentle artificial heat, and then
seasoned. This being done, nothing more is requisite to
form the model than to pour into it the finest liquid plaster
of Paris. After a layer of this, about half an inch in thick¬
ness, has been formed all round the mould, the coarser kind
may be used to fill it up entirely, or to give to the model
the thickness required. Besides the models which are taken
from inanimate bodies, casts of the living face are frequently
made, and this art has been brought to great perfection.
The method of making models in plaster of Paris is un¬
doubtedly the easiest way of obtaining them. When
models, however, are made of large objects, they must be
constructed by the hand with some soft substance, as wax,
clay, putty, &e.; and it being necessary to keep all the
proportions mathematically exact, the construction of a single
cast of this kind is a work of great labour and expense.
MODENA, Duchy of, an independent sovereign state
in the north of Italy, extending from the Po to the Medi¬
terranean, from 43. 56. 45. to 44. 58. of N. Lat., and from
9. 15. to 10. 53. of E. Long. The portion lying on the sea
is very small, and has no ports or harbours. It is bounded
on the N. by Lombardy and the Papal States, on the E. by
the Papal States and Tuscany, on the S. by Tuscany,
Sardinia, and the Mediterranean, and on the W. by
Sardinia and the duchy of Parma. Its greatest length,
from Portovecchio, its northern frontier on the province of
Mantua, to the outlet of the torrent Parmignola, on the
Sardinian frontier, is 84^ miles; and its greatest width, from
the pass of Calama, on the Tuscan and Papal frontier, to
the right bank of the Enza, on the frontier of Parma, is 37
miles. It has an area of 2371 square miles, of which
598,120 acres are of flat, and 890,880 acres of mountainous
country. In 1855 it contained 606,139 inhabitants.
The S.W. part of the duchy is traversed from N.W. to
S.E. by the main ridge of the Apennines, of which the
highest peaks are Monte Cimone, 7084 feet above the level
of the sea; Monte Cruna, 6762 feet; Monte Succiso, 6630
feet; and Camporaghena, 6542 feet. It contains many
small lakes among the mountains, and is watered by the
Magra and the Serchio, which fall into the Mediterranean.
The N.E. part, which forms a portion of the great basin
of the Po, is a level plain sloping very gradually from
the Apennines, and watered by numerous small streams,
which finally unite in the Secchia and Panaro, and empty
themselves into that river. This part is intersected
by numerous canals formed chiefly for the purpose of ir¬
rigation.
The soil of the N.E. or flat part of the duchy is gene¬
rally fertile, and the system of cultivation very much re¬
sembles that already fully described in this work under the
head Lombardy, except that olive trees are more numerous
here than in the north. The vine is extensively cultivated
about Reggio and Modena, and produces a strong, rough
^u?e’Tc quantity of which is exported to Lombardy.
1 he high district of Garfagnana is entirely devoted to
dairy pasture. Olive trees, vines, and orchards form the
cultivation ot the small district on the sea-shore. Silk, of
MOD
which the greatest quantity is sent to foreign markets in a Modena
raw state, wheat, maize, hemp, and flax, are the other principal v l
objects of culture; the two latter articles are coarsely ma¬
nufactured for domestic consumption. Agriculture is chiefly
carried on on the metayer system, and forms the principal
pursuit of the larger portion of the population ; for land
being greatly subdivided, farms are generally very small.
In the upland districts chestnuts form the principal food of
the peasantry; while in the plain, polenta, or porridge made
of Indian corn meal, is chiefly used.
In 1848 the acreage of the soil was distributed in the
following manner:—734,810 acres were occupied bv arable
lands, meadows, &c.; 8996 by olive trees; 121,376 by
chestnut trees; 3655 by vineyards; 121,815 by woods;
366,241 by buildings, roads, &c.; and 133,033 by waste
land; giving a total of 1,489,926 acres. The value of the
agricultural produce of 1854 was estimated at 88,611,986
Italian lire, or L.3,544,499, which, divided by the number
of inhabitants in the same year, would give a produce of
146‘19 lire, or L.5, 16s. a head.
I he following are the detailed values of various articles
of produce in 1854:—Wheat, L.823,855; Indian corn
L.504,185; rice, L.66,774; other grain, L.116,701 ; chest¬
nuts, L.185,450; oil, L.231,722; wine, L.1,031,594; cheese,
wool, leather, &c., L.l 12,000; silk, fruit, &c., L.260,000.
The number of live stock in the same year was,—cattle,
221,330; horses, mules, &c., 27,260; swine, 91,740; sheep,
341,200.
I he Stati Estemi, as the duchy is officially styled in
Italian, are divided into six provinces and seventy-two com¬
munities. The government is entirely in the hands of the
Duke, who is assisted by several ministers and a council of
state. The judicature consists of two supreme courts at
Modena and Massa, and two inferior ones at Modena and
Reggio. The code of laws is the same as that of Austria.
Roman Catholicism is the established religion, and the
hierarchy consists of an archbishop and four bishops. The
educational institutions of Modena consist of a lyceum at
the capital, and colleges for law and medicine at Modena,
Mirandola, and Reggio ; but the education of the people
is at the lowest ebb. The military force consists of 3500
regular troops and three regiments of militia, amounting
to a total of 14,656 men.
In 1855 the population was classified as follows:—
Provinces. Communities. Area in acres. Inhabitants.
Modena 13 398,720 212,440
Reggio 14 472,960 166,696
Guastallar  6  81,920  52,220
Frignano   8 263,680  59,713
Garfagnano 17 140,160  38,705
Massa Carrara 14 160,200  76,385
Total  72  1,517,640.
.606,159
In this number there were 227,586 proprietors ; 337,507
belonging to the agricultural class; 2648 following liberal
professions; 109,500 day-labourers and servants ; 40,075
tradesmen; 15,723 merchants; 11,577 shepherds; 3623
operatives ; 3586 priests and monks ; and 19,076 beggars !
A custom-house union with Austria was stipulated in 1849;
but the commerce of the state is not considerable. In
1855 the exports amounted to L. 312,447; of which Carrara
marble, LAS,000; cattle and swine, L.120,000; wine,
brandy, vinegar, &c., L.5600 ; silk, cheese, skins, grain, &c.,
L.l38,800. The imports, chiefly colonial commodities and
articles of luxury, amounted to L.224,731. In 1851 the an¬
nual revenue of the state was L.336,545, and the expen¬
diture L.349,125; leaving a deficit of L.12,380, which
was made up partly by extraordinary taxes, and partly by
the revenue derived from a large patrimonial estate of the
Duke near Treviso, formerly in the possession of the Obizzi,
a branch of the House of Este. There is no funded debt.
In 1851 Modena was united with Austria by telegraphic
M 0 D
Modena. lines; and on the 1st January 1852 the metrical deci-
mal system was adopted instead of the ancient weights and
measures of the country.
History. The sovereign of the state, who is an Austrian arch¬
duke, bears the title of His Royal Highness the Duke of
Modena, Reggio, Mirandola, Guastalla, Massa, and Carrara.
Through the female line he is descended from the House of
Este, one of the most ancient families in Europe. Adal¬
bert, a powerful marquis who lived towards the end of
the ninth century, is the earliest ancestor to whom the
learned Muratori was able upon documents to trace this
family. Both Muratori and Leibnitz supposed him de¬
scended from the dukes and marquises of Tuscany; but
as the latter lived lege ripuaria, and Adalbert, on the
contrary, lived lege Longobardica, it is more likely that he
descended from some great Longobard family. His grand¬
son Oberto married a sister of a Marquis Ugo, who brought
him as dower the castle of Este situated at the foot of the
Euganean Hills, from which henceforth the family took
their name. Alberto Azzo II., Oberto’s grandson, married
twice. By his first wife, Cunizza or Cunegunda, a sister of
Guelph HI., Count of Altdorf in Swabia, he had a son
Guelph, who, at his uncle’s death, without issue, in 1054,
was acknowledged heir to that family’s estates. He became
Duke of Bavaria and founder of the House of Brunswick,
and consequently of the present reigning family of Great
Britain. Folco, another son of Alberto Azzo II. by his
second wife Garisenda, a daughter of Herbert, Count of
Maine, was the founder of the Italian branch, from which
the dukes of Ferrara and Modena sprung. Alberto Azzo
II. died, nearly one hundred years old, in 1097, and seven
centuries afterwards, in 1776, William Henry, Duke of
Gloucester, his direct descendant, erected to him a statue
in the Prato della Valle at Padua.
Most of the present Stati Estensi formed in the eleventh
century part of the vast possessions of Countess Matilda,
the daughter of Bonifazio, Marquis of Tuscany. After her
death in 1115, they came into the power of the Emperor
Henry V., who descended into Italy and made himself
master of her states. At his death in 1125 Modena ac¬
quired a certain independence, and soon afterwards engaged
in constant warfare against its neighbour, Bologna. In 1249
the Modenese suffered a great defeat from the Bolognese
at Fossalta, and their leader Enzo, son of the Emperor
Frederic II., was made prisoner. After many years of
civil faction, they invited Obizzo II. of Este, lord of
Ferrara, who was proclaimed lord of Modena in 1289.
At the beginning of the fourteenth century, however, Mo¬
dena rid itself of its new master; but after thirty years
of revolutions, in 1336, fell again into the power of
Obizzo III. of Este; while, in 1409, Nicolo III. of Este
having conquered Reggio, the district of Garfagnana sur¬
rendered to him without a contest. His son Borso in
1452 received the title of Duke of Modena and Reggio
from the Emperor Frederic III., but continued to reside at
Ferrara.
In the sixteenth century the Duke Alfonso I., the fourth
husband of the famous Lucrezia Borgia, the daughter of
Pope Alexander VI., having joined the League of Cam-
bray againstVenice, Pope Julius IL, who deserted the League,
took away from him Modena, Reggio, and Carpi. Modena
was soon given up to the Emperor Maximilian, from whom,
in 1514, it was bought back for 40,000 ducats by Leo X.
Under Clement VII., however, in 1527, Alfonso I. having
advanced upon the town, the inhabitants, tired of the papal
sway, proclaimed him their master; whereupon the Em¬
peror Charles V. declared that Modena, Reggio, and Carpi,
belonged as imperial fiefs to Alfonso.
Under the reigns of Alfonso I. and of his two successors,
Ercole II. and Alfonso IL, letters and arts flourished at
Ferrara, as well as at Modena and Reggio. It was Alfonso
E N A. 295
I. who, in 1522, appointed Ludovico Ariosto, the greatest Modena,
romantic poet of Italy, governor of Garfagnana, and Alfonso
II. was the hero of Torquato Tasso.
At the death of Alfonso II., without male issue, in 1597,
the eldest branch of the House of Este having become
extinct, Alfonso, by his will, nominated 3ns cousin Cesare
d’Este as his successor. Cesare, who was a natural grand¬
son of Alfonso I., was recognised as Duke of Modena,
Reggio, and Carpi, by the Emperor Rudolph II.; but Pope
Clement VIII. would not recognise him as Duke of Ferrara,
and carried against him both temporal and spiritual arms.
At length, by a treaty signed at Faenza on the 12th January
1598, Ferrara was taken from Cesare and incorporated in
the States of the Church, while Modena from that time
became the capital and ordinary residence of the House of
Este.
Cesare died in 1628, and was succeeded by his son Alfonso
III. , who, after a year, having lost his wife, Isabella of
Savoy, abdicated the throne in favour of his eldest son
Francis, and became a Capuchin friar, under the name of
Father John Baptist of Modena.
Francis I. patronized for a time the poets Tassoni,
Graziani, and Testi, and began to build the ducal palace.
His grandson Francis II. continued the palace, and founded
the university and the library. At his death, without chil¬
dren, in 1694, the duchy came to his uncle, Cardinal Rinaldo
d’Este, a son of Francis I., who gave up the cardinal’s hat,
and married Charlotte Felicia of Brunswick. Thus the
two branches of the Este family, which had been separated
since the eleventh century, were again united.
During the war of the Austrian succession, 1740-48, Mo¬
dena and Reggio were occupied in turn by the French
and imperial armies; but by the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle
in 1748, they were restored to Rinaldo’s son, Francis III.,
who died in 1780. His son and successor, Ercole Rinaldo
III., who in 1741 had married Maria Theresa Cybo Mala-
spina, the last offspring of her family, and heiress of the
duchies of Massa and Carrara, being driven out of Mo¬
dena in 1796 by the French invasion, appointed a regency,
and retired to Venice. His estates were then formed into
a province of the Cisalpine republic, and by the treaty of
Campoformio in 1797, he was to receive as indemnifica¬
tion a principality in the Breisgau. Erccle Rinaldo, how¬
ever, would not accept the Swabian state, and died an exile
at Treviso in 1803, leaving an only daughter, Maria Beatrice
d’Este. Besides her claim to the paternal estates, Maria
Beatrice was, in virtue of her mother, Duchess of Massa
and Carrara; and in 1771 had been married to the Arch¬
duke Ferdinand of Austria, a son of the Empress Maria
Theresa, and a brother of the Emperor Joseph II. and of
Leopold II. of Tuscany.
In 1805 Modena and Reggio formed part of the kingdom
of Italy, which replaced the Cisalpine republic. Massa and
Carrara, by a decree of Napoleon of March 30, 1806, were
united to Lucca, which had been erected into a duchy and
given to Prince Felix I. and Eliza Baciocchi.
After the frill of Napoleon, by the treaty of Fontainbleau,
April 10, 1814, ratified by the treaty of Vienna in 1815,
the former states of the House of Este were given to
Francis, eldest son of Ferdinand of Austria; Lunigiana,
Massa, and Carrara, were restored to his mother, Maria
Beatrice of Este, and at her death in November 1829
were inherited by Francis, and joined to the Stati Estensi.
The extinction of the male line of the House of Este
was a misfortune to the duchy. The princes of that family,
with all their faults, always had more or less patronized
letters and arts; and as they had to rely on the support of
their subjects, they could not act constantly in direct op¬
position to their wishes and interests. The new prince,
who took the name of Francis IV., had no congeniality of
feelings with his subjects, looked upon them as a conquered
296 M 0 D E N A.
Modena, race, and was nowise solicitous to gain their affections,
as he knew that he could always rely for support on the
whole strength of the Austrian empire.
The bad effects of the change appeared prominently in
1821, after the fall of the Sardinian and Neapolitan consti¬
tutions. Though in the duchy there had been no insur¬
rection, yet many persons, on a suspicion of belonging to
secret societies, were imprisoned, hastily tried, and sent to
the galleys, and even to the scaffold. It was on that occa¬
sion that the present distinguished chief librarian of the
British Museum, Mr Panizzi, was obliged to flee for safety
from his country, where he was executed in effigy.
The French revolution of 1830 gave fresh encourage¬
ment to the liberal party throughout Italy. (See Italy.)
Francis IV., either from fear, or with the hope of enlarging
his territory, promoted with arms and money the liberal
movement, which first broke out at Modena on the 3d of
February 1831. But a large Austrian army having advanced
and put down the insurrection in Central Italy without
any interference on the part of France, Francis returned
to Modena; and to make amends for his coquetting with the
liberals, distinguished himself by numerous and cruel state
trials, which carried misery and dismay into every family.
Among the first victims sent to the scaffold was Giro
Menotti, a young man who had been on the most friendly
terms with the Duke, and had led the Modenese move¬
ment at his instigation. The remaining years of Francis’s
life were equally marked by reaction and political prosecu¬
tions. It was under his protection that a Jesuitical journal,
La Voce della Veritd, was started at Modena, which be¬
came so violent in its attacks upon England, that at length
Lord Holland, then the British plenipotentiary in Tuscany
and the duchies, was obliged to interfere.
Francis IV. died in 1846, and was succeeded by his son,
Francis Ferdinand V., the present Duke, who at first adopted
a less oppressive course of government. In October 1847
he added to his estates the districts of Gallicano, Montignoso,
and Fivizzann, which were given up by Tuscany on receiv¬
ing the duchy of Lucca, according to a treaty of Novem¬
ber 1844; and in January 1848 he also added the small
duchy of Guastalla, and a district on the right bank of the
Enza, which were received in exchange for the smaller
districts of Villafranca, Castevoli, Treschietto, andMulazzo,
from Carlo Ludovico Borbone, who, having surrendered
Lucca to Tuscany at the death of the Empress Maria Lousia
in December 1847, had become Duke of Parma.
I he liberal agitation of 1847 drove Francis Ferdinand V.
into a course of stringent measures and persecutions. Fie
had an Austrian detachment to garrison Brescello, and by
an offensive and defensive treaty of February 1848, both
he and the Duke of Parma empowered Austria to occupy
their estates in times of danger. After the insurrection of
Lombardy, the Austrians having found it necessary to
withdraw, Francis took refuge in the fortress of Mantua,
and the Stall Estensi by universal suffrage joined Sardinia.
On the defeat of the Sardinian army in August 1848,
Francis returned to Modena, which, however, on the re¬
sumption of hostilities, he again left and retired to the
fortress of Brescello. He returned to his capital in May
1849, after the final defeat of Charles Albert, and ever
since has followed a comparatively mild and more concilia¬
tory policy.
Moi'ENA (ancient Mutina), the capital of the above
duchy, is situated in 44. 38. 52. N. Lat., and 10. 26. 5. E.
Long., between the Rivers Secchiaand Panaro, on the banks
o a canal which connects it with both these rivers. In
ancient times Mutina was an important town of Gallia
ispadana, situated on the Via .Emilia. It was probably
rounded by the Etruscans, and afterwards fell into the
an s o the Romans in 218 b.c., who, thirty-five years
atei, established a colony here, after annexing the country
belonging to the Boians, in which it was situated. Civic Modena,
rights were soon accorded to the inhabitants, and the great ^ i- y
Via Emelia constructed in order to develop the resources
of the district. In 117 b.c., however, the settlers were
disturbed by an incursion of the Ligurians, who for a short
time held possession of the town. They were ultimately ex¬
pelled by Consul Claudius, who inflicted a severe chastise¬
ment on the intruders. The next mention we have of
Mutina is during the civil war, when in 78 b.c. it was
held by M. Brutus against the victorious Pompey. Its most
memorable occurrence in history, however, was durino- the
bellum Mutinense, in 43 b.c., when it sustained a siege of
about four months against the troops of Mark Antony.
After the rupture of the latter with Octavius, he established
a close blockade of Mutina, then garrisoned by Decimus
Brutus. The forces of Antony held Bononia as well as
Parma and Regium ; while the main army, under his own
leadership, kept up the siege of Mutina. For the relief of
the latter the Senate had sent Consuls Hirtius and Pansa,
besides the young Octavian. As Pansa was marching up
to the support of his colleague with some newly-raised
legions, he was attacked by Antony on the Bononian road,
about eight miles from the besieged town. A severe action
ensued, when the consul was mortally wounded ; but Hir¬
tius, taking the opportunity to attack the rear of Antony’s
army, forced him to retire to his camp before Mutina.
The successful consul, however, was slain some days after,
in a second battle near the town, which, nevertheless, had
the effect of obliging his antagonist to raise the siege. In
later years the town was besieged and taken by Constantine
in 312 a.d., during his war with Maxentius ; while after the
decline of the empire it suffered severely from the bar¬
baric invasions, and in 452 was laid waste by Attila. After
the Longobard conquest it became the frontier city of their
kingdom towards Ravenna ; yet it gradually fell into such
a state of decay, that in the tenth century it was almost
totally deserted, and its site had in part become a morass.
Most of the ancient buildings were allowed to go to decay,
and ultimately became buried in the soil. From this abject
state Mutina began to recover in the eleventh century,
under the government of Countess Matilda, and gradually
rose again to such prosperity, that in the fourteenth cen¬
tury it was already a very flourishing and opulent city.
The modern town is surrounded with walls, and defended
by bastions and a citadel, which, though much enlarged
and strengthened by the late Duke Francis IV. since 1830,
is not capable of much defence. The city is well built,
with a broad street running between two opposite gates.
The houses are handsome, and many of them furnished
with piazzas, or covered porticos, on the ground-floor.
The ducal palace, which was begun by Francis I. in the
seventeenth century, from the designs of Avanzini, and
finished by the present Duke, Francis Ferdinand V., is a
fine marble building, with several courts, open staircases,
galleries, &c.; and still contains a large collection of paint¬
ings, though the best of them were sold in the last century,
and form now the chief gems of the Dresden Gallery.
In a wing of the palace is a collection of more than 25,000
coins and medals, and a museum of ancient sarcophagi,
inscriptions, and curious mediaeval sculptures. In the same
wing is also the Biblioteca Estense, or library, of 90,000
volumes and 3000 MSS., founded at the end of the seven¬
teenth century by Francis II. Muratori, Zacharia, and
I iraboschi, three of the most learned men of Italy in the last
century, were successively its librarians. The Duomo, or
cathedra], begun by the Countess Matilda in 1099, is a very
fine building, in wffiat is called the Lombard style of architec¬
ture. Its bell-tower, or Ghirlandina, as it is named, from the
bronze garland which surrounds the weathercock, is lined with
marble, and attains a height of 315 feet. The worm-eaten
Secchia, or wooden bucket, which, taken by the Modenese
MOD
M 0 G
297
Modem from the Bolognese at the affray of Rapolino, November 15,
|| 1325, formed the subject of Tassoni’s well-known poem, La
Moen. SeccMa Rapita, was at the time solemnly deposited, and is
still kept in the basement of this tower. There are within
the city more than fifty churches, of which twenty-six for¬
merly belonged to religious orders. The new theatre, the
opera-house, and the barracks are the other most remark¬
able edifices. The university, which once was flourishing,
has been closed for several years ; and public education
is now chiefly in the hands of the Jesuits, who are perhaps
more flourishing at Modena than in any other Italian city.
There is a Royal Academy of Arts, Sciences, and Letters,
a Scientific Society, a Veterinary College, and college for
the nobles ; but there is little trade of any kind, and the
inhabitants chiefly depend on agriculture and on the ex¬
penditure of the court for their subsistence.
Cardinal Sadoleto, the secretary of Leo X., Ludovico
Castelvetro, the historian Sigonio, the poets Molza and
Tassoni, and many other literary men, were born at Modena.
Pop. (1855) 32,000. (***)
MODERN, Modra, or Madra, a town of Hungary,
county of Presburg, is situated at the foot of the Carpathian
Mountains, 16 miles N.N.E. of Presburg. The town is
well built and walled, with three gates, adjoining each of
which is a suburb. It has a Benedictine monastery and
church ; Roman Catholic, Lutheran, Calvinistic, and Bo¬
hemian churches ; and a governor’s house and town-house.
There are woollen manufactories; and some trade is carried
on here. Pop. 6000.
MODICA, anciently Motyca, a town of Sicily, capital
of a district of the same name, in the province of Syracuse,
on the Scieli, 31 miles W.S.W. of Syracuse. The town,
which stands amongst steep and rugged hills, is generally
ill built, though it has a large square and some fine build¬
ings. The principal edifices are the palace of the Dukes
of Berwick-Alba, a castle, several churches, convents,
schools, hospitals, and a town-hall. Cotton-spinning and
the rearing of cattle are carried on ; and there is a consi¬
derable trade, especially with Malta. Not far from the
town is the valley of Ipsica, which is remarkable for nume¬
rous caves hollowed out of the rocks. Pop. 22,000.
MODULATION, in Music, is a word which in our
language is susceptible of several distinct significations.
It frequently means no more than an air, or a number of
musical sounds properly connected and arranged. Thus it
answers to what is sometimes understood by the word tune,
and likewise expresses the French word chant. But the
precise and technical acceptation to which it ought to be
confined, is the art of composing melody or harmony agree¬
ably to the laws prescribed by any particular key, rather
. than of changing the key, or of regularly and legitimately
passing from one key to another. (See Music, sec. Modu¬
lation.)
MODUM, a village and parish of Norway, in the pro¬
vince of Aggershuus, is situated on the Drammen, 25 miles
W. of Christiania. In the neighbourhood there are exten¬
sive cobalt mines, and manufactories of smalt. Pop. 4500.
Mt)EN, an island of Denmark, in the Baltic, S.E. of
Zeeland, Lat. (of lighthouse on S.E. point) 54. 57. N.,
Long. 12. 37. E. It has a length of 18 miles, an extreme
breadth of 13, and an area of 87 square miles. It is sepa¬
rated from Zeeland by the Ulf Sound, and from Falster on
the S. by tbe Grben Sound. The scenery of this island
is highly picturesque and beautiful. From the one end to
the other, along the E. coast, there extends a range of hills,
many of the summits of which are richly wooded, whilst
others are quite bare. The highest altitude to which
these hills rise is only 460 feet, and the rest of the island
is low, flat, and fertile. There are numerous glens and
ravines, through which brooks and torrents flow in all
directions from the hills. Mben has no rivers of any size,
VOL. xv.
but there are a few small yet deep lakes. The chief town
is Steege, on the N.W. coast, which has a good harbour.
Pop. of island, 13,200.
MCERIS. See Egypt.
MGESIA, a Roman province in Europe, was bounded
on the N. by the Danubius {Danube), on the E. by the
Euxine, on the S. by Mount Haemus, and on the W. by
the Drinus {Drin) and the Savus {Save). According to
Strabo, it was originally peopled by emigrants from Thrace.
It was first invaded by the Romans in 75 b.c. ; but not
until the reign of Augustus was it finally subdued, and
reduced to the form of a Roman province. A line of
fortresses was then planted for its defence along the southern
bank of the Danube. The principal of these were after¬
wards known as Singidunum {Belgrade), Viminacium, and
Axiopolis. In the interior were the towns of Marcianopolis,
Sardica, and Naissus {Nissa). About the time of Trajan’s
reign, Moesia was divided into two provinces—Mcesia Superior
on the E., and Mcesia Inferior on the W., of the River
Ciabrus {Zebru). In the reign of Decius the Goths secured
a footing in the province, and were only induced to retire
by a bribe from the succeeding emperor, Trebonianus
Gallus. Numbers of them, however, afterwards returned,
and settled down permanently. Their descendants were
the Maeso-Goths, for whom Ulphilas translated the Scrip¬
tures about the middle of the fourth century. In the
seventh century invading hordes of Bulgarians and Scla-
vonians founded the kingdoms of Bulgaria and Servia,
which now comprise the territory of the ancient Moesia.
MOFFAT, a market-town of Scotland, in Dumfriesshire,
is situated near the Annan, 19 miles N.N.E. of Dumfries.
It is much resorted to as a watering-place on account of
its mineral springs, of which there are three in the vicinity ;
viz., Moffat Well, If mile from the town ; Hartfell Spa,
at the distance of 5, and Girpell, of 2 miles. The first,
however, discovered in 1633, is the only one frequented by
visitors. Its water has a disagreeable taste and a strong
sulphureous smell. The town contains Established, Free,
and United Presbyterian churches ; baths, assembly-rooms,
a market-house, reading-room, and library. The market-
day is Friday, and fairs are held three times a year. Pop.
(1851) 1413.
MOGADOR, Mogodor, or Suirah, a seaport-town of
Morocco, situated on the Atlantic, 125 miles W.S.W. of
Morocco, Lat. 31. 50. N., Long. 9. 20. W. It is built
on a rocky eminence, surrounded by low sandy ground
which at high-water is overflowed by the sea, leaving the
town in an insulated position. The town, which is of an
irregular form, consists of two parts, one of which, called
the Citadel, is inhabited by Moors, while the other is
occupied by Jews. Mogador is walled and fortified ; but
its defences, which are the work of Genoese engineers, are
of no great strength. The streets are straight but narrow ;
and the houses are large and flat-roofed, but present a
somewhat gloomy appearance. The principal buildings
are the mosques, some of which are very handsome, the
palace of the pasha, custom-house, arsenal, &c. The har¬
bour of Mogador is formed by an island of the same name,
which lies about a third of a mile to the S. of the town ; and
although it is much exposed, it is considered the best har¬
bour on the coast. It might, however, be much improved.
The city is supplied with water by an aqueduct, built by
the present emperor, which conveys water from a river at
the distance of a mile and a half to several tanks in different
parts of the town. The trade of Mogador is considerable,
and is chiefly in the hands of the Jews. The principal
articles of export are wool, gum, wax, hides, skins, almonds,
honey, ostrich feathers, ivory, gold-dust, &c.; the imports
are iron, hardware, glass, woollens, linens, cottons, sugar,
pepper, &c. The value of the exports in 1855 was
L.284,078, and that of the imports L.167,718. Mogador
2 P
Mceris
II
Mocador.
298 M 0 G
Moghilev was founded by the Emperor Leedy Mahomet in 1760, as
jl the commercial capital ot his empire. It was bombarded in
Cruzes33 a French fleet under the Prince de Joinville, on
[r ^ / which occasion it suffered severely. Pop. estimated at
16.000, of whom 4000 are Jews.
MOGHILEV, or Mohilev, a government of Russia in
Europe, bounded on the N. by that of Vitepsk, E. and S.
by those of Smolensk and Tchernigov, and W. by that of
Minsk. It lies between 53. 5. and 55. 10. N. Lat., and be¬
tween 28. 50. and 32. 40. E. Long., having a length of
210 miles, a breadth of 112, and an area of 18,724 square
miles. The northern part of the government is traversed
by a low range of hills, which separate the streams flowing
north from those which take a southern direction; but the
greater part of the surface is flat, and there are few lakes
or marshes. The principal river in the government is the
Dnieper, which enters Moghilev from the N.E., and after
flowing through the centre of the district, forms its bound¬
ary on the S.W. Of the tributaries of the Dnieper in this
district, the most important are the Swinaja, the Eolotinka,
and the Sodscha, on the left; and the Druez on the right.
The climate is mild and dry; and the soil, which is fertile,
is equally suitable for cultivation and for pasture. A great
part of the surface is covered with oak and pine woods,
which furnish excellent timber for ship-building, especially
for masts. Along the banks of the rivers there are exten¬
sive and rich meadows, on which large flocks and herds are
fed. Iron ore is found in great abundance, but it is only
worked to a limited extent, the inhabitants being employed
principally in pastoral and agricultural pursuits. The quan¬
tity of corn raised annually amounts to nearly 23,080,000
bushels. Rye, barley, oats, wheat, buckwheat, hemp, flax,
and hops, are the principal crops grown ; and the quantity
of these so exceeds the demand as to leave a considerable
amount for exportation. The horses and cattle are of an
inferior breed ; but the sheep have been much improved by
crossing with those of Saxony. The manufactures are in¬
significant, and are chiefly in the hands of Jews. A con¬
siderable trade is carried on in grain, hemp, flax, leather,
honey, wax, See. The government is divided into twelve
districts; and the principal towns are Moghilev the capi¬
tal, and Mstislavl. The inhabitants are chiefly Russniaks,
or Little Russians, and there are also many Jews and
gypsies. I he language spoken in Moghilev is a mixture
of Polish and Russian. Pop. (1846) 931,300.
Mogiiiley, or Mold lev, capital of the above govern¬
ment, is situated on the E. bank of the Dnieper, 85 miles
S.W. of Smolensk, and 110 E. by S. of Minsk. The town
consists of four quarters, one of which, the Kremlin or
citadel, is built on a hill. Two other quarters form the
main body of the city, and are surrounded by ramparts;
and the fourth quarter consists of a suburb. The houses
are well built, partly of wood and partly of stone. Many
of the streets are broad and well paved; and in the centre
there is a large open space of an octagonal shape, sur¬
rounded by handsome stone buildings, one of which is the
archbishop’s palace. The town contains twenty churches,
of which the greater number are Greek, but five are Ro¬
man Catholic and one Lutheran. Moghilev has also four
convents, two theological colleges, two schools, and several
benevolent institutions. The chief manufactures of the
town are those of ironware, leather, and tobacco; and a
considerable trade is carried on with Riga, Konigsberg,
Dantzic, and Odessa, in hemp, glass, leather, hides, corn,
oil, wax, honey, &c. Raw salt is imported. The town is
ancient, but the date of its foundation is not known. It is
the seat of a Greek archbishop and of the Roman Catholic
pinnate of Russia and Poland. Many of the nobility re¬
side here. Pop. (1851) 16,558.
j'^AS-CRUZES, a town of Brazil, province of
bao Paulo, about 4 miles from the Tiete and 40 E.N.E.
M 0 H
from Sao Paulo. The town is chiefly built of mud, and Moiroo
contains four churches, a convent, and two schools. It has
manufactures of woollen cloth, and a considerable trade in Mohammad
gOOcT’ rUm’ and C°tt0n‘ P°p- (of the district) about Alee-
MO GOO, a seaport of Laristan in Persia, which has
one of the most secure roadsteads in the Persian Gulf. It
is formed by Cape Bostana to the eastward, and by Point
Certes to the west. It is capable of containing the largest
fleets, and the entrances are about 10 miles asunder, ft is
80 miles south of Ear.
MOGRIDGE, George, better known as “ Old Humph¬
rey,” a popular magazine writer, was the son of a canal
agent, and was born in February 1787 at Ashted, a suburb
of Birmingham. He was educated at a boarding-school at
Loarcote, near Bromsgrove, where he imbibed that love for
the sights and sounds of the country which became so
strong a fcatuie in his character. After serving as an ap-
pi entice foi several years, he was taken in 1811 into part¬
nership with his elder brother, a wholesale dealer in japan-
ware in Birmingham. Meanwhile his leisure hours had been
enthusiastically spent in reading the poets, in contributing
small articles in prose or verse to local newspapers, and
in rambling through the most pleasant spots of English
scenery. Not many years afterwards his brother’s death
left him to conduct the business alone. His total inca¬
pacity for mercantile affairs soon brought him to bank-
inptcy, and reduced his family to destitution. He now re¬
solved to trust to literature for a livelihood, and settled
down in an obscure and solitary lodging cn the Kingsland
load near London. There, harassed by extreme poverty,
yet comforted by a deep and cheerful piety, he continued
for several years to ply his facile pen unceasingly, and to
produce volume after volume of simple life-like sketches
and genial home-truths. At length, in January 1833, Old
Humphrey's Observations began to appear in the Tract
Society’s magazine, the Weekly Visitor. The fond fidelity
with which they transcribed the familiar sights and objects
of the street and the rural by-path was the principal secret
of their fame. But this charm was greatly heightened by
their simple, garrulous style, their child-like humour, their
practical wisdom, and their tone of human sympathy and
of genuine and genial piety. In a short time “ Old
Humphrey” had attained the position of a moral teacher in
the bosom of many a family throughout the land. His
papers continued to be issued periodically for several years,
until a selection of them was large enough to fill six volumes.
These were published under the distinctive titles of Old
Humphrey's Addresses, Observations, Friendly Appeals,
Half-Hours, Thoughts for the Thoughtful, and Pithy Papers.
Mogridge continued to write to the last, and died at Hastings
in 1854, leaving his family nothing but his Christian ex¬
ample and the honour of his works. His life was published
by the Rev. Charles Williams, London, 1856.
MOGULS. See Asia and Hindustan.
MOHACS, a town of Hungary, county of Baranya, on
the western arm of the Danube, 25 miles E.S.E. of Fiinf-
kirchen. It contains a castle ; Roman Catholic, Greek, and
Protestant churches; a handsome episcopal palace; a mon¬
astery; school; and county buildings. The commerce is
considerable, and it has a quay on the Danube, whence wine,
corn, wood, coal, he., are despatched to Vienna. The
steamers on the Danube also call here. Five fairs are held
annually at Mohacs, and are very much frequented. In
the neighbourhood of the town two famous battles were
fought: the first in 1526, when the Turks, under Soly-
man the Magnificent, defeated the Hungarians with great
loss; and the other in 1687, when the Turks in their turn
were defeated by the imperialists under the Duke of Lor¬
raine. Pop. 10,050.
MOHAxMMAD ALEE. See Egypt.
MOHAMMEDANISM.
299
Moham- MOHAMMEDANISM. An account of a religion
medanism. which has exercised, and still exercises, so great an influence
over a large portion of the human race, appears to demand
the consideration of the following topics:—1. The history
and character of its founder. 2. The probable causes
of his success. 3. The Koran. 4. Other elements and
characteristics of Mohammedanism. 5. Its social and po¬
litical features. 6. Its principal sects. 7. Its literature,
science, and art. 8. Its relation to heathenism. 9. Its
relation to Christianity. 10. Its present condition and prob¬
able future.
Reference to various sources of fuller information under
these different heads will, it may be hoped, enable the reader
to fill up the outline here presented of the origin, progress,
and character of Mohammedanism.
1. History and Character of Mohammed.—Mohammed,
son of Abdallah and Amina, and grandson of Abdelmottalib,
was born at Mecca in August 570 a.d. Gibbon inclines
to a year earlier, but high authorities are against him. He
was of the noble family of Hashem, of the tribe of the
Koreish, confessedly the first and most honourable in Arabia.
As his father Abdallah died shortly before the birth, the
grandfather Abdelmottalib rejoiced greatly over the event,
and at a feast held seven days after bestowed on his infant
heir the name of Mohammed, or The Glorified. Later tra¬
ditions told how, when the infant was born, the palace of
the King of Persia was shaken by an earthquake, and the
sacred fire of the Magi extinguished. Mohammed was
nursed by a woman named Halima, and then by a black
slave called Oumm-Ayman. Towards both, and especially
towards the latter, he always displayed much gratitude and
attachment.
At the age of six he lost his mother Amina. She was
unable to leave him any property beyond five camels and
the slave Oumm-Ayman. His grandfather Abdelmottalib
(in some English works, Abdol-Motalleb) took him under
his protection for three years, when he also died; and the lad,
now nine years old, passed (a.d. 579) into the hands of his
paternal uncles, one of whom, Abu Taleb, acted as his friend
and guardian. Mohammed is believed to have been pre¬
sent at two battles fought between the tribe of the Hawazin
and the Koreish in 585 and 586, in both of which the
Koreish were defeated, though they subsequently regained
the advantage. About this time Abu Taleb took his nephew
in his company on a mercantile expedition into Syria. The
youth had attained his thirteenth year, and is said to have
begun to attract attention, and give promise of future
eminence. As in the case of many other famous men, how¬
ever, it is difficult to decide how far such traditions result
from the reflected glory of after life. Although endowed
with a native penetration such as Thucydides in a famous
passage ascribes to Themistocles, Mohammed was deficient
in the elements of education : it is doubtful whether he could
even read and write. So ignorant was he of the Arab rules
of versification, that he seldom quoted a verse without some
misarrangement of its words. In apparent allusion to these
circumstances, we find him in one of the most celebrated
chapters of the Koran declaring, “ We have not taught Mo¬
hammed the art of poetry, nor is it expedient for him to be a
poet ” (chap, xxxvi.) 5 as in a previous chapter, the seventh, he
entitles himself “the illiterate prophet.” There appears, how¬
ever, no reason to doubt that by the age of twenty-five he had
acquired a most honourable reputation among his fellow-
countrymen. His readiness, his nobleness of conduct ac¬
cording to the Arabian standard, his good faith and aversion
to anything dishonourable, won for him at this period the
surname oil El-Amin, the trustworthy.
An important epoch in his life now arrived. His repu¬
tation for honesty and ability induced a wealthy and high¬
born widow, named Kadijah, to employ him as her mercantile
agent. His great success led to the offer on Kadijah’s part
of her hand. Although between thirty and forty years of Moham-
age, she had still several suitors. This match placedInellaIlism•
Mohammed in a position conformable to bis origin. The '"“"'V"**''
change did not, however, unduly elate him. He showed
delicacy in the employment of her property ; and during
her lifetime had no other wife. Of the six children of this
union two sons died in infancy ; the daughters lived to em¬
brace their father’s creed, and were married to disciples.
One only, however, Fatima, outlived him, and became by
her marriage with the famous Ali the ancestress of an
illustrious family. The burst of feeling attributed to Mo¬
hammed, years after Kadijah’s death, is well known. When
a later wife, Ayesha, was claiming superiority on the score
of youth, he is reported to have said, “ There never can
be a better! She believed in me when men despised me ;
she relieved my wants when I was poor and persecuted by
the world.”
Mohammed was twenty-five years old when he espoused
Kadijah. We pass over his arbitration of a contest be¬
tween rival branches of the Koreish, as to the honour of
moving the famous black stone in the national temple at
Mecca (the Kaaba), which this tribe, as its guardians, were
(a.d. 605) reconstructing. His office on this occasion,
however honourable, appears to have been accidental. But
in the following year Mohammed, now thirty-six years of
age, had the satisfaction of being able in some degree to
repay the kindness of his uncle Abu Taleb, by taking
charge of a young cousin Ali, already alluded to as one of
the most zealous and famous of his future disciples. He
likewise tried to console himself for the loss of his sons by
Kadijah, by the adoption into his family of a young man
named Zayd, son of Haritha.
Mohammed’s want of anything like regular education
has been noticed. He appears, however, to have gained
much information while on his travels as a merchant, and
probably still more from intercourse with his wife’s cousin
Waraca, son of Naufal, the most learned Arab of his day.
We incline to agree with Hallam, Taylor, Bollinger, and
others, who think that Mohammed had no real acquaintance
with the New Testament; but he gained a knowledge,
though a vague and imperfect one, of the principal Jewish
and Christian dogmas, of the Scripture history, of the contents
of some of the apocryphal gospels, and of the Talmud. He
was naturally well versed in the traditions and legends of
his own country; and added to a resolute will and consi¬
derable strength of imagination a wonderful power of
expression. His love of solitude was very great. He
would wander, it is said, in the gorges and valleys around
Mecca, and every year retired during the month of Rama¬
zan to a neighbouring hill, Mount Hira. There he spent
his time in prayer, and fed any poor who asked of him an
alms.
We now come to the date (a.d. 611) when Mohammed,
being in his forty-first year, asserts that he received his
mission. About this time Britain is witnessing the founda¬
tion of a Christian church in London, now known as
Westminster Abbey ; Boniface IV. is pope at Rome ; and
the Anglo-Saxons, Jutes, and many more tribes in northern
Germany, are adopting the faith of Christianity. The
Greek empire is being ravaged by Persians and Avars;
but Heraclius is preparing lor resistance, and in the very
year of the Hegira (a.d. 622) will start upon his glorious
and successful expedition against Persia, and gain a signal
victory for the cross.
The first passage said to be revealed is that which now
stands as the commencement of the 96th sura (or chapter) of
the Koran. “Read, in the name ofthy Lord who hath created
all things; who hath created man of congealed blood.
Read, by thy most beneficent Lord; who hath taught the
use of the pen; who teacheth man that which he knoweth
not.” He told Kadijah that the angel Gabriel had taught
300 M O H A M M
Moham- him these words, and she at once accepted him as the
medanism. pr0phet of the nation. Her cousin Waraca, now aged,
and who died shortly afterwards, received the information
in such a way as to confirm Kadijah in her belief. Ali,
then eleven years of age, was the second convert. The
new religion was termed by Mohammed Iman (belief),
and Islam (resignation to the will of God); whence the
adjective Moslem believer, and the corrupt form Mussul¬
man. He shortly after made a new and valuable proselyte
in Abu-Beker, a man of high consideration and remarkable
for the beauty of his person. But a check followed; at a
reunion of his cousins the announcement of his mission
was received with coldness and incredulity; and when,
not satisfied with teaching the unity of the Godhead and
his own apostleship, he declared his intention of overthrow¬
ing idolatry and bringing his countrymen back to the
religion of Abraham, indignation burst forth on all sides. It
was proposed to silence him; and none were more vehement
in their opposition than the other families of his own tribe,
the Koreish. Abu-Taleb, though not a convert, continued
to protect his nephew.
For the next few years Mohammed’s life was passed in
a state of persecution and insult which extended itself to
his few disciples. Once, indeed, his adversaries made
offers of wealth or leadership if he would cease from his
endeavours ; but he replied by the recitation of that chap¬
ter of the Koran which now stands as the 41st; a really
sublime effusion, in which he reminds his hearers of the
destruction of the city and tribe of Ad for idolatry; a
legend known to English readers by the first book of
Southey’s Thalaba. The reply to this appeal was the very
natural request that Mohammed would work miracles as a
proof of his divine mission. This embarrassing demand is
more than once alluded to in the Koran. His answer was,
that he was sent to preach truth, not to work miracles;
and that his opponents would not be convinced even if
miracles were vouchsafed. Nevertheless, as if conscious of
his weakness on this side, he in time proclaimed his famous
night journey to heaven, known as Isra, when the angel
Gabriel took him on the animal Borac to enjoy an inter¬
view with patriarchs, prophets, and the Almighty himself.
This brought on him a storm of ridicule, and some of his
disciples abjured his teaching. Abu-Beker stopped others
from departure by professing his own entire belief in Mo¬
hammed’s narrative.
In the eleventh year of his mission (a.d. 621) some new
converts took oaths of fidelity, known as the oaths of Acaba,
the hill on which they were taken. But fresh plots among
the Koreish alarmed him ; and in a.d. 622 he took the step
of flying from Mecca to Medina, then known as Yathrib.
This flight, known as the Hidjra, and in Europe as the
Hegira, was, 17 years later, fixed as the great Moslem epoch
by the Caliph Omar. Here he took up arms against the
Koreish, and within two years (on the 13th of January 624)
won the famous victory of Bedr. In the Koran (chap, iii.),
he maintains that angelic aid was granted in this battle.
Mohammed behaved generously to his prisoners, but made
some of them teach his converts how to read and write.
In the same year he was defeated at Ohod; but as this
battle was lost by disobedience to his orders, Mohammed’s
reputation did not suffer. He resolved henceforth to give
no quarter to the idolaters. About this time he had dealings
with the Jews. A few accepted him as a prophet; but his
claim of descent from Ishmael, and his partial admission of
the claims of Jesus, repelled the majority. They became
bitter enemies, and Mohammed caused at least one of their
leading men, Khalid, to be assassinated.
In the meantime Mohammed had largely increased the
number of his wives: he had in all fifteen, besides Kadijah.
It was probably in the year 626 that he married Zeynab,
daughter of Djahch. This was contrary to Arab usage,
E D A N I S M.
for she was the wife of his adopted son Zayd ; and no will- Moham-
ingness on the part of the husband, who at once divorced medauism.
Zeynab, nor on the lady’s own part, could annul this diffi-
culty. But a resource was at hand. In the 33d chapter of
the Koran was given a permission to the Moslem to marry
the wives of their adopted sons, these sons being in future
called by the names of their actual fathers.
In a.d. 628, the 6th year of the Hegira, he began to send
letters to sovereign princes, not only in Arabia, but beyond
its limits. They were sealed with a silver signet contain¬
ing in three lines the words, MOHAMMED—APOSTLE
—OF GOD. Persia, Abyssinia, and Egypt were the first
recipients. This is a new and marked feature in the history
of Islamism.
In the following year he made some of his most distin¬
guished converts,—Othman, Amr, and Khaled ; but essay¬
ing his power against the Eastern Roman empire, his troops
were defeated by Theodore, lieutenant of Heraclius. He
was not present at this battle. Soon after, he gave great
offence to his wives by continuing to cohabit with a Coptic
slave, Maria, whom he had freed on the birth of a son. A
fresh chapter (the 66th) of the Koran righted this matter
also, but not without difficulty.
Eight years after his flight he was strong enough to gain
possession of Mecca (January a.d. 630). Mounted on his
camel, he rode seven times round the Kaaba, then having
on its roof 360 idols. He had every one of these destroyed
before his face, saying the while, “ The truth is come ; let
falsehood disappear'' (Koran, chap, xvii.) That day was
perhaps the grandest of Mohammed’s life.
But by this time he had fully adopted the principle of
enforcing his creed by arms, instead of mere persuasion.
We have not space to dwell on his victory over the Hawazin
at Honayn : his precepts will fall under later sections. In
632 his health began to decline. He had always been sub¬
ject to fits of epilepsy. This was long supposed to be a
Christian calumny, and is so treated by Gibbon and others ;
but the researches of Weil have proved its truth. On the
7th of June 632, the sixty-third year of his age, Mohammed
died of fever, his favourite wife, Ayesha, supporting his
head.
In person Mohammed was of middle stature, with dark
eyes, a ruddy complexion, and a fair and graceful neck.
He wore a thick beard. His life was most simple : dates
and water often his only food, and his house sometimes
without fire for a month together. His manner, as well as
his appearance, was fascinating, his conversation lively and
not destitute of “ that taste for humour which (as Dr Arnold
remarks) great men are seldom without.” He was fond of
setting off the beauty of his person to the best advantage.
It must be owned that, apart from the Koran, there is a
lack of contemporary written evidence for the life of Mo¬
hammed. Abulfeda lived in the fourteenth century; and
A1 Jannabi is also late, and a mere writer of legends.
Later investigation has brought out the writings of Ibn
Khaldoun, also of the fourteenth century, and of Tabari,
who lived in the third century of the Hegira; and it is
satisfactory to find that these authors do not apparently
clash with what was already known. Dean Prideaux’s Life
(4th edit., London, 1708) is unduly hostile, and the Vie de
Mahomet, by the Comte de Boulainvilliers, untrustworthy
from the opposite cause. Gagnier’s (Amsterdam, 1748)
was the best of the last century. The account of Moham¬
med prefixed to Ockley’s work seems fair, and more to be
relied on than the main body of his book {History of the
Saracens, 3d edit., Cambridge, 1757). Gibbon’s famous
fiftieth chapter is full and splendid; though Hallam, in an
excellent discussion of the subject {Middle Ages, chap, vi.),
rightly reminds us of the frail nature of a portion of the
evidence. Dean Milman {Latin Christianity, bk. iv.,
chap. 1) gives a candid and masterly summary of the case.
MOHAMMEDANISM.
Moham- He agrees with a distinguished French orientalist, M.
medanism. Renan, in praising the copious work of Dr Weil {Mohammed
' der Prophet, sein Leben und seine Lehre, Stuttgart, 1843).
Among minor works may be honourably mentioned Lives
of Mahomet and his Successors, by \Vashington Irving,
New York and London, 1850; and the Life published by
the London Religious Tract Society. But the book to
which we are here most indebted, and which can hardly be
praised too highly, is the Essai sur VHistoire des Arabes,
&c., par A. P. Caussin de Perceval (Paris, Didot, 1847-48).
Both M. Renan {Revue des Deux Mondes, tome xii., 1851)
and Lieutenant Burton {Pilgrimage to El Medina and
Mecca, London, Longman, 1855) sanction this admiration.
M. Renan, it may be observed, cautions us against lending
attention to Turkish or Persian, as distinct from Aral^
accounts.
It remains to speak of Mohammed’s character. Men’s
views have been largely influenced by preconceived notions.
Thus, e.g., Voltaire, disliking religious fervour of any kind
whatever, detested the memory of Mahomet (we adopt for
the moment the French and English corruption of Moham¬
med’s name), and has done his utmost to vilify him both in
verse and prose. His tragedy &f Mahomet is utterly un¬
supported by history. Of his arguments we may speak
presently. Other writers have been favourable from in¬
difference or hostility to Christianity, as Boulainvilliers,
and possibly, in some degree, Sale and Gagnier. Among
those who are too favourable we should be inclined to class
Mr Carlyle {Heroes and Hero-Worship) and Mr E. A.
Freeman, in his Lectures on the History of the Saracens.
But if undue favour be now the chief danger, it has arisen
from the reaction caused by the harsh treatment of Bibli-
ander, Hottinger, Maracci, and Prideaux, from the sixteenth
to the eighteenth century. Caussin de Perceval and Mil-
man are very fair. But" perhaps the most equitable and
philosophic treatise is the short essay (50 pp.) of Mohler
{Ueber das Verhaltniss des Islams zum Evangelium), pub¬
lished in 1830, and re-edited by Dbllinger in 1839 (Regens¬
burg). A very correct English translation, by the Rev. J.
Menge, has been issued at Calcutta (Ostell & Lepage,
1847). h
The controversy concerning Mohammed’s character turns
mainly upon these two points: Was he a mere imposter?
Was he, prophetic claims apart, a bad and immoral man?
I he believers in his entire or partial imposture allege the
syncretistic character of his creed, and its bitter hosti¬
lity to Christianity; the stains of voluptuousness and re¬
venge which disfigure his character; and, above all, the
supposed revelations about the cases of Maria and Zeynab.
But none of these arguments are decisive. That his creed
is largely borrowed from Judaism and Christianity does not
prove that he was not honest in selecting what appeared to
him to be truth. He never pretended to be teaching a new
religion. The enmity to Christianity is a more serious
feature. It certainly, in our judgment, convicts Moham¬
medanism of containing a seed of evil and bitterness through
its false claims; but it followed logically, as we shall see
hereafter, from the delusion of Mohammed in imagining
himself the prophet of the human race, and delusion need
not be hypocrisy. Of Mohammed’s revengeful spirit and
voluptuousness it must be said that we reason unfairly when
we judge of them by a Christian standard. The assassina¬
tion of his Jewish enemies was a fearful crime; but it neither
shocked himself nor his companions, for Arabian morality,
unhappily, did not condemn it. For a full discussion of the
case of Zeynab and Maria, we must refer the reader to
Mohler’s Essay. Certain it is, that Mohammed’s passions
offended those around him as little as his revengefulness;
he could boast of his physical powers, and record those
things which are his shame, without a blush. But Mohler’s
remarks on this subject deserve the deepest consideration:
SOI
“ I maintain, that if one admits the possibility of any man’s Moham-
being able to give out his own individual religious impres- medanism.
sions, ideas, and thoughts, without suspicion, for divine
inspirations, I cannot perceive the impossibility of his con¬
sidering God also to be the author of all his other inward
impulses.” The learned writer then refers to religious rites
practised in ancient Babylon (Herodotus, i. 199), and in
many other countries, as a proof that men may come to
regard the basest deeds as allowable, and even divinely
authorized; and while fully admitting how much the
above transactions lower Mohammed’s character, and lend
a plausibility to Voltaire’s inventions and Goethe’s imitations
of them, he not unnaturally argues that Mohammed may
still have acted with good faith, and would never have
immortalized these events by the publication of the two
chapters of the Koran, if he had been conscious of wicked¬
ness. No Moslem ever appears to have found any diffi¬
culty or inconsistency with Mohammed’s prophetic character
in these circumstances. {Mdhler, ed. Doll., pp. 367-8.)
On the whole, then, while we regard Mohammed as a
false prophet, whose teaching and character (amidst much
that is good and true) contains most unchristian and anti-
christian elements ; while wre consider his intellect to have
been in many respects narrow and limited; while we leave
to the Judge of all men the solution of the problem of his
heart, with its admixture of lust, revenge, shamelessness,
and apparent love of spiritual rule, strangely combined
with its loftier qualities, we are unable to regard him as a
bad Arab or a mere imposter. Of the Koran we shall
speak presently. But on the whole, looking at the natu-
ral. workings of an ardent imagination, exalted by medi¬
tation and solitude at a time when his countrymen were
in an unsettled religious state; the conviction wrought
upon those nearest to him, as Kadijah, Omar, and Abu-
Beker ; his endurance for twelve years of every species of
insult and persecution ; his steady rejection of every offer
of vyealth and chieftainship, made on the condition of his
desisting from his endeavours; the simplicity of his mode
of life to the very last;—we cannot accept the views of Vol¬
taire, or of Prideaux and Maracci, but must so far side with
Mohler, Caussin, Carlyle, Irving, and others, as to be¬
lieve in the general sincerity of Mohammed, and his faith
in himself and his own mission.
2. The Probable Causes of Mohammed's Success.—Some
Mohammedan, and more especially Turkish, historians de¬
cline to investigate secondary causes of events, content to
assert that such was the will of Providence. We are
tempted to follow their example with respect to the ques¬
tion here at issue, so inadequate do the reasons usually
assigned appear to us. Still, some of them may be true so
far as they go, and it is right to mention these.
Arabia, Mohammed’s native country, had enjoyed re¬
markable freedom. Even Gibbon admits that no conquest
had been more than local or temporary. Hence arose
great freedom of thought. 1 he Arabs were a Semitic race,
partly descended from the son of Eber, variously called
Kahtan, Yectan, Jocktan (Gen. x. 25-30); partly from
Ishmael, the son of Abraham by Flagar. Whether the
Koreish were from Ishmael or from Joktan has been hotly
disputed. Mr Forster, author ot‘ Mahometanism Unveiled,
is strenuous for Mohammed’s descent from Ishmael; and
Caussin de Perceval seems inclined to support him. Dr
Spiengei, one of the most recent biographers, takes the
other side ; as do Gibbon, Lieutenant Burton, and others.
We do not attach great importance to this point. Mr
Forster is probably biassed in one direction, as Gibbon is
assuredly in the other ; but all would probably admit, firstly,
that the entire nation displays similar characteristics to the
Ishmaelites in their love of fighting and plunder, varied by
a taste for commerce (compare Gen. xvi. 12, and xxxvii.
25-28, with Judges viii. 24); and secondly, that Mohammed
302 M O H A M M
Moham- himself claimed descent from Ishmael, and acted upon his
medanism. belief. The ancient religion of Arabia has been proved to
have been a strict Monotheism (Caussin, Renan, Hallam) ;
and in maintaining that he was recalling his countrymen to
their old creed, and appealing to the example of Abraham, he
named one whose memory was honoured alike by Joktanite
and Ishmaelite, Jew and Christian. The Arab is allowed,
both physicallyand intellectually, to be a fine specimenot the
human race, and it is to their natural qualities, their courage
and energy, that many attribute their success in imposing
their creed on other nations.
At the time of Mohammed’s appearance there were
Christian tribes, Jewish tribes, and pagan tribes. But
Christianity seems to have been but imperfectly accepted
even by those who professed it, and almost every imagin¬
able form of heresy was rife in the Arabian Peninsula. A
vague syncretism was very common, and there vvas a
yearning for something more simple, definite, and dogmatic.
Four of the Koreish (Caussin) had already tried to amend
matters. Of these four, three ultimately became Chris¬
tians ; but the fourth, Zayd, son of Amr, was quite a pre¬
cursor of Mohammed in bis attack upon idolatry and pro¬
clamation of the Divine unity.
Some will at once attribute Mohammed’s success to the
use of the sword and the permitted indulgence of volup¬
tuousness. As regards the compulsion by war, we answer
with Mr Carlyle, that before you convert with the sword
you must first get your sword. However much the creed
of Islam imy have been forced upon unwilling nations after
Mohammed’s death, there was certainly no violence em¬
ployed in the first instance. On the contrary, physical
force was in the outset against Mohammed. The supposed
attraction of a sensual paradise, and permitted indulgence
in this life, as a cause of success, has been sanctioned by
Gibbon, who (it may be observed) inclines to think Mo¬
hammed hypocritical in his later days. But we quite agree
with Mr Hallam and Mr Maurice [Middle Ages ; Lectures
on the Religions of the World, London, 1848, 2d edition)
in thinking that the influence of such motives has been
much exaggerated. Mohammed did not introduce poly¬
gamy; he found it in existence, and restricted it. He con¬
demned all adulterous and incestuous connections; for¬
bade wine, usury, games of hazard, superstitious divination
by arrows, the sadly common sin of destroying female
infants, and all war between tribes which had become
Mussulman. When we add to this the fasts, the pilgrim¬
ages, and the regular prayers and ablutions enjoined by
him, it will be hard to prove that the adoption of the new
creed was thought to be an acquirement of more license
either of thought or action. M. Caussin’s narrative seems
to us to establish the direct contrary {Histoire, &c., tom.
ii., pp. 402-3, 604), This point, with others, is also dis¬
cussed in ^pamphlet by the present writer {Mahometan¬
ism, London, Mozley, 1856.)
There remain the following probable causes of success:—
The state of Arabia at the time of Mohammed’s appear¬
ance—the actual amount of truth taught by him—the
principles acquired directly or indirectly from Christianity
—the points of contact with the past, and the religions then
obtaining in his country—the remarkable elegance and
purity of the Arabic diction of the Koran, and its appli¬
cability to law and the practical business of life—the native
vigour of the author’s mind, and the apparent need, to
human eyes, of some great scourge upon idolatry. These
causes may all have contributed to the result; but we can¬
not pretend that they seem to us to afford a complete
and satisfactory explanation of the triumphant progress of
Tslamism in its early stages, still less of its extraordinary
permanence in an almost unchanged state to the present day.
With one more reflection we quit this branch of the sub¬
ject. 1 hose who consider Mohammed to be a conscious
E D A N I S M.
deceiver place one more difficulty in the way of account- Mohara-
ing for his success. “ How, indeed, is it possible,” asks medanism.
Mohler, “that a religious fire, wild though it were, which
in so astonishingly short a period set all Asia in flames,
could proceed from one in whom the kindling material had
no real existence?” Unless, which remains to be seen,
Mormonism should prove an exception, we cannot call to
mind an instance of any lasting religious effect being pro¬
duced by a teacher who did not believe, however delu¬
sively, in the truth of his own mission and doctrine.
3. The Koran.—Neither with reference to the Koran,
nor to the other claims of Mohammed, do we think it ne¬
cessary to enter upon any formal refutation. Enough for
us to observe, that the proper proofs of a Divine revelation
are miracles and prophecy, and that Islamism possesses
neither the one nor the other. There does not exist one
authenticated account of a miracle wrought by Mohammed
(indeed the Koran admits that he had no such power); nor
is there one real prophecy, unless we call the threat against
the overthrow of Persia prophetic, in which case we must
extend the title to any warrior or statesman who makes a
happy political guess. Thus Burke prognosticated, in the
early stage of the French devolution, the advent of some
military chieftain who should seize the reigns of power;
and Napoleon foresaw the likelihood of a union between
France and England to prevent the designs of Russia upon
Constantinople. Other weak points of this false religion
will appear as we proceed. At present we will only ask
with Pascal, in his famous Pensees, what one mystery
Mohammed revealed which was previously unknown ? what
miracle he wrought ? and where this last prophet of the
world was himself foretold ? We pass on to a few brief
notices of the Koran.
This work is divided into 114 chapters. They are of
very unequal length, some of the longer ones being equal
to at least ten or twelve of the shortest. It was re¬
vealed at intervals, and not collected into one body until
after its author’s death, when Abu-Beker acted as editor,
and gathering together its portions (some written on skins,
palm leaves, and blade-bones, and some few treasured up
in the memory of disciples), placed as a rule the longest
chapters first and the shorter at the end. This remark¬
ably simple but not very philosophic plan of arrangement
lends no aid to our comprehension of the doctrines of
Islamism. ^
Its leading features are,—the assertion of the unity of
God and the apostleship of Mohammed (which are the
two great dogmas of Islam); its denunciations of idolatry
and recital of legends illustrative of the Divine wrath
against that great sin; its recognition of previous pro¬
phets, as Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, and Jesus, as
also Ishmael and other minor ones, all forerunners of Mo¬
hammed ; its accounts of angels, Gabriel and Michael,
Azrael the angel of death, and Israfil, who is to sound
the trumpet at the last day ; of the fallen angels and their
prince Eblis (Satan); of the Genii, a class of beings in¬
ferior to the angels; of heaven, hell, and the partition be¬
tween called A1 Araf; and of final judgment to come. The
fall of Eblis and the fall of Adam; the flood of Noah and
the life of Abraham ; Sodom and Gomorrah ; Isaac and
Jacob ; the guilt of Pharaoh and the plagues of Egypt; the
rod of Aaron, the acts of Moses, the golden calf, the manna
and the quails; Samuel and Saul; David and Goliath; Job,
Jonah, and Solomon ;—all these find their place in its pages,
though sometimes in a very distorted guise. When we add
to these certain evangelic ideas and precepts to be spoken
of hereafter, and consider to what dimension the Koran
would shrink if deprived of all that can fairly be traced to
Holy Scripture, we feel the justice of Mohler’s dictum,
that “without Moses and the prophets and Christ, Mo¬
hammed is simply inconceivable; for the essential purport
MOHAMMEDANISM.
303
Moham- of the Koran is derived from the Old and New Testaments.”
medanisra. Respecting our Lord and Saviour, Mohammed teaches
that, though only a man, he was miraculously born (chap,
iii.), and that he wrought numberless miracles ; and, ap¬
parently from a belief that it was unworthy of Christ’s dig¬
nity to be put to death, he denies (chap. iv. et alibi) the
reality of his crucifixion, asserting with the Gnostics,
that another was put to death for him. Denying the doc¬
trine of the Holy Trinity (which he quite misunderstood),
the incarnation, and the atonement, he yet calls Christ the
Word of God, the Spirit from God, announces His second
advent and triumph over Antichrist, and teaches the doc¬
trine of the Millennium. But these acknowledgments appear
intended to exalt the dignity of Mohammed himself and
the excellency of the Koran. Its own greatness is loftily
proclaimed throughout the book; unbelievers are challenged
to produce ten pages like it, and orthodox Mohammedans
declare its substance to be eternal and uncreated.
It must not be overlooked that Mohammed felt deeply
that the advent of such a teacher as he claimed to be
ought to have been foretold. Hence the Koran, while re¬
cognising the Divine authority of the Pentateuch, Psalms,
and Gospel, frequently (chaps, ii. and iii.) charges Jews and
Christians with corruption of their own sacred books, and
the withdrawal of passages which foretold him. His fol¬
lowers have since claimed certain texts, of which the most
curious are,—Deuteronomy xxxiii. 2, where (in defiance alike
of context and geography) Mount Sinai, Seir, and Paran,
are wrested into respective predictions of Judaism, Chris¬
tianity, and Mohammedanism; and Isaiah xxi. 7, where
the Vulgate rendering, Ascensorem asini et ascensorem
cameli, is made to refer firstly to the Prophet of the Gospel,
and then to the Prophet of the Koran. A third passage is
St John xvi. 7, apparently alluded to in the 61st chapter of
the Koran, the promised Paraclete being interpreted to mean
Mohammed (just as the followers of Manes had referred
it to him); a blasphemous view, though not intentionally
such. Mohammed, confounding and identifying the Holy
Spirit with the angel Gabriel utterly mistook the drift of
this prophecy.
Among popular errors must be named that of supposing
the Koran to deny that women have souls. On the con-
trary, paradise is promised to those who believe and do
aright (chaps, iii. and iv.) It must also be remarked, that
the idea of paradise contained in it, though gross and carnal,
is less so in the book itself than in the pages of its Moslem
commentators.
Of the civil laws in the Koran relating to marriage, in¬
heritance, slaves, contracts, murder, theft, &c., we must try
to speak in subsequent sections. We may just notice its esta¬
blishment of the month of fasting (Ramazan), and a weekly
holiday (Friday), in memory of man’s creation ; its prohibi¬
tion of usury and of swine’s flesh; and its high commenda¬
tions of the duty of prayer. Penitence is also praised, and
in some cases slight and reasonable penance is enjoined.
lo a European reader, even if partial to Mohammed’s
memory, the Koran, in a translation, is for the most part
hopelessly wearisome. Even Gibbon bas observed how
completely the single book of Job, in a mere literary point
of view, eclipses it. Its Judaic character may in part be
guessed from the above sketch. With some exceptions it
bears the impress of “a spirit bounded and poor,” yoked
to much that is local, national, and temporary, as distin¬
guished from that which is of universal application. This
might of course be in part applied to Judaism likewise;
but then Judaism was but preparative, and did not pretend,
like Islamism, to be a universal religion. In each case (not
of course that we class the two together in any other respect)
the vehicle of a Semitic language probably of itself imposes
certain limits. Unsurpassed in the expression of simple and
pathetic narrative, wise moral precepts,and that \v nch is sub¬
lime and awful in devotion and denunciation, the Semitic Moham-
tongues have never been the medium of any very or^ma/medanisni*
subtlety in argument and preciseness in definition. In its
finer parts the Koran reminds us of prophets rather than
evangelists: c.g.^ “God ! there is no god but He, the living,
the self-subsisting; neither slumber nor sleep seizeth Him ;
to Him belongeth whatsoever is in heaven and on earth.
Who is he that can intercede with Him but through his own
good pleasure ?” (chap, ii.) Of the purity of its Arabic, and
of its effect upon the oriental mind, there seems to be but one
opinion. Nor do its deficiencies, as its narrowness and lack
of all mysticism, affect the sincerity of its author. We can
recognise in it, with Mohier, “ an original piety, a touching
devotion, and a thoroughly individual religious poetry, which
cannot possibly be forced or artificial;” and add too, with
him, “ that many millions of men feed and foster from the
Koran an estimable moral and religious life; and one
cannot think that they are drawing from an empty spring,
from the composition of a mere deceiver.”
For fuller information on the Koran, the reader is re¬
ferred to the excellent translation of Sale, with its valuable
notes and introduction. The first edition appeared in 1734,
and has often been reprinted. It had been anticipated by
a Latin translation (to which Sale acknowledges great obli¬
gations) by Maracci, professor of Arabic at Rome, published
at Padua in a.d. 1698, with a very learned but too hostile Pro-
dromus and Refutatio Alcorani. These last have the verses
marked, and are consequently more convenient for refer¬
ence than Sale’s. On Mohammed’s borrowings from Juda¬
ism Milman recommends a prize essay by Geiger, rabbi of
Wiesbaden,— Was hat Mohammed aus dem Judenthum
genommen ?
4. Other Elements and Characteristics of Mohammed¬
anism.—A book once received as sacred implies the exist¬
ence of teachers and of commentaries. These are greatly
needed in the case of the Koran, which, by the admis¬
sion of Mohammedans, contains 225 contradictions (Renan,
Prideaux, and Milman) ; i. e., 225 passages which were ab¬
rogated by fresh revelations. .The principle is asserted in
the Koran itself:—“ Whatever verse we shall abrogate or
cause thee to forget, we will bring a better than it, or one
like unto it” (chap, ii.)
Islamism has both teachers and commentaries. Thus, e.g.,
in .Turkey, the body of the Ulema (corresponding to divines
and jurisconsults in Christendom) is appealed to by the Sultan
respecting the right application of precepts of the Moslem
faith ; and their decision is known as a. fetua. M. Ubicini
{Lettres sur la Turquie, Paris, 1853) gi ves a specimen of a
fetua of recent date, a.d. 1839. It is directed against the fa¬
mous Mehemet Ali, then in open revolt against his sovereign.
The Sultan demands whether the authors of the rebellfon
may not be justly regarded as impious men, who defy the
precepts of the Koran, &c. The replies, signed by forty
doctors of different degrees, are entirely favourable to the
Sultan’s view of the case, and sanction the most extreme
measures.
Not less important is the supplement to the Koran, known
as the So7ina. This mass of traditions and oral law was
fixed and sanctioned about 200 years alter the Hemra.
The Sonna embodies certain sayings and acts of Moham¬
med not contained in the Koran. The wives of the founder
of Islam, and the four first caliphs, were the main autho¬
rities appealed to by its editor, A1 Bochari. But though
carefully compiled, it is in part apocryphal, as was likely to
be the case. Its general tendency is to mitigate the stern¬
ness of the Mohammedan creed, to amplify and render it
somewhat less local and temporal, and adapt it to a later
state of things. The Sonna does not dogmatize on the
Divine nature or attributes, but bears rather upon practical
life, in which, next to the Koran, it is the great source of
customs. It also contains some weighty sentences on faith,
MOHAMMEDANISM.
304
Moham- on works, and on penitence,—the last being highly lauded,
medamsm. jt f0]j0WS Koran in its rigidity on the subject of the
Divine predestination.
Of other features of Islamism, not arising directly out of
the Koran or the Sonna, we can here only find room to
speak of two,—its dervishes and the element of mysticism.
The Koran is decisive against asceticism; nevertheless,
partly from oriental love of contemplation, partly, perhaps,
in imitation of the Christian communions with which it was
brought in contact, Islamism has long had its bodies of der¬
vishes. They are apt, however, to break away from the
faith and practice of the religion which they profess. It is
a common notion that madmen and idiots are specially
gifted, and see more of things heavenly, because deprived
of earthly reason, and undisturbed by external objects.
This opinion has led to great abuses, as it is no uncommon
thing for a dervish to feign madness with a view to spiritual
reputation, which is, again, in many cases a stepping-stone
to political power, sometimes even to a throne. Thus, to¬
wards the close of the eighteenth century, Bagian obtained
among the Turcomans, whose capital was Bochara, supreme
authority, first in religion, then in the state ; and the dynasty
of the Sofi, which lasted 230 years in Persia, was founded
in the same manner. Power thus acquired has a fair chance
of descending, as Mohammedanism cherishes the idea of
religious sanctity being hereditary. On the other hand,
mere intellectual gifts have seldom won such advancement
for their possessors.
Still more alien, if possible, from the original spirit of
Islam is the idea of mysticism. This has been disputed or
ignored, but the evidence is quite overwhelming. Ancient
Arabian poetry knows nothing of mysticism ; the Koran is
utterly devoid of it. It has found its way into the religion
through the influence of countries conquered by the Mos¬
lem, more especially of Persia, where the national poetry
has ever been pervaded by a thoroughly mystical tone.
This element, commonly known as Soffeism, is still con¬
spicuous in the works of Turkish and Persian poets. But
as its leading idea is that of union between the creature
and the Creator,—and this in a pantheistic manner, which,
like Buddhism, Brahminism, and similar creeds, tends to¬
wards the denial of the Divine personality,—Soffeism is most
abhorrent to the true genius of Islamism, and is decidedly
condemned by orthodox Mussulman theologians. On this
last point see M. Renan, Taylor’s History of Mohammed¬
anism, and Persian Literature (by Mr Cowell) in the
Oxford Essays for 1855. On the section in general, and
on most of what follows, the reader will find much com¬
pressed information in a very masterly essay by the late
Dr Dollinger,—Muhammed’s Religion nach Hirer innern
Entwickelung und ihrem Einflusse auf das Leben der Vbi¬
ker, Ratisbon, 1838. Its chief blemish is an occasional
want of discrimination between real characteristics of Islam¬
ism and features common to other oriental religions. An
Italian version has been published (Milan, G. Silvestri,
1848). This article is deeply indebted to Dollinger’s
essay.
5. Its Social and Political Features.—The social life
fostered by Mohammedanism requires perhaps a more dis¬
passionate investigation than it has yet received. It is not
enough to show its inferiority to Christianity in this respect;
it ought in fairness to be confronted with other false reli¬
gions. F. von Schlegel, though by no means favourable to
Mohammed or his religion, yet allows, in his Philosophy of
History, that its moral code is higher than that of Buddhism.
Respect for women was not unknown to the pre-Islamite
Arabs, and Kadijah and Ayesha are in honourable remem¬
brance with the followers of Mohammed. Still, however,
the blight upon woman’s lot, which is only removed by
Christianity, presses heavily upon the weaker sex through¬
out all Moslem countries. Although a large proportion can
only afford to keep one wife, yet polygamy, to the extent Moham-
of four wives, besides concubines, being sanctioned by reli- medanisir.
gion, is beyond the reach of attack. And women are cer-
tainly regarded as a subaltern class in a state of virtual ser¬
vitude. Their religious education is limited to a mechani¬
cal knowledge of prayer; they are forbidden to attend the
worship in the mosques ; and jealousy precludes them from
the visits of any religious teachers. Their paradise is sup¬
posed to be different from that of men; and a devotional
life is almost unknown. There is no religious ceremony of
marriage; and in this, as in her entire social status, the
Mohammedan wife is probably in a position inferior to that
which was enjoyed by an ancient Roman matron. Far more
vast is, of course, the gulf between the women of Islam and
of Christianity, of which all the chief communions can dis¬
play such noble specimens of piety, heroism, and intelli¬
gence. The harems are but too often a stage for the
development of bad passions, as envy, jealousy, and unnatural
crimes. Abortion is so common as to have affected the
population in some countries, as Turkey ; nor is it punish¬
able, if the master of the household have given his consent.
Sons by different mothers are constantly rivals, and their
jealousies have often rent in pieces the fabric of Moham¬
medan states. The most stable of Islamite government—
the Ottoman—is supposed to have owed its endurance in
great measure to the circumstance that Mahomet II. made
fratricide a law in the imperial family; and the Sofi in
Persia used regularly to put out the eyes of princes not
destined for the succession. Nor is the influence of wives
able to restrain rulers, as Christian princesses have often
done, from acts of cruelty. One noble but solitary excep¬
tion is recorded,—that of Zobeide, wife of the celebrated
Haroun A1 Raschid.
The extreme facility of divorce is an evil as great as that
of polygamy. It is in some degree checked among the
wealthy by the provision that the wife’s dowry must be
restored, and in Persia the feeling of the higher classes is
said to be against it. Still the practice is fatally prevalent,
and induces a low and degrading tone about all that con¬
cerns the matrimonial relation. Above all, the rebukes
uttered by St Paul in the first chapter of his Epistle to the
Romans (verses 26-28) are but too applicable to the moral
condition of most Mohammedan countries, and more par¬
ticularly of Turkey.
Another feature in the social life of Islamism is that of
slavery. Whatever difference of opinion on this head may
exist among Christians, few will be found to assert that the
principle of slavery is recognised by Christianity as an en¬
during institution; and none will deny that the abolition
of slavery in Europe is attributable to the influence of the
gospel. Now, Mohammedanism recognises the principle,
and this is surely so far a blot upon its character. Never¬
theless, when this is once admitted, the highest commenda¬
tion must be bestowed on the humanity of many of the pro¬
visions for the treatment of slaves. Mohammed from the
first put slaves under the protection of his creed. Fie taught
that they were brethren, equally created by God, and that
good or ill treatment of them would seriously affect an
owner’s prospect of paradise. A master who chastises
without cause ought to let that slave go free; liberation of
slaves is at all times a good work ; a female slave cannot be,
without her own goodwill, separated from her child ; and if
she have borne a son to her master, must be set free. The
most recent travellers (e.g., Burton) fully confirm the
reports of earlier observers. They tell us that a slave who
is dissatisfied can legally compel his master to sell him. It
is not merely possible, but even common, for a Moham¬
medan slave to rise to the highest offices. Lieutenant
Burton travelled with a pacha who had been tbe slave of
a slave, and of whom a Turkish officer remarked,—C’est
un homme de bonne famille, il a ete achete. It is true that
MOHAMMEDANISM.
305
Moham- the history of Islamism in the East records many insurrec-
medanism. tions of slaves ; but these do not appear to have arisen from
bad treatment, as was the case in ancient Rome; they have
resulted rather from occasions of general turbulence and
religious excitement.
A complete survey of the political features of Moham¬
medanism would require some account of their conquests.
Our limits forbid such an attempt; and the reader must be
referred to Gibbon, D'Herbelot, Ockley, Von Hammer’s
Ottoman Empire, the Histories of Mohammedanism by
Mill and by Major Price, and Mr E. A. Freeman’s recent
History and Conquests of the Saracens, for fuller infor¬
mation. Enough for us to recall that Persia, Syria, Egypt,
Africa, and Spain, were rapidly overrun by the Saracens
(as the Arabs from some unexplained cause were called in
the West) ; and that within a century after the Hegira, the
caliphs had become, in the language of Gibbon, “ the most
potent and absolute monarchs of the globe.” While, how¬
ever, idolaters were exterminated, and their temples over¬
thrown, a certain amount of civil and religious liberty might
be secured, on submission and the payment of an annual
tribute, “ by the people of the booki. e., those who pos¬
sessed, or claimed to possess, a written revelation from
Heaven, as the Jews, Christians, and Magians (or Ghebers),
the fire-worshippers of Persia. We can only add that the
famous victory over the Saracens, gained by Charles Mar¬
tel, between Tours and Poitiers in a.b. 732, alone, humanly
speaking, saved European Christendom from utter ruin;
that the most flourishing period of Moslem rule in Spain was
under Abderrahman in the tenth century, and the conquest
of Hindustan by Mahmood was nearly contemporaneous;
that the Crusades lasted from 1095 to 1270; that Constan¬
tinople was captured by Mohammed II. in 1453 ; while, on
the other hand, the great checks of the sea-fight of Lepanto,
and of the defence of Vienna by Sobieski, occurred respect¬
ively in 1571 and 1683. Since that time, the Ottoman
Empire has steadily declined. The formation of the kingdom
of Greece in 1829, and the Anglo-French alliance in the
war of 1854-56 are too recent to require notice.
It is more in accordance with the object of this article to
touch upon some of the principles of Mohammedan rule.
The patriarchal union of spiritual and regal power in one
and the same person was exhibited by Mohammed and by
his successors the first caliphs. So indissolubly were the
two supposed to be connected, that a division of the empire
among the ruler’s sons (like that of Charlemagne) was held
to be quite inadmissible. The caliphate, which was at first
elective, soon became hereditary. But as Mussulmans
scarcely seem to recognise the difference between events
ordered by the Almighty and those merely permitted by
Him, the doctrine that might makes right was soon admit¬
ted, and the claim of a successful usurper was easily recog¬
nised. One condition is indeed a sine qud non, and that
is, that Mohammedans must be governed by a co-religionist.
They could not, as Christians may, submit to a heathen
sovereign ; indeed, all Christian princes are regarded by the
Moslem as usurpers. The great monarchs, as in 1 urkey
and Persia, are (as has been intimated) among the most
absolute on earth; all property theoretically belongs to
them; their conduct is considered to be beyond scrutiny,
and above the ordinary laws of morality. I heir power over
life and death is unlimited; and though the mass of the
populace are rarely touched, yet some idea of the perilous
state of those about the court may be formed from the fact,
that in the space of 419 years (from 1370 to 1789) Turkey
saw 138 viziers, of whom a large portion fell by the hand
of the executioner. Nor does such severity lower a sultan
in general estimation: many of the most esteemed {e.g-, So-
liman the Magnificent) have been among the most san¬
guinary in their executions. It must, however, be re¬
marked, that no Mohammedan ruler has ever succeeded in
VOL. xv.
changing, to any great or lasting extent, the religion of his Moham-
subjects; and in this particular, as in so many others, they n'®anism*
stand in marked contrast to Christian princes, as may be
seen in the history of national conversions to Christianity
and the epoch of the Reformation in Europe. The em¬
peror who among Moslems approached nearest to such
influence was the famous Akbar, sovereign of Delhi, con¬
temporary with our Queen Elizabeth. But Akbar cannot
be regarded as a sincere Mussulman ; his belief was rather
that of a rationalistic deist. On the other hand, the re¬
pression of any nascent heresy by the sword is in thorough
harmony with the general spirit of Islamism; and the de¬
gree of interference with the minor details of life and wor¬
ship, and with questions of doctrine, far exceeds anything
known in Christendom.
The cruelty too often exhibited in Moslem legislation
does not arise out of the enactments of the Koran, which is
decidedly lenient in its tone. Homicide, with malice afore¬
thought, adultery, and apostacy, are the sole crimes recog¬
nised as capital by the Koran; and in the case of adultery
a fine was soon substituted. It appears more probable that
cruelty has arisen from that subtle connection with lust,
which has frequently been commented on by moralists. In
cases of rival dynasties the severities have been tremendous
on both sides. Price relates that Aba-Moslem, who estab¬
lished the Abbassides in the caliphate (a.d. 750), killed
(besides those who perished in battle) 100,000 persons to
consolidate the new dynasty; and the death of the famous
Hossein, son of Ali, was revenged by the execution of
48,000 men. It is acutely remarked by Dbllinger, that
scarcely ever did a Christian prince on his deathbed recom¬
mend a crime, or even an execution; whereas among Mo¬
hammedan rulers such an event is by no means uncommon,
—so much less hold upon the conscience does Islamism pos¬
sess than Christianity, though both tell of another world
and a judgment to come.
It is remarkable that upon the whole the Moslem dy¬
nasties have been among the most unstable in the world.
With the exception of the Abbassides, the Sofi in Persia,
and the rulers of the family of Osman in Turkey, the
changes have been rapid and extreme. The hereditary
principle is generally less likely to be strong in countries
where polygamy is sanctioned. In Persia during nine
centuries {i. e., from the ninth to the eighteenth) fourteen
dynasties reigned; other parts of Asia and Africa have
undergone the same lot; and when it is considered that these
changes have almost always been accomplished by vio¬
lence, some idea may be formed of the contrast between
the majority of Mohammedan thrones and those of Christ¬
endom.
For the social and political life of Islamism the works of
travellers in Arabia, Turkey, Persia, &c., may be referred
to with advantage. It will be sufficient to allude to such
travellers as Burckhardt, Niebuhr the Elder, Malcolm,
Chardin, Morier, Burnes, Fraser, Ouseley, &c., as having
rendered important contributions to our knowledge. Among
recent works we may specify Mr Lane’s edition of the
Arabian Nights, with its valuable notes, and Lieut. Bur¬
ton’s to El Medinah and Mecca. We must
also mention with high praise the spirited sketches of the
Princesse de Belgiojoso, contributed to the Revue des Deux
Mondes during the years 1855 and 1856; also the learned
Dr Pocock’s Specimen Histories Arabum (Oxon. 1806),
to which Sale and Gibbon acknowledge their great obliga¬
tions.
6. Principal Sects.—Almost immediately after the death
of Mohammed a great dispute arose among his followers as
to his successor. A strong party were in favour of Ali,
already mentioned as Mohammed’s son-in-law by his mar¬
riage with Fatima. But he was not chosen until after a
lapse of twenty-three years, during which time the throne
2Q
306 M 0 H A M M
Moham- had been occupied by Abu-Beker, Omar, and Otlnnan.
medamsm. Nevertheless a tradition that the first three caliphs were
' usurpers, and that Ali had been grievously wronged, has
prevailed to the present day among a large proportion of
Mohammedans, and hence the primary ground of dissension
between the Sonnites and the Shiites; the latter being the
partisans of Ali, while the Sonnites accept the legitimacy
of the first three caliphs. Other points of difference en¬
sued. The Shiites place Ali at least on a level with Mo¬
hammed (a view which we suspect had reached Dante,
judging from the twenty-eighth canto of the Inferno, lines
31, 32); the Sonnites imagine a vast interval between
Mohammed and every one else. Some have supposed the
Shiites to reject the Sonna entirely; but this appears to be
a mistake. They refuse, indeed, to accept such parts as
come from Abu-Beker, Omar, and Othman, or any other
enemies of Ali, but they accept the rest, and moreover
admit other traditions which are not recognised by the
Sonnites.
Thus far this great schism appears to be of a purely
personal and historical character. Even to this day, as
Lieut. Burton witnessed, the Persian pilgrims to Medina
will almost endanger their lives by muttering curses at the
tombs of the three usurping caliphs (as the Shiites consider
them) and weeping over that of Fatima. Still it is hardly
possible that such rivalry and opposition could have lasted
had the legitimacy of the succession been the sole point in
dispute. The kind of regard given by the Persians to the
twelve Imams, or descendants of Ali, involves a more real
difference of doctrine ; and, on the whole, it is reasonable to
believe that a sort of under-current of the old Persian
creed of Magianism (including some ideas of mediation)
runs through the Shiite teaching. The strength of the
Shiites lies in Persia; of the Sonnites in Turkey and its
dependencies. In times of apathy they have been known
for a brief season to dwell together, but in general they
detest and anathematize each other as worse than Jews or
Christians. We must profess our conviction that no im¬
partial observer, whether regarding the case historically or
doctrinally, can hesitate to conclude in favour of the Son¬
nites as the more orthodox Mohammedans. Gibbon, Tay¬
lor, and Burton all tend to confirm this view.
The Sonnites are again subdivided into four sects,—Hane-
fites, Malefites, Shafeites, and Houbalites,—named after
their respective founders. These, however, all regard each
other as orthodox in fundamental points. The remaining
sects (to which we can do little more than allude, for a
mere list of their names would occupy a large space) have
arisen chiefly out of controversies on the Divine attributes,
or on predestination (a very fertile source of schisms); on
Antinomianism ; on the rewards and punishments of the life
to come; on the Mahadi or Medhi, the twelfth Imam
looked for by the Persians as about to return as the over¬
thrower of Degial or Antichrist in the latter days; and
on mysticism. Inclinations towards Buddhism, and even
towards Manicheism, have also given rise to fresh sects.
Perhaps the most important, certainly the most energe¬
tic, of recent sects have been the Wahabees, who arose to¬
wards the end of the tenth century. Their founder, Abdel
Wahab, was a reformer who sought to bring back Islamism
to its pristine condition under Mahomet and Omar. The
Wahabees have been not unjustly called the Puritans of
Mohammedanism. They protested against a practice which
had gradually crept in of venerating Mohammed and other
Moslem saints as intercessors ; and tried to restore the rules
of the Koran in many of the details of life. So great was
their success, that for a time Mecca and Medina fell into
^an^s' lhey were ultimately put down by the Pasha
of Egypt, but their principles are not extinct.
There has been no limit to the wildness and immorality
of some of the Mohammedan sectaries; and the circum-
E D A N I S M.
stance that Mohammed appealed to the sword has caused a Moham-
constant recurrence to this ultima ratio on the part of any medanism.
newly-formed school, and no less so on that of their oppo-
nents. The great schism between Sonnites and Shiites
materially weakened, if it did not overthrow the caliphate ;
and for a time favoured the progress of the Crusaders ; and
Abdallah Ben-Tammurt, founder of the sect of the Mowah-
hedini in Africa (a.d. 1116), is said to have destroyed 70,000
persons. This is by no means a solitary instance ; and in
quitting the subjects of the sects, we can only express our
astonishment at the gross ignorance of Spinoza, who asserted
that the Mohammedan communion had known no schisms.
Our chief authorities on this part of the subject are Sale,
Dollinger, Gibbon, and Burton.
7. Literature, Science, and Art.—The Arabs before the
time of Mohammed (or, as they term it, in the days of
ignorance) excelled in poetry and oratory. Their seven
prize-poems suspended (Moallakat) in the Kaaba, have
been translated by Sir W. Jones, and display much spirit
and beauty. But there is little reason to suppose that Mo¬
hammed was in any way a patron of general knowledge or
of letters. Praises of science from his lips have indeed
been quoted, but not until the dynasty of the Abbassides
had begun to patronize letters; and their genuineness is
extremely suspicious. His one act of interference in these
matters was essentially anti-scientific. Shortly before his
death he reinstated the vague old lunar calendar of Arabia
{Caussin, iii., pp. 302, 303), and forbade the insertion of the
triennial intercalary month by which it had been improved.
The famous story respecting the second Caliph Omar, and
the destruction of the library at Alexandria has indeed been
called in question ; but it does not appear to be intrinsically
improbable, or at variance with the character of the early
Mohammedans. As, however, their rule became more set¬
tled, a change came over them, and literature was abun¬
dantly patronized in Spain, and by the caliphs of Bagdad,
more especially Haroun A1 Raschid, the hero of the Thou¬
sand and One Nights, and Almamun. Nor can we deny
that European Christendom is indebted to their labours.
The nine numerals which effected so great a revolution in
arithmetic were introduced by them. ^4/-gebra and^4/-chemy
both betray by their prefix the quarter from which Europe
received them ; nor is it possible to study a catalogue of
the stars without being struck at the large proportion which,
by the retention of Arabic names, testify to their success¬
ful cultivation of astronomy. Sismondi (de la Litterature
du Midi de VEurope) thinks that their poets influenced the
taste of the Troubadours. Their commentaries on Aristotle,
though often militating with their orthodoxy as Mohamme¬
dans, produced a great effect upon the mind of Europe.
Even Dante names Averroes; and our great countryman
Roger Bacon displays a most extensive acquaintance with
the Arabian authors, particularly with Avicenna. Such men
as Averroes and Avicenna deserve respectful mention in
these pages, for they have not inaptly been termed encyclo¬
pedists, from the range and variety of the subjects treated
by them. Medicine, though a less strong point than logic
and metaphysics, was also cultivated by the Saracens. We
must also take into account the Persian literati, especially
the poets who have flourished since the [introduction of
Islamism, and the Turkish moralists and writers on juris¬
prudence. Nor must we fail to acknowledge the intellec¬
tual improvement caused in Africa, where the village pos¬
sessing a Marabout or Mussulman teacher is always found
to be far in advance of its neighbours in all the elements of
civilization.
Of art we can say but little, for it is almost a blank in
the realms of the Moslem. The prohibitions of the Koran
against images are fatal to its culture; though a single ex¬
ception, that of architecture, must be granted to the Spanish
Arabs. A high authority, Mr Owen Jones, regards their
M O H A M M
Moham- architecture as the legitimate offspring of the Koran, nor
medanism. {]0 the remarks of Lieutenant Burton appear to us to over-
throw this supposition. But in any case, there can be but
one opinion as regards the singular and original character of
beauty which distinguishes the remains of the Alhambra.
Still, after all, it must be said that the Arabian genius
was receptive rather than originative ; it handed on the
torch of learning, but it did not give the quickening spark;
its creative powers cannot be compared with those of
Greece, nor its jurisprudence (shut up in the Koran) with
that of Rome; while in algebra, &c., the Hindus are de¬
cidedly superior. Their science is a mass of borrowings from
Euclid, Ptolemy, Aristotle, Galen, &c. In Persia the greatest
poets were all actually or virtually pre-Islamite.
The research into Mohammedan literature is still incom¬
plete. Mill’s Mohammedanism (London, 1817), chap. vi.;
Berington’s Literary History of Middle Ages (London,
1814) ; and the literary portion of Mr Sharon Turner’s His¬
tory of England (vol. i., chap, v.), all afford information.
M. Ubicini has a neat resume of Ottoman literature (vol. i.,
let. x.) ; Mr Cowell’s Essay on Persian Literature has been
alluded to ; Conde, Historia de la Dominacion de los Ara-
bes en Espana, did much by first calling attention to the
writings of the Moors in Spain, and though violently at¬
tacked for deficiencies in knowledge of Arabic, yet cannot
be robbed of this praise. Much might have been expected
from the distinguished historian of the Ottoman Empire,
Von Hammer (subsequently Count Von Hammer-Purg-
stall), who before his death had commenced a work en¬
titled, Literaturgeschichte der Araber, Von ihrem Beginne
bis zu Ende des 12 Jahrhunderts der Hidschre, Wien,
1856.
8. Its relation to Heathenism.—The most impartial
thinkers generally allot to Islamism a kind of half-way place
between paganism and Christianity ; somewhat as, in popu¬
lar legend, the coffin of Mohammed was supposed to be
suspended by loadstones between heaven and earth. If, in
employing the term paganism, we think primarily of the
religion of Greece and Rome, it must be allowed that the
teaching of the Arabian is a great advance. Classic pagan¬
ism was in constant danger of allowing its votaries either,
with Epicurus, to deny any real Providence (a doctrine
which practically amounts to atheism), or to fall into pan¬
theism, and thus deny the divine personality and the en¬
during individuality of the soul. Above all, its polytheistic
idolatry appears from Holy Scripture to have involved com¬
munication with evil spirits. (See Deut. xxxii. 16, 17;
Ps. cvi. 37, 38; 1 Cor. x. 18-20.) Now, Mohammedanism,
both by words and deeds, protests most vigorously against
all these errors—Epicurism, pantheism, and idolatry. If,
as we have seen, its dervishes have displayed a tendency
towards pantheism, this is an intrusive element, and alien
from the essential character of the religion. Far from en¬
couraging the cloud of doubt which hangs around the
question of Providence in classic writings (as, e.g., even
those of Cicero), Mohammedans so thoroughly recognise
the Almighty as the great originator of all things, as almost
to shrink in their histories from the investigation of se¬
condary causes. And as regards idolatry, that great day
of Mohammed’s life when he destroyed the idols of “ The
Square House,” or Kaaba, at Mecca, was again and again re¬
enacted by his disciples,—most strikingly, perhaps, in their
famous conquest of Hindustan, where the idolatrous temples
had become the haunts of the most appalling wickedness.
Nor is the superiority of Islamism to paganism confined
to mere negations of error. On the contrary, it teaches
positively and clearly much that paganism had lost, or was
teaching but very vaguely. The unity of God, eternity
and judgment to come, fixed rules of right and wrong, the
existence of real revelations, the value of repentance,—
borrowed these truths may be from Judaism and Christi-
E D A N I S M. 307
anity, but however obtained, they are unmistakeably an- Moham-
nounced by Islamism. It appears, moreover, to be com- raedamsnu
paratively free from the self-righteous notions taught by ""
other eastern creeds, as Hinduism,—for even Mohammed
himself is held by orthodox Islamite theologians to have
been admitted into Paradise through Divine mercy only,
and not for his presumed good deeds. Lastly, it is con¬
spicuous above all merely human forms of religion, for the
sense of brotherhood with which it inspires its votaries.
Mohammed appears to have deliberately aimed at this re¬
sult, and his success has been truly wonderful. With the
exception of caliph or sultan, all Mussulmans are regarded
as spiritually equal; nor, indeed, is there any temporal
superiority, except such as may arise incidentally from the
possession of wealth or office,—a precarious superiority in
the East, and one which the events of a single day may
entirely reverse. Every Moslem is supposed, by spiritual
filiation, to be grafted into the great Arab race,—a truly
noble idea, beyond the teaching of Judaism, because re¬
flected from the light of that faith for which Judaism was
only a preparation. Hence his creed is, far more than his
country or his race, the one object for which a Mussulman
is prepared to labour and to fight.
Still, it must not be supposed that Islamism is, from
every point of view, superior to the other false religions
which it confronts. There are certain needs in the human
heart which other creeds have at least attempted to satisfy,
but for which Mohammed has nothing to offer. Pantheism,
erroneous as it is, yet expresses the deep yearnings of
men’s spirit for union with his Maker. Even idolatry, with
all its deep sinfulness, recognises the want of something to
interpose between our fallen nature and the purity of an
offended God. Magianism, Buddhism, and other forms ad¬
mitting mysticism, find food for these wants: Islamism is
essentially bare and arid, and leaves the gulf between man
and his Maker in all its vastness. Even sacrifice cannot be
considered as part of the essence of Mohammedanism. It
is only (with some rare exceptions) performed on the oc¬
casion of a pilgrimage, and may be neglected even then on
the condition of observing an additional ten days’ fasting in
the course of the year.
9. Its relation to Christianity.—Among the most strik¬
ing inconsistencies of the Koran is the contrariety of its
tone in,different parts with reference to Christianity. In
the second chapter Jews, Christians, and Sabians are all
placed upon a level, and assured of salvation if obedient to
the law of their respective creeds; but in the chapter which
immediately follows, according to the existing arrange¬
ment, we are told that “ whoever followeth any other re¬
ligion than Islam, it shall not be accepted of him, and in
the next life he shall be of those who perish.” It would
not be possible here to dwell upon the different modes of
solving this difficulty which have been attempted; we can
only, with the Quarterly Review (No. 136, September
1841), express our entire acceptance of the theory of
Mohler, that Mohammed commenced his career merely as
the prophet of Arabia, and gradually persuaded himself
that he was the destined prophet of the world. So long as
he regarded himself as the teacher of his own countrymen
alone, he was willing to consider Christianity as a religion
of co-ordinate authority with that which he taught; but
when, extending his sphere of thought and action, he
claimed the universe as the scene of his mission, he was
compelled to represent Christianity as subordinate to the
creed of Islam. Now, however sincere Mohammed may
have been in his delusion, the part of a universal instead of
a merely national instructor involved far larger demands
(if the expression may be permitted) upon his creed and
character. But of this he does not seem to have been at
all conscious. It behoves us, however, to consider some of
the leading points of distinction.
308 M 0 H A M M
Moham- That a national religion should be inseparably bound up
medanism. tile state appears natural, and is perhaps almost in-
evitable. It is certainly part of the normal condition of
Judaism when flourishing. But a religion which is to be
the heritage of all mankind must be capable indeed of
coalescing with any rational form of government, but no
less capable, if need be, of standing in the completest iso¬
lation from the state. Now, Mohammed’s religion includes
in itself the idea of a universal monarch}7. This condition
alone must necessitate the failure of all its attempts to be¬
come a religion of the universe; and even in Mohammedan
countries, though originally an element of strength, it tends
to produce ultimate decay. Without entering into details,
it is obvious that strict adherence to the Koran, as the law
of the state, must impede many reforms which in a political
aspect may become highly necessary.
Again, while we admit that Christianity has at times em¬
ployed the sword as an instrument of defence, or even a
means of conversion, still the instances have been com¬
paratively rare and exceptional; but in the case of Islamism
the exception is the other way; its votaries almost avow
that too long peace endangers its vigour and vitality. And
thus Mohammedanism has no real claim to be a religion of
love: it cannot even imagine that union of special favour
to its own with benevolence to all, which is one of the first
lessons of Christianity.
But, above all, did Mohammed fail to comprehend the
lofty requirements needed for a teacher of humanity at
large. A good Arab he may have been, according to the
miserably imperfect standard of his age and country;
nevertheless he was a man blood-stained and lust-stained,
and, moreover, unrepentant of these sins, because uncon¬
scious of their shame. But the prophet of the universe
must soar far above all merely conventional moi-ality; he
must satisfy all the really religious needs of the human
heart, and such needs can find their satisfaction in nothing
else save the mystery of an Incarnate God, alike the teacher
and the redeemer of the world. Mohammed’s celebrated
declaration, “ There is no God but God, and Mohammed is
the apostle of God,” combined a solemn and vital truth with
a hopeless and tremendous falsehood. Against supersti¬
tions worse than his own that truth held its way triumph¬
antly, but before Christianity it was sure in the long
run to pale and wither. It has its warriors, but hardly
martyrs; and polygamy must be fatal to its universality,
for polgyamy can never satisfy the needs of woman’s
heart.
And while with Dante (/. e.), Jones, Leibnitz, De Maistre,
and others, we may admit that the amount of truth con¬
tained in Islamism renders it more like a heresy than an
absolutely false religion, yet we submit that, as regards its
view of the person and office of Christ our Lord, and its doc¬
trine of a unity of person (not of substance merely) in the
Godhead, there is a greater gulf between Mohammedanism
and Christianity than is always, or perhaps usually, ad¬
mitted. Moreover, the doctrine of the Divine unity and
omnipotence becomes unspeakably different when viewed
apart from, or in connection with, the idea of an all-perfect
Mediator. It is apparently the unsoftened awfulness of
that doctrine in its loneness that causes the deep melan¬
choly observed in so many of the more earnest Moham¬
medans. And even as regards predestination, on which so
many Christians appear theoretically to agree with the
Moslem, it could, we feel assured, be shown that Moham¬
medan submission under reverses is, with all its acknow¬
ledged merit, something very different from Christian re¬
signation, and far less noble and ennobling.
Lastly, in its lack of any one good thing in which Chris¬
tianity has not anticipated it; in its constrained spirit and
E D A N I 8 M.
absence of any real sympathy with progress and the highest Mjham-
forms of civilization ; in its spiritual and intellectual poverty medanism.
and limitation to oriental or African regions,—Islamism be- ^ , 1
tiays the limited and finite conceptions of a merely human
author, and stands in marked antithesis with the faith of
Christ.
On these points there is something to be gained from
White’s Bampton Lectures, Oxford, a.d. 1784; also from
lectures on the History of the Turks in its relation to
Christianity, Dublin, 1854. The author of the last named
writes, however, it must be observed, with a Roman Catholic
object in view.
10. Its present Condition and probable Future.—The
creed of Islam is still very widely spread. It is professed
throughout the Turkish empire, Persia, Arabia, Russian
and Independent Tartary, Madagascar, parts of the eastern
coast, and the interior of Africa, by a large part of the
population of Hindustan, and in the islands of the Eastern
Archipelago. The Malay tribes appear to take an active
part in spreading Mohammedanism ; and all Christian mis¬
sionaries (though frequently acknowledging the improve¬
ment thus wrought among idolatrous populations) agree in
deploring the extreme difficulty of converting Moslems to
the faith of the gospel. At the Cape a few cases have oc¬
curred of professing Christians lapsing into Islamism; but
some have happily been reclaimed. In China, the prohi¬
bition of swine’s flesh is said, with every appearance of
probability, to militate against the reception of the Koran.
1 he number of Mohammedans has been variously stated
from 100,000,000 to 140,000,000. We should suppose the
smaller number to be nearest the truth; but it is difficult
to speak with confidence, as an accurate census is almost
unknown in eastern countries.
A religion so influential must have had its special task
assigned to it by Providence, though we can only faintly
guess at its nature. Its protest against many pagan errors,
more especially idolatry, has been already touched upon.
We may add that Islamism was probably one of the greatest
checks to the progress of a much worse form of error than
itself, which arose in the bosom of the church of the seventh
century, namely, the species of Manichaeism known as
Paulicianism (vide Gibbon, chap. 54), which “violated the
unity of God, the first article of natural and revealed re¬
ligion.” And it may yet possibly, as Forster and Mohler
suggest, prove a preparative for Christianity in Africa, by
moulding the hearts and minds of races as yet too stubborn
for the mild yoke of the gospel. That He who overrules
evil to good may vouchsafe such a result must surely be
the devout prayer of every Christian.
Viewed externally, Mohammedanism appears to have
long since reached its culminating point. In Mesopotamia,
in Cyprus, in Candia, the Moslem population is not half
what it was at the commencement of the eighteenth cen¬
tury. Persia is covered with ruins ; Turkey, once the dread
of Christendom, is utterly effete, and only exists through
the powerful and armed intervention of France and Eng¬
land ; Cairo has only a shadow of its once flourishing
hospitals, schools, and libraries; Alexandria 15 instead of
100 mosques ever open; even Mecca itself displays ruined
buildings, and the number of pilgrims is continually de¬
creasing. (See Dbllinger’s concluding chapter.)
Still, however, does this creed sway the hearts of its
votaries. In this respect there is as yet no clear proof of
diminished power. In the present year (1857) the rising
against British rule in India is most probably traceable to
Moslem influence, though the Hindoo element may have
combined to produce its awful and unheard-of atrocities.
May that outburst prove but the prelude to its fall, and to
the future triumph of Christianity. (j. G. c.)
M O H
Moham- MOHAMMERAH, a town of Persia, about 40 miles
merah from the mouth of the Euphrates, is situated on the left side
!! of that river at its point of bifurcation before entering the
Moir. pevsian Gulf. The position of this town affords great ad-
vantages in a commercial point of view, as it communicates
by means of an artificial channel with the Karun, and
thereby with the fertile regions of Khuzistan to the N.E.,
while by the Euphrates it is connected with Basrah, Hillah,
and Baghdad on the one hand, and with the sea on the
other. The merchants of Mohammerah are intelligent and
enterprising men ; and the place will soon, it is probable,
become one of the most important towns on the Euphrates.
The climate, however, is excessively hot, and owing to the
moist and marshy nature of the country, extremely un¬
healthy. A colony was founded near the site of the mo¬
dern Mohammerah by Alexander the Great, under the
name of Alexandria; and the adjacent district was called
by him Pellaeum, after his native city of Pella. This town
having been destroyed by a flood, was restored by Antio-
chus Epiphanes, and named by him Antiochia. It was
afterwards taken possession of by an Arab chief called
Spasines, from whom it obtained the name of Charax Spa-
sinu, and the district that of Characene. It was evidently
at that time much nearer to the sea than at present, a cir¬
cumstance which confirms the opinions of several recent
travellers in this region, that the delta of the Euphrates is
encroaching on the sea with unusual rapidity. Mohamme¬
rah was long an object of contention between Turkey and
Persia, until it was finally ruled by a commission, instituted
by the two governments in recent years, that it should ad¬
here to Persia. During the British-Persian war of 1857
the town was bombarded and taken by the British under
Sir James Outram on the 26th of March, but shortly after
evacuated by them according to the treaty between the two
governments signed at Paris. The frontier between the
two countries, according to law, is, that the land watered
by the Euphrates, excepting that about Mohammerah,
should belong to Turkey, and that watered by the Karun
to Persia.
MOHILEV. See Moghilev.
MO HILL, a market-town and parish of Ireland, county
of Leitrim, situated at the foot of a hill, 9| miles E. by S.^
of Carrick-on-Shannon, and 92^ miles N.W. by W. of
Dublin. The town has a parish church, Roman Catholic
and Methodist chapels, a dispensary, hospital, and work-
house. Some trade is carried on in corn, butter, and pigs,
and numerous fairs are held. Pop. (1851) 1223.
MOIR, David Macbeth, was born at Musselburgh
in Mid-Lothian on the 5th of July 1798. He received
his elementary education at the grammar school of his
native town, and was, at the age of thirteen, apprenticed for
a term of four years to Dr Stewart, a medical practitioner
there. At the conclusion of his apprenticeship he com¬
pleted his medical course at the University of Edinburgh,
and received his diploma of surgeon in 1816. Moir had
originally intended to enter the army, but the recent
peace not offering much encouragement in that quarter,
he returned home and spent his leisure in literary pursuits.
During his laborious apprenticeship he had found time
to cultivate those pursuits in which he afterwards gained a
name, and had even made his first appearance as an
author in some of the local magazines as early as 1812.
Towards the close of the year in which he left college he put
forth a small anonymous publication entitled The Bombard¬
ment of Algiers, and other Poems, which was not character¬
ized either by originality or power. In 1817 the young
surgeon joined Dr Brown as a partner in an extensive and
laborious medical practice in the town of Musselburgh and
its neighbourhood. While Moir entered upon the duties
of his profession with great zeal, he nevertheless succeeded
in snatching occasional moments to gratify his unquench-
M 0 I 309
able thirst for literary studies. He had already been a Moir.
frequent contributor in prose and verse to the Scots Maga-
zine and to Constable’s Edinburgh Magazine, when he
made his debut in the pages of Blackwood as an occasional
prose essayist, but especially as a writer of grave and comic
verse. The clever effusions of The Eve of St Jerry, The
Auncient Waggonere, &c., are now known to have been writ¬
ten by Moir, although these, as well as many others of his jo¬
cose pieces, were generally ascribed to Maginn. His serious
verses bore the signature A, which gave origin to his
literary cognomen of “ Delta.” This connection with
Blackwood ceased only with his death. In 1823 Moir
made the acquaintance of John Galt the novelist, who
had come to j'eside in his neighbourhood; and so intimate
did their friendship become, that when Galt was called
suddenly off to America before completing his Lust of the
Lairds, the novelist commissioned Moir to write the conclud¬
ing chapters of that work. The Legend of Genevieve, with
other Tales and Poems, were collected from the various
magazines in which they had originally appeared, and pub¬
lished, with additions, in a separate volume in 1824. This
work, while generally well received by the press, met with
but a very limited sale. In 1824 Moir commenced to pub¬
lish in the pages of Blackwood his novel of The Autobio¬
graphy of Maunsie Wauch, a work which delineated with
much quaint humour and quiet power some of the most
subtle peculiarities of the Scotch character, and which
gained for its author very considerable reputation. Moir
was warmly pressed at this time by his friends in Edin¬
burgh to remove to the Scottish metropolis, where he had
at once the prospect of a more lucrative practice and a
more extensive circle of literary friends. The scenes of
his early days, however, had a strong hold on the poet,
and he regarded the poor among whom he had laboured so
long as having peculiar claims upon him. He accordingly
resolved to abide by his provincial practice, which entailed
so very great drudgery, that for more than ten successive
years Moir never slept a single night beyond the scene of
his labours. He married in 1829, and published two years
afterwards his Outlines of the Ancient History of Medicine,
being a view of the progress of the Healing Art among the
Egyptians, Greeks, Homans, and Arabians ; a work which
was well received by the members of his own profession.
On the visitation of the cholera in 1832, Moir put forth
extraordinary exertions to check the progress of that viru¬
lent and mortal disease ; and as secretary of the Board of
Health at Musselburgh, gave to the public his Practical
Observations on Malignant Cholera, and Proofs of the
Contagion of Malignant Cholera. These pamphlets met
with great success, and were recognised, even by those
who differed from them, as very masterly productions. In
the autumn of 1832 Delta attended the meeting of the Bri¬
tish Association at Oxford, and afterwards visited London,
where he met Coleridge and other men of literary note.
On the death of his friend Dr Macnish in 1837, Moir col¬
lected together the fugitive pieces of “ the Modern Pytha¬
gorean,” and published them with a Life of the author. A
few years later he was called to perform a similar service
to the memory of his lamented friend Galt. Early in 1843
Delta circulated privately, and then published, his Domestic
Verses, which contained some touching pieces full of true
tenderness and beauty. In the summer of 1846 he met
with a severe accident by being thrown from a carriage,
which confined him for months and rendered him lame for
life. Moir had always taken a special interest in anti¬
quarian studies, and on the publication of the new edition
of The Statistical Account of Scotland, he supplied an in¬
teresting paper for that work on the antiquities of his native
parish of Inveresk. In 1851 he delivered a course of six
lectures at the Edinburgh Philosophical Institution, which
were afterwards published, On the Poetical Literature of the
BIO M O I
Moissac Past Half Century; and during the summer of the same
II year appeared The Lament of Selim,—Delta’s last contri-
v 0 a‘ t bution to Blackwood’s Magazine, a journal to which, from
first to last, he had furnished no fewer than 370 articles in
prose and verse. His health having given way in June 1851,
he sought relief in a change of scene, and after visiting the
land of Burns, he passed on to the town of Dumfries, where
he died on the 6th of July of the same year.
Delta, without possessing much original power as a
poet, was always fluent, generally graceful, and often
singularly sweet and pathetic. He was one of the most
amiable and benevolent of men, and was held in great
esteem wherever he was known. A selection of his
poetical works, in 2 vols., was published, with a Memoir of
the author by Thomas Aird, in 1852 ; and a new and
complete edition of his works, in 1 vol., edited by Aird,
appeared in 1857.
MOISSAC, a town of France, department of Tarn-et-
Garonne, is pleasantly situated on the Tarn, here crossed
by a handsome bridge, in an extensive valley surrounded by
hills covered with wood and vineyards, 15 miles W.N.W. of
Montauban, and 97 miles S.E. of Bordeaux. The streets
are narrow, crooked, steep, and ill paved, but the houses are
well and substantially built. Moissac contains some remains
of an ancient abbey, founded in the seventh century, con¬
sisting of cloisters, several pointed arches, and the old gate¬
way, which is adorned with bold and fantastic sculpture.
The old abbey itself, however, has disappeared, and its site is
occupied by a modern edifice of no great elegance. The
town contains a large flour-mill, tribunals of first instance
and of commerce, and a communal college. There is a
considerable trade in flour, oil, wine, linen, wool, &c. Pop.
(1851) 10,655.
MOITTE, Jean Guillaume, an eminent sculptor, was
the son of a well-known engraver, and was born in Paris
in 1747. So marked was his talent at a very early age, that
the sculptor Pigalle, who was then at the head of his pro¬
fession, requested to have him for a pupil. In a short time
young Moitte fully justified this high opinion. His statue
of “ David carrying the head of Goliath” gained for him the
grand prize in sculpture, and the privilege of studying at
the French Academy in Rome. Accordingly he proceeded
to Italy in 1768, and set himself with great enthusiasm to
the study of the architectural fragments of old Rome, and
the masterpieces of the great sculptors of ancient Greece.
His progress was rapid, and it was then that he began to
evince that correctness of design, beauty of proportion,
variety of expression, and happy choice of draperies, which
became so conspicuous in his subsequent works. Com¬
pelled by ill health to return to his native city in 1773,
Moitte began to execute several great national works.
Among these were the bas-reliefs of several of the barriers
of Paris, the colossal figures representing the provinces of
Bretagne and Normandy, the statue of Cassini, the bas-
reliefs in the Louvre, of Moses, Numa, and the Historic
Muse, and an equestrian statue in bronze of Bonaparte.
About this time he was decorated by the emperor with the
cross of the Legion of Honour. Moitte died in May 1810.
MOIVRE, A. de. See Demoivre.
MOKRIN, a village of Hungary, in the county of
Toronthal, 42 miles W.N.W. of Temesvar. It has a
Greek church; and some trade in corn, flax, hemp, cattle,
sheep, and swine. Pop. about 5500.
MO LA, or Mola di Bari, a seaport-town of Naples, in
t ie province ot Bari, situated on a low point of land on
t e Adriatic, 13 miles S.E. of Bari. The town consists of
an o d and new portion; the former of which contains a
cast e, and is surrounded by walls and ditches, but is
mean y built, with narrow and irregular streets. The new
part o tie town, however, which extends along the shore,
is etter laid out, and has three creeks, for the accom-
M 0 L
modation of small vessels. The harbour is insecure; but Molai
the roadstead, though unprotected, has good anchorage. I!
A considerable coasting trade is carried on in oil, cotton, Molasses,
and carrots. Pop. 8400. v'—
MOLAI, Molay, or Mole, Jacques de, the last grand¬
master of the Templars, was born of a noble family in
Burgundy, and entered his order about 1265. In a short
time his bravery against the Infidels raised him to note.
He succeeded William de Beaujeau as grand-master of the
Templars, and was present at the recovery of Jerusalem in
1299. Subsequent reverses compelled him in 1305 to re¬
treat to Cyprus to recruit his forces. It was then that he
was recalled to France for the alleged purpose of assisting
in effecting a union between his own order and that of the
Knights Hospitallers; but the real object was different.
Philip the Fair, with the connivance of Pope Clement V.,
had resolved to fill his empty exchequer with the great
wealth of the Templars, even at the cost of their com¬
plete destruction. At the same time he knew that public
opinion, offended at their dissoluteness and excessive pride,
would easily be reconciled to their downfall. Accordingly,
after soothing down all suspicion by a series of notable
favours which he bestowed on Molai, he suddenly, on the
13th of October 1307, caused the whole order throughout
France to be arrested, and their effects to be seized. On
the same day he took up his abode in the luxurious palace
of the Temple at Paris. The Templars were tried before
inquisitors on the charges of heresy and immorality. On
being subjected to the torture of the rack, some chose
to die rather than criminate themselves unjustly, while
others confessed themselves guilty of the crimes alleged.
Among the latter was the grand-master Molai. However,
when brought soon afterwards before the papal commis¬
sioners, he retracted his confession, and demanded the liberty
of pleading his cause before the supreme pontiff' himself.
But the pope had already satisfied his mind on the subject,
and accordingly he abolished the order of the Temple in
1312. Meanwhile Molai was lying in prison at Paris. At
length, in 1314, he was tried along with three other Tem-
plers, and as he still persisted in retracting his former con¬
fession, was condemned to be burnt alive. He protested with
his last breath the innocence of himself and of his order.
MOLASSES, or Melasses (in Portuguese Melde as-
sucar or Meldgo, from mellatium, a low Latin derivative of
mel, honey, signifying, according to Nonius, must concen¬
trated to half its bulk), is the sirup or mother-water that
is separated from the crystals or grains of raw sugar in the
course of manufacture. It drips from those crystals like honey
from the comb, a circumstance to which it no doubt owes its
name, and especially to its likeness to honey in taste, consist¬
ency, general appearance, and uses. The name is sometimes
given to treacle, which, as distinguished from molasses, is
the sirup separated from the lowest boiling in refineries
of sugar, or from the “ bastard” sugar obtained in sugar-
houses by boiling imported molasses. In France and
elsewhere treacle and molasses bear indiscriminately the
name melasse ; in Germany that of syrup.
Molasses varies according to the colour, strength, and
treatment of the sugar which yields it. Fine bright sugar
yields fine bright molasses ; weak sugar, viscid or weak mo¬
lasses. Muscovado or unclayed sugar yields thick or heavy
molasses ; clayed sugar thin, but, when kept from becom¬
ing acid, strong molasses. By strong molasses is meant
molasses capable of producing a large per-centage of gran¬
ulated sugar. The heaviest molasses, though containing
less water, and therefore a greater per-centage of saccha¬
rine matter, is not generally the strongest, its thickness being
often connected with the presence of much grape-sugar and
impurities. The best molasses is obtained in the earlier
periods of the crop season, and before rains set in.
Molasses is usually of a dark-brown colour. St Croix,
MOL
Molasses. Barbadoes, and Porto Rico, produce the finest, of that yel-
'w-v——' low or amber colour which is preferred. The progress of
improvement in the making, of sugar, for which there is
still ample scope, may be expected to improve the colour,
as well as reduce the proportion yielded, of this the less
profitable extract from cane-juice.
Molasses is shipped in tight casks (called in this country
■puncheons; in Cuba and America, hogsheads'), containing
from 9 to 15 cwt. each. The bungs are left out to give free
vent to the fermentation to which it, particularly if strong
and fresh, is subject on the voyage. Iron tanks have been
used, but only to a very limited extent. The deposit of
sugar which frequently settles at the bottom of the casks
during the voyage is called/boL
Although molasses is produced wherever sugar is made,
the only parts of the world which export it in any con¬
siderable quantity are the West India Islands, of which
Cuba alone in 1856 contributed 226,000 casks, mostly of
large size, or two-thirds of the whole commerce in the ar¬
ticle. Brazil, Mauritius, the British East Indies, Java, and
the Philippines, which collectively supply about a third of the
world’s sugar, do not ship any quantity worth notice; yet they
might do so profitably, notwithstanding length of voyage,
if better means were devised to prevent waste and acidity.
Much molasses is converted into rum on the estates. Ja¬
maica distils all its molasses. A great deal of what is sent to
the United States of America, and (when grain is dear*, or
inferior molasses, chiefly clayed from Cuba, is cheap)
some also of what is sent to the United Kingdom, finds its
way to the distilleries, producing from 6% to 7 or 8 gallons
of proof spirits per cwt., unexceptionable in quality. Sugar
is supposed to yield 11 to 11^ gallons per cwt. In the city
of Boston alone, the chief seat of this branch of the trade,
the quantity distilled was, for the years 1854-5-6, near
50,000 casks a year. The returns for the United Kingdom
show 134,682 cwts. so used in 1856.
The laws of the United Kingdom prohibit the use of
molasses in breweries, in order to maintain the duty on
malt at its present high rate. For domestic brewing this
material is allowed and is suitable, but it is not so used.
There are several other ways in which it might be service¬
able, but it is not used, because it is not sold here in retail;
common treacle, which has a better consistency, and is
also cheaper, or refiners’ “golden sirup” (a finer sort of
treacle), being kept by the grocers in preference. In
the United States and British America molasses is largely
used as an article of diet in its natural state. Molasses or
treacle from beet-root sugar, an extract necessarily obtained
in large quantities in the beet sugar-works of Europe, has
an unpleasant vegetable flavour, and is employed for feed¬
ing cattle and for making alcohol and acetic acid.
The principal consumers in the United Kingdom are the
refiners of Greenock, Liverpool, London, and Leith, who,
by operations not yet benefited by modern science so much
as may be hoped for, obtain from it a dark, or, as the case
may be, a yellow sugar, resembling West India muscovado,
the residue being treacle. Of 82,000 casks imported into
the United Kingdom in 1856, half came to the seaports
of Clyde, 25,000 to Liverpool, and 15,000 to London.
The magnitude of the molasses trade is further shown
by the following figures:—The United States imported in
each of the years 1854-5-6 above 25,000,000 gallons, or
about 2,500,000 cwt., besides consuming its own growth,
which in these years amounted to not much less. In the
same years this kingdom imported an average quantity
of 950,000 cwts. The remarkable progress of this trade
is shown by comparing the imports into the kingdom in the
years 1820-30-40, when they were only 39,991, 250,648,
and 432,220 cwts. The increase is due to the greater in¬
difference with which the planters regard the making of
rum, to the enlargement of the sugar-boiling business in the
MOL six
chief northern ports of Britain, to the removal of the pro- Mold
hibitory duty, and to the vast extension of the growth of II .
the cane, especially in the highly prosperous slave-labour
Spanish colony of Cuba. It is worthy of notice that this
“ sweet” is used almost exclusively by the English-speaking
countries of the world,—Great Britain, and the states and
colonies to which she has given birth.
The present duty on molasses is 5s. per cwt., and the price,
exclusive of duty, has ranged for some years between 7s.
and 20s. per cwt., or about half the price in bond of the
lowest sorts of sugar. In this country it is sold by weight;
in the United States and the colonies by measure (the old
gallon). An imperial gallon weighs from 13 to 14 lb.
The specific gravity of molasses from muscovado sugar is
about 1*370, and from clayed sugar 1*356.
A trade has lately arisen between Cuba and the United
States in melado, which is cane-juice concentrated, or sugar
with the molasses remaining unseparated from the crystal¬
lized portion. (See Sugar.) (r. a. m.)
MOLD, a parliamentary borough and market-town of
Wales, county of Flint, pleasantly situated in a fertile valley
near the right bank of the Alen, 13 miles W. from Chester.
The town is irregularly built, chiefly of brick. The prin¬
cipal buildings are,—the parish church, a large and hand¬
some edifice of the fifteenth century, with an embattled
tower, richly carved; and the county-hall, a fine building,
which cost L.3000. There are also places of worship be¬
longing to the Methodists, Independents, and Baptists;
national and other schools; a market-house, and a savings-
bank. The parish contains extensive coal pits, and mines
of lead and iron, as well as some manufactories of earthen¬
ware, bricks, and cotton. Bailey Hill, a little to the N. of
the town, was in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries
crowned by a fortress, which was the scene of many san¬
guinary fights between the English and Welsh during the
border warfare. It was captured by the latter under Owen
Gwynedd in 1145, was retaken by the English some time
after, but again came into the hands of the Welsh in 1201.
In its churchyard is the humble grave of Richard Wilson,
the celebrated landscape-painter. Mold combines with
Caergwyle, Caerwys, Flint, Holywell, Overton, Rhuddlan,
and St Asaph, in returning a member to Parliament. Pop.
(1851) 3432.
MOLDAU, a river of Bohemia, rising in the Bohemian
Forest, on the frontiers of Bavaria, and flowing in a S.E.
direction as far as Rosenberg. It then turns to the N., and
continues generally in this direction till it joins the Elbe at
Melnik, after a course of 230 miles. The most important
tributaries of the Moldau are the Luschnitz and the Sazava
on the right, and the Wattava and the Beraun on the
left. The principal towns on its banks are Rosenberg,
Budweis, and Prague. In the lower part of its course the
Moldau is a large river, and contributes more water to the
Elbe than the Upper Elbe itself. It abounds in fish, and is
navigable to Prague for vessels of 60 tons, to Budweis for
barges of 10 or 15 tons, and to Rosenberg for smaller craft.
MOLDAVIA, one of the two Danubian Principalities
under the sovereignty of Turkey, is bounded on the N.
and E. by the Russian province of Bessarabia and the Black
Sea, S. by the principality of Wallachia, along with the
Danube and the Kilia branch of that river, which separate
it from Turkey, and W. by the Austrian provinces of Tran¬
sylvania and Bukowina; lying between N. Lat. 45. 15.
and 48. 13., and E. Long. 25. 10. and 30. 13. It has a
length of about 200 miles from N. to S., an average
breadth of about 100, and contains an area of about 19,932
square miles. The Carpathians form the natural boundary
on the W., and separate it from Transylvania. These moun¬
tains rise to the height of from 3000 to 5000 feet above the
sea, and send off1 numerous branches to the eastward, gra¬
dually diminishing in height as they approach the banks of
312
MOLDAVIA.
Moldavia, the Sereth, which traverses the country from N. to S. The
general surface of the country, excepting the part occupied
by the marsh-lands at the mouth of the Danube, slopes
from W. to E., and terminates in an undulating plain of
considerable extent. The principal rivers of Moldavia are
the Sereth and the Pruth ; the former rises among the
highlands of Bukowina, flows first E. and then S., and
finally falls into the Danube after a course of about 270
miles. The Pruth rises in the same region as the Sereth,
flows S.S.E., and falls into the Danube at Reni after a mean¬
dering course of 360 miles. It forms the north-eastern
boundary of Moldavia, and is navigable for three-fourths
of its length. The other important rivers are the Bistritz,
Birlat, Moldava, Tatros, and Tazlen, all of which flow
southward, and fall into the Sereth. The soil of the coun¬
try is rather stony in the E., but gradually improves in
fertility as it approaches the rivers ; and the greater part is
abundantly productive, amply rewarding the labour which
is applied to it, notwithstanding the excessive heat of the
summers, and the intense cold of the winters. The corn
is excellent, especially the summer or hard wheat. The
wine is good, and produced in abundance. Excellent cattle
are fattened in the meadows: and good flax, hemp, honey,
wax, and all kinds of fruits, are most abundant. The mi¬
neral resources of Moldavia are very great; but little ad¬
vantage is taken of their abundance. Rock-salt, saltpetre,
and bitumen, are the principal minerals, and these are
found chiefly in the Carpathian Mountains and towards the
N. of the principality; while small quantities of gold-dust
have been obtained from some of the rivers. Great numbers
of horses, cattle, sheep, goats, and hogs are reared in the
meadows and forests of Moldavia; and some of the boyars
or noblemen have studs of no fewer than 400 or 600 mares.
The climate of Moldavia is exposed to severe cold in win¬
ter and excessive heat during summer. Rain falls in large
quantities in the months of June and September; but the
weather in October and November is very mild. The vi¬
cinity of the marshes which occupy that section of the state
between the Pruth and the Black Sea is, however, very un¬
healthy, especially during the hot season. The inhabitants
live in a wretched manner in earthen huts, without win¬
dows or chimneys, and sometimes underground. The ma¬
nufactures are few and rude in kind. But this want is fully
compensated by the great advantages for importation and ex¬
portation afforded by the Danube, now open to all nations.
The three ports of Moldavia are Galatz, Ismail, and
Reni, all on the Danube; but the first is by far the most
important. In the year 1855, when the operations of the
Russo-Turkish war were transferred from the Danube to the
Crimea, and the trade of that river was thus enabled to re¬
sume its usual importance, the number of shipping and
tonnage entering and clearing at Galatz amounted to a total
of 1698 vessels, with 417,584 of aggregate tonnage. The
following table shows the value of the imports and exports
of Galatz from and to the various countries in 1855, as well
as the amount and value of the chief articles imported and
exported during the same year:—
Value of Imports from—
Britain  L.253,240
France   152,400
Turkey   141,840
Holland   38,480
Other countries  38,920
Total  624,880
Value of Exports to—
Greece L.668,920
Austria   193,280
Holland   112,280
Sweden   78,480
Tuscany  31,680
Other countries  109,720
Total  1,194,360
Chief Imports.
Sugar 
Coffee 
oil 
Dried fruit 
Hum 
Manufactures-1
Cotton, &c. J
Quantity.
8,472,351 lb.
1,221,492 „
1,938,211 „
2,127,907 „
2,703 bar.
7,162,565
L.230,320
52,720
52,720
38,600
18,920
126,400
Chief
Exports.
Wheat
Maize.
Rye
Quantity
The population of Moldavia is almost identical in kind Moldavia,
with that of the neighbouring principality of Wallachia, ^
and seems to belong to the same race as the ancient
Dacians, who inhabited this region from the earliest times.
1 he Moldavians, indeed, differ very little from their ances¬
tors in appearance, costume, and manner of life, and they
still bear the name of Roumuni or Romans, while their
dialect is a corruption of Latin with Slavonic, Turkish, and
1 artar words. There are four classes of people in Molda¬
via, viz.:—1. The boyars or nobility, and the clergy, who
are exempted from taxation; 2. The privileged classes,
such as the academic corporation at Jassy, but who
are liable to taxation; 3. The villagers; and 4. The
gypsies, who have no civil rights, and, till a recent period,
were in a state of slavery either to the government or to
private individuals. They have now, however, been released
from servitude ; those belonging to the government having
been emancipated several years earlier than the slaves of
the nobles, who received their liberty only in 1853. The
established religion of Moldavia is that of the Greek church,
superintended by a metropolitan and a vicar. The capital
is Jassy; and the principality is divided into Upper and
Lower Moldavia, and subdivided into districts, of which the
former contains six, and the latter eight, as follows:—
Upper Moldavia.
Districts. Chief Towns. Pop. (1850).
1. Dorohoi Mihaileni  80,222
2. Botoshani Botoshani  146,361
3. Sucsiava Falticheni  71,044
4. Nyemtzoo Piatra  90,219
5. Roman Roman  80,677
6. Jassy Jassy  128,566
Lower Moldavia.
Districts. Chief Towns. Pop." (1850).
1. Vaslooi Vaslooi  84,703
2. Falchey Koosh  78,722
3. Tutova Birlat  83,674
4. Tacutsi Tacutsi  86,505
5. Bakow Bakow  132,244
6. Pootna Fokshani  124,217
7. Kovarlooi Galatz   67,293
8' ismaii 42,600
Total 1,297,047
The principality of Moldovia occupies part of the region
known in ancient times by the name of Dacia (which see).
In the later times of the Byzantine Empire it was overrun
by several barbarous tribes, and the inhabitants were driven
across the Carpathian Mountains, where they remained
until the thirteenth century, when a small colony, under a
chieftain called Bogdan, re-established themselves in their
country, which received from their leader the name of Bog-
dania, by which it is still known among the Turks and na¬
tives. This prince and his son gradually extended their
power over the whole of Moldavia. The princes of Mol¬
davia were at that time called voyvodes, or military leaders;
a name which was afterwards changed by the Turks to that
of hospodars, which is still retained. In the thirteenth cen¬
tury Moldavia was frequently disturbed by civil war, occa¬
sioned by rival claimants for the crown, and these dissen¬
sions rose to such a height that the country was divided
into two parts, one of which acknowledged the sovereignty
of Poland, and the other that of Hungary. A union was,
however, soon after effected, and Moldavia became subject
to Hungary, paying at the same time a tribute to the
Poles. In 1536 Moldavia came under the protection of the
Sultan. For a considerable time after this period it was
the scene of constant wars between the Poles and Turks,
until the claims of the former to the sovereignty of the
state were finally abandoned in 1621, and peace concluded
between Turkey and Poland. But notwithstanding the
authority of the Sultan was now unquestioned, the boyars
still continued to elect their own voyvodes, a proceeding
which caused numerous disputes between them and the
MOL
Moldavia. Porte. In 1710 Demetrius II., voyvode of Moldavia, en-
v-i—J tered into negotiations with Peter the Great of Russia, by
which the latter undertook to force the Turks to restore
the principality to its former independence. On the failure
of the Russian attempts, and the retreat of Peter, who was
accompanied by Demetrius, the Sultan deprived the Mol¬
davians altogether of the privilege of electing their princes.
These were thenceforth nominated by the Porte direct,
and received their modern title of hospodars. In 1738,
during the war of Austria and Russia against Turkey,
Moldavia was invaded by a Russian force under Miinnich,
and occupied for two years, but was evacuated after the
peace of Belgrade. In 1769 it was again occupied by the
Russians, and in consequence of the victories gained by
them over the Turks, became for a short time subject to
the Czar. It was, however, restored to Turkey by the
peace of Kutchuk Kainaryi in 1774. Three years later,
Bukowina, which had before formed a part of Moldavia,
was ceded to Austria. In 1789 this unfortunate princi¬
pality was again the scene of contest between Russia and
Turkey, until the peace of Jassy in 1792, when the Rus¬
sian frontier was fixed by the Dniester. In the war of
1807-12 Moldavia again fell into the hands of the Rus¬
sians, who, by the treaty of Bucharest, acquired possession
of Bessarabia, and thus extended their frontier to the Pruth.
At the commencement of the Greek war in 1820 an in¬
surrection broke out in the Danubian Principalities, but was
suppressed by the Turks, who then occupied with an army the
two principalities until the year 1826. It was then agreed
by an article in the treaty of Ackermann, that the hospo¬
dars of Moldavia should be elected by the boyars out of
their own number for a period of seven years. In 1828
another war between Turkey and Russia broke out; and
Moldavia was occupied by the Russians without opposition
until peace was established by the treaty of Adrianople in
1829. By this treaty it was stipulated that all the Turks
should leave Moldavia, which was thenceforth to be under
the protection of Russia. The hospodars were now to be
elected for life, and their power was limited by a divan,
consisting of ten boyars, and an assembly of deputies from
the boyars, the clergy, the academic corporation, and the
landowners, which was to meet annually. An annual tri¬
bute is paid to the Porte of three millions of piastres, or
somewhat more than L.27,©00, and an additional tribute is
paid at the accession of each new hospodar. The Molda¬
vians were also bound to pay to the Porte a yearly sum as
a compensation for the surrender by the latter of the forti¬
fications N. of the Danube, and of the rights they formerly-
possessed. The principality was governed by the Russian
general Kisseleff from 1832 to 1834, when the constitution
was approved by the Porte ; and in the same year Michel
Stourdza was elected hospodar. A conspiracy was formed
in 1840 to unite the principalities of Moldavia and Walla-
chia into one state, but without success. In 1848 the in¬
fluence of revolutionary sentiments was felt in Moldavia;
the people of Jassy demanded a new constitution, and,
although the hospodar successfully resisted this movement,
he laid down his authority in the same year. In 1849 the
treaty of Balta Liman was concluded between Russia and
Turkey, in accordance with which the hospodars were to be
nominated by the Russian and Turkish courts for a period
of seven years; and in June of that year Gregory Ghika
was appointed hospodar. In 1853 a Russian army entered
and seized possession of Moldavia and Wallachia, and the
hospodars of the Principalities retired. After attempting in
vain to cross the Danube in Wallachia, the Russians, in the
spring of 1854 crossed that river at Galatz, and seized the
•fortresses in the Dobrudscha. They then proceeded to lay
siege to Silistria, but this town was so vigorously defended
that they were obliged to raise the siege, and the British and
French troops having arrived at Varna, the Russian army
YOL. XV.
MOL 313
evacuated the Principalities in the autumn of 1854. The Moles-
hospodars then returned to their respective governments, worth,
and the Principalities were occupied by an Austrian army.
At the conference of Vienna in March 1855 a proposal
was made by Baron Bourqueney, the French plenipoten¬
tiary, to unite the two principalities under a foreign prince,
subject to the sovereignty of Turkey ; but the discussion of
this proposal was deferred until the opinion of the Porte
was known. By the treaty of Paris in 1856, a portion of
Bessarabia was reunited to Moldavia, so that the Russian
territory had no longer any communication with the Danube.
At the same time the protectorate of Russia over the Prin¬
cipalities was abolished, and the continuance of all their
rights and immunities was guaranteed by the European
powers. The future organization of the Principalities was
to be decided according to the wishes of the majority of the
people. The treaty of Balta Liman, in accordance with
which the hospodar Gregory Ghika governed Moldavia,
being annulled, and at the same time the term of seven
years for which he was appointed having expired, that prince
laid down his authority, and the Sultan appointed Theodore
Baltche hospodar in his stead. During his reign Ghika
had granted to the Moldavians the liberty of the press, and
had shown himself favourable to the union of the Princi¬
palities, which was the wish of the majority of the people;
but the present hospodar, as well as the Sultan, is opposed
to it, and the liberty of the press has been suppressed by the
Sultan. The receipts of the principality in 1853 amounted
to 13,235,230 piastres or LA 29,411, and the expenses to
12,456,324 piastres or L.122,320, of which the tribute to
the Sultan made up 715,000 piastres or L.65,000. The
army of Moldavia in the same year consisted of a force of
15,944 men. (For the more recent history, see Walla¬
chia.)
MOLES WORTH, Sir William, an eminent British
statesman, was the lineal descendant of an old Cornish
family of extensive landed property, and was born in Lon¬
don in 1810. In his thirteenth year he lost his father, and
succeeded to the family estate and baronetcy. He studied
at Cambridge, but was rusticated there for challenging his
tutor to mortal combat. After spending some time at the
university of Edinburgh, engaged in the study of mathe¬
matics, classics, and metaphysics, he repaired to Germany.
There his attention was chiefly devoted to philology and
history. He then made the usual tour of Europe, and
returned to England in 183-1. In the same year, before he
had attained his majority, he delivered an earnest and elabo¬
rate speech in favour of parliamentary reform at a Cornish
county meeting. This first appearance of his in public
prepossessed the local Liberals so much in his favour, that
in 1832 he was returned without opposition as one of the
members of Parliament for the eastern division of Cornwall.
He was re-elected by his constituents in 1835 ; but in 1837
so powerful had the reaction against his opinions become,
that he despaired of regaining his seat. He therefore be¬
came a candidate for Leeds, and was successful. On the
dissolution of 1841, the clouded prospects of his party de¬
prived him of all hope of being returned by his former con¬
stituency, and induced him to retire without a contest from
parliamentary life. Sir William Molesworth devoted the
next four years to a close study of politics and social
economy. In 1845 he was again on the field as a candi¬
date for Southwark. His bold advocacy of the Maynooth
grant excited formidable opposition ; but his open and con¬
scientious conduct at length won the day, and he continued
to represent this constituency during the rest of his life.
Ever since his entrance into Parliament Sir William Moles¬
worth had been gradually acquiring the reputation of a
clear, sound, logical, and weighty speaker. He had directed
all his energies to the reformation of the colonial office, had
aroused the attention of Parliament to that subject, had
2 R
314 MOL
Molfetta explained with great ability the principles of colonial self-
11 government, and had finally convinced statesmen and the
Moliere. 0f ^]ie truth of his views. It was therefore with
general approbation that he was appointed First Commis¬
sioner of Public Works in January 1853, and Colonial
Secretary in July 1855. But this latter office he did not
long enjoy. He died of a low gastric fever in October 1855.
MOLFETTA, a walled seaport town of Naples, pro¬
vince of Terra di Bari, on the Adriatic, 16 miles W.N.W.
of Bari. The town as approached from the sea has a fine
appearance, many of the houses being handsomely built of
a white stone resembling marble, but its streets aie nanow
and dirtv. The principal buildings are, a cathedral, seve¬
ral churches, a college, and a castle. The chief manufac¬
tures are linen goods and saltpetre. Some ship-building
is also carried on. The harbour is formed by a mole and
a sandbank, which acts as a breakwater, and is well shel¬
tered, except from the N. wind. A considerable trade is
carried on in corn, oil, almonds, and other articles. In the
neighbourhood of the town there are some curious oval
caves, arranged in tiers, and hewn out of a limestone rock.
In all these saltpetre is found ; and one of them, called the
Nitre Cavern, is 1400 feet in circumference and 112 in
depth. Pop. 17,000.
MOLliSRE, the assumed name of Jean Baptiste Po¬
quelin, who was born at Paris on the 15th of January 1622.
His father, Jean Poquelin, exercised the vocation oi' tapis-
sier, and subsequently that of tapissier valet-de-chamhre to
Louis XIII. Young Poquelin, who seems to have been
designed for the same trade, received originally a somewhat
meagre education, and remained connected with his father’s
shop till he was fourteen years of age. Nothing is known
respecting the boyhood of Moliere till the year 1637, when
his father succeeded in securing the reversion of his office
for his eldest son Jean Baptiste, then in his fifteenth year.
It has been customary to fill up this long blank in the early
life of the great dramatist by an apocryphal story of a fond
grandsire extorting occasional permission to take young
Poquelin to witness the theatrical performances at the
Hotel de Bourgogne. Unfortunately, however, it turns out,
on more accurate inquiry, that this benevolent old gentleman
died just four years after his grandson’s birth. Whether
or not the slumbering genius of Moliere was awakened
by the indifferent specimens of the histrionic art which he
beheld at the Hotel de Bourgogne, it is at least certain that
in the year 1637 he became a student at the college of
Clermont, now known as that of Louis le Grand. During
his five years’ residence at this institution he enjoyed the
private instruction of Gassendi, one of the first philosophers
of his age, and numbered among his fellow-students such
men as Chapelle, Bernier, Cyrano de Bergerac, Hesnaut,
and Conde’s brother, the Prince de Conti, afterwards
known as the liberal patron of letters and the friend of
Moliere. His relation to Gassendi, however, is the princi¬
pal matter of interest at this period. The influence exerted
over the expanding genius of the future dramatist by the
teaching of this illustrious man must have been at once
powerful and abiding; and in the withering scorn and
fearless satire with which Moliere afterwards assailed the
vices, and unmasked the hypocrisy of his age, one can de¬
tect the hand of a man who in his early years was a favourite
pupil of a philosopher who made bold to challenge the
authority of Aristotle, and to enter the lists with Descartes.
If Moliere distinguished himself in philosophy at the college
of Clermont, he gained a name for classical learning hardly
less eminent. It was here he attained to that intimate
acquaintance with the Latin dramatists which he afterwards
turned to so good account in his compositions for the stage.
On the completion of his collegiate course, Moliere com¬
menced the study of law, which he prosecuted with more or
less regularity during the three following years. It is dif-
M 0 L
ficult to say whether or not Moliere had resolved upon any Moli&re,
definite plan of life previous to this time; at all events, a
circumstance occurred just when he had reached his twenty-
third year which proved the turning-point in his history.
It so happened that one Madeleine Bejart, a provincial
actress of some celebrity, visited Paris in 1645, when “a
young fellow named Moliere,” as old Tallemant des Reaux
drily informs us, finding greater attractions in this interest¬
ing lady than he had yet discovered in the dull pages of
Cujas and Trebonian, renounced his legal studies, followed
the charmer to the provinces, and subsequently joined her
troupe. Thus it was that Jean Baptiste Poquelin, or as he
now called himself Moliere, was led, whatever may have
been his previous leanings, to assume a profession which
from that hour became the business of his life. During
the year which inaugurated his dramatic career Moliere
endeavoured to establish himself at Paris in connection
with the Thedtre Illusive, which had been originated by a
society of young men of good family, who considered them¬
selves possessed of a talent for declamation. Failing in
this attempt, Moliere betook himself to the provinces, and
soon found himself a member of the same company with the
previous object of his admiration, Madeleine Bejart. Little
is known respecting his provincial life, which occupies a
space of not less than twelve years (1646-1658), except
what is exceedingly meagre and fragmentary. During the
greater part of that time Moliere was the chief of a com¬
pany of strolling players who spent their time in amusing
the citizens of Nantes, Vienne, Bordeaux, Lyons, Pezenas,
Beziers, Grenoble, and Rouen. From the outset Moliere
resolved to combine the profession of actor and author, and
endeavour, while he built up his fame, to secure his fortune.
Fie accordingly assumed the function of author by convert¬
ing certain Italian pieces into acting plays for his company,
and which were characterized more by the faults of the
Italian theatre than by the genius of Moliere. His first
regular production was the Etourdi, a comedy in five acts,
which was represented at Lyons in 1653, where it met with
so much success that the principal performers belonging to
another troupe permanently attached themselves to the
fortunes of Moliere. His play, although it surpassed the
comedies of Scarron and Scuderi, which preceded it, was
nevertheless much inferior to Moliere’s subsequent pro¬
ductions. It is made up of a number of isolated inci¬
dents and intrigues, which succeed each other certainly, but
display very little inherent connection. Yet, amid all these
defects, it gave marked evidence, in its spirited dialogue,
ready repartee, and felicitous flow of language, of very de¬
cided advancement in stage composition. This piece was
afterwards “revised and polished” by Dryden into his Sir
Martin Marall. (See Downes’s Roscius Anylicanus, p.
38, 1789.) Reinforced by the recent valuable accession to
his company, Moliere repaired to Beziers, where his former
class-fellow, the Prince de Conti, was holding the states of
Languedoc. Here the rising player received the distin¬
guished patronage of his noble friend, and his company was
called upon to put forth all their energies to furnish enter¬
tainment to the prince, the assembly, and the city. The
Depit Amoureux was acted here for the first time in 1656.
As a whole, it is inferior to the Etourdi; yet it met with
decided success. So greatly was the prince delighted with
the genius of the dramatist, that it is said he offered to
make him his secretary,—a distinction which Moliere re¬
spectfully declined, remarking, “ I am a tolerable author,
but I should make a very bad secretary.” Fortunately for
the glory of the French drama, Moliere had the courage to
be faithful to his genius, a resolution which did as much
honour to the player as the handsome offer did to the prince.
Having continued for some time his strolling perform¬
ances in the south of France, Moliere approached the
capital, attracted by the hope of better fortune and greater
.
M O L I t R E. 315
Moli^re. fame. After assiduous efforts lie succeeded, through the
influence of De Conti, in obtaining permission to give a
theatrical entertainment before their majesties and the
court. This was a trying position for the strolling player,
but he trusted to his genius, and it proved all-sufficient.
Accordingly, on the 24th day of October 1658, his company
played Corneille’s tragedy of Nicomede before this august
assemblage, at a theatre erected at the guard-hall of the old
Louvre. Moliere, who felt that his company was inferior
in tragedy to the troupe royale of the Hotel de Bourgogne,
who were present, came forward after the performance, and
adroitly observed that he and his actors were but feeble
copies of those first-rate models, and hoped that his majesty,
who had graciously tolerated their rustic ways, would allow
them to play one of the little comic pieces which had gained
their author some reputation in the provinces. The king
■ granted the request, and the adventurous provincials repre¬
sented a one-act farce, now lost, called the Docteur Amou-
Ireux, with so much success that they were desired by
royalty to remain at Paris, and received permission to
assume the title of Troupe de Monsieur, the king’s brother,
and to play alternately with the Italian comedians at the
Petit-Bourbon Theatre. So this author-actor, with his squat,
ungainly figure, coarse features, and melancholy counte¬
nance, finds that his reception by the fastidious public of
Paris has not been inferior to that given him by the pro¬
vinces. There was a fascination in Moliere’s person despite
all its natural defects. Every limb and muscle of that
awkward figure had something to say for itself; and, as a
contemporary remarked of him, “he is an actor every inch of
him, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet.”
How he entertained the public at the Petit-Bourbon during
the succeeding year is not known. It is certain, however,
that he produced his celebrated Precieuses Ridicules in
November 1659, which had such an extraordinary success
that, though the prices of admission were trebled on the
second day, the piece had a run of four months. The
fame of Moliere and genuine French comedy began alike
with this play. Its author was hailed enthusiastically from the
parterre with “ Courage ! courage ! Moliere, voild la vraie
comedie.” If not designed as a satire upon all the ladies or
precieuses connected with the famous Hotel de Rambouillet,
a literary circle which could boast of some of the most emi¬
nent men of the age as its supporters, this play was certainly
meant to heap ridicule upon that class of precieuses who per¬
verted alike good taste and correct feeling by the elaborate
affectation of their talk, and the mock refinement of their
sentiments. The characters and manners of this class were
portrayed with extraordinary power and boldness; and it
was with no small consternation that these absurd coteries
found themselves thus ruthlessly impaled before the public by
this comic censor, who kept all Paris laughing at their follies
for four months in succession. The public now saw what
was in store for them when Moliere chose, as he modestly
phrased it, “etudier le monde.” His next piece, Sganarelle,
ou le Cocu Imaginaire, was given to the public on the 28th
of May 1660, and met with a success more than equal to its
merits, having been acted forty times in succession.
The beginning of 1661 found Moliere installed in his
new theatre, the Salle du Palais Royale. Whether or not
it was owing to the associations connected with the past
history of this place that Moliere felt induced to appear as
a tragic author, he at all events produced a heroic comedy
termed Don Garde de Navarre ; ou le Prince Jaloux, in
1661, imitated from the Italian, which proved an utter
failure, and was the source of loud jubilation to his enemies.
Moliere withdrew it, and afterwards transferred some of its
lines to the Misanthrope. On the 24th June 1661 he
made another attempt, in his Ecole de Maris, to retrieve
his fallen reputation, and met with the most brilliant suc¬
cess. He owed the fundamental idea of this piece to
Terence in his Adelphi, and some of the details he bor- Moliere.
rowed from Boccaccio and Lopez de Vega. During the
same year he was engaged by the unfortunate Fouquet to
compose a comedy for the celebrated fete which the super¬
intendent of finance gave to Louis XIV. at Vaux, a few
days before that monarch arrested and imprisoned for life
the minister who entertained him. Moliere had only five
days to execute his task, and at the end of that time he
produced Les Fdcheux, a piece which introduces us to the
most provoking set of “ bores ” that ever afflicted mortal.
The materials are of the slenderest, having been designed
to be acted during the intervals of a ballet; but such a lec¬
ture on the follies of character and manners as it contains
Moliere alone could read. An event occurred on the 20th
of February 1662, just two days after the appearance of Les
Fdcheux, which was not destined to increase the happiness
of the dramatist. He became united to Armande Bejart, a
sister of that Madeleine Bejart, with whose charms the
young lawyer Jean Baptiste Poquelin had been smitten
some twenty years before. The envenomed tongue of
slander laboured industriously to circulate the calumny that
Moliere’s wife was the daughter of his former mistress; and
the chef of the Hotel de Bourgogne kindly improved upon
the scandal by submitting to the king that Moliere’s
death would leave his wife at once fatherless and a widow.
Flis majesty, however, showed his appreciation of these
malicious reports by condescending, in February 1664,
together with Henrietta of England, Duchess of Orleans,
to be the sponsors of Moliere’s child. Much of the
loathsome scandal regarding this affair has been swept
away by the unequivocal testimony of certain legal docu¬
ments which had escaped detection till 1821. But the
worst trial of all awaited the much-wronged dramatist,
in the imprudent coquetry of his wife, which served not a
little to embitter the remainder of his domestic life. He
pursued his labours, however, with unmitigated ardour,
although he had by this time drawn down upon himself a
host of assailants. The parties whose ridiculous conceits
and absurd follies he had so ruthlessly exposed, too wise to
express the rankling pain which the arrows of the censor
had inflicted, now set themselves up as guardians of the
purity of the national morals and of the national language.
Flis next three plays aggravated the animosity of his ene¬
mies a hundred-fold. The Ecole des Femmes appeared on
the 26th December 1662; the Critique de VEcole des
Femmes, an energetic defence of the former, on the 5th
January 1663 ; and the Impromtpu de Versailles in October
1663. In the first of these he was accused by the pseudo¬
religious party of Paris of turning religion into burlesque,—
a class which he drove almost frantic by sending home the
satire with tenfold force and power in his Critique. Nor
did his Impromptu tend to conciliate his enemies. On the
contrary, the cutting and merciless exposure which it con¬
tained of the envious rivals whom his genius had eclipsed,
drew down upon him the troupe of the Hotel de Bourgogne
like a nest of hornets. His next piece, La Princesse
dElide, executed at a signal from the king, who stood
constantly by him, was composed in haste to garnish a
splendid fete of Louis at Versailles in May 1664; and
while it afforded little scope for Moliere’s comic powers,
belonging as it did to the gorgeous and romantic drama, it
nevertheless was received with great applause. It also
appears that the first three acts, or rough sketch, of the
celebrated Tartuffe were presented on the sixth day of the
entertainment, and the piece was regarded by the king as
“ fort divertissante ; ” yet he saw reason to forbid its public
representation. Moliere’s next production of the same year
was Le Marriage Force, a one-act comedy, with a bold and
simple plot, but full of inimitable wit and ridicule, chiefly
directed against the sophists of the Sorbonne. In the
Festin de Pierre, which came out in 1665, Moliere de-
316 MOL
Molifere. picted with extraordinary satirical power the character of
an incorrigible hypocrite and libertine in Don Juan, bor¬
rowed from a Spanish story, which has furnished material
for the creative genius of Molina, Mozart, and Byron.
Some critics of this work went so far as to invoke the spi¬
ritual censure and the doom of the civil magistrate on the
author; but the king supported him, and not only allowed his
company to assume the title of Troupe du Roi, but also be¬
stowed upon them a pension of seven thousand livres, in addi¬
tion to the thousand livres (L.40) previously granted Moliere
as a crown pension. Id Amour Medecin, which appeared at the
royal command in September 1665, was produced in five
days, and was a declaration of war against a new and influ¬
ential body of enemies. In this piece he directed his po¬
lished satire against the quackery and pedantry then pre¬
valent among the medical faculty of Paris. After the lapse of
nine months, an unusual term of repose for Moliere’s muse,
caused partly by his own illness and partly by the death of
the queen-mother, the 4th of June 1666 brought a day to
be remembered in the annals of the drama. It was then
that the Misanthrope was first acted at the Palais Royal.
This piece is universally accounted by French critics as
the most correct in point of style of all Moliere’s composi¬
tions, and not a few regard it as his chef d'ceuvre. It was
in this play he introduced the passage from a translation
of Lucretius which he is said to have executed and after¬
wards committed to the flames. It was received but coldly
at first by the Parisian public, and its author was compelled
to heighten its attractiveness by attaching to its represen¬
tation the lively farce of La Medecin Malgre lui, founded
on an old fabliau, and afterwards translated into English
by the celebrated novelist Henry Fielding, under the title
of The Mock Doctor.
Passing over Melicerte, the Pastorale Comique, and Le
Sicilien, which appeared about this time at St Germains,
as slim in material and rather dull in detail, we come to the
most remarkable of all Moliere’s performances. Hitherto
it had been more the aim of his satire to chastise folly than
to unmask and brand vice. Three years before we saw
the rude outline of the Tartuffe sketched at Versailles.
Scruples as to the probable reception of the piece induced
the king to interdict its representation. Alterations were
made in the play at the desire of royalty, and Moliere used
all his efforts to tone down the colouring, and remove
any semblance of personal allusion. On the departure of
Le Grand Monarque to pursue his conquests in Flanders,
permission was obtained by Moliere to represent this long
suppressed Tartiiffe at the Palais Royal. This piece ac¬
cordingly made its appearance on the 5th of August 1667,
and produced a most extraordinary sensation. In the
depth and power of its composition it was felt to outstrip
all previous attempts at comedy which France had known.
It was received with the most triumphant and deafening
applause; and yet twenty-four hours did not elapse before the
premier president interdicted a second representation, and
the archbishop had exhausted his thunders of excommuni¬
cation by the week’s end against all who should act, read,
or listen to, in public or private, the said comedy of Tartuffe.
The Jesuits at first supposed it was a satire upon the au¬
sterity of the obnoxious Jansenists ; while the latter sought
their revenge in giving currency to the notion that Le Tar¬
tiiffe was but a postscript to the Provinciales of Pascal. The
truth is, it was not religion of any form which Moliere ridi¬
culed ; it was the insincere professors of religion. Where
religion is in a healthy state, the exposure of the vice of
hypocrisy will always be hailed with applause rather than
received with censure. Satire, although a dangerous weapon,
is, when employed in good faith and honest purpose, often
the only effective means of assailing a crime equally odious
in the sight of God and man. Such thorough-paced hypo¬
crites are not to be moved by ordinary means ; they “ are
[ R E.
touctied and shamed by ridicule alone.” Yet Moliere’s pur- Moliere.
pose, as is too often the case, was doomed to be misunder-
stood; and even such men as Bossuet and Bourdaloue,
fearing lest the keen blade which smote down so mercilessly
the subtle hypocrite, might glance back and wound the
simple, joined with not a little intemperance in the hue
a,nd cry raised against the audacious moral censor. Mo¬
liere, however, fearlessly held on his way; and if the in¬
trigues and petulence of a so-called religious faction influ¬
enced his royal patron to confirm the interdict, Moliere lived
to have his revenge. The fame of the Tartuffe soon found
its way across the Channel, and by the industry and taste of
the unfortunate actor Matthew Medburn, the play-goers of
the British metropolis learned early to applaud the genius
and admire the courage of this indomitable French come¬
dian. (See the Roscius Anglicanus, p. 27.) Clamour and
controversy were still raging when the Amphitryon, a ques¬
tionable drama taken from Plautus, came out with its inex¬
haustible stock of keen wit and inimitable humour. Voltaire
tells us, the first time he read it he tumbled off his chair, con¬
vulsed with laughter, and nearly broke his neck ! This play,
together with George Dandin and L’Avare, appeared during
1668. George Dandin was a successful exposure of the
mischief done by unequal marriages, especially by the union
of impoverished aristocrats with wealthy parvenus. The
general conception of DAvare was taken from Plautus, but
adapted to modern society with a degree of truth and feli¬
city which none but a Moliere could command. The de¬
lineation of the miser, although one of the author’s most
successful attempts, was less favourably received than usual,
owing, it is said, to its being written in prose. It has since,
however, received ample justice. The highest compli¬
ment paid to the truth of the piece was by a miser himself,
who was, it is said, so pleased with the excellent lessons of
economy which it contained, that he actually paid the cost
of admission to witness the performance. This play was
transferred to the British stage, as The Miser, by Henry
Fielding. Since the proscription of Le Tartuffe, Moliere
had been urgent in his endeavours to obtain for it a fair
hearing. After repeated opposition and discouragement,
his efforts were crowned with success, and the Troupe
du Roi performed on the 5th February 1669 Le Tartuffe,
ou VImposteur, to the great horror of the bigots, who
ceased not to invoke the nether fires to consume the
wicked dramatist. Passing over the clever farce of Mon¬
sieur de Pourceugnac (1669), and the satire on astro¬
logy of Les Amants Magnifiques (1670), we come to a
masterpiece of comic art in Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme,
first presented before the court at Chambord on 14th Oc¬
tober 1670. This play, though defective in construction,
continues to be one of the most popular of Moliere’s com¬
positions. It exposes in an exceedingly amusing manner
the ridiculous absurdities into which a man is led who would
force his way into a higher sphere than his own, with no
other qualification but the weight of his purse. In this re¬
lation the ignorant pomposity of Monsieur Jourdain, and
the pretentious pedantry of his fashionable instructors, will
continue to afford matter for genuine laughter as long as
the piece is known. The Fourberies de Scapin, Psyche,
and La Comtesse dUEscarbagnas, appeared in 1671, none
of them demanding very special mention, with the excep¬
tion of some exceedingly amusing pieces of dialogue in the
Fourberies. It is in one of these that the avaricious father
utters the celebrated phrase, “ Que diable alla-t-il-faire
dans cette galere ? ” with such passionate importunity and
ludicrous effect. The following year brought a richer spe¬
cimen of Moliere’s art in Les Femmes Savantes, acted on
the 11th March 1672, consisting of a regular comedy in five
acts, which has always been considered one of his most
powerful productions. The object of the dramatist’s ridi¬
cule on this occasion was the scientific airs and learned
M 0 L I E R E.
Molfere. dignity which the exploded coteries of the precieuses now
affected, instead of the romantic jargon in which they had
formerly indulged.
We now come to speak of the Malade Imaginaire,
a piece possessing the melancholy interest of being Mo-
liere’s last. This play appeared in February 1673, and
consisted of a powerful and pungent satire upon those
unworthy members of the medical faculty who were ac¬
customed to take advantage of the unfounded apprehen¬
sions of their patients. Moliere had always been of a de¬
licate constitution, and had for many years been liable to
pulmonary affections, which, during the composition of this
his last work, increased greatly in violence. His friends
attempted to dissuade him from appearing in the character
of Argan when the piece came to be represented, as the
exertion of voice and person called forth on such an occa¬
sion would tend to increase the severity of his malady.
But Moliere who had sacrificed personal comfort so often
for the benefit of those dependent on him, could not forget
even in the hour of death “ those fifty people wTho must
want their daily bread if the spectacle is put off’.” He had
accordingly appeared as Argan, the Malade Imaginaire,
for the fourth time ; and before the conclusion of the piece,
through which he had laboured with great pain, his cough
overcame him, and being threatened with choking, he was
carried off the stage and conveyed to his own house. The
clergy were summoned, but in vain : it was the author of
Le Tartuffe who was dying, and the last offices of religion
must be withheld. Two poor Sisters of Charity, who in
past days had never come to his door in vain, try to smooth
the pillow of the dying man with their words of peace.
His cough soon returned with increased violence, and
having burst a blood-vessel, he died apparently of suffoca¬
tion on the 17th of February 1673, in the fifty-second year
of his age. The cunning hand is now stiff’ and the inven¬
tive brain cold, yet bigotry must have its revenge. Eccle¬
siastical sepulture was refused the comedian’s remains by
Harlai, Archbishop of Paris, a man who, after a life of licen¬
tiousness, himself died of debauchery. How could the dust
of a poor comedian, who wore out his life in the cause of
truth and virtue, find respect at the hands of such a Tar¬
tuffe as this? Yet such is a specimen of Moliere’s most
malignant foes. The interdict was revoked, however, by
the private orders of the king, after tearful importunities
on the part of Moliere’s poor unfortunate widow, who, for¬
getful of all her follies now, tried to atone, by her sorrow¬
ing anxiety for the honour of the dead, for the many wrongs
she had done the living. It was nevertheless with great
difficulty that the remains of one of the truest men France
had known were ultimately got interred in the cemetery
of Saint Joseph. Of Moliere’s three children, only one, a
daughter, born in 1665, survived him. She eloped with a
widower twelve years after her father’s death, and died
without issue in 1723.
We know nothing respecting the character of Moliere
that is not greatly to his honour; and those who have
been loudest in their censures of the poet have failed to
find a flaw in the character of the man. Numerous anec¬
dotes of unquestionable authenticity abundantly prove him
to have been an honest, generous, true-hearted man. He
seems to have had a genuine love of truth, an utter scorn
of whatever was false or mean, a genial, kindly nature,
and a heart full of unostentatious benevolence. Baron, a
distinguished pupil of Moliere’s, requested on one occasion
some pecuniary aid from his master on behalf of an unfor¬
tunate actor whom Moliere had knowm in the provinces.
“ How much does he want ?” asks Moliere. “ Four pistoles,”
was the reply. “ Here they are,” says Moliere, “ and twenty
besides, that I wish you to give him; for I want him to
feel it is to you he owes his relief.” Witness also his cling¬
ing to his craft lest his retirement should damage his troupe,
317
when the Academy proposed to receive him on condition of Moliere.
his dropping the title of “ actor.” His well-known practice
of reading his pieces while in manuscript to his shrewd old
housekeeper, Laforet, affords an admirable illustration of
the amiable simplicity of his character. That he con¬
tinued this custom so scrupulously, from the mere desire
of trying the effect of his compositions on the good dame,
is not at all likely. The success of his profession
placed him in a position of comparative opulence, and he
was indefatigable in his acts of charity. He did not
only rest satisfied with aiding the importunate ; he is said
to have quietly sought out objects for his liberality among
needy sufferers of the humblest rank. No change of for¬
tune could alter the original simplicity of his character.
The king treated him constantly with respect, and even
with familiarity; and not a few of the haughty noblemen of
the court, forgetting the accidents of birth in the presence
of genius, diligently sought his society. Yet amid all these
flattering marks of distinction, Moliere preserved the native
purity of his heart and the simplicity of his manners. His
hours of leisure he enjoyed in the society of the most dis¬
tinguished literary men of the age; and he counted among
his friends La Fontaine, Boileau, Chapelle, and Racine.
In society he was very reserved, being characterized by a
thoughtful modesty, which gained for him the sobriquet of
“ The Contemplator.”
The most distinguished critics among Moliere’s country¬
men have been unanimous in assigning him the highest
place among the comic authors of France; and Voltaire
does not hesitate to pronounce him the most eminent writer
of comedy of any age or country. This judgment the ma¬
jority of English critics have also learned to indorse; and
even with the extraordinary comic powers of Shakspeare
before them, feel it their duty to vindicate for Moliere the
very highest place of any who has ever distinguished him¬
self in this department of literature. The comic scenes of
the great English dramatist are introduced more to relieve
the severity of his tragedy, than with the view to make
comedy his ultimate aim; and even in the Merry Wives
of Windsor, his nearest approach to a regular comedy, he
rises at times, by the uncontrollable soaring of his genius,
into a region of poetry entirely beyond that sphere where
vice is satirized and folly rendered ridiculous. Moliere,
again, hardly ever introduces a single piece of poetical
imagery to ornament his dramas. He wrote constantly to
the understanding, and not to the imagination. You search
in vain almost for any touch of the sublime in his compo¬
sitions; and even when he becomes serious, he seldom
parts company with the hardest common sense. Yet there
is no comic author who has depicted character as Moliere
has done,—keeping steadily fixed before him the grand end
of his art. His observation was so penetrating, and his
glance so keen, that no veil could hide vice from his de¬
tection, or cover the foibles of men from the fire of his wit.
His insight into human nature is powerful and penetrat¬
ing ; his delineations are characterized by great truth and
simplicity; and his language stands unrivalled for force
and naivete. The scenes from which Moliere painted
represent follies of a former date; yet so profound was his
knowledge of the human heart, that while apparently ridi¬
culing an accidental folly, or branding a particular vice, he
was at the same time steadily directing his satire against
those outstanding follies and vices which are peculiar to
man at all times and in all places. And here Moliere ceases
to be merely the comic writer of France. His works, like
those of all men of true genius, become the property of
universal humanity. His comic power was of the very
highest order, and his wit of the purest kind; his laughter
is always hearty, and his pleasantry always innocent. In
exposing the more serious forms of vice, his satire occa¬
sionally assumes a gravity almost too staid for the ordinary
318 MOL
Mohua. notions of comedy; for virtue, with Moliere, never ceases
to be sacred, and the keenest shafts of his satire are directed
against its enemies. His verses, while remarkable for free¬
dom and fluency, are said to have been polished with great
care. He has been charged with deficiency in the de¬
velopment of his plots; with not only precipitating the e?e-
nouement, but with bringing it about without a sufficient
regard to probability. It must be admitted that Moliere
always takes greater interest in the unfolding of character
than in following out the complicities of intrigue. Situa¬
tion and incident seem always to have held a subordinate
place in his estimation. His most striking situations were
not his own ; yet he compensated by originality of execu-
^ tion for what he had borrowed in design. It signified
very little to Moliere what was the mere form which his
drama assumed; his unrivalled power in portraying individual
character, and his genuine comic genius, won for him suc¬
cess alike in regular comedy and in comedie-ballet. There
is perhaps no instance on record in which such a constant
and determined warfare against vice and folly was sustained
by means of wit and satire alone, without any assistance either
from sublimity or pathos. Moliere was a genuine reformer;
and the author of Tartuffe and the author of the Lettres
dun Provincial take their places together as the two most
valiant defenders of the truth during the seventeenth cen¬
tury in France.
Of the numerous editions of Moliere’s works which have
been published, the following are the most valuable :—That
of Lagrange and Vinot, Paris, 1682, in 8 vols. 12mo, and
that of Didot, Paris, 4 vols. 8vo (edition Lefevre), 1854,'
with notes, historical and critical, and life by Lagrange, who
was an actor in Moliere’s troupe. A complete translation
of the comedies of Moliere, printed with the original French,
by James Miller and Henry Baker, appeared about 1750.
For the most valuable information respecting the life and
works of Moliere, see Vie de Moliere, par M. Tascherau,
new edition, Paris, 1854; Notes Historiques sur la Vie de
Moliere, par M. Bazin, Paris, 1851 ; also an able essay
on The Life and Genius of Mohere in the Cambridge Es¬
says for 1855, by Mr C. K. Watson. (j. d—s.)
MOLINA, Louis, the founder of the sect of the Moli-
nists, was born at Cuenca in New Castile in 1535. At
the age of eighteen he entered the Order of Jesus. He
then studed at Coimbra, and w^as subsequently appointed to
a theological chair at the Portuguese university of Evora.
During twenty years he taught there with great success,
and acquired some reputation for the lively and subtle inge¬
nuity which he displayed in his commentaries on Thomas
Aquinas, and his treatise De Justitia et Jure. But the
work which especially rendered him famous was his De
Concordia Gratice et Liberi Arbitrii, folio, Lisbon, 1588.
It is an attempt to show, by a method somewhat new, how
the doctrines of predestination and grace are consistent
with free will. Assuming that man is free to perform or
not to perform any action whatever,—that, in fact, he really
works out his own destiny,—Molina yet affirms that this cir¬
cumstance renders the bestowal of the grace of God neither
impossible nor unnecessary. It does not render it impos¬
sible, for God never fails to bestow grace upon those who
ask it with sincerity. It does not render it unnecessary,
for grace, although not an efficient, is still a sufficient cause
of salvation. Nor does it preclude the possibility of pre¬
destination. The omniscient God, by means of his scientia
media, or power of knowing future contingent events, fore¬
sees how we shall employ our own free will and treat his
proffered grace. Therefore, upon this foreknowledge, he
can found his predestinating decrees. Such doctrines as
MOL
these brought upon their author the attacks of the Domini- Molinos
cans, who were the faithful followers of Thomas Aquinas.
The Jesuits came to the defence of one of their own order. Mo11-
A hot war of theses then ensued, which speedily excited
Spain into a ferment, and forced Clement VIII. in 1594
to impose silence upon the clamorous combatants. But
the orthodox fury of the Dominicans refused to be calmed.
They insisted that the grand inquisitor Cardinal de Quiroga,
Philip II. of Spain, and the pope, should each interpose
his authority to check this revival of Pelagian heresies.
At length in 1598 Clement referred the dispute to a coun¬
cil consisting of a presiding cardinal, three bishops, and
seven theologians of different fraternities. For several
years this court continued to hold its meetings, which, as
they bore reference to the aids of grace, were called Con-
gregationes de Auxiliis. Its decision was given in 1601 in
favour of the Dominicans. Clement therefore prepared to
pass a sentence of condemnation against the Molinists ; but
the Jesuits prevented him, and induced him in 1602 to
summon a council under his own presidency for the recon¬
sideration of the dispute. This council was interrupted in
its deliberations by the death of Clement in 1605. It re¬
sumed its sittings, however, under the following pope, Paul
V., and continued to deliberate until the controversy was,
by common consent, left undecided. Meanwhile Molina
had died at Madrid in 1600. The dispute between his
followers and the Dominicans was afterwards merged in the
great controversy between the Jesuits and the Jansenists.
MOLINOS. See Mysticism.
MOLISE, or Sannio, a province of Naples, bounded on
die N. by Abruzzo Citra, E. by Capitanata, S. by Princi-
pato Ultra, and W. by Terra di Lavoro ; having an average
length of 55 miles, a breadth of 40 miles, and an area of 1783
square miles. The province is situated on the E. slope of
the Apennines, the main ridge of which traverses it from
N.W. to S.E., and sends off’ several branches in a north¬
easterly direction. The surface is thus for the most part
rugged and mountainous; but the valleys and the lower
parts of the hills are fertile, though ill cultivated; and the
higher regions afford excellent pasturage. The principal
rivers of the province are the Trigno, the Biferno, and the
Fortore, all of which flow from the Apennines to the
Adriatic. The chief productions of the province are,—
maize and other sorts of corn, pulse, rice, oil, wine, and
fruits. Sheep, goats, swine, and a small number of horned
cattle are reared; but the breeds are inferior. Bees are
also reared in large quantities. The most important manu¬
factures of the province are those of cutlery and firearms;
the principal seats of which are Campobasso, Frosolone,
Lucito, and Agnone. The inhabitants are for the most
part sunk in poverty; and thefts and murders are more
common here than in most other parts of Italy. The pro¬
vince of Molise corresponds to the lands of Larinum, of the
Caraceni, and of the Pentri, in ancient times. It is now
divided into three districts,—Campobasso, Isernia, and
Larino, comprehending 33 arrondissements and 136 com¬
munes. Pop. (1854) 376,750.
MOLITERNO, a town of Naples, province of Basili¬
cata, situated on the E. slope of the main ridge of the Apen¬
nines, near the source of the Agri, 10 miles N.N.E. of
Lagonegro. Pop. 5000.
MOLL, a town of Belgium, province of Antwerp, on the
right bank of the Moll-Nethe, 31 miles E. of Antwerp.
The town contains several churches and schools, an hos¬
pital, and a prison. The principal manufactures carried on
are,—brewing, distilling, dyeing, and the making of woollen
stuffs, hats, leather, tobacco, and bricks. Pop. 4770.
319
M 0 L L U S C A.
Introduc- Of the Primary Division, or Province, of the Animal
uon. Kingdom, which is the subject of the present Article,
Aristotle first defined certain members, under the name
“ Malakia,” of which “ Mollusca” is a rude Latin equiva¬
lent.
The great and peculiar merit of the system of Cuvier, as
exemplified in the Regne Animal, and especially in the last
edition (1830) which came from the hands of the illustrious
author, is the determination of the characters and boundaries
of the molluscous province by investigations of the entire
animals.1
Most Mollusks are protected by a shell, and the shells
had monopolized the attention of most preceding classifiers.
After Cuvier, “ Conchology” sank to its proper position as
an artificial system and a subordinate department of “ Mala¬
cology.” By Malacology is meant the science of the
“ Malakia,” Mollusca, or Mollusks; as “ Ichthyology ” is
that of the Pisces, or Fishes. We now, in English speak of
“a mollusk”and of “mollusks,” as the French of “mol-
lusque ” and “ mollusques.” Subsequent advances in the
knowledge of Mollusca have been made chiefly by pursuing
the anatomical methods of Cuvier, and by applying them,
not only to the last or fully developed stage of the indivi¬
dual, but to the previous stages of its development, from
the egg onwards. These embryological investigations have
required the use of the microscope; and Malacology, like
other branches of natural history, has benefited by the
application of the higher powers of that instrument to the
investigation of both the minute embryos and of the com¬
ponent tissues of the organs of the Mollusks.
Thefirst important improvementin the characters andcon-
stitution of the province or sub-kingdom of Mollusca, as de¬
fined by Cuvier in 17942 and 1817,3 was the elimination there¬
from of the order Cirripedia. In 1819 Straus Durckheim,
in a memoir on the Structure and Affinities of an Entomostra-
cous Crustacean (Daphnia), published in the fifth volume
of the Memoires du Museum, compared in detail the organ¬
ization of a Cirriped (Pentelasmis') with that of an Ento-
mostracan {Limnadici), and pointed out their close affinity ;
which affinity was, two years after, insisted upon and illus¬
trated by the correspondences of structure between Pente-
lasmis and Daphnia, by Mr W. S. Macleay, in his Horce
Entomologiccc, part i., p. 308. Dr Gray accordingly
omitted the Cirripedia from the “Systematic Arrangement
of the Mollusca,” which he published in the London Medi¬
cal Repository, vol. xv., 1821, p. 229. But the capital
discovery, proving the plan of structure and the essential
nature of the Cirripedia to be “ articulate,” not “ mollus¬
cous,” was made by Mr J. V.Thompson,and was published
in 1830 in the third part of his Zoological Researches.
His observations were made on the larvae of a small sessile
barnacle (Balanus pusillus), which he showed to undergo
a very remarkable metamorphosis. He captured their larvae
in a fine towing net, as they swam freely in the guise of a
small Crustacean furnished with a flexible shell composed
of two valves like those of Daphnia. Being preserved alive
in a vessel of sea-water, these larvae cast off their bivalve
shell, attached themselves to the bottom of the vessel, and Introduc-
became transformed into the Ralanus pusillus of Pennant. tl0n'
Whilst the young animal possesses the natatory limbs and
the power of locomotion, it has a pair of compound eyes,
which gradually become obliterated, as in the case of the
crustaceous Cymothoe, in the final transmutation to a fixed
and sessile state. Other phenomena detailed by Mr Thomp¬
son left no doubt that the homogangliate type of the nervous
system of the Cirripedia, first made known by Cuvier,4 most
truly indicated the primary group or province of the animal
kingdom to which that singular class of shell-clad animals
belonged.
Burmeister, who corroborated the discovery of Thomp¬
son, formally proposed, in his wTork on the Cirripeds, pub¬
lished in 1834, to transfer them to the Articulate pro¬
vince, and to place them as a particular tribe in the class
Crustacea.
De Blainville had indeed included the Cirripeds with
the Chitons in a distinct sub-class called “ Malentozoaires,”
under which name they are described, as the order Nema-
topodes, in the work on Mollusca called Malacologie, which
was published as such in 1825. But the obvious want of
anatomical knowledge, or indifference to evidence from
organization, which the association of the Cirripeds with the
multivalve Gastropods displayed, prevents the attachment
of any importance to the innovating ideas and sweeping
changes of malacological nomenclature proposed by this
naturalist.
For the same reason, no influence on the modification of
molluscous classification was exercised by the suppression
of Cuvier’s order Pteropoda, and the intercalation of the
genera of that order between Helix and Fissurella amongst
the Gastropods of Cuvier, in the Manuel de la Malaco¬
logie of 1825 above cited. Even as late as 1837 Professor
Milne Edwards, in his Elemens de Zoologie, adopts the
constitution and relative position of the Pteropoda assigned
to them by Cuvier in the last edition of the Regne Animal;
and their position is preserved unchanged in the second
volume of the Zoologie de la Bonite, published by M. Sou-
leyetin 1852.
But before noticing the chief modifications of the Cuvier-
ian system in reference to minor groups within the limits of
the Molluscous province, it may be remarked, with refer¬
ence to those limits, that had Cuvier placed due reliance on
the character of the nervous system which had previously
guided him in his primary arrangement of the animal king¬
dom, he might have been led by his discovery, in 1815, of
the homogangliate type of that system, in both sessile and
pedunculate barnacles, to the reform subsequently worked
out by Straus Durckheim and others.
The modification of two of Cuvier’s provinces by the
subtraction of the class Cirripedia from one, and the addi¬
tion of these soft inarticulate conchiferous animals to the
other, induced Professor Owen, in the Synopsis of his course
of Lectures delivered at St Bartholomew’s Hospital, and
published in 1835, to propose the term Heterogangliata for
the so-curtailed Mollusca, and Homogangliata for the pro-
1 See Memoires pour servir d I'Histoire et d VAnatomie des Mollusques, 4to, 1817; a volume which consists of a series of papers pub¬
lished chiefly in the Annales and Memoires du Museum d'Histoire Naturelle, from the year 1792 to the date of their collection into that
volume.
2 “ Seconde memoire sur 1'organisation et les rapports des animaux a sang blanc, dans lequel on traite de la structure des Mollusques et
de leur division en ordres” (Magasine Encydoptdique, t. ii., an. iii. (1794).
3 Le Regne Animal distribue d’apres son organisation, 8vo, 1817.
* “ Memoire sur les Animaux des Anatifes et des Balanes, et sur leur Anatomie” (Memoires du Museum, tom. ii., 1815).
320
MOLLUSC A.
Characters
of the Mol¬
luscs.
portionally expanded Articulata,—terms expressive of the
leading modifications of the nervous system characterizing
those provinces respectively. The term Mollusca is used
in the present article, as by most recent authors, in the sense
of the Heterogangliata as above defined.
The Mollusca are here meant to include the animals
with one ganglion or more below the entry to the alimen¬
tary canal, whence nervous chords radiate to form a collar
round that entry, and to supply other organs of the body;
nervous ganglions being superadded, as the species ascend
in complexity of structure, above the gullet, representing a
brain, and in different parts of the body, but commonly
in a more or less scattered or unsymmetrical manner, and
never along a pair of symmetrical sub-abdominal median
chords.
In the highest molluscous class (Cephalopods) muscles may
originate from an internal cartilage ; in other Mollusks they
are attached to the skin or to the shell which may be de¬
veloped in that otherwise soft substance. The shell is
hardened chiefly by carbonate of lime, and consists either
of one piece or two pieces, called “valvesrarely of more
than two, or with accessory parts. The blood is colourless,
or not red; the heart is distinct, muscular, and propels the
blood through a system of arteries and veins, the latter
having more or less the form of irregular sinuses or lacunas.
The respiratory cavity, with the exception of one family
(Ascidians, which therefore ought rather to be transferred
to the molluscoid Zoophytes), receives or opens near the
anus. The intestine is usually bent or reflected forward
to effect that relation. The Mollusca may be either'
dioecious or hermaphrodite. The molluscoid Zoophytes
are parthenogenetic.
The foregoing characters of the Molluscous province are
natural, if the Ascidians and ascidioid Polypes are excluded.
Admitting these as the lowest confines of the province, its
definition must be qualified by large exceptions.
Boundaries Cuvier, in publishing the collected results of his anatomi-
fusca*3 Mo1* cal investigations of the Mollusca, remarks in the preface
“ Here may be seen to what point some among them ap¬
proach the vertebrate animals, and one may convince him¬
self that it is no longer possible to leave them, as Linneeus
did, in the lowest class of the animal kingdom confounded
with the tentaculiferous Polypes and other as simple
Zoophytes.”1
Savigny2 was the first to show that such linking on of
the molluscous to the polype type of structure was not so
impossible in nature ; this he did by his discovery of the
organization of the compound Ascidians which had pre¬
viously been classed with Zoophytes.
Audouin and Milne Edwards,3 Ehrenberg,4 Thompson,5
and Arthur Farre,6—the last-named author more especially,
—have demonstrated the resemblances in organization be¬
tween the compound Polypes with ciliated tentacles and the
compound Ascidians.
These results of anatomical investigation, carried out into
forms of a lower grade than the Mollusks dissected by
Cuvier, together with subsequent embryological observa¬
tions demonstrating certain developmental characters which
the nudibrachiate and ciliobrachiate Polypes have in common Introduc-
with the Ascidians and higher Mollusks, have led some mo- tion.
dern naturalists to return to the Linnsean views of classifi-
cation, and to group together, for example, under the term
‘ Allovitelhens ” the Mollusca and Radiata of Cuvier.7
The truth is, that with regard to any great primary group
of animals, as with a tree, it is much more easy to define
the summit than the base; nay, although the labour in
quest of the beginning be like that of following out all
the hidden ramifications of the tree’s root, it will fail to
end in as definite results, and the lower boundary of the
Mollusca, as of the Articidata, must still be defined by an
arbitrary line. J
One has no difficulty in regard to the highly organized
Cephalopods, in concluding that we have reached the top¬
most branches of the molluscous tree. We cannot con¬
nect them with the Sagitta or Amphioxus, nor glide on
from them to any low embryonoid form of vertebrate life •
but, in descending from the cephalopodous summit we are
led, through the Nautilus, the siphonated Univalves, and the
naked Gastropods, to minute forms of the latter in which
all traces of shell, of foot, of liver, and of gills, have dis¬
appeared, and in which the alimentary canal, dispersing
ramifications throughout the body, combines digestive, hepa¬
tic, and excretory functions, as in some Entozoa (fig. 1, e, c),
Fig.l. Fig. 2.
Fasciola gigantea. Calliopea Souleyetii.
and in some fresh-water worms, with a ventral disc d, called
PlanaruB, to which the marine Apneusta (fig. 2) are more
closely allied than to any of the Pteropodous, Lamellibran-
chiate, Palliobranchiate, or Tunicate types of the Mollusca.
1 hus one of the roots of the Mollusca appears to be lost
in the Furbellarian and Trematode families of Abranchiate
Vermes.
I he Brachiopoda, by the more intimate organic union
of their shell and mantle, and by their ciliated, fringed,
de1les°iai«Jrr^^!iei1>POinft T S® raPProcllent des animaux vertebres, et Ton se convaincra qu’il n’est plus possible
T)hvtos ^1 fl J L™us’ dans la dermere classe du regne animal, confondu avec les polypes^ bras et d'autres zoo-
pnytes aussi simples. (Histotre des Mollusques, &c., 4to, 1817, Avertissement, p. v.) * ^
1816-l^°*re SUr ^6S ^nimaux Composes {Mem. de l Acad, des Sciences, Paris, 1817); Memoires sur les Animaux sans Vertebres, 8vo,
' Rapport fait a V Academie des Sciences, Paris; and Annales des Sciences Naturelles 1828
4 Symbols Physicce, 1828-1831 {Bryozoa). ’
6 “ animal discovered as an inhabitant of some Zoophytes,” in Zoological Researches, 1830.
7 “ II nous semhl? W,lnU St^ucTture f Ciliobrachiate Polypes” {Philosophical Transactions, 1847).
“ Chez les vers de T innZ "I'r*011- ® ^nee est encore la plus naturelle. Elle est en effet le plus en harmonie avec le developpement.”
’ tni °rer. a„f““ l<,! “?1Iu!'!ues et le* le Vitdlus m reMre par le do. ni par le ventre f on pour-
des Echinodermes &c ” fVnn\? °vitelhens ou Allocotyledones. Les Allomtelhens comprennent la classe des Mollusques, des Polypes,
ues nicninoaermes, &c. (Van Beneden, Embryogenie des Bryozoaires, 4to, 1845, p. 7.) ^ ’ n ’
MOLLUSC A.
321
Introduc- bent or spiral arms, compared by Siebold to those of Alcyo-
tion. nella, conduct to certain forms of Bryozoa, to which they
are more closely allied than is the Salpa or Ascidia. The
progress to the latter form of Mollusk may be traced up¬
wards as follows:—
Amongst the varied forms of microscopic beings called In¬
fusoria and Polygas-
tria is one (fig. 3, A)
shaped like a bell, at¬
tached by a contractile
apical peduncle to a
foreign body, with the
base of the body pro¬
vided with vibratile
cilia, effecting the re¬
spiratory currents of
the surrounding water,
and drawing the food
towards the mouth,
which, with the vent,
open upon the same cili¬
ated extremity of the
body. The ciliated
border is retractile.
This organism propa¬
gates, among other
modes, by buds (fig. 3,
B), which become de- Fig 3i
tached, and for a time ' Vorticella convailaria.
swim freely as “ ciliated gemmules (fig. 3, C).
In another minute aquatic organism, with a similar form
and pedunculate attachment (fig. 4), there is a certain
rig. i.
Pcdicellina.
advance in development, with concomitant distinction of
parts. The vibratile cilia are supported on tentacular pro¬
longations g of the free base of the bell-shaped body A.
The cavity cd receiving and acting on the food, is now
distinct from the proper walls of the body, and can be
traced, as a canal, extending from the mouth c to the vent
d, both of which, however, open, as in the Vorticella, within
the ciliated circle. The contractile fibres m, which re¬
tract the ciliated borders, are manifest.
The organisms showing this advance of structure are
called Bryozoa and “ ciliobrachiate Polypes.” They pro¬
pagate by buds B, and by free-swimming ciliated gemmules Introduc-
C. The generic form here illustrated is called Pedicel- tl0n-
Una (fig. 4).
A third type, or what, in regard to general development,
might be called a third stage (fig. 5), is manifested by a
Vig-S.
Perophora Listen.
group of small aquatic animals called Ascidians, for the
most part compound, and in some species pedunculate, as
in the two preceding stages; the peduncle being attached
to the apex or end of the body opposite to that on which the
mouth and vent open. But in the present more advanced
type the walls of the body are so developed as to surround
separately the oral (g) and anal (/) apertures; rudiments of
ciliated tentacles g' are confined to the oral inlet, and the
cilia, which answer in function to those of Pedicellina and
Vorticella, are developed from a capacious sac cc, with
transverse rows of holes, at the lower part of which the
alimentary canal begins; this canal d returns upon itself,
as in the former more simple types, and terminates at k,
below the anal aperture of the body/. A rythmically con¬
tracting or pulsating body exists in all the three grades of
structure above cited. In the Ascidian type the heart n
manifestly circulates a nutritive fluid through two channels,
marked by arrows in fig. 5, which convey it in opposite
directions along the stem, which thus organically unites
the different individuals supported by its branches.
The Ascidians propagate by buds {B) and by eggs, the
latter excluding free-swimming larvae C, shaped like the
tadpole of the frog. This well-marked developmental dis¬
tinction has not received from some naturalists the impor¬
tance it merits in the question of associating the Bryozoa
with the Tunicata.
As to their relations to the true Mollusca, some classi¬
fiers draw the line between the first and second steps of
development; others between the second and third. One
physiologist1 assigns developmental or embryonic facts
in support of an incorporation of all Zoophytes with the
Mollusca; another physiologist2 would associate the rhizo-
branchiate and ciliobranchiate Acalephce with the Salpse
and other acephalous Mollusca. The philosopher who
may, in the range of his studies of animated nature, in¬
clude the highest phenomena of life—the psychical—•
will be apt to believe that the systematist who is really
least qualified will denounce most dogmatically every par
tition which does not tally with his own notions of''the
proper boundary line.
It is here proposed to submit that the Mollusca, for the
1 Van Beneden, loc. cit.
VOL. XV.
8 De Blainville, Considerations sur les Animaux et leur Classification, 8vo, 1840, p. 31.
2 S
MOLLUSC A.
ends of definition and description, should be understood to
commence, in the ascending order, with those forms in
which the respiratory organs or cavity are in relation rather
with the vent than with the mouth. The oral relation with
the ciliated or tentaculiferous circle prevails from the Vor-
ticella and Hydra to the Ascidia and Terebratula inclu¬
sive ; but the bend of the intestine in Discina and Lin¬
gula indicates the tendency to the usual molluscous rela¬
tion of the vent in the Brachiopoda.
In deference, however, to the expectation of most readers,
and with the conviction, when the progressive series of de¬
velopments to different modifications of the molluscous type
have been traced and illustrated, of the essential unimport¬
ance and artificiality of any line defining the lower bound¬
aries of the heterogangliate province, the present article
will include, with the anal-breathing classes, the Tunicata and
Brachiopoda, although these are rather “ Molluscoid ” than
Mollusca.
Classes. Having premised so much as to the definition and extent
fions of" t^1e mo^uscous or heterogangliate province, the sub-
Mollusca. iect its partitions, and of their relative value in the scale
of organization, is next in order.
In tracing the progressive complication of animal struc¬
tures from the simplest forms, we soon find ourselves tra¬
velling along two distinct routes, the additional complexi¬
ties adjusting themselves according to two general types
of organization, which are, however, so gradually assumed,
that the lower boundary must in both cases be arbitrarily
defined.
In the great province of the Articulata the advance of
structure is most conspicuous in the organs peculiar to ani¬
mal life, and is manifested in the powers of locomotion, and
in the instincts which are so various and wonderful in the
insect class.
In the Mollusca the developmental energies seem to have
been expended chiefly in the perfection of the vegetal series
of organs, or those concerned in the immediate preservation
of the individual and the species.
The Mollusca are so called on account of the soft un¬
jointed nature of their external integument. The scattered
centres of the nervous system, disposed according to the
heterogangliate type of that dominant system of organs, is
often accompanied with an unsymmetrical form of the entire
body, which, in compensation for the low condition of the
perceptive energies, is protected in most of the species by
one or more dense calcareous plates, called shells.
All true Mollusca have a complete alimentary canal, with
*nouth, stomach, intestine, and vent; and they are provided
with circulating and respiratory organs.
In a large proportion of the lower organized Mollusca
there is no head and no brain or superoesophageal gan¬
glion. The inlet for the food is simply a pharynx, or be¬
ginning of the oesophagus, without jaws, tongue, or mouth,
properly so called. All other Mollusca are provided with
a head, which generally supports feelers, or soft tentacula,
eyes, and a mouth armed with parts for mechanically ope¬
rating on the food.
I he molluscous province may thus be primarily divided
into Acephala and Encephala.
The Acephalous Mollusca are all aquatic, and are divided
into classes according to the modifications of their integu¬
ment, or of their gills.
I he Tumcata are those which are inclosed by an elastic
cellulose uncalcified integument. They breathe either by
a vascular ciliated pharyngeal sac, or by a riband-shaped
gul stretched across the common visceral cavity. John
unter, who had anatomized the typical forms of this
class, and had recognised the homology of their flexible Introduc-
case to the shells of the bivalves, to which Mollusks he saw d°n*
that Banks’s “ Dagyza,” and the “ squirters ” of our own v'—
shores, were most nearly allied, grouped together the Salpce
and Ascidue, as they are now called, into a natural family,
which he termed “ Soft-shelled.”1 This family is the same
as that afterwards described and called “ shell-lessHec/J/Wa”
by Cuvier, and Tunicata by Lamarck. All the other Ace¬
phala have a bivalve shell.
The Brachiopoda have two long spiral arms developed
from the sides of the mouth, and respire chiefly by means
of their vascular integument or “ mantle.” One valve of
the shell is applied to the back, and the other to the belly,
of the animal, which is attached by its shell, or by a pedicle,
to some foreign body.
The Lamcllibranchiata arebivalve conchiferousMollusks,
which respire by gills in the form of vascular plates of
membrane attached to the inner surface of the mantle.
One valve is applied to the right side, the other to the left
side, of the animal. The common oyster and mussel are
examples of this best-known class of Acephalous Mollusks.
The Encephalous Mollusca are divided into classes accord¬
ing to the modifications of the locomotive organs.
The Pteropoda swim by two wing-like muscular expan¬
sions, extended outwards from the sides of the fore part of
the body.
The Gasteropoda creep by means of a muscular disc
attached to a greater or less extent of the under part of
the body.
The Cephalopoda have all or part of their locomotive
organs attached to the head, whence they radiate in the
form of muscular arms or tentacula.
In the last class only do we find, in the present series of
animals, an internal skeleton, combined in some with a shell.
In the rest of the Mollusca the hard parts, where present,
are external. But the integument in certain species of the
Encephalous classes, and in most of the Cephalopoda, is un¬
calcified and flexible.
The chief modification of the Cuvierian system, in re¬
gard to the sequence or relative position of the classes of
the Mollusca, has been made in the Encephalous division,
and consists in the transference of the Pteropoda from
above to below the Gasteropoda.
The grounds for this change, which, as already shown,
was not accepted up to 1852, rest mainly upon a de¬
monstrated nearer affinity of structure of the Cephalopods to
the Gastropods, and on the resemblance of the mature form
of the Pteropods to the larval stage of certain Gastropods.
The first step in the work requisite to establish the ne¬
cessity of this innovation upon the Cuvierian system will
be found in the following passage from Owen’s Memoir
on the Pearly Nautilus .*2—
“ The interesting character which the Nautilus sustains
as an osculant form between Cephalopoda and Gasteropoda,
will perhaps be considered to have been sufficiently mani¬
fested by the instances of affinities already cited ; but it is
rendered still more evident on a consideration of the
nervous system. The forms, proportions, and disposition
of the principal masses of this system appeared, indeed,
at first sight to recede so far from the type of the higher
Cephalopods as to have rendered it necessary, in the de¬
scription, to refer to a Gasteropodous genus in illustration
of it. The essential difference, however, as has already
been shown, consists in the simpler condition of the cen¬
tral mass; the source of volition being thus in harmony
with the diminished energies of the muscular, and the con¬
tracted sphere of the sensitive system.
“ The differences in the distribution of the principal
See the MS. quoted in Owen s Catalogue of the Physiological Series of the Hunterian Museum, 4to, vol. i., 1832, p. 266.
a 4to, 1832, p. 60. >>>>*-
MOLL
Introduc- nerves are not less important in a physiological point of
tion. view. In the Cephalopods, whose shells are rudimentary
and internal, and whose bodies are enveloped in a naked,
and, as we must suppose, sensible mantle, the nerves which
supply that part radiate from a ganglion, which, as in the
posterior roots of the spinal nerves in the Vertebrata, is in¬
terposed on the cord which brings them in communication
with the central mass. In Nautilus, on the contrary, whose
body is incased in an insensible calcareous covering, the
analogous nerves are wholly expended on the largely-de¬
veloped muscles which attach the shell to the body; and
these nerves, like the motor filaments of the spinal nerves,
pass into the muscles directly from the brain without the
interposition of any such ganglion.
“ The inferiority of the more intellectual senses, sight
and hearing, is in correspondence with the simplicity of the
brain; and in receding from the higher Cephalopods in
the structure of the eye, it inclines more directly towards
the Gastropods, numerous genera of which, and especially
the Pectinibranchiata of Cuvier, present examples of this
organ analogous in simplicity of structure, and in a pedi¬
cellate mode of support and attachment to the head. As
the pearly nautilus, like the latter group of Mollusks, is
also attached to a heavy shell, and participates with them
in the deprivation of the locomotive instruments of the
Cephalopods, ve may thence deduce the more immediate
principle of their reciprocal inferiority with respect to the
visual organ; for what would it avail an animal to discern
distant objects which could neither overtake them if neces¬
sary for food, nor avoid them if inimical to its existence ?
“ As the spheres of vision and of action, however, are
thus limited, the power of taking cognisance of proximate
objects is proportionably augmented, and the organs of the
simpler sense of touch are more amply developed. In the
numerous and singularly-disposed tentacles of Nautilus,
we have also examples of a recurrence of structures here¬
tofore unknown among the Cephalopods, and whose ana¬
logues are to be sought for in inferior groups. And here
again, as in the case of the eye, after searching in vain
among the Pteropodous genera, we are compelled to admit
the claims of the Gastropods to a closer alliance with the
highly organized class whose affinities the pearly nautilus
has tended so materially to elucidate. Thus Doris, Tetkys,
and Tritonia each present examples of sheathed and re¬
tractile tentacula ; and in the former of these genera they
have the same peculiar structure as is displayed in the
ophthalmic tentacles of Nautilus? (See Cuvier, Mem.
sur le Doris, p. 12, pi, 2, fig. 1.)
“On a consideration of the generative system, it will
appear that, as far as regards the female, the pearly nautilus
does not recede materially from the Cephalopodic type ; and
it may be remarked that the Pectinibranchiata, in their
dioecious mode of generation, approximate closer to Nau¬
tilus than the other Gasteropoda, and present a similar
laminated glandular organ in the branchial cavity, whose
office is supposed to be to secrete the receptacles of the
ova after they are expelled.
“ The retractile tentacles of Clio are constructed on a
plan very difi’erent from those of Nautilus. The consi¬
deration, indeed, on which the Pteropoda have been placed
in the Regne Animal next in order after the Cephalopoda,
and preceding the Gasteropoda, appear to be slighter than
have usually influenced the immortal author of that work
in the position of his groups. Their swimming like the
former animals is a relation of analogy; whilst their in¬
feriority to some, at least, of the Gasteropodous families is
evidenced by the doubtful nature of their organ of vision,
and by their hermaphroditical mode of generation.”
U S C A. 323
Influenced by these views, the author of the work above Introduc-
cited placed the Pteropoda below the Gasteropoda in the tion-
Synopsis of his Lecture on Comparative Anatomy, pub-
lished in 1835. The Pteropoda have the same position in
the two editions (8vo, 1843 and 1855) of his Lectures on
Invertebrate Animals.
Mr Woodward has adopted the same sequence of the
classes of encephalous Mollusca in his Excellent, compre¬
hensive, and accurate Manual of the Mollusca, 8vo, 1851-
1856 ; and it has received the sanction of Professor Van der
Hcever. in his Handbook of Zoology, second edition, 1855.
Thus the position originally assigned by Lamarck1 to the
Pteropoda below the Gasteropoda, by which they are
separated from the Cephalopoda, is that which appears now
to be generally adopted; and it is perhaps to the genera
Bullcea and Gastropteron, and to the Firolidce, that the
different forms of this interesting group of floating Mollusks
present the closest affinity.
With regard to the subdivisions of the classes, Cuvier has
left little of importance to be proposed in the way of amend¬
ment ; but some innovations have obtained partial accept¬
ance which seem to be retrograde steps.
In the Lamellibranchiate class (the “Acephales Tes-
taces” of the Regne Animal) the extent to which the
mantle-lobes are united and developed, the number and
position of the adductor muscles, the presence and form of
the foot, are still the characters which are chiefly relied on
for distinguishing the primary groups of the class.
In the Gasteropoda, Cuvier believed that the modifica¬
tions of the respiratory organs, especially as to position and
form, best indicated the orders of the class. The absence,
however, of an articulated skeleton—internal or external-
permits the softness of the body of the Mollusk to adapt
itself to a greater diversity of undefined and unsymmetrical
shapes than is possible in the Articulata or Vertebrata ; and
hence the relative position of certain organs become changed
in a degree beyond anything observable in the primary
divisions of animals of more fixed forms. The branchiae,
which, in a vermiform Gastropod like the Doris, may project
backwards behind the heart, will be found, where the hinder
part of the body has to be lodged in the spiral whirls of a
shell, to be tilted forwards as by an act of rotation, so as to
project forwards and lie in advance of the heart; as, e.g., in
the whelk. It has been accordingly proposed to make
this really unessential character, founded on relative posi¬
tion and direction of the gills to the heart, over-ride the
more important differences in the extent and relative posi¬
tion of the gills to other parts of the body, and also the
structure of the gills themselves; and the order Prosobran-
chiata, in the system of Professor M. Edwards, includes all
those Gastropods in which the gills lie in advance of the
heart, and thus associates the whelk in the same order with
the limpet, and with such floating forms of Gastropod as
the Firola and Carinaria ; all other gill-bearing Gastropods
being “ opisthobranchiate.” But in reference to the latter
term, the student who may anatomize the species which it
is proposed to include, will find it to be in many instances
an arbitrary, if not an incorrect one. In Glaucus, for ex¬
ample, the gills are external, supported on pairs of processes
progressively diminishing in size from before backwards.
The heart is situated opposite the middle pair, consequently
behind the largest and chief pair; yet the Glaucus is
classed with the Gastropods, which have the gills behind
the heart. In Diphyllidia the heart is near the middle
of the body; the gills, commencing near the mouth,
extend along each side of the body. In all the Nudibran-
chiates with branchial tufts some of the pairs are always
in front of the heart; and in general, as far as this inde-
1 Histoire Naturelle des Animaux sans Vertebres, vol. vi., 1818. The absence of any adequate reason for the change in the position of
the Pteropoda proposed in this work caused the views of Cuvier to maintain their sway until a comparatively recent period.
324 MOLL
Introduc- finite character is concerned, the Nudibranchiata are as
v tl0n‘ J entitled to be called “ Prosobranchiates ” as “ Opistho-
branchiates.”
Some Pteropods are “ prosobranchiate many might be
termed “ opisthobranchiate but species of the same genus
—Cleodora.) e.g.—would perplex the zoologist confiding
in the ordinal character in question by their differences in
respect to it. In Hyalcea as much of the gill is in front
as behind the heart; and one pulmonary vein passes back¬
wards, the other forwards, to the auricle. The really natu¬
ral character of the group manifesting these varieties in the
relative position of heart and gill, shows the soundness of
the judgment of Cuvier in founding his orders of Cephalous
Mollusca on the more truly important characters of the
breathing organ itself. The order Prosobranchiata, in
the class Mollusca, resembles in its vague generality the
order of the class Mammalia, proposed to be founded upon
the discoid placenta.
In regard to a later attempt to generalize molluscous
characters according to the course of the alimentary
canal, there is less to be said. No care has been taken to
distinguish the bend of the intestine which follows and is
determined by the part of the body containing it, from the
bend of the tube which is independent of any bend or
production of the body of the Mollusk. And when the
anatomical facts have been too plainly adverse to the pro¬
posed classification to be overlooked, they are attempted to
be explained away. In the Pecten, the Unio, the Lutraria,
and other bivalves, the principal loop of the intestine is
open towards the dorsal aspect of the body, or that
next the hinge of the shell. But such a bend contradicts
the proposed classification on intestinal characters; the
author of which is therefore compelled to qualify that prin¬
cipal bend of the intestine as being “accidental.” The so-
called “ neural ” Mollusks associate the Polyclinum, Tere-
bratula, oyster, and Clio with the Sepia; the “ haemal ”
Mollusks link the Ascidians with the snails and whelks.
One consequence of this classification and nomenclature is
to throw doubt on, and to confuse the meaning of, the terms
“neural” and “haemal,” which are at once definite and
intelligible in regard to the Vertebraia, to elucidate the
nature of which they were devised, and to which end they
ought to be, and doubtless will be, restricted.1
Homolo- The hitherto published illustrations2 set forth as those of
gies of the the common plan of structure of the Mollusca appear to
Mollusca. bp premature ; there is at least no evidence of their being
the result of researches equivalent in number and kind to
those which have issued in the most generally accepted
views of the archetype of the Vertebrata.
The ways that have led to the present state of know¬
ledge respecting the vertebrate archetype have been mani¬
fold and painfully pursued. The inquiry commenced with
a comparison of the connections, during the phases of de¬
velopment, of particular parts in the different vertebrate
animals, with a view to determine how far the parts in one
species answered to the parts in another in the sense im¬
plied by the term “ homology.”3
The grounds for the conclusions as to these “special”
homologies have been supplied in detail where those con¬
clusions are enunciated. Upon these conclusions have
next been founded a higher series of generalizations, under
the term “general homologies;” from which have, finally,
been deduced the idea of the common plan of structure of
the vertebrate province.4
U S C A.
Where special homologies have been arrived at in the Introduc-
attempt to define the molluscous archetype, the results are tion.
expressed, according to rule, by the proposition of definite
names for the parts so deemed to be determined. Thus a
part of the visceral cavity of a Mollusk is called “ an abdo¬
men, or a ilpost-abdomen” as it is placed before or behind
the anus ;° and this definition is an essential basis of the
proposed archetype. A general reference to the results
of the investigators of molluscous development is made
as a warrant for the safety of the above proposition; but
the particular proofs are not given; and the writer of
the present article has failed to find in the authors cited,
or in nature, any evidence to warrant the expression that
“ the visceral mass is thrust out behind the anus ”6 in any
Mollusk.
1 he growth of the abdomen and intestinal canal, resulting
in different relative positions of the anus, is essentially the
same in fishes and Mollusks. The different relative posi¬
tions of germ-yolk and embryo being admitted, the pro¬
gress of development which places the vent in advance of
the visceral mass in the fish, is as little due to a “ thrusting
out” of such mass as it is in the slug, whelk, or snail.
The grounds for pronouncing the part of the abdomen in
advance of the anus in a gymnotus, to be the homologue
of the part of the abdomen in advance of the anus in an
eel, and the part of the abdomen—very considerable in
the gymnotus—behind the anus to be a distinct part, are
not appreciable by the present writer; he can as little un¬
derstand the reasons for calling this considerable part of
the abdomen a “post-abdomen,” and the answerable part
according to the contained viscera and the protective por¬
tion of the spine in another fish an “ abdomen.” The
mere varying bend of the gut, and consequent different
positions of the vent, are wholly inadequate for such a dis¬
tinction. There is nothing in the development of a Gas¬
tropod that makes the position of the anus more adequate
for a distinction between abdomen and post-abdomen than
in the fishes above cited. The really important modifica¬
tions in the development of a pulmonated Gastropod, as
compared with a Pectinibranchiate, do not effect an equiva¬
lent change in the course of the intestine. In the present
article it is held that the large cavity containing stomach,
intestine, liver, and generative glands in the Doris, is the
homologous part with the cavity containing the same vis¬
cera in the snail; just as the abdomen in a gymnotus
answers to that in an eel, although the vent is at the fore
part in the one, and at the hind part of the cavity in the
other. The arbitrary division of the great visceral cavity
of a Mollusk into “ abdomen ” and “ post-abdomen,” inas¬
much as it is called for to support the idea of the mollus¬
cous archetype here discussed, augurs as ill for the stability
of that idea as the like arbitrary assumptions by Spix and
Geoffrey did for the stability of their ideas of the vertebrate
archetype.
In the paper in the Philosophical Transactions, above
quoted, treating of the archetype of the molluscous pro¬
vince, a few other special homologies are enunciated, as, for
example, that certain of the cephalic arms—the four next
the dorsal aspect—of the cuttle-fish are homologous with
the fore-part of the foot in the snail or whelk, the remaining
four to the middle part, the superadded tentacles (which
arise internal to, and are distinct from, the ordinary arms)
to the hind part, the respiratory tube or funnel to the free
thickened border of the mantle in the whelk, and to the
Sees Professor Huxley’s paper in the Philosophical Transactions for 1853, p. 45, and in the English Encyclopaedia, art. Mollusca. The
l8.a. • °f the term “ Post-abdomen,” borrowed from “ Crustaceology,” where it has a definite meaning, but not answering to
that in which it is applied to Mollusca. a n,id. b
4 5Wenj L*ctures on the Invertebrate Animals, 8vo, 1843, pp. 374, 379.
^ tlwen> On the Archetype of the Vertebrate Skeleton, 8vo, 1848, p. 7.
Huxley, Proceedings of the Royal Society, May 27, 1852; Philosophical Transactions, 1853, p. 45.
6 Ibid., p. 46.
MOLLUSC A.
325
Introduc- wing-shaped fins, or locomotive muscular expansions in the
tion. Clio and other Pteropoda. The grounds for these special
homologies are not detailed in the paper cited: the con¬
clusions themselves are indicated in Phil. Trans., 1853,
pi. v., by the symbols pp, ms, ml, and ep, to the four parts,
as above successively enumerated.
The difficulty, not to say impossibility, of assigning ade¬
quate proofs for such homological propositions depends upon
the principle, that the general substance of a Mollusk, and
the absence of internal firm parts, influence or relate to the
development of muscular tissue according to a teleological
rather than a homological principle,—as when a part for
adhesion, a part for creeping, a part for swimming, a part
for seizing, a tube for expulsion of fluid, &c., is developed,
where wanted, agreeably with the exigencies and the sphere
of life of the species. This principle plainly guides such
developments, viewing the molluscous province generally,
more than that law of adhesion to a common pattern which
enables the anatomist to view the wing of the bird, the fin
of the whale, the fore-paw of the lion, and the hand of
man, as answerable parts,—modifications of the same “ di¬
verging appendage.”
Where grounds for determining homologies, like those
which support such generalizations in the vertebrate pro¬
vince, are wanting in the molluscous province, it is better
to abstain from speaking of parts as “homologous” until
sufficient evidence of homology can be assigned.
To call the four dorsal arms of a dibranchiate Cephalopod
“propodium,” the four ventral ones “mesopodium,” the
two tentacles “ metapodium,” the funnel “ epipodium,”
adds nothing to the true knowledge of cephalopodous struc¬
ture, but is a retrograde step, analogous to many of those
made by De Blainville, which have left only aheap of use¬
less terms, tending to encumber science, until finally swept
away into the bin of oblivion.
The figure of the general archetype, or common plan of
the Mollusca, e.g. in the Philosophical Transactions of
1853, pi. v., gives a straight intestine with opposite orifices,
the anus being terminal at what would be the caudal end
of the body in Articulata and Vertehrata. But the most
common or archetypal characteristic of the intestine in the
Mollusca is its being bent upon itself, with the anus more
or less directed towards, and in proximity with, the mouth.
A straight intestine, with opposite terminal outlets, is
more common or archetypal to animals generally; but it is
just the reflected deviation from this general animal plan
of intestine that particularly typifies the molluscous pro¬
vince. A bent intestine does not imply an excessive de¬
velopment of gut; that of the Ascidian and of the Cepha¬
lopod is shorter proportionally to the body than is the straight
gut of the articulate worm or Crustacean.
Any one who may dissect the common cuttle-fish (Sepia),
or squid (Loligo), will appreciate the remark, that it is not
because of any excessive development that the gut is bent
and the anus directed towards the mouth; it must have
been more developed in length to reach the caudal end of
the body. But such disposition is not typical of the Mol¬
lusca generally.
When the archetype of a group of animals is proposed
to show or embody “ all the organs and parts which are
found in the group, in such a relative position as they would
have if none had attained an excessive development,”
the student requires the standard according to which the
“excess” is to be judged. If the proposer of the arche¬
type has no standard to give, his definition has no value.
Another retrogade step in quest of a sound knowledge of
the Mollusca has been the borrowing of well-defined terms,
previously restricted to exemplify the vertebrate and arti¬
culate archetypes, and their application to illustrate the pro¬
posed molluscous one. Thus, supposing the alimentary
canal, from the mouth to the bend of the intestine, to indi¬
cate the division of the body into a part above and a part Introduc
below such alimentary canal in the slug or snail creeping tl0n-
on level ground, that part in which the functionally most
important mass of the nervous system is developed—the
supercesophageal brain or ganglionic mass, which, by its
connection with the optic, gustatory, and sometimes acoustic
nerves, bears the closest analogy with the fish’s brain—
has been proposed to be called the “ haemal ” side of the
slug, and the opposite or under part the “ neural ” one.
No doubt the upper part of a slug, in which the eyes and
feelers, or special organs of exploration, together with the
part most like, in function, the pros- and mes-encephalon
of fishes, may not be strictly homologous with the dorsal or
neural surface of the fish. Such surface in the slug bears
a different relation to the vent, the breathing organ, the
heart, and, whilst embryonic, to the vitellicle or vesicula
umbilicalis. But in animals developed on plans so different
as the vertebrate and the molluscous, it may be doubtful
whether strict homology can be predicated of any organ
or part of the body in the two provinces.
What we call cor, the “ heart,” of a snail, is similar in
some degree to that of the fish; it has a similar muscular
and valvular bilocular structure, and in both it serves for
the propulsion of blood. But in the snail the auricle receives
the blood from the breathing organ (lungs), and the ventricle
propels it over the body; whilst in the fish the auricle re¬
ceives the blood from the body generally, and the ventricle
propels it to the breathing organ (gills). The parts are to
a certain extent “ analogous organs,” and have thereby
received the same name, “ heart.” The circumstances at¬
tending the development of the heart, respectively, in the
Mollusk and Fish, equally forbid our regarding such heart as
strictly “homologous” in the two types. If such homo¬
logy had existed in nature, there would then be reason in
the assertion, that because the heart is situated on the
upper or “ brain” side of the snail, instead of on the lower
or “ belly” side of the body, as in the fish, that therefore
such upper side in the snail is the true “ haemal” side, and
that the snail is as a vertebrate with its “ haemal” or “ belly”
side upwards.
But the heart of the snail is not the same organ, in the
homological sense, as the heart of the fish; it does not
therefore determine the same side of the body. It might
be less inaccurate to regard it as homologous with the pul¬
sating lymphatic heart which is situated on the dorsal side
of the vertebral column in some fishes and batrachians.
An equally retrograde step, as breeding confusion by false
analogies and by forced and arbitrary double applications
of previously well-defined and well-understood terms, is
that proposition which would borrow those of “abdomen”
and “post-abdomen” from the articulate archetypal nomen¬
clature, and apply them to parts of the diagrams illustrative
of the archetype of the Mollusca.
In the Essay alluded to, the “ abdomen” of the Mollusk is
defined as “ that portion of the haemal” (meaning dorsal)
“ region which lies in front of the anus:” to that which
lies behind it the term “post-abdomen” is applied. Let
the student cut off so much of a squid or cuttle as lies
behind the anus, and perform the same operation on a
whelk; let him then compare the parts which will be in¬
cluded in so much of the common visceral cavity as he will
in each case have removed. When he finds that in both
he has brought away the stomach, the liver, the heart, the
chief generative glands, &c., then let him endeavour to
decipher the sense of the proposition, that in the Cepha¬
lopod “ the intestine has a neural flexure in consequence
of the development of an abdomen ;” whilst in the pectini-
branchiate Gastropod “ the intestine has a hwmal flexure in
consequence of the development of a ‘ post-abdomen”’ If
he be successful in comprehending the agreement between
these propositions and the nature of the things treated of,
326 MOLL
In trod uc- he may better appreciate than the present writer such
^10n’ modes of illustrating the molluscous archetype.
Were the position of the vent homologically the same
in all Mollusks, or even in all Gastropods, then that orifice
would truly define two regions of the body, and the part in
front of it might need one name and that behind it another.
But when so extremely variable a part of the surface as
that in relation with the anal end of the intestine, in a
Mollusk,is assumed as a determinate basis for the enunciation
of archetypal or homological propositions, the warmest aspi¬
rant for the progress of philosophical anatomy must doubt
whether it has been made in the right direction by such
guidance.
In the actual state of Zoology and Comparative Anatomy
the same terms are, without doubt, applied to different things
in different provinces of the animal kingdom; but those
terms are not such as have been rigorously defined for a
special or technical signification. Thus we speak of the
wings of insects and the wings of birds, and of the legs of
insects as of quadrupeds,—knowing all the while that the
wings of the beetle are not homologous with those of the
blackbird, any more than its hind legs are homologous with
those of a horse.
Severe logic would call for distinct names for things so
different in their structure and development; but one may
ask, W ill it be more successful than it has been in other
matters where it is opposed to common sense ? There is a
wise moderation that knows how to avoid the greater evil,
by drawing a line beyond which precision of terms would
be pedantic purism.
The back of a beetle may not possess all the relations to
the organs within, which the back of a mole does ; but its
analogical similarity, like that between the wing of the beetle
and the wing of the bird, will insure the permanence of the
corresponding term.
So also with regard to the “foot” and “belly” of the
Gastropod, If indeed anatomy could demonstrate intelli¬
gibly and satisfactorily to its cultivators the part in a snail
which was truly homologous with the ventral surface, or with
the foot of a vertebrate, we should be bound to restrict
those terms to the so demonstrated homologous part. But
in the absence of such demonstrations, science in no degree
halts through the application of the same general terms, in
a few instances, to parts which have a general and patent
analogy, though not a strict homology, in different provinces
of the animal kingdom.
In the present article the end of the body of the Mollusk.
at or near which the mouth opens, is the “ fore ” or “ ante¬
rior end the opposite is the “ hind ” or “ posterior end ”
Where the nervous system is reduced to one ganglion, its
position in regard to the alimentary canal indicates the
lower or ventral surface of that canal and of the correspond¬
ing side of the body ; where another ganglion, in connection
with antennal and optic nerves, is developed, it is on or near
the opposite side of the alimentary canal to that occupied
by the homologue of the first or solitary ganglion, and such
superadded—usually called “ supercesophageal ” or “ cere-
bral ganglion marks the vpper or dorsal surface of the
alimentary canal, and of the corresponding side of the body.
The “ abdomen” is the common cavity of the body which
includes the stomach, intestine, liver, and generative gland ;
and is distinct from the respiratory cavity, which is usually
more or less completely partitioned of}' from the abdomen,
Special homologies can be determined throughout the
molluscous province in regard to the principal centres of
t it, nervous system, to the mouth, to the alimentary canal
and vent, to the liver, and some other glands. But it is
U S C A.
not so certain that other parts bearing the same name in Introduc-
the molluscous province are truly answerable. The tk*11*
branchiw of the ship-worm {Teredo), for example, are analo-
^i?USt111 ^un.c^on’ may not be strictly homologous with
the branchice of the whelk or cuttle-fish ; neither can the
breathing-tube or “ siphon ” of the Teredo be proved to be
t le same part homologically with the siphon of the whelk
or the funnel of the squid. There is perhaps more ground
for inferring that the muscular mass developed from the
under or ventral part of the abdomen in most Bivalves is
homologous with, as well as analogous to, the muscular
part which bears the same name, “ foot,” in Gastropods.
But whatever doubt may linger regarding the precise
homology of the “ foot ” of a Bivalve and that of an Univalve
Mollusk, there can be none respecting the homology of the
foot within the limits of the same class. We may trace it
as essentially the same part from species to species, from
its most rudimental to its most developed state, and under
every modification of form, throughout the acephalous or
lamellibranchiate Bivalves ; and the like with regard to the
foot throughout all its modifications in the encephalous
Gasteropoda and Pteropoda.
With respect to the Cephalopoda, the chief muscular
part of the body forms a conical sheath, containing the
retractile mouth or buccal mass, and its more immediate
appendages. The inner surface of the sheath is smooth ;
the outer one gives origin to many parts or processes.
When it is found that, in the Gastropods, the acoustic nerves
are given off froni supercesophageal ganglia in one order
{Heteropodd), and from subcesophageal ganglia in another
{Pulmonatd), the homology of any of the cephalic muscu¬
lar developments of the Cephalopods with the foot, or part
°f foot, of the Gastropods, will not be established by
a similarity in the origin of their nerves; but there will be
no misgiving as to the cephalic sheath and its appendages
being homologous parts within the limits of the cephalopo-
dous class.
1 he more special definitions of such homology is a legi¬
timate and useful subject of research. When, in reference
to the numerous sheathed tentacula w'hich project from the
muscular cephalic cone of the nautilus, it is suggested that
the sheath is a much-developed sucker {acetabulum), and
that the tentacle is the homologue of the caruncle of the
sucker on the arms of the dibranchiate Cephalopod, one
mode of expressing a sense of the homology of the parts
throughout the cephalopodous class is given. According to
this view, the anterior circumference of the oral sheath in
the nautilus represents four of the eight arms developed
therefrom in the cuttle-fish, the four other arms being
represented by the four groups of tentacula which are
included within the oral sheath in the nautilus.1
To this view, while admitting that the oral sheath and
its appendages are homologous parts in all Cephalopods, it
has been objected 2 that the origin and connection of the
inner groups of tentacula in the nautilus correspond better
with those of the two long superadded tentacula than with
any of the eight ordinary arms in the cuttle-fish, and that
each tentacle corresponds, in its complex organization and
in the special modification of its inner surface, rather with
an entire arm of the dibranchiate Cephalopod than writh
the caruncle of one of its suckers. According to this view,
the more numerous, though comparatively small, tentacles
of the nautilus illustrate, in comparison with the fewer and
larger tentacles or arms of the dibranchiate Cephalopod,
the principle of vegetative repetition. The reduction of
the cephalic appendages in number as the Mollusk rises in
the scale of the class, their increase in size, and their per-
a Owen tf8’<i+°UVe^e8 ■^ec^erc^es sur Nautile Plambe, Archives du Museum, 4to, 1839.
> e ructure and Homologies of the Cephalic Tentacles in the Pearly Nautilus, Annals of Natural History, vol. xii., 1843.
MOLLUSC A.
327
Introduc- fection as prehensile instruments through the superadded
tion. suckers, are phenomena which usually attend the march of
development.
The pair of fin-like musculo-dermal organs developed
from the sides of the body in Sepiola are analogous to those
in Pneumodermon; and if homology could be predicated
of musculo-dermal developments in the two classes, the
fins of the Sepiola, rather than the funnel, would so answer
to the fins of the Pteropod. The disc beneath the part
of the abdominal integument supporting and inclosing the
shell in Spirula would seem, in like manner, to be more
homologous than the cephalic arms with the ventral disc
called “ foot ” in the Carinaria. The derivation of acous¬
tic nerves from the subcesophageal part of the brain inclosed
in the cartilaginous skull of the cuttle-fish is as little proof
of the homology of such part with the pedial ganglion of a
Gastropod as with the supercesophageal ganglion of a He¬
teropod. No homology will stand or carry conviction, the
predication of which involves a suppression or a forced ex¬
plaining away of opposing facts.
If the homology of the muscular cephalic cone and its
appendages in Cephalopods with the muscular ventral disc
of Gastropods, cannot therefore be demonstrated ; and if the
predication of special homologies can only be safely and
intelligibly made within the limits of the class, not extended
from one molluscous class to another, to the degree in which
homologous parts can be traced in the Vertebrata, it is
owing to the very nature of the classes of the ]\Iollusca.
They are more distinct from one another than are the
classes of the Vertebrata; they exhibit more different, more
strongly marked, modifications of the molluscous organiza¬
tion. ° Above all, differences of structure in the Mollusea,
and especially the developments of dermo-muscular parts,
are, in a much greater degree than in the I ertebrata, sub¬
ordinated to the principle of the conditions of existence, of
the reciprocal convenience of parts, of their fitness for the
mode and medium of life of the molluscous animal; in a
word, are more obedient to teleological than to homological
laws.
Every history has its retrogressive as well as its progres¬
sive phases; the former have necessitated the foregoing
comments.
In resuming the brief account of the real advance
of Malacology in recent times, mention ought first to
be made of the valuable and beautiful illustrations of the
forms, colours, and structure of the new and rare Mollusca
collected by the scientific naturalists Peron and Lesueur,1 *
Quoy and Gaimard,3 Eydoux and Souleyet,3 respectively
attached to the circumnavigatory voyages instituted by the
French government under Baudin, D’Urville, Freycinet,
and Vaillant. Their example has beeh ably followed by
Messrs Adams and L. Reeve in the Mollusca of the \oijage
of H.M.S. Samarang, 4to, 1848-1850.
The figures of the molluscous animals given in these and
other original works have been accurately copied, and pub¬
lished in a most useful compendium, in 4 vols. 8vo, by
Mrs Gray,4 the accomplished wife of the learned and expe¬
rienced Keeper of the Zoology in the British Museum.
Baron Ferussac has enriched Malacology with a beautiful
work in folio, with coloured plates, entitled Mollusques
Terrestres et Fluviatiles, of which the last published part, Introduc-
by the Baron, in conjunction with M. Alcide D’Orbigny, tl0n«
treats of the Cephalopods.
Signor Verany5 has commenced a splendid work, worthy
to be regarded as a continuation of that by Ferussac and
D’Orbigny, on the Mediterranean Mollusca. The first
part includes upwards of forty plates of Cephalopods, care¬
fully coloured after the living or recently caught animals.
A work of equal beauty and merit on British Nudi-
branchiata, by MM. Alder and Hancock, has been pub¬
lished by the Ray Society.
Our accomplished countryman, W. J. Broderip, Esq.,
F.R.S., lately retired from his arduous duties as police
magistrate at Westminster, has taken a praiseworthy share
in the advancement of his favourite science, by devoting his
scanty leisure to an extensive series of most exact and
classical descriptions of new species of Mollusca and their
shells, chiefly collected by Mr H. Gumming, and published
in the Transactions and Proceedings ofthe Zoological Society
of London. His purse was as liberally opened to secure the
rarest specimens of shells brought to the port of London, up
to the period when his well-known and most instructive
collection was purchased by the British Museum. The
several valuable articles on Malacology and Conchology
in the Penny Cyclopcedia are also from the pen of Mr
Broderip.
The names of James de C. Sowerby, and of George B.
Sowerby, will always be favourably associated with the pro¬
gress of the molluscous department of natural history.
Besides numerous monographs by these authors, the serial
works, entitled The Genera of Recent and Fossil Shells,
the Species Conchyliorum, the Mineral Conchology of
Great Britain, the Malacological and Conchological Ma¬
gazine, and the Conchological Illustrations, are indispen¬
sable to whoever may devote himself to the study and col¬
lection of Mollusca and their shells.
M. L. C. Kiener has beautifully illustrated the concho¬
logical treasures of Lamarck and of M. Delessert in his
Species General et Iconographie des Coquilles Vivantes.
Mr Lovell Reeve has performed a similar desirable work in
regard to rarities in English conchological collections, and
to Conchology in general, in his Conchologia Systematica,
Conchologia Iconica, and Elements of Conchology. He is
also the author of numerous valuable monographs on sub¬
jects of the molluscous province.
The intimate structure of shell has been elaborately and
extensively illustrated by Dr Carpenter,6 Mr Bowerbank,7
and Professor Quekett.8
Professor Agassiz has, with his characteristic originality,
lent valuable aid to the study of recent and fossil shells
by his Memoir sur les Monies de Mollusques, Vivans et
Fossils, in which the markings of the interior of shells are
instructively displayed. The Etudes Critiques sur les Mol¬
lusques Fossiles, by the same author, will be found most
useful to whoever may be engaged in the elucidation of
Geology by Conchology.
The study of the collection of Mollusca and their shells
in the British Museum is now greatly facilitated by the
catalogues of that department which have been drawn up
or edited by Dr J. E. Gray, F.R.S.9
1 Voyage de decouvertes aux Terres Australes, 4 to, 1800 1807. ... 100a ioqq
3 Zoologie du Voyage de VUranic, 8vo and fol., 1824-1827 ; and Zoologie du Voyage de l Astrolabe, 8vo and fol., 1830-1833.
3 Zoologie du Voyage de la Bonite, 8vo and fol., 1841-1852.
4 Figures of Molluscous Animals, selected from various authors, 8vo, Longmans, 1842-1850.
6 Mollusques Mediterraneens, 4to, lre Partie, “ Cephalopodes,” 1851.
6 On the Microscopic Structure of Shells, Reports of the British Association, 8vo., 1844 and 184/.
7 Observations on the Structure of Shells, Trans, of the Microscopical Society, vol. i., 1844. 8 Lectures on Histology, 8vo, 1853-54.
3 Guide to the Sustematic Distribution of Mollusca, part i., by Dr Gray, F.R.S.; Catalogues of the Cephalopoda antepedia, of the Ptero-
P. Carpenter.
328
MOLLUSC A.
The more intimate knowledge of the nature and affinities
of the Mollusca has of late years been signally promoted by
the series of researches on the embryology or development of
those animals, more especially those by Rathke,1 Cams,2
Sars,3 Dumortier,4 Van Beneden,5 Milne Edwards,6 Loven,7
Windischman,8 Koren and Danieissen,9 Gegenbaur,10
Schmidt,11 Vogt,12 and Quatrefages.13
The knowledge of the varying forms of the living Mol-
lusks, of their habits and powers, has been increased, and is
likely to be materially advanced, by the rapidly extending
practice of preserving them in confined spaces of sea or
fresh water. Poli, Montagu, and before them probably
other lovers of nature, resident near the sea, availed them¬
selves of large vessels to keep alive, in frequently renewed
sea-water, the marine animals in the study of which they
were interested. But to Madame Jeanette Power (nee de
Villepreux), according to the testimony of Professor Car-
melo Maravigna, in the Journal du Cabinet Litteraire de
VAcademia Gioenia, of Catania, for December 1834, ought
to be attributed, if to any one individual, the invention and
systematic application of the receptacles now called Aqua¬
ria, to the study of marine, and principally of molluscous
animals.
Madame Power invented three kinds: one of glass, for
preserving and studying living Mollusca in a room; another,
also of glass, for small Mollusks, protected by an external
cage of bars, in which they could be kept submerged in the
sea, and withdrawn at will for inspection ; and a third kind
of cage for larger Mollusks, which could be sunk and
anchored at a given depth in the sea, and raised, when re¬
quired, for the purpose of observation and experiment.
With these different kinds of molluscous menageries, of
which the first answers to our present improved and enlarged
aquaria, Madame Power carried on her observations and ex¬
periments from the year 1832 to 1842 at Messina in Sicily.
She determined the question of the true relation of the
Argonauta, or Paper Nautilus, to the delicate boat-like
shell which it inhabits. She first showed that the so-called
“ sails” were normally applied over the exterior of the shell,
and proved experimentally that they were the organs which
formed and repaired the shell.14 She proved that the Bulla
lignaria preyed upon, and by its strong gizzard ground down
and digested, the Dentalium entale. She described the
curious manoeuvres by which the Astropecten aurantiacus
seized and conveyed to its mouth and stomach small Na-
ticee. And many other interesting facts were brought to
light by this persevering and ingenious observer, through
the application of the “ Gabioline alia Power,”15 as her
aquaria were termed by the Gioenian Academy, some years
before the practice of so studying aquatic animals was intro¬
duced and diffused in this country.
The scale on which our improved manufactures of plate-
glass have enabled the Zoological Society of London to Introduc-
exhibit living specimens of rare and beautiful marine and tion.
fresh-water animals, has struck with admiration the thou-
sands who have witnessed them in the gardens of the
Regent’s Park.
I he management of such aquaria is ably treated of by
Mr Warington in the Annals of Natural History for 1855,
and the instruction and amusement to be derived from
them have been illustrated in a most agreeable and in¬
teresting style, in popular works, by Messrs Gosse and
Sowerby.
The series of works from the establishment of Mr V.
\ oorst, illustrative of the Fauna of Great Britain, has been
enriched by most valuable volumes on the British Mollusca
by Professor E. Forbes and Mr Hanley.
Dr Johnston 16 and Mr Woodward 17 have compiled most
instructive elementary works on general Malacology ; both
characterized, and the latter more especially, by careful and
original research.
Of the illustrations of particular groups of Mollusca in
circumscribed localities, those devoted to the fresh-water
family Naiades, and especially to the genus Unio, of the
North American rivers, by Mr Isaac Lea, possess the
highest value.
Few individuals have contributed so much to the progress
of Malacology, since the demise of Cuvier, as Mr Hugh
Cuming, F.L.S. His famous collection of shells is known
throughout Europe: it contained in 1848 upwards of 19,000
species and well-marked varieties of shells, represented by
about 60,000 specimens, which are not only entire, but
perfect of their kind, as respects form, texture, colour, and
other characters that give the shell value in the eyes of the
collector. The mode in which Mr Cuming has accumu¬
lated this surpassingly rich illustration of Conchology is as
rare and exemplary as the result is marvellous, considered
as the work of one individual. Not restricting his pursuit
of shells to the shops of the commercia* naturalist, the stores
of the curiosity-mongers of our seaports, or the casual
opportunities of obtaining varieties by purchase, he has
devoted more than thirty years of his life in arduous and
perilous personal exertions,—dredging, diving, wading, wan¬
dering, under the equator, and thence to the temperate
zones, both north and south, — in the Atlantic, in the
Pacific, in the Indian Ocean, and in the islands of its rich
Archipelago,—in the labour of collecting from their native
seas, shores, lakes, rivers, and forests, the marine, fluviatile,
and terrestrial Mollusks, 60,000 of whose shelly skeletons,
external and internal, are accumulated in orderly series in
the cabinets which now test the strength of the floors of his
house in Gower Street, London.
The result of this personal capture of the chief bulk of
his collection is, that he has been enabled to assign to each
1 Om Dammuslingen, Skrivter of Natur-Historie Selshabet, Kjobenh., 1797.
2 Neue Untersuchungen iiber die Entwickelungsgeschichte Unserer Plussrauschel, Nova Acta Acad. Nat. Cur., tom. xvi., 1832.
3 Zur Entwickelungsgeschichte der Molluscen und Zoophyten, Wiegmann’s Archiv fur Naturgesch., 1837-1840.
4 bur les evolutions de I’Embryo dans les Mollusques Gastropodes, Nouveaux Mimoires de VAcad. Roy. de Bruxelles, tom. x., 1837.
Recherches sur VEmbryogenie des Ascidies simples, 1847; and Recherches sur le Developpement des Aplysies, 1841.
Observations sur les Ascidiens Composces, 1840.
7 Ueber die Entwickelung der Mollusca Acephala, Wiegmann’s Archiv fur Naturgesch., 1849.
8 Itecherches sur 1’Embryologie des Limaces (with Van Beneden), Muller’s Archiv fur Physiologic, 1841.
9 Bidrag til Pectinibranchiernes Udviklingshistorie, 8vo, 1851-1852.
ii zur Nntwichelungsgeschichte der Land Gastropoden, 1852.
Ueber Entwickelung von Limax agrestis, 1851.
13 ^ec^lerc|les< sur 1’Embryogenie des Mollusques Gastropodes, Annales des Sciences Nat., 1846.
xr vie iHtrabranchiale des petites anodontes ; and Memoire sur 1’Embryogenie des Planorbes et des Limnees, Annales des Sciences
Nat., 1835, 1836, and 1841.
Ragguagho delle Osservazioni ed esperienze fatte sullo Argonauta Argo (L.) da Madama Jeannette Power, Prof. C. del Maravigna,
Messina, 8vo, 1836. See also Atti Accademici Catania, 1838.
azione per l anno 13, delV Accademia Gieenia, Catania, 1837 ; Abstract of Osservazioni fisiche sopra il polpo delV Argonauta Arqo,
Lette nella tornata de 26 Novembre 1836, p. 25. j r i' r v v >
it fl” Introduction to Conchology ; or, Elements of the Natural History of the Molluscous Animals.
17 Manual of the Mollusca, 12mo, 1851-1856.
MOLL
Introduc. shell, not only its country or “habitat” in the ordinary
tion. zoological sense, but all the circumstances in which it lived
and was developed. If a land-shell, e.g., its favourite rock,
or herb, or tree ; if a water-shell, the kind of water; and if
marine, the habitual depth, and the nature of the sea-bottom
at which the Mollusk resided, the rock that it bored, and
the animals, the weeds, or other substances it devoured.
The value of every shell, in other collections, to which this
information applied, became thus greatly enhanced. The
importance of these particulars every naturalist and geolo¬
gist will appreciate on account of the insight that they
afford, not only into the economy of living Mollusks, but
into the habits and habitats of the fossil shells of the same or
allied species; and perhaps one of the most striking points
in the estimate of the scientific value of an extensive collect
tion like Mr Cuming’s, arises out of its relation, as an in¬
dispensable instrument to the determination of fossil shells,
to the present active pursuit of Geology.
From the period when the Atlantic, American, and Poly¬
nesian departments of the Cumingian collection reached
England in 1831, comparative anatomists, malacologists,
and conchologists have found subjects, without intermission,
for their investigations and descriptions. The organization
of the parasitic Sty lifer, of Spirula, Calyptreea, Lithedaphus,
Clavagella, and other rare Mollusks, was brought to light
through the specimens which Mr Cuming had preserved in
spirits. Almost every part of the Transactions, and every
number of the Proceedings of the Zoological Society of
London, since the year 1832, contain the descriptions, by
Broderip, Sowerby, and Owen, of the novelties liberally
submitted to those naturalists by Mr Cuming. And such
novelties were far from being exhausted when Mr Cuming,
having undertaken a third exploring voyage, returned in
1840 from Manilla, stored with the conchological riches of
the Indian Ocean, which have subsequently kept in ac¬
tivity the eyes and pens of Broderip,1 Sowerby,2 Pfeiffer,3
Lovell Reeve,4 Adams,5 Dunker,6 and Philippi.7
Of the rare or unique species thus made known to science,
Mr Cuming is the possessor, in most instances, of many
individuals; and as “ dead” shells, or those found without
the animals, are strictly excluded from his cabinet, his
stores of unique and beautiful specimens give him the com¬
mand, so to speak, of all the conchological cabinets of
Europe. In his annual visits to the Continent, Mr Cuming
carries with him the duplicates of his rarities, representing
species with the sight of which the eyes of foreign natural¬
ists are gladdened for the first time. They open to him
their treasures in return, and from most of the collections—
national and private—of Europe Mr Cuming has borne
away rare species he did not before possess, in exchange for
the still rarer shells which his abundance has enabled him to
offer in exchange without detriment to his own rich stores.
His liberality in opening those stores to the student of
Conchology equals the enterprise and intelligence with
which they have been brought together; and the Cumingian
collection is likely long to remain the most important and
instructive in Europe for the advancement of the science of
the Mollusea.
Mr Van Voorst has brought out, with his usual excel-
U S C A. 329
lence of type, and more than his usual beauty and costliness Introduc-
of illustration, so much of the Genera of Recent Mollusca, tion*
by H. and A. Adams, as relates to Cephalopods and Uni-
valves generally, including descriptions of 680 genera and
437 sub-genera; the number of species average nearly 12
to each genus and sub-genus, and altogether exceeds 13,000.
The first part of this work was published January 1, 1853.
A considerable proportion of these species are repre¬
sented by specimens in the Cumingian collection ; about
half the number are in the British Museum. Besides the
shell of each genus, the operculum, when known, is given,
and many figures of the living animals have been selected
from the best original works.
The classification adopted in this work does not offer any
modification based upon original appreciation of structure
and affinities overlooked by preceding authors. Inasmuch
as the proposed changes are chiefly those of names, and
where otherwise, are opposed to deductions from the ana¬
tomy of the animals, this part of the work is a retrogade
step. Thus the class Cephalopoda is divided into the
orders—Octopoda, Decapoda, and Polypoda. Now, be¬
sides the inconvenience of the same terminology for a
class and its orders, we have here a virtual affirmation that
the difference of structure between the Poulp {Octopus)
and the Calamary {Loligo) is not less important than that
between the Octopus or Loligo and the Nautilus. By the
proposed foundation of the orders of the Cephalopoda in
1832 on characters of the respiratory system, Professor
Owen sought to harmonize the divisions of the highest
class with that of the other classes of Mollusca.8 The term
Polypoda, moreover, is that which has been given by Gis-
tel and Aristotle, e.g., to the dibranchiate Cephalopods,
or to particular families of them.
In the sale-catalogue of the Yoldi collection of shells by
M. Otto Morch, names that had been applied by old and
obscure writers to shells prior to the imposition of generic
names on the founding of the Linnaean binomial system,
are added, inclosed in brackets, after those names by which
the objects are intelligible to Conchologists generally. The
Messrs Adams have disfigured their work by the substitu¬
tion of these justly and practically obsolete terms for
many of the well-established generic names applied since
the Linnaean system has been in use.
As it may aid in explaining and diffusing the principles
upon which the stability of conchological nomenclature is
attempted to be, preserved by the more judicious cultivators
of Zoology, the following list of names offered by the
authors of the Genera of Recent Mollusca, as substitutes
for the accepted names, is appended, together with the
comments of a judicious critic, in which the author of the
present article entirely coincides :—
Names in use. Names proposed by Messrs Adams.
Hyalea, Lam. 1799 Carolina, “ Griceni” (not of Bruguiere,
1792).
Cleodora, Peron, 1810 Clio, “Browne” (not of Linn., Miill.,
Fabr., Brug., Cuv., Lam., Desh., or
any other concbologist of note).
Cres&U, Rang,-1828 Styliola, Lesueur (teste Blainville).
Cuvieria, Rang, 1827 Triptera, Q. & G. 1824.9
CHo, Linn. 1767 Clione, Pallas, 1774.
1 Descriptions of Shells collected by H. Cuming, Esq., in the Philippine Islands, Zool. Proc., 1840, pp. 83, 94, 119, 155, 180 ; Ibid..
1841, pp. 22, 34, 36, 44, &c.
2 Ibid., 1840, pp. 87, 96,116,135, 167; 1841, pp. 1,17,19,24, 39. 3 Ibid., 1846, pp. 28, 37, 41, 109.
4 Descriptions of 40 new species of Haliotes, collected by II. Cuming, Esq., Zool. Proc., 1846, p. 53; Descriptions of 54 new species of
Mangelia, collected by do., ibid., p. 59.
5 Descriptions of new species of Shells, collected by H. Cuming, Esq., Zool. Proc., 1849, p. 169.
6 Diagnoses specierum novarum generis Planorbis Collectionis Cumingianm, Zool. Proc., 1848, p. 40.
7 Descriptiones Naticarum quarundam novarum ex Collectione Cumingiana, Zool. Proc., 1851, p. 233. The notes are limited to a few
references to the Cumingian memoirs by the above-cited Malacologists, as being sufficient to indicate the richness of the new materials
collected by Mr Cuming. _ 8 Memoir of the Pearly Nautilus, 4to, 1832.
9 This name was given to an imperfect and misunderstood specimen. In the same plate and in the same page, the authors figured
and described the perfect Cuvieria under the name of Cleodora obtusa, showing they had no intention of founding a genus (in Triptera)
equivalent to Cuvieria. o \ /
. VOL. XV. 2 T
330 ~ MOLL
Introduc- Names in use. Names proposed by Messrs Adams.
tion. Melongena, Sch. 1817 Cassidulus, Humph, (not Lam., F4r.,
V ^ -i ■>' or Latr.)
Pleurotoma, Lam. 1799 Turns, Humph. (Cophinosalpinx, Kl.
1753).
Triton, Montf. 1810 Tritonium, Link (not Loven); Buc-
cinum, Kl.
Ranella, Lam. 1812 Bursa, Bolten (not Bonanni or Pe-
tiver).#
Ricinula, Lam. 1812 Pentadactylus, Kl. 1753. (Also Tri-
bulus, Kl.)
Monoceros, Lam. 1809 Acanthina, Fischer, 1817 {Thais, Bol¬
ten, 1798).
Concholepas, Lam. 1801 Conchopatella, Chemnitz !
Magilus, Montf. 1810 Campylotus, Guett.1 {Tubulites, Da¬
vila).
Oliva, Brug. 1789 Dactylus, Kl. (Cylindrus, Breynius).
Ancillaria, Lam. 1811 Ancilla, Lam. (olim).
Fulgur, Montf. 1810 Busycon, Bolten.
Cynodonta, Schum  Vasum, Bolten.
Turbinella, Lam. 1799 Mazza, Klein.
Pyrula, Lam. 1799 Sycotypms, Browne, 1756 {Ficus, Kl.
1753).
Sigaretus, Lam Catinus, Ad. {“ Catinus-lactis,”
Klein).
Cassidaria, Lam. 1812  Oaleodea, Link (not Martini or Bol¬
ten).
Oniscia, Shy. 1825 Morum, Bolten, 1798 {Oassidea,
Brug. 1792).
Scalaria,Iiam. 1801 NcaZa, Klein.
Solarium, Lam. 1799. Architectonica, Bolten {Nerita, Kl.
1753).
Pterocera, Lam. 1799 Harpago, Kl. (Also Heptadactylus,
Radixbryonice, &c.)
Rostellaria, Lam Gladius, Kl.
Ovulum, Brug. 1789 Amphiperas, Gron. 1781 {Porcellana,
Kl.)
Pirena, Lam. 1812 Faunas, Montf. 1810 (young shell).
Paludina, Lam  Vivipara, Lam. (olim), Saccus, Klein!
Siliquaria, Brug. 1789 Tenagoda, Guett. {Solen-anguinus,
Kl.)
Crepidula, Lam. 1799 Crypta, Humph.
Hipponyx, Defr. 1819 Cochlolepas, Kl.
Neritina, Lam. 1809 Neritella, Humph. {Vitta, Kl. 1753).
Navicella, Lam  Catillus, Humph.
Phasianella, Lam. 1804 Eutropia, Humph.
Rotella, Lam     Umbonxum, Link.
Delphinula, Lam. 1803 Angaria, Bolten {Cricostoma, Kl.)
Puncturella, Lowe, 1827 Cemoria, “ Leach” (Sw. 1840).
Parmophorus, Bl. 1817 Scutus, Montf. 1810.
Acmcea, Esch. 1833 Tectura, Aud. & M.-E. (not defined).
Lam. 1812 Aciceon, Montf. 1810 {Solidula,
Fisch.)
Boridium, Meckel Aglaia, Renieri.
Umbrella, Lam. 1812 “ Operculatum Iceve,” Mus. Tessin.
Goniodoris, Forbes.... Boriprismatica, D’Orb. (“voc. pra-
vum.” Herrm.)
Antiopa, A. & H Janus, Verany.
Embletonia, A. & H Glodia, Loven (not the same thing).
Firola, Brug. 1792   Pterotrachea, Forsk.
Auricula, Lam. 1799 Ellobium, Bolten {Auris-Midce, Kl.)
“ The names thus introduced by the authors are of three
kinds:—Some are taken from works published before the
time of Linnaeus; others were never characterized, and
come under the denomination of ‘ MS. nameswhile a
feVv were published under peculiar circumstances, so as to
escape observation, and have become obsolete.
“ With respect to pre-Linnaean names it is unnecessary
here to advocate the practice adopted by all the best natu¬
ralists ; we will only hint the extreme inconvenience of a
nomenclature ever liable to change, and ever receding
into the obscurity of olden literature. If the names of
Klein are to be adopted, why not those of Langius and
Davila, and Breynius, Bonanni, and Petiver ? And if
some of Klein’s names are used, why not all ?
U S C A.
“ The question of manuscript names is more difficult, Tunicata.
owing to wilfulness of authors. One says it is sufficient to
write a new generic name on a tablet and shut it up in his
cabinet, -it is to be dated from that act.2 Another distin¬
guished professor of an English university holds that to
inscribe the name on a museum specimen is a sufficient act
of publication, leaving the determination of the date to the
memory of the curator. Some consider the insertion of a
new generic name in a catalogue, without a word of de¬
scription, without even a specific name attached, is suffi¬
cient to give ‘ priority.’ Others, more modestly, admit the
desirableness of the addition of a known specific name,
but do not consider any description necessary; any one
that pleases may find out the characters of the new genus,
and if it has none, it is but one more name added to the
synonymy.
“ The genera of Humphrey, quoted in the foregoing list,
appeared in the Museum Calonneanum, a catalogue pub¬
lished anonymously in the year 1797, and containing
names only, without definitions. Names attributed to Bol¬
ten are also supposed to be taken from a catalogue. We
have found the name £ Gevers’ placed as the authority
for Meuschen’s names in the Mus. Geverianum, and
‘Berlin’ for Link’s names in the Berlin Museum. But
who wrote the Museum Boltenianuvi ?
“ The Linnsean code, of which Herrmannsen gives an
excellent digest, and the rules of the British Association,
require that names should be really published, and accom¬
panied by a description sufficient to identify the object and
justify the imposition of the new term.”
The adoption of generic and specific names in the fol¬
lowing pages will be governed by those rules.
PROVINCE MOLLUSCA, Cuvier.
(Heterogangliata, Owen.)
CLASS I.—TUNICATA, Lam.
{Acephales sans Coquilles, Cuvier.)
Acephalous Molluscoids inclosed in an elastic tmcalcified
tunic, perforated by two apertures, and composed of a pe¬
culiar substance resembling the “ cellulose” of plants, in
having no nitrogen, but only carbon and hydrogen.3
Order I.—SACCOBRANCHIATA,4 Owen.
(Les Ascidies and Les Aggreges, Cuv.)
Mantle united to the tunic at the two orifices; else¬
where commonly more or less detached. Branchia, a di¬
lated, ciliated, vascular sac, with commonly a tentaculige-
rous orifice.
Tribe 1.—AGGREGATA, Cuv.
The aggregate, associated, or compound Ascidians (fig.
5) are all of small size. Their organization is essentially
like that of the larger solitary species, but the viscera are
somewhat differently disposed,—the cavity of the body is
in most longer and narrower, the entire animal viewed
singly being more vermiform. In their natural organic
association they are arranged in different modes, and under
different forms characterizing different families. Some, as
the beautiful Uiazona, diverge, like the petals of a com¬
pound flower, from a common base ; others, as the Botryl-
lus, are arranged in circles round a common central aper-
1 We cannot find any such “ genus ” in Guettard’s Memoirs, hut according to Blainville it was merely a name given to a miscellaneous
assemblage, including Vermetus, Scalaria, Magilus, &c. 2 Introduction to D’Orbigny’s Prodrome de Paleontologie.
3 Schmidt, Zur vergleichenden Physiologic der Wirbelellosen Thiere, 8vo, 1845. 4 Greek, signifying “ sack-shaped gills.”
*
MOLL
Tumcata. ture, beneath which the anal extremity of the intestine
of each individual terminates ; whilst many of these circles
of individuals are aggregated together, and enveloped in a
common cellulose tunic. The substance of this in some
species, e.g. Septodinum, is crowded with calcareous
granules ; in others, e.g. Botryllus, it exhibits distinct
fibres.
Some of the compound Ascidians are ramified (as, e.g.,
Perophora, fig. 5), and their tunics are so transparent as to
permit the movements of the internal organs to be studied in
the living animal. The individuals of this genus are con¬
nected only by tubular prolongations of the common tunic,
and are rather “social” than “compound” animals. In
these a very singular condition of the circulating system has
been detected.1 The blood moves backwards and forwards,
to and from the heart, in the same vessels, as it was supposed
to ebb and flow in the human veins before Harvey’s great
discovery. The oscillation of the currents is not constant
and regular; the blood is received from the vessel at one
end of the heart (fig. 5, n), and propelled by a contractile
wave into the vessel at the opposite end. After a true cir¬
culation has gone on in this course for a certain period, a
change is observed in the course of the peristaltic contrac¬
tions of the heart; the blood for an instant stagnates in the
sinuses and vessels, and then the wave travels in the op¬
posite direction ; the heart drives the blood into the vessel
from which it had before received it, and the course of the
circulation is reversed. In the compound Ascidians the
vascular systems of the different individuals anastomose
freely with each other. The veins are chiefly in the con¬
dition of large lacunar sinuses. The heart and vessels
circulate blood, not water: if the vessels, as some contend,
had no proper tunics (and their transparency in the living
Ascidians renders them, in most of the sinuses, invisible),
the sea-water which freely passes from the branchial to the
muscular cavities would flow into the so-called intervisceral
lacunae were they merely such as they seem.
At first sight it is difficult to conceive how the fixed and
compound Ascidians can multiply their race in situations
at a distance from that which they themselves occupy.
This difficulty has been removed by MM. Audouin and
Milne Edwards, who observed that the young of the com¬
pound Ascidians were not only at their origin solitary and
free, but possessed the power of swimming rapidly by the
aid of the undulatory movements of a long tail (fig. 5, C).
They were seen occasionally to attach themselves to the
side of the vessel of sea-water containing them, and then to
recommence their course, as if to seek a more suitable
point of attachment. After two days of free and locomotive
life, they finally fixed themselves, and, when detached, re¬
mained motionless.
Similar locomotive phenomena are now known to be
common to the embryo of many of the lower sedentary
animals. In regard to the Ascidians, it has been confirmed
by Sars in the Botrylli of the coast of Norway,2 by Sir
John Graham Dalyell in a solitary Ascidian of the Firth
of Forth; and the embryogeny of the Cynthia Ampulla
has been well followed out by Professor Van Beneden.3
In the genera Polyclinum and Amaroucium, amongst the
compound Ascidians, Milne Edwards has observed that the
ovum, whilst still included in the ovarian mass, consists of
the small central germinal vesicle, of a granular vitellus, and
a vitelline membrane. In the progress of the ovum to the
cloacal cavity the yolk acquires a deep yellow colour, the ger¬
minal vesicle disappears, and in its place there is a nebulous
speck upon the surface of the yolk. The extremity of the
U s c A. 331
yolk opposite to the caudal attachment developes a series of Tunicata.
cylindrical productions. I hree of them have expanded
extremities which increase in length; wdiilst the other pro¬
cesses diminish, and finally disappear. A spiral filament
is continued from the membrane of the vitellus down the
centre of the tail. In this state the embryo escapes from
the ovum, generally while in the cloaca of the parent, but
sometimes after the egg has been expelled from the common
central outlet.
The young animal immediately unfolds its tail, and be¬
gins to swim like the tadpole of the frog, which it so much
resembles in form. The three clavate cephalic processes
are the organs by which Milne Edwards believes it effects
its final adhesion and settlement. When this has taken
place, the tail shrinks, and is usually detached by progres¬
sively increasing contraction at its base,—a kind of spon¬
taneous fission.
I he sessile and adherent trunk now becomes the seat of
an active development. The integument is thickened. The
germ-mass becomes elongated and divided by a circular con¬
striction into two unequal parts, which severally open a
passage, constituting, the one an oral (fig. 5, g), the other
an anal (fig. 5,f) orifice. The subdivided germ-mass, which
now begins to be rapidly metamorphosed into the special
tissues, also acquires a distinct tunic b, which soon separates
itselt from the thick and gelatinous external integument a.
I he quadrifid orifice of the branchial sac (fig 5, c) is
first formed upon the internal tunic. The contour of the
great respiratory pharynx can next be discerned, and the
constriction of the sac opposite to the mouth, which indi¬
cates the oesophagus (fig. 5, d). About the same time may
be seen the outline of the anal orifice (fig. 5, k) upon the
internal integument; then the opaque yellow tunics of the
dilated stomach (fig. 5, i) and the reflected intestine appear
and below these parts the pulsations of the large transpa¬
rent vasiform heart (fig. 5, n) render that organ conspicuous.
Around each external orifice some mammilloid processes
(fig- g) bud out, which first lengthen, and afterwards in
some species become lost in the thickening integument.
The eye-speck continues for some little time, and is situ¬
ated in the middle of the nervous collar (fig. 5, k). At the
base of the abdomen the opaline concretionary body appears,
to which the heart is subsequently attached, and which is
provided with vibratile cilia.
The whole of the viscera included by the smooth integu¬
ment have been observed to rotate in the cavity formed by
the thick gelatinous tunic, to which the visceral mass again
becomes attached by the adhesion of the muscular tunic at
the branchial and anal orifices, and by the establishment of
corresponding orifices in the integument.
Savigny4 wasof opinion that the ovum of the compound As¬
cidian contained the germs of all the individuals composing
the characteristic groups in the mature aggregate animal, and
that their development was simultaneous. In one sense,
doubtless, the ovum contains the germs of all the future indi¬
viduals developed by gemmation, in so far as a portion of the
germ-mass is retained unchanged in the body of the first
developed individual; but the cell-progeny of the primary
germ-cell constituting that germ-mass are not simultane¬
ously developed, nor does any development begin until the
first individual is completed, fixed, and nourished by the
action of its proper digestive apparatus. Thus stimulated
and strengthened, the second mode of reproduction, namely,
that by gemmation, is superinduced upon the young Asci¬
dian (fig. 5, B), after the foregoing development from the
impregnated ovum (fig. 5, A). This offers an interesting ana-
1 Lister, Philosophical Transactions, 1834.
8 Zur Entwickelungsgeschichte der Mollusken und Zoophyten, Wiegmann’s Archiv fur Naturgeschichte, 1837 and 1840.
3 Recherches sur 1’Embryologie des Ascidies simples, Mem. de VAjcad. Roy. de Belgique, 1847.
* Memoires sur les Animaux sans Vertebres, 8vo, Paris, 1816.
332
MOLLUSC A.
Tunicata. logy to the phenomena presented by the polype-larva of
the Medusa. The individuals (fig. 5, B) formed by the
gemmation of the primary bud of the young Ascidian (fig.
5, A), instead of being detached, are retained, the process of
gemmation being regulated so as to produce the charac¬
teristic pattern in which the different individuals are grouped
in the mature compound animal.
Family I.—BOTRYLLIDiE.
Sp. Clavellina borealis, Sav. {Ascidia clavata, Pallas. Tunicata.
Spicil. Zool. x., tab. i., fig. 16).—Thoracic region marked
with coloured lines. Greenland.
Genus Perophora6 (discovered by Lister, 1834; so
named by Wiegmann).—Body compressed, suborbicular,
pedunculated, upon a common repent tubular stem ; bran¬
chial sac occupying a great part of the body, with a papil¬
lose orifice.
Sp. Perophora Listeri (fig. 5).—Shores of Britain.
Body fixed; tunics of many individuals fixed together
into a mass, in which the individuals are grouped into sys¬
tems.
Genus Botryllus,1 Gaertner, 1774.—Body of the indi¬
vidual not divided into thorax and abdomen ; branchial
aperture circular, without rays ; social systems numerous,
with from six to twenty individuals in each, lying nearly
parallel to the periphery of the mass ; vent remote from the
simple branchial aperture.
Sp. Botryllus violaceus.—Greenish-gray, with dark-blue
stars, yellow in the centre round the common orifice. On
stones and sea-weed near low-water mark. British.
Genus Didemntum,2 Sav.—Thorax and abdomen dis¬
tinct ; branchial aperture with six equal rays or lobes.
Sp. JDidemnium candidum.—Gulf of Suez.
Genus Diazona,3 Sav.—Compound group sessile, sub-
circular, hollow in the middle ; individuals arranged in
concentric circles; both branchial and anal apertures six-
rayed.
Sp. Diazona violacea.—The compound mass resembles
an Actinia, and attains a diameter of 6 inches; it is of a
beautiful violet colour. Mediterranean.
Genus Polyclinum,4 Sav.—Divided into thorax or
branchial cavity; upper abdomen with the digestive organs,
and lower abdomen with the heart and reproductive organs;
branchial orifice six-rayed, anal orifice simple.
Sp. Polyclinum constellatum.—Hab. Mauritius.
In the progress of the gemmation by which the com¬
pound groups of the foregoing family are formed, a bud is
first developed in the form of a small tubercle from the
abdominal portion of the internal tunic of the young Botryi-
loid. The tubercle becomes prolonged, retaining an active
circulation in its interior, and is accompanied by a corre¬
sponding growth of the outer cellulose integument, which
becomes clavate. The process then bifurcates; the divi¬
sions, in like manner, becoming elongated, expanded, and
bifurcated at their extremities.
Soon the outline of an Ascidian is sketched in each of
these extremities. The primitive connection with the parent
is obliterated; but the young individuals remain united
together by their common peduncle according to the law
which determines their mode of grouping into systems. By
the progressive increase of their outer gelatinous integu¬
ment they coalesce and form the compound mass.
The procreative force of the germ-mass finally exhausts
itself in the formation of the male and female organs, in
which that force is again mysteriously renewed, under its
two forms of the spermatozoon and the germinal vesicle,
by the combination of which the reproductive cycle again
begins its course.
Family II.—CLAVELLINID^E.
Body fixed; individuals connected by repent tubular
prolongations of their common fixed tunics.
Genus Clavellina,5 Sav.—Body oblong, erect, pe¬
dunculate ; tunic transparent; branchial and anal apertures
without rays; branchial sac short, not plicated, without
papillae.
Tribe 2.—SOLITAMA.
{Les Ascidies, Cuv.)
The exterior tunic of the solitary Ascidians (fig. 6, a) is
a thick gelatinous or coriaceous elastic substance, adhering
by its base, or by a long flexible peduncle, to some foreign
body, and perforated at the opposite end or at the side by
two apertures h and/ (fig. 6). The exterior of this tunic is
sometimes rough and warty, the inner surface always smooth
and lubricous. Microscopically examined, it consists chiefly
of a conglomerate of non-nucleated cells like the paren¬
chyma of Cacti. Chemically analysed, 100 parts of the
tissue, free from ash and water, gives, of carbon 45,38, hy¬
drogen, 6’47; being the same composition as the “cellulose”
of plants.
This non-azotized tissue is traversed by large blood¬
vessels, and towards its inner surface crystals and nuclei
are abundant in the clear homogeneous basis. The lining
membrane is composed of a layer of polygonal, nucleated,
epithelial cells.
The second tunic bb is muscular; it adheres to the
outer tunic at the circumference of the two orifices h, f
and is connected to it by blood-vessels at a few other points;
elsewhere it is quite free, and the opposed surfaces of the
intervening space between the muscular and elastic tunics
have the aspect of a serous cavity. Its fine fasiculi of fibres
are remarkably distinct, and are arranged in two layers,—
the external circular, the internal longitudinal. The fibres
or fasiculi of the outer layer are smaller than those of the
inner one, and less regularly disposed.
They describe regular circles around the processes lead¬
ing to the orifices of the tunic. Other fibres of the outer
layer pass transversely from one tube to the other. The
longitudinal fasciculi radiate from the two orifices, and
decussate each other, winding round the bottom of the
sac. Deeper again than this layer there is a sphincter
surrounding the base of each tube or orifice, from which a
third more delicate layer of longitudinal fibres is given off.
Of the two more or less protuberant and stellate apertures
in the outer tunic, one (fig. 6,/) leads directly into the mus¬
cular sac, the other (h) into a wide vascular branchial sac {dd)
contained in the muscular one. The entry to the branchial
sac is defended by a circle of short tentacles. A portion of
the muscular tunic is dissected from the branchial sac at c.
The branchial sac is opened, and one-half reflected back¬
wards, showing the inner surface at dd: the opposite wall
of the sac d is dissected away from the alimentary canal ee.
The inner surface of the sac dd is marked by parallel and
equidistant transverse lines, the interspaces of which are
divided into a series of narrow, vertical, perforated, and richly-
ciliated compartments; two opposite narrow longitudinal
tracts are entire. A groove along that which traverses the
larger curvature of the sac leads to the mouth—an orifice
(fig. 6, k) near the bottom of the branchial sac. This orifice
conducts, by a short oesophageal canal, to the stomach b ;
this is an oblong cavity with longitudinal folds. The in¬
testine is disposed in a sigmoid flexure, adheres to the out¬
side of the branchial d, and the inside of the muscular sac b.
1 Gr., signifying “ a cluster of grapes.”
4 Gr. for “ many cavities.”
2 Gr., signifying “ double couch.”
6 Gr. for “ little staff.”
3 Gr., signifying “ in circles.”
6 Gr. for “ sack-bearer.”
MOLL
Tunicata. and terminates by a fimbriated anal aperture n, near the base
of the second or anal orifice of the tunic/.
The liver consists of blind follicles produced into tubes
which anastomose, surrounding more or less of the intes¬
tine as by a network, and ultimately, at least in Cynthia
tuberculata, communicating with the stomach by a single
U S C A. 333
aperture, from which a groove is continued towards the Tunicata.
cardia.
The heart is a simple, elongated, vasiform muscle, inclosed
in a pericardium attached to the branchial sac, continued
at either end into a vessel; the ramifications of one being
expended chiefty upon the respiratory organ; those of the
Fig. 6.
Aseidia gelatinosa.
other upon the tunics of the body, or speedily expanding into
sinuses surrounding the viscera. According to the direc¬
tion of the circulating currents, the one trunk-vessel will be
an artery, the other a vein, and the circulation itself will be
pulmonic or systemic.
The nervous system must be first sought for in the inter¬
space between the two openings of the muscular tunic:
there is situated a ganglion (fig. 5, k), from which it is not
difficult to trace filaments diverging to each aperture of the
sac where the circular disposition of the muscular fibres
prevails ; other branches accompany the longitudinal fibres,
and supply the respiratory sac; two contiguous filaments
are continued to the oesophageal orifice.
Eight pigmental spots or eye-specks have been detected
at the entrance of the respiratory tube, and six, of a deep
yellow colour, at the entrance of the anal tube.
In the animal manifesting this organization, which is
much richer unquestionably than the amorphous and rugged
exterior would seem to promise, the only vital actions obvious
to ordinary vision are an occasional ejection of water from
the orifices of the tunic by a sudden contraction, succeeded
by a slow and gradual expansion of the entire body. Such
contractions and expansions, aided by the ciliary currents, and
the peristaltic movements of the alimentary, circulating,
and secerning tubes, are all the actions which the organic
machinery has to perform in the living Ascidian. The re¬
spiratory currents of sea-water, with the nutrient molecules
in suspension, are introduced by the ciliary action through the
branchial orifice h (fig. 6) into the pharyngeal respiratory
sac d, from which the oesophagus k selects the appropriate
food. The alimentary excretions and the generative pro¬
ducts are expelled through the anal outlet / by the con¬
traction of the muscular tunic b.
In consequence of the space between this and the outer
tunic being closed, that tunic accompanies the muscular
tunic in its contraction, through the influence of the sur¬
rounding pressure ; when the muscle ceases to act, the elas¬
ticity of the outer coat begins to restore the contractile sac
to its former capacity, and the surrounding water flows into
its cavity, either directly or by distending the branchial, sac.
We shall find other instances of the economizing of muscular
force by the substitution of elasticity as we ascend in the
survey of the molluscous organization.
Eysenhardt1 has observed the act of gemmation in a
simple Ascidian. In this, as in the compound kinds, gem¬
mation commences by the development of a small tubercle
from the abdominal portion of the internal tunic of the young
Ascidian. Some solitary Ascidice—e.g., Cynthia—accord¬
ing to my observations, are of distinct sex. In the male a
generative gland, commonly dendritic in shape, occupies
the concavity of the intestinal fold, and sends a short and
simple duct to terminate near the anus. In the female of
the Cynthia tuberculata there are two ramified ovaria; the
ovisacs being appended to the branches of a central stem,
passing up the side of the rectum, and extending over one
side of the branchial sac. In these the ova in different
stages of development may be seen. The sexes are distinct
in Doliolum ; but are stated to be united in most solitary
Ascidians, as in the compound forms. The impregnated
germ-cell multiplies itself at the expense of the yolk, and
incloses that substance by a series of secondary cells. As
this process goes on, the yolk, so subdivided and assimilated,
takes on a granular surface, each granule or tubercle having
its hyaline nucleus. By the coalescence of the peripheral
layer of these cells an external membrane is formed, on the
exterior of which are oil-like globules. An albuminous
fluid is now interposed between the chorion of the egg and
the germ-mass. A filamentary body next begins to be
formed from a part of the exterior germ-cells forming the
basis of the test, which body bends over the visceral mass.
This body or process progressively elongates, then uncoils
itself, liberating the rest of the test with the visceral mass,
and becoming a freely-vibrating locomotive caudal append¬
age, as in the larva of the compound Ascidian (fig. 5, C).
After its attachment it becomes metamorphosed and deve¬
loped into the animal, whose organization is illustrated in
fig. 6.
Family ASCIDIADiE.
Individual solitary, fixed ; branchial sac simple or plicate.
1 Ueber einige merkwurdige Lebenserscheinungen an Ascidien, Nova Acta Acad. Nat. Curios., tom. xi., 1823.
334 MOLL
Tunicata. Genus Boltenia, Sav.1—Body sub-globular, peduncu-
late; tunic coriaceous; orifices lateral, 4-cleft; branchial
sac deeply plicated, with compound tentacles at its orifice.
Sp. Boltenia reniformis, M‘Leay.—Greenland. This
species has been brought up from a depth of 70 fathoms.
Genus Chelyosoma, Broderip.2—Body depressed, dis-
coidal, sessile; tunic coriaceous, composed of polygonal
plates; orifices closed by six triangular valves.
Sp. Chel. Macleayanum.—Greenland.
Genus Cynthia, Sav.3—Tunic coriaceous, sessile; orifices
4-lobed ; branchial sac plaited longitudinally, with a tenta-
culate orifice.
Sp. Cynthiapapillata, Sav.; Cynthia microcosmus, Cuv.—
The latter is esteemed as an article of food in some parts of
the Mediterranean.
Genus Ascidia.4—Body sessile, covered with a coria¬
ceous or gelatinous tunic; branchial orifice 8-lobed, fur¬
nished inside with a circle of simple tentacular filaments;
anal orifice 6-lobed; branchial sac not plaited, its meshes
papillated.
The Ascidiae vary in length from 1 inch to 5 or 6 inches.
The test is pale and semitransparent, the inner tunic orange
or crimson, or sometimes marbled with crimson and white;
the ocelli are red, or yellow with a central red spot.
Sp. Asc. gelatinosa (fig. 6).
Order II.—DACTYLOBRANCHIATA,« Ow.
(The character of the order is also that of the single
family composing it.)
Family PYR0S0MIDA3.
In one (the commonly occurring) state, many individuals
form a compound body, swimming freely, with the tunics
fused into a cylindrico-conical mass, in which they have a
verticillate arrangement. In each individual the apertures
of the external covering are opposite and terminal. The
branchial sac with two gills, girt anteriorly by a membran¬
ous denticulate ring; open posteriorly. All the species
are pelagic.
Genus Pyrosoma,6 Peron.—A connecting link between
the Ascidians and Salpians is afforded by certain com¬
pound floating gelatinous Tunicata, called, from their
phosphorescent or luminous property, Pyrosoma, the in¬
dividuals of which are permanently aggregated into a
compound organic whole, having a definite form like a
flattened cylinder. The common tegumentary mass is
toughish and semitransparent. The tubercles with which
its exterior is covered consist each of one inhalent end
of an individual member of the living group*; the oppo¬
site exhalent end of the individual opens into the cavity of
the cylinder. Besides the common envelope, each indivi¬
dual has a distinct tunic or mantle attached at the oral or
branchial orifice, at the anal orifice, and also to the two
rounded bodies at the upper part of the branchiae. The
mantle is connected with the envelope by the delicate
membrane of the venous sinuses. The branchiae are two
in number, oval in form, with their dorsal borders in contact
and attached to the mantle, and their ventral borders sepa¬
rated by a large sinus ; their numerous vessels anastomose
at right angles, forming a quadrangular network, and the
covering tissue is beset with vibratile cilia, which perform
vortex-like movements with beautiful harmony and rapidity.
I he currents so discharged from the individual into the
common cavity produce an outflow from the open end of
the cylinder, and the re-action impels it slowly with its blunt
U S C A.
end foremost. The oesophagus is curved and of a bright Tunicata.
red colour; the stomach is subglobular, yellowish, and
opaque ; the intestine is short, bent abruptly on itself; the
anus directed backwards towards the posterior orifice.
The liver is a globular gland, with converging segments;
it is attached to the intestinal loop. These viscera are
situated posterior to the branchial sac, leaving a free pas¬
sage to the water, which traverses the cavity. The nerve-
ganglion lies upon the anterior end of the branchial sac.
The heart is placed at the posterior part of the body, below
the visceral mass, which is connected with the mantle by a
pedicle near the inner part of the endostyle. There is a long,
apparently hollow, filament contained in the dorsal sinus.
Savigny figures an ovum, and a part which he supposed to
be an oviduct; but the precise condition of the generative
organs in the Pyrosoma is at present not clearly made out.
Savigny, to whom the knowledge of the compound nature
of the Pyrosoma is due, seems plainly to have observed an
embryo, which had already constituted by gemmation four
individuals before being excluded. This is the commence¬
ment of the cylinder at its smaller and closed end ; it appears
to be elongated by the like parthenogenetic propagation of
successive circles or whirls of Ascidian-like individuals.
SipA.Pyrosomaatlanticum, Peron.—Individuals arranged
round the cylinder in close whirls. The name was applied
to the compound cylinder, under the impression that it was
the individual. It is ordinarily from 3 to 7 inches in length,
and from 1 to 3 inches in circumference; open at one end,
closed and bluntly rounded off at the other.
Syn. Pyrosoma giganteum, Lesueur (Voyage aux Terres
Australes, pi. 30, fig. 1); Savigny {Mem., ii., pi. 4, fig. 7;
pi. 22 and 23).
The species is widely distributed over the tropical and
warmer seas. Viewed from a ship’s deck, they sometimes
seem to form vast tracts of luminous matter stretched across
the waves; when closely scanned, as the keel ploughs through
the mass, it appears to be composed of countless cylinders
resembling incandescent iron. Fishes and other contiguous
marine animals are made visible by the light of the Pyro¬
soma. It is of a vivid greenish hue, appearing to be emit¬
ted in sparks from the individuals in quick succession, be¬
ginning at the point touched. In captivity the power
gradually fails, and the light excited by a touch or concus¬
sion soon fades whilst the animal is in sea-water; but under
the stimulus of fresh water it is said to be brightly emitted
as long as life remains.
Sp. 2. Pyrosoma elegans, Lesueur.—Individuals ar¬
ranged round the cylindroid in regular circles.
This species is founded on conical cylindroids of a small
size, found in the Mediterranean. (The truth and con¬
stancy of the characters of this species need confirmation.)
Order III.—T^ENIOBRANCHIATA/ Ow.
Mantle adhering throughout to the tunic; orifices oppo¬
site, terminal or subterminal without tentacles; branchia
riband-shaped; animals pelagic, free, floating; inhaling
water by one aperture, expelling it by the other; indivi¬
duals, in one generation, connected chain-wise; free in the
next generation ; and so alternately associated and solitary.
Family SALPIDJE.8
The third order of the Tunicata includes the Salpians,
which float in the sea, and are characterized by their trans¬
parent elastic outer tunic, which is elongated, compressed,
1 After Dr Bolten.
4 Gr. for “ a little skin-bottle.”
7 Gr. for “ riband-gilled.”
2 Gr. for “ tortoise-body.”
6 Gr., signifying “ gills with a ring.1
8 Gr., salpe, a luminous fish.
3 A name of Diana.
6 Gr. for “fire-body.’
MOLLUSC A.
Tunicata. or prismatico-cylindroid, and open at both extremities. The
efferent orifice (fig. 7, d) is simple and tubular; it can be
closed by a sphincter when the outer
tunic expands, the water then flowing
in by the opposite orifice c. This is in
the form of a transverse slit, having
an upper and a lower lip. The latter
is reflected inwards, and forms a semi¬
lunar valve, allowing the entry and
preventing the exit of water; the
muscular fibres of the mantle f, or
membrane lining the cartilaginous
tunic ab, are arranged in flattened,
often subannular, bands g; their ele¬
mentary fibre is striated. The mouth,
the stomach /, the liver and the
heart o, are aggregated in a small
mass or nucleus near the anterior
aperture of the tunic; the intestine k
extends towards the opposite aperture,
and terminates freely at l in the
common cavity of the mantle. The
intestine, in Salpa gibbosa, has two
caeca which project into the centre
of the loop. In Salpa zonaria the
liver envelopes nearly all the intes¬
tinal canal, and consists of a mass of caecal tubes, with
a few small appendages near their free ends. The group of
small yellowish nervous ganglia is situated just above the oral
attachment of the branchia n; near it is often observed
a pigment-speck or ocellus. The single narrow plicated
riband-shaped branchia n extends obliquely lengthwise
across the pallial cavity. The heart o is elongated, and
in some species slightly curved and sacculated ; it commu¬
nicates with a large vessel m at each extremity, one of
which is ramified principally upon the visceral mass, the
other upon the branchia and the muscular tunics. The
blood passes into extensive venous sinuses before returning
to the heart; its course is oscillatory, as in the Ascidians.
The sexes are distinct in certain individuals of the Sal-
pians, as they are in some of the solitary Ascidians.
The testis is described by Krohn1 as of an oblong form,
single, lodged in the centre of the nucleus in Salpa maxima,
in which it consists of numerous delicate seminiferous tubes
filled with a white fluid, and opening by a short canal into
the common cavity of the body. The two oblong bodies
d, sometimes of a violet colour, attached to the mantle,
have been regarded as ovaria; but they are more properly
a “ prolifei’ous stolon,” engendering by independent force,
or independently of direct impregnation. Thus Sars main¬
tains that the solitary individuals of the Salpae are sexless.
The germinative tube, in which the chain of young Salpse
are contained, winds round the visceral nucleus, hanging
freely by one end in the cavity of the mantle, and being
attached by the other end to the back of the nucleus.
The Salpse, thus developed from internal buds, are usually
produced in groups, which are successively excluded
through an aperture in the tunic opposite the end of the
stolon.
The chief conspicuous vital action in the Salpians is the
rhythmical contraction and expansion of the body, in
which the elasticity of the outer tunic antagonises the mus¬
cular contraction of the inner one. During expansion the
sea-water enters by the aperture c, and is expelled in con¬
traction by the opposite one d, its exit by the first aper¬
ture being prevented by the valve. The re-action of the
jet, which is commonly forced out of a contracted tube,
occasions a retrograde movement of the animal. The cur¬
rents which successively traverse the interior of the animal
renew the oxygenated medium upon the surface of the re¬
Fig. 7.
Salpa pinnata.
spiratory organ, bring the nutrient molecules within the
reach of the ciliated sub-spiral labial membrane of the
mouth, and expel the excrements and the generative pro¬
ducts. Thus, a single act of muscular contraction is made
subservient to the performance of the functions of locomo¬
tion, nutrition, respiration, excretion, and generation.
The aggregate Salpians quit their gemmiparous parent,
associated together in long chains. After floating for a cer¬
tain time, each individual, as De Chamisso2 first discovered,
propagates a young one like itself. The solitary Salpa pro¬
pagated by each individual of the chain is the product of an
impregnated ovum, and is for a time suspended by a pe¬
duncle from the dorsal wall of the visceral cavity of the
parent. The development of the individual Salpse has been
studied by Dr Leuckart. The first evidence of differentia¬
tion is the formation in the embryonic mass of a closed
cavity, from the walls of which the bar-shaped gill is de¬
tached, leaving behind it a space, which becomes the cloaca.
The alimentary canal simultaneously makes its appearance.
At a later period the branchial chamber communicates with
the exterior by the branchial and cloacal orifices. In
the Salpa zonaria, however, as many as three pedun¬
culated young have been found in one parent when liber¬
ated. The solitary Salpa grows to the size of the grand¬
parent, and then brings forth a social chain of young Salpse,
which, by the exercise of their uniparous generation, again
give origin to the solitary and multiparous individuals.
“ Thus,” observes Chamisso, “ only the alternate genera¬
tions resemble each other.”
The case is strictly analogous to the generation of the
compound Ascidians, of which the solitary young gives
origin, by generation, to a connected group, each individual
of which again procreates, by impregnated ova, free indivi¬
duals. Most Salpians are usually luminous by night.
Genus Salpa.—The characters of the family are those
also of the type-genus. Syn. Thalia, Brown ; Dagyza,
Banks and Solander (Home, Comparative Anatomy, voi.
ii., pi. Ixxi., figs. 2 and 3, engraved from drawings by John
Hunter ; see Owen’s Physiological Catalogue of the Hun¬
terian Collection, vol. i., p. 133, 4to); Biphores, Cuvier.
Sp. 1. Salpa maxima, Forskael. (Syn. Salpa africana,
Forsk.)
335
Tunicata-
1 Observations sur la Generation et le Developpement des Biphores, Annalcs des Sciences Nat., Sieme serie, tom. vi., p. 128, 1846.
2 De Animulibus quibusdam e Classe Vermium, Fasciculus 1. l)e Salpa, 4to, 1819.
MOLLUSC A.
336
Brachio- Salparuncinata, Chamisso. (Syn. Salpafusiformis.)
poda. gp. 3. Salpa pinnata, Forsk. (fig. 7). (Syn. Salpa cris-
tata, Cuv.)
Sp. 4. Salpa gibbosa, Quoy and Gaimard {Voyage de
VAstrolabe, Zoologie, tom. iii., 1835, pp. 559-598, pi. 86-89).
—Specimens, Nos. 480, 481, Physiol. Ser., Hunt. Mus.,
London.
Sp. 5. Salpa infundibuliformis, Quoy and Gaim., ibid.
Specimens, Nos. 482, 483, Physiol. Ser., Hunt. Mus., Lond.
Sp. 6. Salpa polycratica, Forsk.
Genus Anchuslea, Eschricht.—This name has been
given to small Salpae, associated in a single row to a gela¬
tinous filament.
Genus Doliolum.—Body cask-shaped, open at the ends ;
muscular bands six, equidistant; branchiae in two bands
with vertical bars, one on the dorsal, the other on the ventral
surface, converging and confluent posteriorly.
Sp. Doliolum denticulatum, Quoy and Gaimard.—Only
the solitary form of this species has been yet observed.
Genus Appendicularia, Chamisso. (Syn. Oikopleura,
Mertens ;1 Vexillaria, Muller.)—Body ovoid, with a long
appendage from the dorsal surface of the posterior end,
making an angle with the axis of the body, and leading to
a large cavity with venous sinuses. The branchia is repre¬
sented by a ciliated pharynx, communicating with the ex¬
terior by two short tubes (discovered by Gegenbauer), cili¬
ated where they leave the cavity, and opening immediately
on the dorsal surface in front of the base of the appendage.
Sp. Appendicularia Jlabellum, Chamisso.—This species
is one-sixth to one-fourth of an inch in length, and has
been observed in such numbers as to form cloudy patches
of red substance on the surface of the sea. It resembles
the larva of the Ascidians ; but Mr Huxley states that he
observed spermatozoa in some individuals.1 2 No female or
aggregated form of Appendicularia has yet been seen.
CLASS II.—BRACHIOPODA,3 Cuvier.
The Acephalous Mollusks of this class are deprived, like
the Ascidians, of the power of locomotion, and are attached
by a peduncle or by the shell to foreign bodies. Their
soft tunic or mantle is, as it were, slit open, and consists of
two broad membranous expansions, called “ lobes,” which
are covered by two calcareous plates or “ valves,” applied,
one to the dorsal, the other to the ventral surface,
so as to inclose and defend all the soft parts of the
animal. The breathing organs consist chiefly of
vascular ramifications or processes on the inner sur¬
face of the pallial lobes, whence the name Pallio-
branchiata,4 which has been applied to the Brachio-
pods. The viscera are situated at the part of the
shell next the hinge or peduncle, and in one order
are confined to a small space there. The rest of the
interspace of the pallial lobes is almost entirely
occupied by two long fringed arms, continued from
the sides of the mouth, and disposed wholly or
partly in spiral curves. All the species are marine.
They may be briefly characterized as follows:—
Body symmetrical, with a dorso-ventral bivalve
shell, lined by a closely-adherent mantle of two
widely-separated lobes. Oral brachia two, long,
Iringed, and ciliated, usually more or less spirally disposed.
Order I.—ARTHROPOMATA, Ow.5
Shell-valves articulated ; calcareous ; viscera occupying
one-third, brachia two-thirds, of the shell-cavity.
Family I.—TEREBRATULIDiE.8 Brachio-
poda.
Shell-structure minutely tubular. Ventral valve (fig. 8,
V) with a prominent notched
or perforated beak, and two
curved hinge-teeth ; dorsal
valve (fig. 8, D ) with a depress¬
ed umbo, a cardinal processbe-
tween the dental sockets, and
an internal calcareous, usu¬
ally looped, appendage/ sup¬
porting the two long bent
and spiral brachia d, e; at¬
tached by a short pedicle n, or sessile by a part of the
ventral valve.
The subdivisions of the Terebratulidce or lamp-shells,
which include the most characteristic living forms of the
Brachiopodous class, are based upon modifications of the
brachial appendage. The foramen in the ventral valve is
usually more or less formed by a small separate shelly piece
called the deltidium.
The viscera and shell-muscles occupy a small space near
the hinge ; the rest of the shell-cavity is almost wholly
occupied by the two long fringed arms, which diverge from
the sides of the mouth and terminate in spiral coils (fig. 9,/’).
Of the muscular system, the adductor longus anticus is
shown at o (fig. 8); the adductor longus posticus at p (figs. 8
and 9); the adductor brevis at q. Other parts of the com¬
plex muscular system are described and figured in Owen’s
Anatomy of Terebratula,—Introduction to the British
Fossil Brachiopoda, by Davidson, printed for the Palseon-
tolographical Soc. 1853.
The stem of the brachia is hollow (fig. 9, e), and contains
muscular fibres so disposed as to compress the fluid con¬
tained in the cavity. The nervous system consists of three
principal parts—the “ pallial,” brachial,” and “ visceral;”
the origins of these systems centre in the ganglionic basis
of the oesophageal ring, which basis determines the dorsal
and ventral aspects of the body as above defined. The
details of the nervous system are described and figured in
the General Introduction to the British Fossil Brachiopoda,
above cited, p. 11, pi. 2 ; and in Owen’s Lectures on In-
vertebrata, 8vo, 1855, p. 491.
The mouth of the Terebratula (fig. 9, a) is situated in the
Fig. 9.
Waldheimia flavescens (magnified).
middle line, and opens ventrad above the fringed transverse
bar or common base of the brachia, and at the beginning of
the passage formed by the spiral fold of the brachia ; a short
oesophagus ascends dorsad, and swells into the stomach,
which curves backwards and downwards to b ; the major part
of the cavity is concealed by the hepatic follicles d, d;
Fig. 8.
Waldheimia flavescens.
1 Memoires de VAcad. Imp. de St Petersburg, tom. i., p. 205, 1831. 2 Phil. Trans., 1851. 3 Gr. for “ arm-feet,
e rv" ^°r “ cl°ak-giUe(l.” c Gr. k^os, a joint; ku^o., a valve.
Dim. of terebratus, perforated ; in reference to the hole for the peduncle.
MOLL
Brachio- the intestine e is short, and terminates near the ventral
poda. valve behind the adductor posticus. The writer of the pre-
sent article has detected fcecal masses of infusorial shells in
this intestine, and has pressed such out of the intestine in
young specimens of Terebratula caput-serpentis, recently
dredged: but the anus appears to become obliterated in
some mature Terebratulae.
The mantle lobes are remarkable for the size of the
branched vessels of their inner layer, and for the tubular
processes of the outer layer, which penetrate the pores of
the shell. The trunks of the pallia! vessels are connected
with organs (fig. 9, 6), discovered in the Terebratula fla-
vescens, and first described as “ a small transversely-pli-
cated membranous process, continued from each side of
the beginning of the intestine.”1 The homologous organs
were soon after independently discovered in Lingula anatina
by M. Vogt,2 who described them as “ peculiar sacs,” lying
one upon each heart, with its free border folded like a frill.
“ At the connecting line of the folds there is a fissure which
leads to an extremely delicate canal, whose further continu¬
ations I could not follow ; but it seemed to me that it
opened externally between the two lobes of the mantle.”3
The present writer, having subsequently convinced himself
of the communication of these plicated organs with the vis¬
ceral sinuses and ramified pallial vessels, described them as
having the relation of' auricles or hearts to that vascular sys¬
tem.4 Loven 5 concludes, from their external orifices, that
they are kidneys ; Mr Hancock6 that they are oviducts. The
latter author conceives that the pallial vessels circulate, not
blood, but sea-water, and compares them to the atrium of the
Ascidians, and the water-chambers of the Cephalopods. He
confirms the connection of this system of vessels with the
plicated organs, the relations and varying conditions as to
size of which are figured in the Anatomical Introduction
above quoted, pi. 3. The ramification and subdivision of
the pallial vessels near the margin of the mantle, the com¬
plex fringe of setigerous {Terebratula) or jointed {Lingula)
bristles at their free margins, the modifications and develop¬
ments of the inner layer of the mantle, described by Cuvier
as “ gills ” in Lingula, and the perforating pallial tubuli dis¬
covered by Dr Carpenter,—all point to the respiratory func¬
tion of the pallial lobes. The present writer has, however,
observed ciliary actions on the fringes of the brachia in a liv¬
ing Terebratula caput-serpentis; and has remarked that
“ wherever the blood is exposed in its vessels and sinuses to
the sea-water, a respiratory action must go on.”7 A slender
filament8 accompanies the larger pallial vessels throughout
all their ramifications. The generative cells (testes or
ovaria) are developed within the pallial vessels, and appar¬
ently from the more slender ramified body.9 In a Lin¬
gula anatina, preserved in spirits, the writer has observed
the following stages of development in ova taken from the
ramified pallial ovarium, which was bathed in the fluid
of the correspondingly ramified sinuses:—An im¬
pregnated ovum, in which the germinal vesicle had dis¬
appeared and the germ-mass had been formed; it oc¬
cupied the entire ovum, which had assumed an oblong
form ,* a peripheral stratum of the derivative germ-cells was
more compact and of a somewhat lighter colour than the
central mass. 2c?; A germ, showing the formation of a
smooth membrane round the germ-mass. 3c?, A germ
U S C A. 337
with a central cavity and the rudiment of a peduncle. Ath, Brachio-
An embryo with the peduncle more produced, but without poda.
a visible trace of the shell. These stages are described and
figured in the Anatomical Introduction to the Fossil Bra-
chiopoday p. 22, pi. 1, fig. 7, a to c. They show that the
young Lingulce are provided with a peduncle before they
quit the parent ; and it is very improbable that they escape
through the plicated organs which Mr Hancock regards as
oviducts.
The first step in the investigation of a small and complex
Mollusk, especially when, as a rarity, it is brought pre¬
served in spirit to the anatomist, is to find, describe, and
figure the structures that exist; the determination of their
function, when found, is the work of ulterior research, and
in regard more especially to the circulation, depends upon ob¬
servations of the living animals. The present writer has
derived much satisfaction in finding almost all the parts and
organs which he had described and figured in successive con¬
tributions to the anatomy of the Brachiopoda confirmed by
later investigators, with a difference of opinion as to the func¬
tion of some parts, and a change of name of other parts. The
anus of the Terebratula, e.g, is described and figured by
Mr Albany Hancock in the beautiful drawing of the dissec¬
tion of the Waldheimia Jlavescens which he contributed to
Dr Gray’s Catalogue of the Mollusca Brachiopoda of the
British Museum, 12 mo,, 1853, p. 14, fig. 2,10 “went;” also
in the figure published in Mr Woodward’s Manual of the
Mollussa, p. 210 ; and in Mr Davidson’s Classification of
the Brachiopoda, Palaeontographieal volume for 1853, p. 55,
fig. 1. But in specimens subsequently dissected, Mr Han¬
cock. states he has not been able to detect the outlet at the
end of the intestine. The same author, while he admits
that the walls of the brachial canal (fig. 9, e) are supplied
with delicate muscular fibres, which nm diagonally round
the tube, and which are crossed by “ delicate longitudinal
fibres,” failed to detect anything like the “double spiral
arrangements of fibres ” described by Professor Owen.
Whether science really gains by such changes of nomen¬
clature as of “ occlusors ” for “ adductors,” and of “ ad¬
justors ” for “ protractors,” may be questioned.
Genus Terebratula (as restricted by Davidson).—
Shell oval, elongated, or transverse, externally smooth or
plaited ; valves more or less unequally convex ; margin even
or waved ; hinge-line curved ; beak short, truncated by a
foramen, partly margined by a deltidium in one or two
pieces ; appendicular (internal) loop short, attached to the
dorsal valve ; brachia projecting considerably in front of
the loop; no internal septum in the ventral (socket) valve.
Sp. Terebratula vitrea, Glassy Lamp-shell.—Habitat
Mediterranean, in 90 to 250 fathoms. More than 100
species of Terebratula with short loops have been found
fossil. They range from the Devonian epoch to the present
day. Of the fossil species the most remarkable is the
Terebratula diphya of Colonna, from the Oolite of Italy.
Both valves are perforated in the mid-line* in the same per¬
pendicular, in advance of the hinge. Mr Woodward 11
states that the young had bi-lobed valves, which united in
the adult so far as to leave the above apertures.
CrewMS Terebratulina, D’Orb.—Shell generally longer
than, wide, more or less oval, finely striated ^ deltidium
small; in’ some obsolete loop short, becoming annular in the
1 Owen, Lecture xx., On Invertebrata, 8vo, Longmans, published in June 1843.
2 C. Vogt, Neue Denkschriften der allg. Schweizer Geeellschaft f. d. ges. Naturwiss. vii., Neuchatel, 1845, mit 2 Taf. 3 Ibid.
4 R. Owen, “ Letjtre a M. Milne Edwards sur 1’appareilde la Circulation chez les Mollusques.de la classe des Brachiopodes,” Ann. des Sc.
Nat., Siftine Serie, iii., 1845, Zool. pp. 315-320, plate 4. 6 Bulletin Physico-Mathem. Acad. Imp. Petersb., Oct.. 1855, p. 223.
6 Annals of Natural History, Aug. 1857, p. 145. 7 Lectures on Invertebrata, 1855, p. 496.
8 First described and figured by Owen as “ arteries ” ia Trans. Zool. Soc. i., pi. 22 and 23. The impressions of these delicate filaments
and vessels are sometimes preserved on fossil shells of Terebratulites that have ceased to exist since the Permian period,—e.g., in Carna-
rophoria multiplicata. (King, Monograph, of English Permian Fossils.) By virtue of the minute radiated spicula of carbonate of lime with
which the mantle, brachia, and brachial cirri are, as it were, frosted over, the preservation of these delicate soft parts, or of instructive
indications of them, in fossil Brachiopoda, seems due. 9 Lectures on Invertebrata, p. 496.
10 Annals of Natural History, Aug. 1857, p. 10. 11 Manual, p. 215.
VOL. XV. 2 U
338 MOLL
Brachio- adult by the union of the oral processes, forming a shelly
Poda‘ t band behind the mouth.
Sp. Terebratulina caput-serpentis (Snake-headed Lamp-
shell).—Hab. from Norway to the Mediterranean, at from
10 to 150 fathoms. About twenty fossil species are known ;
ranging from the Oolitic to the actual epochs.
Genus Waldheimia, King.—Shell smooth or plaited,
with the dorsal valve impressed, in some species depressed
or concave; perforation of beak completed by a deltidium
of one or two pieces; loop long, usually exceeding two-
thirds of the length of the valve, and reflected; septum of
dorsal valve elongated.
Sp. Waldheimia flavescens ( Terebratula australis, Quoy
and Gaim.)—Hab. Australia, from just below low-water
mark to 20 fathoms. This is the species of which the an¬
atomy is illustrated in the Anatomical Introduction to the
British Fossil Brachiopoda above cited, and in fig. 9 of
the present article.
Terebratulidce with long loops have been found from the
Lias to the present period.
Genus Terebratella, D’Orb.—Shell smooth, or with
radiating folds; dorsal valve longitudinally impressed in
most; beak-hole partly margined by a deltidium of two
pieces, in some disunited above the umbo ; beak with a
flattened area on each side of the deltidium; loop elon¬
gated and attached to the septum as well as to the hinge.
Sp. Terebratella dorsata, Lam.—Hab. Straits of Magel¬
lan. The soft parts and apophysary system of the genus
were described from this living species in the Transactions
of the Zoolog. Society, vol. i., p. 141, pi. xxii., 1835. The
species of this genus, now ranked under sub-genera, range
from the Cretaceous period to the present day.
Family II.—THECIDIIDA:.
The characters of the family are also those of the single
genus composing it.
Genus Thecidium,1 De France.—Shell thick, punc¬
tate, attached by the substance of the ventral shell at or
near the beak ; interiorly a deep or thick granulated margin
generally encircles the valves, and in the ventral one, after
reaching the front, extends inwards in the shape of a rounded
mesial ridge ; oral processes united, forming a bridge over
the visceral cavity; loop often unsymmetrical, lobed, and
united more or less intimately with the sides of the grooves.
Sp. Thecidium mediterraneum.—Hab. Mediterranean ;
attached to corals. The animal has elongated brachia
folded on themselves, with their curve long and not close-set.
“ This genus, so far as we know, first appeared in the
salt-marls of St Cassian. In the Lias the species are both
numerous and large; from that epoch the genus continued
uninterruptedly to the present period, and the family is
still represented by a single species.” (Davidson’s Mono¬
graph, above cited.)
Family III.—SPIRIFERIDA2, Sowerby.
All the species are extinct; they were chiefly distin¬
guished by much-developed brachia, supported on spirally-
disposed shelly processes, which were sometimes spinulose.
Davidson admits five genera and two sub-sections of this
family. The species range from the lower Silurian epoch
through all the Palaeozoic formations, and apparently died
out in the Lias.
Family IV.—RHYNCHOKELLIDAk
Shell impunctate, oblong, or trigonal beaked ; hinge-line
curved ; no area ; valves articulated, convex, often sharply
plaited; foramen beneath the beak, usually completed by
a deltidium, sometimes concealed; hinge-teeth supported
by dental plates; hinge-plate deeply divided, supporting
U S C A.
oral lamellae, rarely provided with spiral processes ; muscu- Brachio-
lar impressions grouped as in Terebratula ; vascular im- poda.
pressions consisting of two principal trunks in each valve,
narrow, dichotomizing, angular, the principal posterior
branches inclosing spaces which leave punctate impressions
in casts of the shell.
Genus Rhynchonella,2 Fischer {Notice des Fossiles
du Gouv. de Moscow, 1809).—Animal with elongated spiral
arms directed inwards towards the concavity of the dorsal
valve; visceral mass scarcely extending beyond the um-
bones, separated from the general cavity of the shell by
an aponeurosis, in the centre of which is the mouth; labia
united at the sides of the mouth and produced into the
spiral brachia; alimentary canal terminating behind the
insertion of the adductor in the ventral valve ; mantle not
adhering, its margin fringed with a few short setae.
Sp. Rhynchonella psittacea.—Hab. northern seas. The
organization of this recent species is illustrated in the
Transactions of the Zool. Society, vol. i., 1835, p. 145.
Rhynchonella nigricans.—Hab. New Zealand. The
above are the only two existing species at present known.
Upwards of 250 species of this family have been found fossil.
It manifests one of the most ancient types of animal organ¬
ization, ranging from the Cambrian to the present period.
The chief modifications of the family type were exemplified
by the extinct genera. Pentainerus, Sowerby; Camarophosia,
King; Atrypa, Dalman.
Family V.—ORTHIDA.3
Shell transversely oblong, depressed, rarely foraminated ;
hinge-line wide and straight; beaks inconspicuous; valves
plano-convex, or concavo-convex, each with a hinge-area
notched in the centre ; ventral valve with prominent teeth ;
muscular impressions occupying a saucer-shaped cavity
with a raised margin ; adductor central; cardinal and pedicle
impressions conjoined, lateral, fan-like ; dorsal valve with a
tooth-like cardinal process between two curved brachial
processes ; adductor impression quadruple; vascular im¬
pressions consisting of six principal trunks in the dorsal
valve, two in the ventral, the external branches turned out¬
wards and backwards, inclosing wide spaces called ovarian.
Indications have been observed in several genera of hori¬
zontally-coiled spiral arms, but they had no calcified sup¬
ports ; the space between the valves is often very small.
The shell-structure is minutely tubular or punctate, except
in a few instances, where the original texture is probably
obliterated.
All the species are extinct; some appear to have lived
free, others to have been fixed by means of a pedicle. They
range from the Cambrian to the end of the Liassic period:
the type genus Orthis has not been found above the Car¬
boniferous formations.
Family VI.—PRODUCTIDiE.
Shell concavo-convex, with a straight hinge-line; valves
in some species {Stropholosia, King) regularly articulated,
in others without hinge-teeth ; closely appressed, striated,—
the striae developing close-set tubular spines ; ventral valve
convex; dorsal valve concave ; internal surface dotted with
conspicuous funnel-shaped punctures ; dorsal valve with a
prominent cardinal process ; brachial processes sub-central,
without calcified supports ; vascular markings lateral, broad,
and simple; adductor impressions dendritic, separated by
a narrow central ridge ; ventral valve with a slightly notched
hinge-line ; adductor scar central, near the umbo ; cardinal
impressions lateral, striated.
All the species are extinct: they range through the
Devonian, Carboniferous, and Permian periods.
1 Gr. for “ small pouch.1
Gr., sign, “small beak.’
Gr. for “ straight.’
MOLL
Brachio- Order II.—LYOPOMATA, Owen.1
poda.
/ Shell-valves inarticulated, and, save in the annectant
family Craniadce, subcalcified ; viscera occupying one-half,
brachia the other half, of the shell cavity.
Family I.—CRANIADA2.
Shell orbicular, hingeless; external surface smooth, or
spinous, or with radiating costae or foliaceous expansions ;
dorsal valve limpet-like ; interior of each valve with a broad
granulated border, well exhibiting the tubular or punctate
shell-structure ; disk with four large muscular impressions,
and digitated vascular impressions.
Genus Crania, Retzius, 1781.—Animal usually at¬
tached by the substance of the ventral valve, with free spiral
arms directed towards the concavity of the dorsal valve, and
supported by a nose-like prominence in the middle of the
lower valve; mantle-lobes extending to the edges of the
valves, and closely adhering, with the margins plain and thin.
Sp. Crania anomala, Muller.-—The thick, cirrigerous,
spiral, labial arms are confined to the anterior half of the
shell-cavity, and are devoid of calcareous supports; the
pallial sinuses are digitate.
“ The valves of Crania appear to have been opened by
the action of sliding muscles, as described by Professor
Owen in Discina ; those which advance the dorsal valve
{protractor muscles) are aided by a single small muscle in
the median line, answering to the cardinal muscle of Tere-
bratula. The pair of muscles which bring the free valve
back to its place {retractors) are attached outside the an¬
terior adductors of the free valve, and to a point between
the posterior adductors in the fixed valve, like their equi¬
valents in Discina, according to Owen.”2
The species of Crania, most of which are now extinct,
range from the Cambrian to the present period.
Family II.-DISCINID^E.
Shell-valves unarticulated, minutely punctate; animal
attached by a very short and thick mass of musculo-tendi-
nous fibres, passing through the ventral valve by a slit in the
hinder portion, or by a circular foramen.
Gemis Discina,3 Lam. (Orbicula, Broderip and Sowerby).
Sp. Discina {Orbicula) lamellosa, Brod. The follow¬
ing are notes of dissection of two specimens of this spe¬
cies, which were given to the writer by Mr H. Cuming,
who collected them on the Peruvian coast:—The shell is
of an irregular, rounded, flattened form, of a reddish-brown
colour; the edges of the layers of increase are horny, and
the margin of the shell is of a soft texture and thickened.
The layers of increase are large in proportion to the size of
the shell, and very irregular; the dorsal valve resembles that
of a low limpet, having the apex behind the centre ; the ven¬
tral valve is flat. The orifice in the ventral valve is a slit at
the bottom of a depression ; it is three lines long and half a
line wide. Through this slit the organ of adhesion passes,and
immediately expands into a round sucker, which fills up the
whole of the depression, concealing the margins of the slit.
Beyond the margins of the valves long shining setae pro¬
ject from two to four lines, which are inserted all round
the free or disunited margins of both lobes of the mantle;
but the outer shell-forming layer of the mantle extends a
little beyond the setigerous border. The setae are much
longer in proportion than in Terebratula, and rather longer
than in Lingula ; they are beset with minute setulce. The
muscles and viscera are situated in a rounded mass in the
posterior half of the shell. At the fore-part are two oblong
ends of muscles with their anterior sides converging; in the
triangular space between them is the green-coloured liver;
U S C A. 339
behind these the mass of the gray ovary; and at the posterior Brachio-
part of the circle are two smaller “ post-adductor” muscles.
On removing the lower valve, which must be cut through
to the fissure on each side in order not to disturb the vis¬
cera, the same structure of mantle is perceived, there being
a single vascular trunk or sinus on either side; but the
viscera are quite concealed by the dilated disc for adhesion.
On removing the mass of the follicular liver and ovary, the
alimentary canal is observable extending down the middle
to the posterior part of the shell, and then bending to the
right, viewed from behind, it enters the right egg-receptacle,
and terminates by opening externally between the mantle-
lobes and just behind the right extremity of the arm. Four
shining tendons are also observable; two superior diverg¬
ing. The two superior pairs arise by a common origin from
between the insertion of the anterior large muscles, and are
inserted outside the posterior pair of muscles and two in¬
ferior converging, to be inserted at the inner side of the
same. These are attached by their opposite extremities
to the sides of the membranous circle containing the ova,
and protecting the viscera. The two posterior large muscles
are inserted into the lower valve close to the slit.
On turning down the ventral lobe of the mantle, the
vessels are also seen converging from the respiratory margin
to two trunks, which terminate in two oblong plicated cavi¬
ties on either side. These are the hearts of the pallial
sinuses (“ kidneys” of Loven, “ oviducts” of Hancock);
they are situated between the two strong membranes which
circumscribe the visceral mass, and divide it into two cavi¬
ties. These cavities are large, and were filled with a co¬
agulated light-gray substance and a brownish matter : the
latter, under the microscope, presented a granular appear¬
ance, like ova, but the lighter substance had no form or
structure; it might be coagulated blood. The arms are
joined at their bases below or across the ventral side of the
mouth, on which aspect they form a transverse, semilunar,
fleshy stem, fringed and convex anteriorly} at the extre¬
mities of this ridge they are bent upon themselves, and turn
upwards and forwards their extremities, making one turn
and a half in front of the mouth. These reflected parts of
the arms are closely connected to the first-described por¬
tion, and cannot be freely everted and protruded, as in Lin¬
gula. The lateral parts, where the bend is, may be pushed
out like elbows, and so the shell be opened; or it may be
opened by their contracting from the bend towards the
mouth, and so becoming thicker and opening the shell.
The brachial fringe consists of round equal filaments, with
an entire surface ; but when viewed through the lens, dark
lines seem to traverse them longitudinally.
The Discinidce, of the genus Trematis, Sharpe {Orbicella,
D’Orb.), as well as those of Siphonotreta, De Vernueuil,
belong to the Silurian periods. The species of Orbicu-
loidea, D’Orb., range from the Silurian to the Neocomian
periods, and were most numerous during the Carboniferous
period. The true Discince, as restricted by D’Orbigny,
first appeared at the Tertiary epoch, and are still repre¬
sented by the species which the writer has had the oppor¬
tunity to anatomize.
Family III.—LINGULIDA3.
Shell oblong or orbicular, sub-equivalve, attached by a
long pedicle passing out between the beaks of the valves;
texture horny, minutely tubulararms fleshy, unsupported
by calcified processes.
Germs Lingula,4 Bruguiere, 1789.—Shell oblong, com¬
pressed, slightly gaping at each end, truncated in front, ra¬
ther pointed at the umbones; dorsal valve rather shorter, with
a thickened hinge-margin and a raised central ridge inside.
1 \uu, to loosen; xup*, valve.
3 Gr., signifying “ small plate.:
2 Davidson, Monograph on British Braehiopoda, p. 123.
4 Lat., “ a little tongue.”
340 MOLL
Brachio- Animal with the mantle-lobes firmly adhering to the shell,
p°da. an(j unite(j to the epidermis, entire circumference of their
margins distinct, and fringed; pallial sinuses giving off nume¬
rous narrow loops from their inner surfaces ; visceral cavity
occupying the posterior half of the shell, and surrounded
by a strong muscular sheath; pedicle elongated, thick; ad¬
ductor muscles three, the posterior pair combined; two pairs
of retractors, the posterior pair unsymmetrical, one of them
dividing; protractor sliding muscles, two pairs; stomach
long and straight, sustained by inflections of the visceral
sheath ; intestine convoluted dorsally, terminating between
the mantle-lobes on the right side; oral arms disposed in
about six close whirls, their cavities opening into the pro¬
longation of the visceral sheath in front of the adductors.
Sp. Lingula anatina, Lam.—From dissections of this
species, the Brachiopodous type of structure was first made
known in the memoir by Cuvier in the Annales du Mu¬
seum, vol. i., 1'802. Cuvier here shows, in Lingula, a
condition of the respiratory organ which might be paral¬
leled with one of the transitory states of that organ in
the Lamellibranchs,—that, viz., in which the rudimental
gills appear as processes from the inner surface of the
pallial lobes, and in which the distinction, whether mor¬
phological or physiological, of the gills and mantle is
not fully established. The modifications of the breath¬
ing organ in both Terebratula and Discina exhibited a
more interesting condition, comparable to a still earlier
stage of the respiratory system in the embryo Lamelli-
branch,—that, viz., in which the vessels of the pallial lobes
have not begun to bud out in parallel rows of vascular
loops,—the first stage in the formation of gills, and the
one at which it is arrested in the Lingula. Additional par¬
ticulars of the organization of Lingula will be found in the
Transactions of the Zoological Society, vol. i.; in the Ana¬
tomic der Lingula anatina, by Vogt; in the Neuer Denk-
schrifte der Schioeizerischen Gesellschaft, Bd. vii.; and in
the Introduction to the Monograph on British Fossil Bra-
chiopoda, pi. i., figs. 5, 6, and 7; pi. ii., fig. 3.
The high antiquity of the Lingula, and the maintenance
of the genus under very slightly modified specific repre¬
sentatives to the present day, render a knowledge of so
enduring a plan of organization highly interesting. Fossil
Lingulce {L. Davisii, M‘Coy, e.g.) occur in the Cambrian
or lowest fossil liferous beds of North Wales; and Lingulce
continued to exist in the seas that are now British as late
as the period of the Coralline Crag. The genus is repre¬
sented at the present day by living species, which as yet
have only been found in warmer latitudes; e^., in the seas
washing the coasts of the Indian Archipelago, the Moluccas,
Australia, the Fiji and Sandwich Islands.
The Lingula anatina, living near the surface, and some¬
times where it would be left exposed by the retreating tide
were it not buried in the sand, must meet with more variety
and abundance of nutriment than can be found in the deeper
waters, where Terebratula, Crania, and Discina usually
reside. Hence its powers of prehension are greater; and
Cuvier suspects that it may even enjoy a species of locomo¬
tion from the superior length and muscularity of its pedicle.
The organization of its mouth and stomach indicates the
molecular character of its food; but its convoluted intestine
shows a capacity of extracting a quantity of nutriment pro¬
portioned to its superior activity, and to the greater extent of
its soft parts. The more extended pallio-vascular surface is
in harmony with the above conditions of structure and habits.
With regard to Discina, and more especially the deep-
sea species of Terebratula, both the respiration and nutrition
U S C A.
of such animals—which exist beneath a pressure of from sixty Brachio-
to ninetyfathoms of sea-water—are subjects suggestive of in- poda.
teresting reflections, and lead one to contemplate with less
surprise the great strength and complexity of some of the
minutest parts of the frame of these diminutive creatures.
In the unbroken stillness pervading those abysses their ex¬
istence must depend upon their power of exciting a current
around them in order to dissipate the water already laden with
their effete particles, and to bring within the reach of their
prehensile organs the animalcules adapted to theirsustenance.
The Brachiopods appear to have been most abundant,
and certainly manifested their most varied forms, in past
epochs of the globe. They are now, though comparatively
few in number and restricted in generic modifications, widely
diffused over the earth’s surface; and some species exist at
greater depths than other bivalve Mollusks. They are thus
amongst the most ancient of existing types of animal struc¬
ture, and their range in space is as extensive as has been
their range in time.
With regard to the affinities of the Brachiopoda, Siebold1
compares their spiral-fringed brachia to the tentacles of
Alcyonella ; and this idea of their affinity to the Bryozoa
has been reproduced and supported by Mr Hancock2 * and
Professor Allman, who deem the affinities of the Bryozoa
to pass off in two directions,—in one through the Tunicata,
and in the other through the Brachiopoda ; but they be¬
lieve the Brachiopoda to be much more nearly allied to
the Lamellibranchiata than they are to the Bryozoa.*
Cuvier indicated his sense of the distinct and well-marked
type of the structure of the Brachiopoda by placing the
class below that of the Tunicata,—a position which it re¬
tains in the edition of the Regne Animal of 1830.
The knowledge of the structure of the mature forms of
Terebratula, Waldheimia, Rhynchonella, Crania, Discina,
or Orbicula, anA Lingula, led the writer in 1835 to regard
the Brachiopoda as a group equivalent to the Tunicata on
the one hand, and to the Lamellibranchiata on the other;
and in the linear series, necessitated by progressive descrip¬
tion, the proper place of the Brachiopoda was deemed to
be, as in the present article, between the Tunicata and the
Lamellibranchiata. Should the embryology of the Bra¬
chiopoda show that they propagate by gemmation as well
as by impregnated ova, and that the embryo quits the ovum
under the guise of a ciliated gemmule, such facts would weigh
strongly for the closer affinity of the Brachiopoda to the
ciliobrachiate Polypes. Should the Brachiopoda be found
to propagate exclusively by impregnated ova, and—as the
scanty observations on Lingula show that the embryo
undergoes a development which brings with it a recognis¬
able approach to the mature form before it quits the parent
—should the little embryonal Brachiopodous Bivalves be
found also to be hatched in the sinuses of the respiratory
layer of the pallial lobes,—all these developmental characters
will tend to confirm the position which is here assigned to
this well-defined class of Acephalous Mollusks.
CLASS III.—LAMELLIBRANCHIATA.4
{Acephales Testaces, Cuvier; Bivalvia, Fleming).5
Approximations to the characters of the Lamellibran-
chiate Bivalves are made in the foregoing class by Rhyn¬
chonella, in respect to the structure of the shell, by the
absence of the minute canals and co-adapted pallial tubes
which traverse the shell in other Brachiopods; in respect
to the mantle, by its being consequently less adherent to
the valves; and in respect to the oral brachia, by the rudi-
1 Lehrbuch der Vergleichenden Anatomie der Wirbellosen Thiere, 8vo, 1848, p. 260.
- “ On the Anatomy of the Fresh-water Bryozoa,” Annals of Nat. Hist., 1850. 3 Monograph of Fresh-water Polyzoa, 4to, 1856.
4 Meaning “ leaf-gilled ” or “ plate-gilled.”
6 The term “ Bivalves” will he used in this article in the sense defined by the estimable Naturalist above cited, and as the English
equivalent of Lamellibranchiata.
Lamelli-
branchiata,
M 0 L L U S C A.
341
mentary condition of their calcareous supports, and by their
, consequent greater freedom and mobility, in which they
resemble the long labial palps of Anomia. A like approxi¬
mation is made by Lingula in the complexity of the inner
respiratory layer of the free lobes of the mantle, and in the
proportion of the shell-cavity occupied by the visceral mass.
Reciprocally, the genera Anomia and Ostrea, among the
Lamellibranchs, resemble the Brachiopoda in the attach¬
ment of the shell to foreign bodies by either its substance
or by altered muscular fibres, and in one valve being down¬
wards, the other upwards; so that they are distinguished
into “ lower” and “ upper” valves, in the position in which
the living animals are commonly found. The lobes of the
mantle, moreover, are as little united as in most Brachiopods ;
and the generative glands are developed in a ramified form
upon them in Anomia ; in which genus, finally, the muscles
of the shell and pedicle or plug present a complexity almost
equal to those in Discina.
The homology of the “ pallial lobes” of Brachiopoda with
the same-named parts in Lamellibranchiata, and of the
mouth and its labial productions in Lingula with those in
Anomia, may be as true as it seems obvious; but in Ace-
phala, developed on plans so different in the general disposi¬
tion of the soft parts in the shell, the grounds for determining
special homologies are by no means so satisfactory and con¬
vincing as in the different members of the animals organized
on the same vertebrate type. The principle of a final pur¬
pose more obviously governs the number and position of the
shell-muscles in Discina and Anomia, than any uniformity
of plan to which such resemblance might be referred. But
the dogmatic assertion of the abstract nature of the corre¬
spondences above cited, as being, e.g., of “ analogy,” not of
“ affinity,” will not close the eyes of the impartial observer
of nature to their presence and probable signification.
We have seen that the relation of the soft parts to the
bivalve shell of the Brachiopoda is such that one valve is
“ ventral,” the other “ dorsal” in position. In the Lamelli¬
branchiata one valve is applied to the right side, the other
to the left side of the animal. The ciliated labial tentacles,
as compared with those in the Brachiopoda, are short, and
are more glandular than muscular; and there is usually a
pair on each side of the mouth (fig. 11, h). Most of the
Lamellibranchiata are free and locomotive. The instru¬
ment by which they move from place to place is a single
symmetrical muscular organ (fig. 10, e) developed from the
Fig. 10.
Psammobia florida.
ventral surface of the visceral mass. The body, and usually
also the shell, is longer in proportion to its depth than in Bra-
Fig. n.
Psammobia florida.
chiopoda, and the normal number of muscles passing from
valve to valve is two. They are called “ adductors,” and Lamelli-
are antagonized by an elastic substance, so inserted at branchiata.
the hinge uniting the two valves as that it is squeezed when
the shell is closed, and opens the shell when the adductor
muscles relax. The visceral mass occupies about half the
cavity of the shell next the hinge (fig. 11); the rest of the
interspace of the pallial lobes is chiefly occupied by the
“foot,” when this is developed, and by the “branchia?”
The breathing organs (fig. ll,p,p) are mostly lamellose, or
shaped like long subcrescentic leaves or plates, two on each
side, dependent from the inner surface of the mantle-lobes
(fig. 11, a). Thi^ characteristic of the breathing organs
gives its name to the present class of Acephalous Mollusks.
The heart consists of a ventricle with usually two auricles;
and as a rule, the ventricle is traversed by the end of the
intestine (fig. 17, Q). An excretory organ, developed from
the veins near the heart, communicates externally by the
pericardial or aquiferous outlet. With the exceptions above
mentioned the Lamellibranchiate Bivalves live with the back
uppermost, resting on the ventral edge of their shell, as in
the position of the sand-shell Psammobia (fig. 10).
True Bivalves, as a general rule, are dioecious and ovo-
viviparous.
The well-known oysters, cockles, mussels, razor-shells,
and ship-borers, exemplify the present class of Mollusca,
of which all the members are aquatic, aud most are marine.
The bivalve shell of the Lamellibranchs (fig. 12) offers,
as might be expected, many
modifications corresponding in
general with those of the
mantle, but otherwise related
in a few species to boring
habits and a peculiar loca¬
lity ; other calcareous parts
in a tubular or other form
being then usually superadded.
The shell consists essentially
of an organized extra-vascular
combination of albuminous
membrane and calcareous
earth, chiefly carbonate of
lime, arranged in successive
layers. The innermost is
the largest and latest formed,
and each layer presents a
cellular, lamellar, or prismatic texture, which
presents characteristic variations in different
families.1 Each valve of the normal shell is
a cone, showing every grade of depth from
the flat plate of the Placuna to the produced
and spiral cavity of Isocardia and Dicer as ;
it is commonly shallow, with the apex or
umbo turned more or less to one side and
directed forwards. If you place a bivalve
shell in the position of the Cytherea (fig. 13), the direc¬
tion of the umbo determines A as the anterior border, and
P as the posterior one ; the upper or dorsal, and the
lower or ventral borders, are as marked in the cut. The
length of the shell is taken from A to P; its
height or breadth at right angles from the dor¬
sal to the ventral border; its thickness is mea¬
sured across the closed valves, at the most pro¬
minent part from the right to the left side of
the animal, as shown in fig. 12. Transfer your¬
self in imagination within the shell (fig. 13), with
your head towards A and your back towards
the dorsal border, and you will recognise the valve
figured as the right valve. Anterior to the umbo there is
usually an oval depression, forming a concavity in the outline
'.■pinnule.
thickness.
' ligament.
1 See Carpenter in Reports of the British Association for 1844 and 1847.
342 MOLL
Lamelli- of the valve; ms called theThe hinge ligament is
branchiata. sometimes between the umbones, never anterior to them. If
the shell be divided by a line dropping from the apex of the
umbo into an “ anterior” and “ posterior” part, it is never
Fig. 13.
Cytherea cldone.
equally divided; in other words, it is unequilateral. Pectun-
culus is least so ; in Glycymeris and Solemya the anterior
moiety is longer than, the posterior one ; in almost all other
Bivalves it is shorter, as in Cytherea (fig. 13); commonly
it is much shorter. Most Lamellibranchs are equivalve;
that is, the right and left valves are of the same size and shape
as in Cytherea (fig. 12). The exceptions occur in the
stationary and often fixed species, which lie on one side
when the lower valve is deeper and more capacious than the
upper one. This lower valve in the oysters (Ostrea), in Pan¬
dora, and Lyonsia, is the left valve ; the smaller and flatter
upper valve is the right one. In Chamostrea and Corbula
the left is the smallest valve. The Placunce, Pectines, Spon-
dyli, and Aviculidce rest on the right valve; the Anomice are
attached by degenerated muscular fibres passing through a
hole or notch in that valve to a more or less calcified lamel¬
lar ping. All these shells are called inequivalve.
The bivalve is called close when the valves fit accurately;
it is gaping if part of the borders do not come into contact
when the shell is shut. In Gastrochcena this permanent
opening is anterior, and serves for the passage of the foot.
In Mya it is posterior, and serves for the passage of the
byssus; in Solen and Glycymeris the shell gapes at both
ends.
The outer surface of the shell is usually coated by an
uncalcified layer of albumen called the periostracum or
epiderm, continuous with the mantle. This surface is
variously ornamented in many species, sometimes with
ridges or “ ribs,” which may be either concentric and con¬
formable with the layers of growth, or radiating from the
umbones to the free margins of the valves ; and the ribs
may be bent, direct, oblique, or wavy. In Tellina fabula
the sculpturing is confined to the right valve. In many
species of Pholas, Teredo, and Cardium the surface is di¬
vided into two areas by a dorso-ventral furrow or by a
change in the direction of the ribs. The thorny oysters
(Spondylus) are so called on account of the spines which
project from the rib-lines ; they are longest and in greatest
number upon the non^adhering valve. In some conditions
of the shell the spines expand into foliaceous forms.
The part where the two valves are joined together is
called the hinge. The cardinal or hinge-line is short in
Vulsella, long and straight in Avicula and Area ; of mo¬
derate length, and curved in most genera. The locomotive
Bivalves have generally the strongest hinges; however, a
very well-developed example of the hinge mechanism may
be studied in the Spondylus. Certain projections or teeth
of one valve interlock into cavities in the opposite valve.
U S C A.
The central teeth, usually beneath the umbo, are called LamelH-
cardinal teeth ; those on each side are lateral teeth. The branchiata.
Alasmodon and Kellia have only lateral teeth ; in many Bi-
valves only cardinal teeth are present. The teeth are apt
to become thickened and even obliterated by age, through
irregular growth, or by the encroachment of the hinge-line.
Some of the fixed and boring Bivalves are edentulous.
The soft mechanism of the hinge consists of the liga¬
ment and spring (fig. 16, T, b). The ligament is a tough,
thickened portion of albuminous matter like that of
the periostracum, and is usually attached to ridges on the
outer (dorsal) part of the hinge-margin, behind the um¬
bones ; it is consequently stretched by the closing of
the valves. The spring, sometimes called “ internal liga¬
ment,” and (though improperly) the “ cartilage,” is lodged
in the furrows between the ligamental plates, or in pits
along the hinge-line. It is composed of elastic fibres
placed perpendicularly to the surfaces of attachment, so as
to be compressed by the shutting of the shell, which the
elastic fibres consequently tend to open as soon as the action
of the adductors ceases. The two parts are very distinct in
the genus of Bivalves, thence called Amphidesma (double
ligament), but they co-exist in most genera, with alternate
proportions ; the ligament being small in Mactra, which has
a large “ spring,” and large in Anodon, which has a small
“ spring.” The Pholades have the spring, but have not the
ligament. This is replaced by the homologue of the ante¬
rior adductor, which is so situated as to act as an opener
of the shell, and is called the “ umbonal muscle.” The
functions of the shell in this boring Bivalve are too
active and too frequently in exercise to be performed by
the passive antagonist of the muscular closing powers which
suffices for ordinary Bivalves.
The formation and repair of the shell are due to the de¬
velopment, change of form, and calcification of cells from
the mantle ; the nucleated cells of its outer surface being the
matrix of the nacreous layer, its thick and periodically
glandular margin that of the opaque outer portion.
The microscopic structure of bivalve and univalve
shells has been well illustrated by Professors Carpenter1
and Quekett,2
The primitive nucleated condition of the cell is sometimes
retained after calcification. The dissolved lime-salts, after
endosmotic penetration of the organic walls of the model¬
ling cell, obey so far the general crystallizing force as to
polarize light. The forms of the constituent lime particles
of the shell, so moulded by combined vital and polarizing
forces, are manifold in the various genera of Bivalves. The
shell of the Pinna, save a thin internal layer, is composed
of vertical, slender, usually hexagonal prisms. A thin
outer layer of the shell of the oyster also presents the pris¬
matic cellular tissue ; but in a great proportion of this shell
nearly all trace of development from cells is lost. The
gelatinous basis is lamelliform, and this variety is called the
subnacreous shell-substance.
Fine tubes, analogous to those of dentine, permeate the
thickness of this substance in many shells,^-radiating verti¬
cally between the ribs in Area, vertical and scattered in
the inner layer, and reticulate in the outer foliaceous spines,
of the shell of Chama, which has an intermediate layer of
ill-defined vertical prisms. The prismatic structure is rarely
found, and then only in small proportion, in the Bivalves
which have the mantle lobes in any degree united. The
distinction between the internal or nacreous layers and
the external or fibrous layer, has long been recognised,
and has been forced, as it were, upon the notice of the
palaeontologist by the circumstance of the two being often
separated from each other in fossil shells, and sometimes
from one having perished whilst the other remained. As the
1 Reports of the British Association, 1844 and 1847.
2 Lectures on Histology, 8vo, 1853-4.
MOLL
Lamelli- nacreous layer alone forms the characteristic hinge uniting
"anchiata. the two valves of the shell, and alone receives the impres-
—sions of the soft parts, the true characters of fossil shells,
as those of the Aviculidce and Radiolites, which, in con¬
sequence of their position in porous chalky beds, have
lost all the nacreous layer, cease to be determinable,
save when a natural mould of the interior has been formed
before the pearly lining of the shell was dissolved. When
the inner layer is preserved, its impressions reveal the
organization of the ancient fabricator of the shell as clearly
as do the forms and processes of fossil bones that of the
extinct vertebrate animal. The layers of the thick subna-
creous inner substance of the shell of the Spondylus have
frequently wide interspaces, called, from their contents,
“ water chambers.” This “ camerated” structure is well
shown in the right or lower valve of S. varius, fig. 19.1
In fig. 14, showing the internal surface of a Cytherea*
the chief impressions are named. When two adductors
are present, as in the Bivalves thence called “ dimyary,”
they leave the anterior and posterior muscular impressions;
when one adductor only exists, it answers to the posterior
muscle, but is more central in position. The oyster is
a familiar example of such “ monomyary ” Bivalve. When
the pallial line or impression extends in an unbroken curve
from the anterior to the posterior muscular impressions, it
may be inferred that the inhabitant of the shell had either
no siphon, or a very small or a non-retractile siphon ; when
the line is bent towards the centre before it reaches the
posterior adductor, as in fig. 14, the presence of a retractile
siphon is indicated, this notch being occupied by the retrac¬
tile muscle of that part. When a foot is present, its retractor-
muscles usually leave recognisable marks on the'interior
of each valve. The siphon in some of the elongated Inclusa
cannot be retracted into the shell; they are consequently ex¬
posed, as in Pholadomya and Pholas; such species derive
extrinsic shelter by burrowing in the sand or stone. The
Plwlades have supplemental calcareous pieces in the hinge
of the shell: two small plates protect the umbonal mus¬
cles, and a long narrow plate fills up the dorsal interspace
of the valves. The Clavagella (fig. 15) and Aspergillum line
their burrows with a calcareous layer e?, which forms in
the latter (fig. 23) a distinct tube, closed at the larger ex¬
tremity by a perforated calcareous plate. One of the
valves of the normal shell adheres to the tube in the Cla¬
vagella (fig. 15, /, g, li), and both are cemented to its
inner surface in the Aspergillium (fig. 23). In the Teredo
navalis (fig. 25) the valves are reduced to mere appendages
of the foot at one extremity of the animal, and are almost
restricted in their function to the action of boring. As
the ship-worm advances in the wood, it lines its burrow
with a thin layer of calcareous matter. The length of the
U S C A. 343
body is chiefly due to the prolongation of each respiratory Lamelli-
tube, the siphon of which is provided with a small elongated branchiata.
calcareous triangular paddle-shaped plate. In the Teredo v'—v'»'/
gigantea the calcareous tube, which sometimes surpasses
tig. 15.
Clavagella lata*
6 feet in length, has parietes of from 4 to 6 lines in thick¬
ness, the texture of which is crystalized or spathose. Two
tubes are developed within its siphonal end. In Teredo *
norvegica the calcareous tube is divided longitudinally, and
also transversely, into compartments by irregularly-placed
incomplete concave septa.
The valuable pearls of commerce are a more compact
and finer kind of nacre, often developed in the substance of
the mantle or around a particle of sand or other foreign
body which has gained admission to the pallial cavity.
The Meleagrina or Avicula margaritifera of the Persian
and Indian seas is most famous for these productions;
those developed in the gills or inner layer of the mantle
are small and numerous} those of the outer layer are the
largest but least regular, and are attached to the shell.
The “ external” pearls consist of a concentric layer of
minute vertical prisms; the “internal” pearls of concentric
layers of wavy calcified membrane.
The iridescent nacreous lining of the pearl oysters {Avi-
cula), and many other shells, consists of the same wavy
lamelliform tissue; the pearly lustre is due to the diffrac-.
tion of the rays of light by the out-cropping edges of the
laminae, and in some cases to the minute plication of a
single lamina. (Brewster.)
If the shell of a living pearl oyster be perforated, and a
minute particle of sand introduced, it becomes a nucleus
round which a pearl is developed. Linnaeus was knighted
on making known to his sovereign this practical application
of his science; but the artificial production of pearls had
long been known to the Chinese, who obtain them of de¬
finite forms by introducing substances of the required shape
into the shell.
The Unio margaritifera, or pearl mussel of British
lakes and rivers, is fished up for the ornamental excretions
to which it is subject. It is probable that the pearls from this
source, collected by the ancient Britons, may have given
rise to the statement of Tacitus, in his Life of Agricola,
of “ pearls not very orient, but pale and wan,” being among
the indigenous products of the conquered island.2
1 Annals and Mag. of Nat. History, vol. ii., 1838, p. 407.
2 Owen, Report on Animal Substances in the Great Exhibition of 1851, 8vo, p. 164.
344 MOLL
Lamelli- Xhe mantle (fig. 16, ab) is that portion of the skin of the
branchiata. X^amellibranch which, after investing the viscera, gills, and
' foot, is reflected, ventrad, in the form of plates and “ lobes”
to line the shell which it has formed, and be produced,
when needful, into breathing-tubes. It consists of a middle
layer of fibro-cellular tissue, in which contractile fibres are
Fig. 16.
Pecten opercularis.
variously developed, of an internal layer of “ ciliated epi¬
thelium,” and of an external layer of epithelial cells, with
nuclei, sometimes called “ glandular epithelium.”
The lobes of the mantle may be widely separated (
Pecten (fig. 16, B, &); or partially united between the
branchial and anal orifices {Mytilus); or united behind, leav¬
ing a single siphonal orifice ; or united between the siphonal
orifices and in front of the branchial opening; or the union
of the mantle-lobes may be so extended as to leave a
pedal or byssal opening, a branchial, and an anal opening,
—all of small size (Dreissena); or finally, the mantle may
become like a sheath, with terminal pedal and siphonal aper¬
tures (Solen) ; and the former may be reduced to a small
foramen, and surrounded by a thick cushion of boring
muscles, as in Clavagella (fig. 20),
The mantle is complicated in some Bivalves by glandular
sacs (fig. 16, a), which sometimes contain a gaseous fluid
subserving the Pectens,—e. g., to float with their light shell,
and change their situation at the ebb and flow of the tide.
The Pectens, also, well exhibit the valvular reflected sub-mar¬
ginal fold (fig. 16, h) of the mantle, the tentacula developed
from that fold and from the free margin of the mantle
(fig. 16, b), together with the eye-specks or ocelli c, near
that margin.
The jawless and toothless mouth (figs, 16 and 17, C)
is surrounded by a plicate (fig. 17) or tentaculate (fig. 16,
F) labial border, produced into the labial palps (fig. 17, E),
of very varying length in different Bivalves. The stomach
(fig. 17, U) receives the hepatic ducts; and, save in most
Monomyaria, develops a sac (fig. 17, V) containing the
part called the “ crystalline style,” the gastric extremity
of which (V) supports a thin cartilage, called the “ tricuspid
body” (fig. 17, v). The chief part of the style and of its
sac is directed towards the pore by which water is admitted
into the foot; and it has been conjectured to give some
resiliency to that organ, with which it usually co-exists. In
Anomia, however, it supports a free portion of the mantle.
Poli supposed the tricuspid body to regulate the flow of
bile into the stomach, for which its position seems to fit it.
The intestine is short in Anomia and Ostrea, and exhibits
various proportions up to twelve times the length of the
U S C A.
entire Mollusk, as, e.g., in Cardium echinatum (fig. 17, D). Lamelli-
The curious relation of the rectum (P) to the heart Q is branchiata.
shown in this figure. The position of the rectum in the
Pecten may be seen at D (fig. 16). The circulation may
be traced, beginning with the abundance of veins which
Fig. 17.
Cardium eehinatum.
rise from the alimentary canal and from the superficial
capillaries of the labial tentacles and generative mass, to
the trunks receiving also the contents of the dilatable
sinuses of the foot and peripheral part of the mantle, and
pouring it into the median venous sinus, in which course it
passes through the cavernous structure of the excretory
(renal ?) organ ; the large sinus situated upon the posterior
adductor and below the pericardium conducts the blood to
the gills; but part of the veins of the mantle terminate, as
Mr Garner first observed,1 directly in the auricles. These,
however, chiefly receive the blood from the branchial veins.
Two semilunar valves regulate the flow of the blood from
each auricle into the ventricle, and valves also prevent the
reflux of the blood from the aorta into the ventricle. In
Area, Lima, and some Pectunculi, the ventricle is divided.
Whenever the veins expand into sinuses they preserve a
proper tunic. In Ostrea and Anomia the ventricle lies
upon the rectum.
The gills (fig, 11, jo, p) are essentially internal highly
vascular folds of the pallial membrane, and are strengthened
by series of delicate-jointed filaments, which support several
rows of curved vibratile cilia. The respiratory currents are
occasioned by the ceaseless action of these cilia, aided by
that of the ciliated epithelium of the mantle, and are not
dependent upon any opening or closing of the valves of the
shell. The ciliary action is that likewise which brings the
nutrient molecules to the mouth, chiefly along the marginal
grooves of the branchial plates, where the molecules are
mixed with mucus, and moulded into small filamentary
masses.
In Lucina and Corbis there is only a single gill on each
side ; as a general rule there are two. Each gill consists of
two membranous plates, continued into each other at the
free margin of the gill; the contiguous plates of the two
gills are continuous at the base or bottom of the branchial
interspace where they are fixed, the basal border of the
plate forming the opposite side behind the foot in the
fresh-water mussels. The two plates of each gill are
united together at pretty regular intervals in the direction
of their breadth by transverse septa or bars, so as to in¬
clude canals running transversely to the gill-plates. Ac¬
cording to the course of the current of water through these
interlaminar canals, they commence by the small slits or
pores along the groove on the free margin in the branchial
chamber, and terminate by the wider openings at the fixed
margin of the gill in the anal chamber.
The minute particles suspended in the branchial currents
1 Zool. Trans., vol. ii., p. 90.
MOLLUSC A.
345
Lamelli- are carried by the ciliary actions towards the mouth, and
branchiata. the water is filtered through the interlaminar canals before
Vs—it escapes. The walls of the inierlaminar tubes support a
regular network of blood-vessels, longitudinal and trans¬
verse,—the latter being most prominent; the meshes are
parallelograms, and form open spaces fringed internally by
a narrow' ciliated membrane. The cilia compel the requi¬
site movements of the water in the branchial chamber when
the Bivalve remains suspended in the air, as happens to a
mussel attached to a rock above low-water mark.
Even when the animal is in such a position as to be
immersed only for about two hours in seventy-five
days out of the year, it can live and grow, the re¬
tained water deriving oxygen from the atmosphere,
and the animalcular food propagating therein. The
life of the “tree oysters” {Ostreet polymorpha),
suspended to the mangrove branches, is similarly
explained through the wonderful mechanism of the
ever-active microscopic cilia.
The two gills of one side are usually connected
with those of the opposite side by their hind
ends only, but sometimes the union is more ex¬
tensive. In a few genera, as Anatina and Pho-
ladontya, the two gills of the same side are so united
as to appear like a single gill. In the Pholadomya
this forms a thick oblong mass, finely plicated trans¬
versely, attenuated at both extremities, slightly bifid
at the posterior one.
Although the microscopic cilia form the ordi¬
nary and constant dynamical part of respiration, the
function is occasionally influenced by the muscles of
the shell, as when the water is squirted out of the
siphons by a sudden shutting of the valves. The
quiet and ordinary respiratory current enters in
Anomia at the anterior base of the _ shell, and
escapes posteriorly near the termination of the
branchiae. In Modiola vulgaris the current enters
by the cirrigerous border of the mantle, and between
that part and the foot; it escapes by the posterior
produced part of the mantle. In Alactra and Tel-
lina, when the conjoined siphons are extended, and
the hyaline valve is exerted from the anal siphon,
the current flows in at the “inhalent” branchial or
ventral siphon (fig. 10, g), and rushes out by the
“exhalent” dorsal or anal siphon (fig. 10, g)\ there
is no current at the pedial aperture. The branchial siphon is
often much dilated, so that its diameter greatly exceeds the
anal one,—e.^., in Pholas. The siphonal apertures, espe¬
cially the inhalent one, are provided with a circle of tentacles
to prevent the ingress of noxious particles.
There is a remarkable plexus at the base of the gills,
near the pericardium, which surrounds a distinct glandular
organ in the higher Bivalves. It is double: each sac is
elongated with glandular walls, and communicates with the
pallial cavity by a small prominent orifice, usually close to
the genital pores. The secretion of this body abounds
with calcareous particles, and it was called by Poli the se¬
creting organ of the shell. Modern analysis has detected
uric acid in these sacs, and has thus determined them to
be the renal organ.
An orifice at the extremity of the foot of Bolen, at the
middle of the foot of Cardium, and the tube situated above
the pedunculate anus of Pinna, severally admit the sea-water
into a reticulate system of channels in the substance of the
foot, thence extending into the lobes of the mantles, and into
a part of the visceral mass. By this provision for the admis¬
sion of water the foot can be swollen out like a sponge, and
made to exceed the capacity of the shell. The relations
of this aquiferous system to the sanguiniferous one are not
satisfactorily determined. The fine jets of water expelled
from the foot and the border of the mantle, when a Bolen
is suddenly removed from the water, are from the aquife- Lamelli-
rous canals. branchiata.
The nervous system of the Lamellibranchiata is here
illustrated by the modification which it presents in the
common mussel (Mytilus edulis, fig. 18).
The labial or suboesophageal ganglions b may be distin¬
guished by their yellow colour. At the base of the labial
processes they are connected by a short transverse chord a,
passing dorsad, and in advance of the mouth. Four sets of
Fig. 18.
Mytilus edulis.
filaments diverge from the labial ganglions,—viz., the proper
labial nerves, filaments to the hood-shaped process of the
mantle above the mouth, nerves to the anterior adductor
and continued into the circumpallial plexus g, and the prin¬
cipal nerve-trunks b, dividing or resolving on each side into
the nerves to the pedial ganglion v, and those to the
branchial ganglions x. The pedial ganglion completes the
wide collar surrounding the oesophagus ; it sends off nerves
to the retractors of the foot, to the byssal ganglion, and to
the acoustic sacs. The branchial or branchio-pallial gan¬
glions x send off nerves which diverge as they pass to the
base of their respective gills c; then each gives off a large
nerve g, which passes across the post-adductor muscle to
the hinder part of the pallial lobe, along which it curves,
and is continued forwards near the border of the mantle
until it meets and anastomoses with the corresponding
nerve g, which was continued over the ant-adductor from
the labial ganglion. These circumpallial nerves gg send
off branches which form loops at the base of the pallial
tentacles and along the rest of the free border of the man¬
tle, forming the circumpallial plexus hh\ which is continued
into the cardinal plexus i; such continuation being un-
conformable with the circumpallial nerve gg.
Oysters are sensible of light: it has been observed that
they closed their valves when the shadow of an approach-
ins boat was thrown forward, so as to cover them, before
2 x
VOL. XY.
346 M O L L
Lamelli- any undulation of the water could have reached them. The
branchiata. pe*cten has a number of sub-pedunculate ocelli (fig. 16)
^ arranged round the inner margin of the mantle, whence
Poll called the animal Argus. But the name is equally
merited by some other Bivalves. As many as sixty ocelli
have been counted on the convex lobe of the mouth, and
ninety on the plain lobe, in Spondylus gcederopus.
The organ of hearing consists of a small sacculus, with
thick transparent walls attached to the fore part of the
pedial ganglion, and containing cretaceous sub-crystalline
particles which perform oscillatory movements.
The labial tentacles seem well adapted, both by structure
and position, in most Bivalves, to exercise the sense of
smell; but in Nucula the palps are rigid. The mouth is
highly susceptible of impressions from contact of its free,
and commonly tentaculigerous border.
The nervous system in Acephalous Mollusks advances
according to the complexity of their general organization,
and especially of the muscular system.
To revert to the Tunicata, in a brief review of this pro¬
gress and its chief physiological conditions, for which alone
we have at present space :T—The wants of the Ascidian are
to breathe, to feed, to discharge its excrements, and eman¬
cipate its progeny. But the food is obtained by the same
process as breathing, in this as in other Acephalous Mollusks;
the streams of water which distribute oxygen over the sur¬
face of the vascular gill at the same time bring the nutrient
particles to the mouth. This, moreover, begins at the
oesophagus. There is no true mouth, no jaws, no teeth;
for there is nothing to comminute or prepare for deglu¬
tition. In ourselves, when at rest, respiration is an involun¬
tary or reflex action. It is accelerated by volition, to meet,
perhaps, the exigencies of some violent locomotive effort;
but locomotion is denied to the Ascidian. The same sti¬
mulus of necessity which in man is carried, during sleep,
to the medulla oblongata by the nervus vagus, and
which is reflected along the phrenic nerves, causing dia¬
phragmatic action, independently of sensation or voli¬
tion, is, we may suppose, similarly impressed upon and
reflected from some analogous nervous centre in the
Ascidian.
Ordinary respiration in this animal is, however, effected
by an organization of which the actions seem to be less de¬
pendent upon a nervous centre than those of any of the
peristaltically moving parts ; the respiratory medium is re¬
newed upon the vascular surface of the gill by the action
of the vibratile cilia. Occasionally, at intervals, the sac may
be seen unusually distended, and the water to be expelled
by a sudden and forcible contraction of the mantle,—an act
which may be compared with the involuntary yawn by
which we distend our lungs to the utmost, and empty them
by a violent expiration.
In the Ascidian the contents of the rectum and the
generative organs are expelled by the same action of the
mantle, though by a different outlet from that which gives
passage to and fro to the respiratory currents. Both out¬
lets are provided with feelers and sphincters, to prevent the
entry of noxious bodies, and to regulate the exit of the
excretory currents. The apparatus of nervous matter, in
such a being, is a ganglion situated between the inhalent
and exhalent orifices, as shown at fig. 5, k. Nervous fila¬
ments transmit to the ganglionic centre certain impressions ;
the requisite influence to cause contraction is reflected
by other nerves to the muscular sac. But particles in the
respiratory sac may be unfit for food, or hunger may require
a greater or more frequent distension of that sac. Im¬
pressions are conveyed, therefore, from the mouth, or
nutrient orifice, by nervous chords to the branchial gan-
U S C A.
glion ; and, reciprocally, impressions received by the bran- Lamelli-
chial ganglion are conveyed to the mouth. branchiata.
In the oyster the mouth is released from the respiratory v*-'
sac ; it is so placed as to have a wider field of choice. We
now therefore find it provided with “ labial processes,” or
organs for selection, if not prehension : hence the necessity
for their possessing nervous centres of their own. But the
oyster becomes fixed, like the Ascidian ; there is no loco¬
motion in the adult state. Expulsion of respiratory streams,
and of the excrements and sperm-cells or ova, by sudden
approximation of the valves, and contraction of the pallial
lobes, is the sole sign of vigorous motion, and it produces
the same effect as the contraction of the muscular tunic in
the Ascidian. The stimulus to such action is reflected
from the ganglion upon the adductor to that muscle, and to
the muscles of the pallial border. Such ganglion is, there¬
fore, analogous to, if not homologous with, the ganglion k
in the Ascidian: it is the “ branchial” ganglion; the
superadded nervous centre is the “ labial” one.
In the mussel, with the additional muscularity and fringed
structure of the mantle-lobes, and with that further de¬
velopment of the whole muscular system which governs an
increased activity of the breathing function, the “ branchial
ganglions” are increased and parted. The foot, which, be¬
sides guiding and fixing the byssus-threads, is an explora¬
tory organ, calls for an additional centre of the nervous
system—the “ pedial ganglion.” Bivalves are conscious of
light, but cannot discern an approaching object. The
movements of the predatory crab or insidious whelk, whether
by day or night, upon the rock from which the mussel
swings, produce vibrations that will affect an acoustic organ.
The tip of the protruded foot may be the first part to re¬
ceive their appulse, direct or reflected, from the parts of the
shell to which it is affixed. Certain it is, that with the
pedial ganglion (fig. 18, v) is associated that little sac, with
prismatic oscillating otolites, which its discoverer Siebold
and all subsequent physiologists hold to be a rudimental
organ of hearing. The relations of this organ we shall find
to change, in higher Mollusks, according as a ganglion may
be situated near parts better adapted for the ready reception
of the peculiar stimulus affecting it.
Thus the “pedial ganglion” is the third additional ner¬
vous centre in the Acephalous development. The fourth
is where a small “siphonic ganglion” is developed at the
point of confluence of the muscular respiratory tubes in the
Bivalves which possess those accessory mechanical organs
of respiration. The physiological explanation of this ner¬
vous centre is the same as that of the ganglion of the foot:
the newly-developed parts extend and diversify the rela¬
tions of the Bivalve with the surrounding world, and there
must be corresponding centres for the reception and reflec¬
tion of stimuli.
Take from man the necessity of clothing himself, by giv¬
ing him a natural covering of scales or hairs, and you sup¬
press, at the same time, all the arts which have attire for
their object. Blunt his sense of taste, and the culinary arts
must disappear; and so on for the other wants. Now, be¬
tween the wants and the actions lie the faculties. I he
animals which have fewest organs have fewest wants, per¬
form the fewest actions, and possess the fewest faculties.
Hence the mystery which envelopes the psychical opera¬
tions of animals is not so impenetrable as it seems.
The following table briefly expresses the principal cha¬
racters of the soft parts upon which the Lamellibranchiate
Bivalves have been divided and subdivided. It is based
upon that given by Mr Garner in his paper upon the ana¬
tomy of this class of Mollusks,1 2 with modifications suggested
by subsequent observations of the writer and others :—
1 The chief steps of this progressive development of the nervous system may be found described in Owen’s Lectures on Invertebrata,
1855, p. 510-511. a Zoological Transactions, vol. ii., p. 100.
MOLLUSC A
CLASSIFICATION OF THE LAMELLIBRANCHIATA.
^Labial tentacles very long, not distinct from the branchiae; branchiae united; adductors sub¬
divided, and with an adductor-like byssal muscle Anomia—Placuna.
^no foot  Ostrea—Gryphaea.
/foot long, cylindrical; ocelli at the edge of
the mantle Pecten—Pedum.
a foot branchiae disunited foot short, thick, with a disk at the extre-
medianly  mity, from the centre of which depends a
pedicellated oval body ; ocelli..., Spondyltjs—Plicatula.
, foot compressed; no ocelli Lima.
V branchiae conjoined medianly   Vulsella.
{foot slender, byssiferous ; lips simple   Avicula.
foot long, rounded, deeply grooved, with a callosity Arca.
foot compressed, crescent-shaped ; its margin undulated Pectunculus.
foot oval below, its margin serrated; lips volute Nucula.
foot large, pointed anteriorly, bent at an angle Trigonia.
347
Lamelli-
branchiata.
Labial tentacles
short, separate
from the bran¬
chiae  
s 3
s a
<3'd
Mantle with a distinct
anal orifice 
foot small, bys-
siferous 
byssus divided to its base Mytilus.
byssus with a common cor¬
neous centre Modiola,
anus furnished with a long
ligulate valve Pinna.
muscles equal, two pairs of retractile muscles only;
byssus rudimentary LlTHODpMUS.
^foot large, not byssiferous in the adult Unio.
anterior muscle small;
retractile muscles of ]
the foot numerous:
byssus large 
Mantle with an anterior
and posterior orifice;
not elongated into
tubes 
mantle widely open, f l°ng, dckle-shaped Carpjgm.
^ 1 ’ [ foot very long, folded Liioina.
mantle closed
around the
foot or byssus
(
-Diceras.
Mantle
with two
produced
tubes, or
siphons...
branchiae not pro¬
duced into the
lower tube 
mantle
more or
less
open in
front...
tubes disunited;
foot lanceolate....
(
branchiae pro¬
duced into, or
attached, to the /
lower tube; ^ °ljen an'
always
tubes
united
mantle
teriorly.
foot short and discal, byssiferous ; anterior muscle
small   Tridacna.
foot small, cylindrical, bent at an angle; lips fo¬
liated  Ghama.
foot long, sharp ; lips simple IsoCARDIA-
' foot large, rather falciform ; ex¬
ternal branchiae shortened;
mantle tentacular; labial ten¬
tacles small, pointed Donax—Capsa.
foot moderate, tongue - shaped;
external branchiae shortened;
edge of mantle simple; ten¬
tacles long, tapering Psammobia—Soletellina, &c.
foot moderate ; external branchiae
rudimental ; tentacles very
large; margin of the mantle
fringed Tellina.
tubes small, partially divided;
foot very long, obtuse Cyclas—Cyrena, &c.
tubes small, united to the extre¬
mity ; foot large, heeled, and
pointed  Mactra.
tubes large, united half-way ; foot
short and prominent behind.... Venerupis.
{foot lanceolate ; tubes small,
united half-way   Cytherea.
foot securiform; tubes larger and
more or less distinct Venus—Astarte, &c.
f foot small; branchiae of each side
i united into one Pandora.
'foot larger; branchiae separate... Corbula.
«. foot not byssiferous ; tubes large
J and coriaceous ; lips long Mya.
foot byssiferous; tubes moderate,
lips short Saxicava.
foot long, club-shaped; tubes short  Solen — Sanguinolaria, &c.
/two distinct adductor muscles; anterior one
situated below a reflected portion of the
footverv mantle, uniting the beaks instead of a
short < , cartilage 3 tentacles large Pholas—Gastrochaena, &c.
tubes
more
or less
united;
footva-
mantle only open
interiorly for the
protrusion of the
foot  
branchias
united
medianly.
V
branchiae
disunited
medianly.
/tubes
small;
lips long.
tubes
long.
rounded
mantle
with a
minute
pedal
opening
ante¬
riorly. ..
body very elongated ; adductor muscles
united; end of mantle with two calcareous
pieces ; tentacles small; no cartilage nor
reflected portion of mantle   Teredo.
foot
very
small
J
shell cemented by one or both valyes to the
shelly tube Clavagella—Aspergillum.
The Monomyaria, although they form an order or pri¬
mary group of this class in most systems, are far from equi¬
valent in the characters of their organization to the dimi-
ary group ; and the same remark applies, though not with
equal force, to the binary division based upon the absence
or presence of siphons or respiratory tubes. The quinary
division of the class, as proposed by Cuvier, expresses more
natural and equivalent groups. The classification here
348
MOLLUSC A.
Lamelli- proposed is essentially that given in the writer’s lectures on
branchiata. 1855.
Family I.—OSTREAD^E.1
No anterior adductor; lobes of the mantle widely sepa¬
rated ; foot none, or small and byssiferous. Shell inequi-
valve, sub-inequilateral; hinge, in some, edentulous.
Genera—Anomia, Ostrea, Placuna, Pecten (fig. 16),
Lima, Spondylus (fig. 19), Pedum, Plicatula.
Of this family,
the oyster (Ostrea
edulis)—the most va¬
luable of British Bi¬
valves—may be re¬
garded as the type.
From the time of
the discovery of Bri¬
tain by the Romans
the flavour of the Fig. 19.
oyster has been held Spondylus varius.
in high esteem. The species is gregarious, and forms banks,
usually on a rugged rocky bottom of from 5 to 20 fathoms
depth, where they are obtained by the dredge. When
collected with a view to the market, they are usually
transferred to artificial grounds in shallow water, where
they increase in size, but more tardily than in their
native beds, not becoming full-grown until from five to
seven years ; neither do they breed so freely, and they
are liable to fatal effects from severe frost. They, however,
“ fatten,” as it is called, and acquire a more delicate flavour.
The “close” or spawning season is in May and June; the
season for sale and distribution in London is from the 4th
of August to the 12th of May inclusive. About 30,000
bushels of “ natives,” or oysters from artificial beds, and
about 100,000 bushels of sea-oysters, are annually sent to
the London market. The western coast of Scotland and
the Hebrides offer conditions peculiarly favourable for the
propagation and perfection of the edible oyster. In the
artificial beds, which thrive best in sheltered bays and
estuaries, the oysters sometimes acquire a green colour.
On close examination, the colour is seen to be confined
to particular parts. The branchiae and the intestinal
canal beyond the stomach, e.g., are of a bright green ;
the liver is of a blackish-green instead of its usual reddish
tint. The heart, nerve-ganglions, adductor-muscle, and
mantle retain their normal colours. The above partial
coloration is conjectured to be due to Confervae or green
monads in the breeding tanks.
1
Family II.—AVICULIDAE.2
A very small anterior adductor ; mantle lobes separate ;
foot small, byssiferous.
Genera—Avicula, Meleagrina, Malleus, Vulsella, Ger-
vilha, Perna, Crenatula, Inoceramus, Pinna.
In this family the “ hammer-oysters” (Malleus) are most
remarkable for their form; the pearl-oysters (Aviculee) and
Pinnee most attractive on account of their products.
The AviculcB with shells less oblique in form, and with
flatter and more equal valves, showing the posterior pedal
impression blended with that of the great adductor, con¬
stitute the subgenus Meleagrina, of which the proper
“ pearl-oyster” (Mel. margaritifera) is the most valuable
species, on account of the nacre and pearls which it produces.
The “ nacre,” or “ mother-of-pearl,” is the iridescent, pearl-
ike, inner layer of the shell. For this substance, which is
used largely in ornamental manufactures, immense numbers
r Pearl-oyster” are annually imported : the “ silver¬
lipped variety from the Society Islands, the “black¬
lipped” from the Philippines, and a smaller kind from Lamelli-
Panama. These fetch from L.2 to L.4 per ton. Thebranchiat&-
nature of “ pearl” has been already defined. The pure
pearl of commerce is generally spherical, and has a yellowish-
white or bluish colour, with a peculiar iridescent lustre.
Its hardness is due to carbonate of lime, which dissolves
with effervescence in acid, leaving fine films of membrane.
Such pearls bore an almost fabulous price with the ancient
Romans ; their greatest naturalist testifies :—“ Principium
culmenque omnium rerum pretii, margaritse tenunt.” (Plin.
Hist. Nat., lib. ix., c. 35.) In modern times their value has
declined. A handsome necklace of Ceylon pearls, in size
less than a large pea, may fetch from L.170 to L.300; the
single pearls selling at about a guinea each. Pearls of the
size of peppercorns sell at from 2s. 6d. to 10s. Pearls of still
smaller size are called “seed-pearls.” They are mostly
sent to China. A pearl, pear-shaped, regular, and said to be
without blemish, nearly 3 inches in length, and two-thirds
of an inch in diameter, brought up at Catifa in Arabia,
and now in possession of the Shah of Persia, has been valued
at L.10,000. Mr Hope’s pearl, exposed to view at the
“ Great Exhibition” of 1851, measures 2 inches in length,
4 inches in circumference, and weighs 1800 grains.
The best pearl-forming pearl-oysters are brought up
from about 12 fathoms in the Persian Gulf, off the west
coast of Ceylon, in the straits of Malacca, and at Tuticorin
on the Coromandel coast. The largest pearls are found in
the deepest places, as at the island Kharrak in the Persian
Gulf. The Persian pearls are more esteemed than those of
Ceylon. The pearl fishery of Tuticorin is monopolized by
the East India Company, and that of Ceylon by the govern¬
ment; but it is very doubtful whether the results justify
these exceptions to the general laws of political economy.
The animal of the Pinna, called Chimera by Poli, is re¬
markable for the abundance, length, fineness, and lustre of
the filaments composing the “ byssus.” The part so called
exists in many Bivalves; but in some it is peculiar to an
early period of life; in none does it attain so great a deve¬
lopment as in Pinna. The byssus-filaments are united
towards their roots into a common mass; they are attached
in a cavity at the base of the foot by a peculiar substance
secreted there (conjunctive matter). From the cavity a
furrow runs to nearly the extremity of the foot, and along
this furrow is situated the glandular tissue by which the
byssus is secreted. Reaumur maintained that these horny
threads were spun just like the web of caterpillars and the
nets of spiders. With the assistance of the muscular foot,
these threads are directed to determinate situations, and
caused to adhere there firmly by their broad disciform ex¬
tremities ; they grow again if cut off.3
The byssus serves as an anchor to the Bivalve, of which
use the common mussel offers a familiar instance. Vigor¬
ous strokes of the hatchet are needed to divide the byssus
in detaching the great clam or “benitier” shell (Tridacnd)
from the rocks. The silky byssus-threads of the Pinna
nobilis are woven into gloves and stockings in Sicily and
Calabria; but they are objects rather of curiosity than of
daily use.
Family III.—MYTILIDiE.
A small anterior adductor ; mantle lobes united between
the branchial and anal slits; foot cylindrical, grooved,
byssiferous. Shell equivalve ; hinge edentulous.
Genera.—~Mytilus, Modiola, Lithodomus, Crenella.
The common mussel (Mytilus edulis) is the most impor¬
tant member of the present family in regard to human
food. Mussels are gregarious, in extensive beds, always
uncovered at low water; they are as widely distributed as
1 Lat. for “ oyster.”
3 A. Mueller de Bysso Acephalo
2 Lat., signifying a “ little bird.”
rum Accad., Tab. ii. Berolini, 1836, 4to; and in Wiegmann’s Archiv. 1837, §§ 1-39, Tab.
i-i
ii.
MOLL
Lamelli- the oyster, and more easily attainable. The flesh is most
branchiata.esteemed and is least unwholesome in autumn; in spring,
during the spawning season, cases of the gastric affection,
followed by autaneous eruption, called “ musseling,” are most
common. They are, however, sufficiently exceptional to
permit an immense consumption of this mollusk. It is
estimated in Edinburgh and Leith at 400 bushels—say
400,000 mussels—annually; still greater numbers are
collected for bait in the deep-sea fisheries. The species
thus affords employment to numerous women and children
of the fishing villages, especially along the Frith of Forth.
A singular form of fresh-water mussel {Mytilus poly¬
morphic, Lam.), a native of the Aralo-Caspian rivers, is
supposed to have been introduced with foreign timber into
the Surrey Docks, where it was observed by Mr J. de C.
Sowerby in 1824. It has since spread into canals, and has
established itself as a British species. The anal and
branchial slits are a little produced—the latter like a short
siphon ; and the rest of the mantle is closed, save at a
small aperture through which the foot and byssuj protrude.
Accordingly, this mussel has been separated generically from
Mytilus, as Dreissena, and under other names; and the
Dreissena polymorpha departs widely from the pallial
characters of the family Mytilidae.
In most dimyary Bivalves the foot is an organ of locomo¬
tion. To some which rise to the surface of the water it
acts, by its expansion, as a float; to others it serves, by its
bent form, as an instrument to drag them along the sands;
to a third family it is a burrowing organ ; to many it aids in
the execution of short leaps. In the piddocks (Pholas),
two strong muscles are sent from the foot to be attached to
the rough spatulate terminations of the bent processes
under the beaks of the valves ; these serve as fulcra in the
excavating actions of the foot.
We may generally observe, in relation with the greater
development and more active function of the foot, a corre¬
sponding complexity of the respiratory system. This is
effected by the superaddition of accessory organs in the form
of tubular prolongations of certain parts of the margin of the
mantle, which are provided with a special development of
muscular fibres. These are called “ siphons” (fig. 11, g, </).
Family IV.'—ARCADiE.
Anterior and posterior adductors subequal; mantle-lobes
separate ; foot large, bent, deeply grooved. Shell equivalve;
hinge long, multidenticulate.
Genera—Area, Cucullcea, Pectunculus,Limopis, Nucula,
Isoarca.
The animal of the Yoldia of Muller, otherwise nearly
allied to Isoarca, departs from the pallial characters of the
family in having the branchial and anal openings distinct,
and produced into short retractile siphons. It makes
a transition to the next family.
Family V.—SOLENELLIDA3.
Mantle-lobes united behind with a single siphonal orifice
or retractile siphon. Shell equivalve.
Genera—Solenella (foot deeply cleft, hinge with fine sharp
teeth) ; Solemya (foot proboscidiform, hinge edentulous).
Family VI.—TRIGONIAD^E.
Mantle-lobes separate; foot long, pointed, sharply bent.
Shell equivalve, trigonal; hinge-teeth few, diverging.
Genera—Trigonia, Myophoria, Axinus, Lrjrodesma.
Of Trigonia only three living species or varieties are
known ; they are peculiar to Australia. Upwards of one
hundred extinct species have been defined from fossil shells,
ranging from the Trias to the Chalk, in Europe. It is
remarkable that no species of Trigonia has been found in
the Tertiary deposits of that continent.
U S C A. 349
Family VII.—UNIONIDiE. Lamelli-
Mantle-lobes united between the siphonal orifices and, branchiata.
rarely, in front of the branchial opening; foot very large,
tongue-shaped, compressed, byssiferous in the fry. Shell
usually equivalve ; anterior teeth thick and striated; pos¬
terior ones laminar, sometimes wanting.
Genera—Unio, Castalia, Anodon, Iridina, AEtheria,
Mulleria.
The common fresh-water mussels {Anodon), and the
river mussels {JJnio), exemplify the present family. To
the latter genus belongs the pearl-forming species {Unio
pictorum, Lam.; Mya margarifera, Linn.) of many of the
rivers of Scotland. The family arrives at its maximum in re¬
gard to species and individuals in the large rivers and lakes of
North America, and has furnished the subjects for the
beautiful monographs by Mr Isaac Lea and Mr Kirtland
in the Transactions of the American Philosophical Society,
2d series, vols. iii. and iv. (on the Naiadce and species of
Unio). In most of the Bivalves of the present family the
fry are hatched in one of the gills, which swells out to such
a size as to require a particular space in the shell for their
lodgment; and the valves of the female are consequently
more convex than those of the male.
The following dimyary families have short siphons and
the pallial line simple:—
Family VIII.—CHAMIDAh
Pedal orifice small; foot very small. Shell inequivalve ;
hinge-teeth 2—1 (two in one valve, one in the other).
Genera—Chama, Monopleura, Diceras.
The species of the latter genus are extinct, and charac¬
teristic of the Middle Oolites. The shell is remarkable for
the much-produced spiral umbones or beaks, which give the
valves the appearance of rams’ horns.
Family IX.—HIPPURITIDAE.
(Order Rudistee, Lam.)
All the genera are extinct. The best illustration of
their nature and affinities is given by Mr Woodward.1
Family X.—TRIDACNIDA!.
Pedal orifice large ; siphonal orifices surrounded by a
thickened pallial border, the anal one with a tubular valve ;
foot small, cylindrical, byssiferous. Shell equivalve, open ;
muscular impressions sub-central and blended.
Genera— Tridacna, Hippopus.
In this family the Lamellibranchiate type of organization
is manifested under its largest size. The valves of Tri¬
dacna gigas are accordingly used to ornament gardens, as
basins for fountains, and in Romanist churches for holding
the holy water. The two large valves for this purpose in
the church of St Sulpice at Paris measure each two feet
in breadth. Linnaeus records a shell in the “Museum
Ludovicae Ulricae” which weighed 532 pounds.
Hippopus maculatus, or the “ bear’s-paw clam” of dealers,
is perhaps the most beautiful of Bivalves, whether in regard
to form, texture, or colour.
Family XI.—CARDIAD2E.
Pedal orifice large; siphons usually short; foot large,
sickle-shaped. Shell equivalve, cordiform; cardinal teeth
2, lateral teeth 1—1, in each valve.
Genera—Cardium, Hemicardium, Lithocardium, Ser-
ripes, Adacna, Conocardium.
The sapid Mollusk called cockle {Cardium edule) ex¬
emplifies the present family. It affects and often abounds
in sandy bays, near low water. On the recess of the tide
it burrows a few inches below the surface, its place being
marked by a small depression. Women and children dig
1 On the Structure and Affinities of the Hippuritidas, Quarterly Journal of the Geological Society of London, February 1855.
350 M 0 L L U S C A.
Lamelli- Up the shell-fish with a piece of crooked iron or a narrow
bi anchiata. sh0Vel. They are in season during March, April, and May.
Family XII.—LUCINIDAl.
Mantle usually widely open below, with one or two
siphonal apertures ; foot long, cylindrical or ligulate, some¬
times byssiferous. Shell orbicular, closed ; hinge-teeth
1 or 2, lateral teeth 1—1, or obsolete.
Genera—Lucina, Corbis, Ungulina, Kellia, Monia-
cuta, Lepton.
Family XIIL—CYCLADIDJE.
Mantle open in front; siphons more or less united ; foot
large, tongue-shaped. Shell sub-orbicular, closed; hinge
with cardinal and lateral teeth.
Genera—Cyclas, Cyrena, Pisidium.
The species of this family live in fresh or brackish water.
The fry of Cyclas are hatched in the internal gill.
Family XIV.—ASTARTIDiE.
Mantle-lobes united behind by a curtain pierced with
two siphonal orifices; foot thick or compressed, tongue¬
shaped. Shell equivalve, closed; cardinal teeth 1—3, and
usually a lateral tooth in each valve.
Genera—Astarte, Circe, Cyprina,1 Crassitella, Isocardia
Cypricardia, Cardita.
In the following families the siphons are long and re¬
tractile, leaving a sinuous “ pallial line”:—
Family XV.—VENERIDJ3.
Mantle with a rather large anterior opening ; siphons un¬
equal, more or less united ; foot tongue-shaped, compressed,
sometimes grooved and byssiferous. Shell regular, closed ;
hinge with usually three diverging teeth in each valve.
Genera—Venus, Cyiherea, Artemis, Lucinopsis, Vene-
rupis, Petricola, Glaucomya.
“ The shells of this tribe are remarkable for the elegance
of their forms and colours ; they are frequently ornamented
with chevron-shaped lines. Their texture is very hard, all
traces of structure being usually obliterated. The Vene-
ridee appeared first in the Oolitic period, and have at¬
tained their greatest development at the present time. They
are found in all seas, but most abundantly in the tropics.’’
(Woodward).
Family XVI.—MACTRID^E.
Mantle more or less open in front; siphons united with
fringed orifices ; foot compressed. Shell equivalve, trigonal;
hinge with two diverging cardinal teeth, and usually with
lateral teeth.
Genera—Mactra, Gnathodon, Lutraria, Anatinella.
Family XVIL—TELLINIDAE.
Mantle widely open in front; foot tongue-shaped, com¬
pressed ; siphons separate, long and slender. Shell usually
equivalve and closed; cardinal teeth not exceeding 2, la¬
teral teeth 1—1, sometimes wanting.
Genera—Tellina, Psammobia, Sanguinolaria, Syndos-
niya, Scrobicularia, JMesoderma, JJonax.
In the following families the mantle is sheath-shaped,
closed, save at the pedal and siphonal apertures. The
group answers to the “ Enfermes” or Inclusa of Cuvier.
The species are burrowers in sand, mud, wood, or stone :—
Family XVIII.—SOLEXID^E.
Siphons short and united (in the long-shelled genera),
long and partly separate (in the shorter and more com¬
pressed genera) ; gills prolonged into the branchial siphon ;
loot laige, sub-cylindrical. Shell gaping at both ends.
Genera -Solen, Cultellus, Machcera, Solecurtus.
The “razor-shells” or “spout-fish” (Solen siliqua and Lamelli-
Solen curtus) exemplify the present family. They are branchiata.
used in many places as food. Their burrows at low water
are indicated by a small orifice like a key-hole, and they
are found a foot or two beneath the surface. It is said that
they never voluntarily quit their burrows; but fishermen
in quest of them have the habit, in some localities, of throw¬
ing a pinch of salt in their holes, when they speedily rise to
the surface, and are hooked out by a bent iron. If per¬
mitted, they soon bury themselves again. When used as
bait for haddock or cod, the “ razor-fishes” are kept for a
day or two.
Family XIX.—MYACID AE.
Siphons united ; foot small. Shell gaping behind.
Genera—Mya, Corbula, Necera, Thetis, Panopcea, Saxi-
cava, Glycimeris.
The “ gapers” {Mya arenaria and Mya truncatd) ex¬
emplify the present family. They are found from a few
inches to aftfoot below the surface, in mud or shingle. They
are eaten in the Hebrides and in Zetland ; and are collected
for baits by fishermen.
Family XX.—AXATINID^E.
Siphons long, more or less united; foot very small.
Shell often inequivalve.
Genera—Anatina, Pholadomya, Lyonsia, Pandora,
Myochama, Chamostrea.
The “ lantern-shells ” {Anatina rostrata and other
species) exemplify this family. Pholadomya has an ex¬
ternal ligament only ; the gills are compacted into a single
mass on each side, and the mantle has a fourth opening for
a supplemental rudiment of the foot.
Family XXI.—GASTROCHCENIDAS.
{Tubicolidce, Lam.)
Siphons long, united to near their free ends ; foot finger-
shaped, sometimes grooved and byssiferous; mantle with
a boring disc in front. Shell regular, wedge-shaped, gaping
in front; in some more or less cemented to a superadded
calcareous tube.
Genera—Gastrochoena,2 Clavagella, Aspergillum.
“ The Gastrochcena modiolina perforates shells and lime¬
stones ; its holes are regular, about 2 inches deep and £ inch
diameter; the external orifice is hour-glass shaped, and lined
with a shelly layer, which projects slightly. When burrow¬
ing in oyster-shells it often passes quite through into the
ground below, and then completes its abode by cementing
such loose material as it finds into a flask-shaped case, hav¬
ing its neck fixed in the oyster-shell.” (Woodward.) In the
Gastrochcena numia, Spengl. {Fistula,na clava, Lam.),
from the coast of Coromandel, the tube is free, and grains
of sand often adhere to it; other species burrow in madre¬
pores, and their calcareous breathing-tube is elongated to
keep pace with the growth of the Polypes.
The “ water-pot shells” {Aspergillum), and the “ club-
shells” {Clavagella), inhabit each an elongated tube, the
extremities of which correspond to the anterior and pos¬
terior ends of the animal’s body. The posterior end is
widely open, expanding in a foliated form in the open sea;
the opposite end communicates, by a varying number of
minute and often-branched tubes, either with the interstices
of a sandy bed, as in Aspergillum, or with cavities in the
sandstone or coral rock in which Clavagella is more com¬
monly found imbedded.
From the greater resistance, therefore, which the nidus
of Clavagella presents to the development of the anterior
tubes, these are less regular both in the number and place
the name of the family, which ought to be retained for the use of Ichthyo-
2 Gr., in reference to the front or ventral gaping of the shell.
1 This Lamarckian name is too like the Linnasan Cyvrinus
logy exclusively, is accordingly here changed.
MOLL
Lamelli- than in Aspergillum; their formation being influenced by
branchiata. the proximity to the tube of other cavities in the rock.
Where these tubes have been developed from nearly the
whole of the surface of the mantle which intervenes to the
wide aperture of the shell, the specimen of Clavagella has
been termed echinata, though these processes are not closed
and pointed at the extremity, as might be implied by La¬
marck’s trivial denomination ; where, on the contrary, their
formation has been limited to the anterior part of the mantle,
the specimen has been raised to the dignity of a species by
the term coronata. Clavagella, like its congener Gastro-
chcena, is remarkable for the wide opening of the valves.
These cannot in the natural state be brought into opposi¬
tion on their ventral margins ; they are unequal to the pro¬
tection of the soft parts; and hence the necessity of the
extraneous defence which the walls of their rocky chamber
afford them, these walls being also lined to a greater or
less extent with a calcareous exudation from the mantle.
Yet a specific character has been seized from this disposi¬
tion of the valves, indicated by the species called Clava¬
gella aperta. The soft parts of Clavagella, when exposed
by the removal of the free valve and outer layer of the
mantle, present the appearance shown in fig. 20. The true
foot is wholly concealed by
the great development of the
muscular margin l of the man¬
tle. The extremities of the
labial tentacles n protrude at
the interval between the an¬
terior adductor g, and the
retractor of the siphon. The
relative position of the soft
parts (fig. 20) to the dwelling-
chamber (fig. 15) is as follows:
The mouth is turned towards
the closed end of the chamber
a, which is the anterior part; the heart and rectum are nearest
the side where the valves are connected by the ligament b,
or the dorsal part; the visceral mass projects towards the
opposite or ventral side c, while the siphon extends into the
commencement of the calcareous tube d, which leads out
of the anal or posterior part of the chamber. The fixed
valve (fig. 15) which covers the rough surface of the porous
rock or coral like the tiling of a chamber floor, and affords
a smooth, polished surface for the support and attachment of
the animal, is the left valve; the right valve (figs. 21, 22)
remains free, or is connected only to the soft parts and
cardinal ligament, in order to assist in the excavating and
respiratory actions.
That these actions are of a powerful kind is to be inferred
from the remarkable development of the muscular system
in the Clavagella. The impression of the great or posterior
adductor (fig. 22, f) is carried two lines beneath the surface
of the chamber posteriorly, but gradually rises to the level
of the valve. The impression of the smaller anterior ad¬
ductor (fig. 22, g) is fainter, and is continued into the sinu¬
ous pallial impression which fol¬
lows the contour of the anterior
margin of the valve at about two
lines’ distance from it. In the
free valve (fig. 22) the last two
muscular impressions are sepa¬
rate.
The shelly substance of the
fixed valve passes without in¬
terruption into that ofthe tube;
a slight ridge circumscribing
the entry of the tube into the
chamber may be regarded as
the line of separation, unless the extent of the valve be
limited to that of the internal nacreous deposition.
U S C A. 351
The area of the tube is of an oval form. The calcareous Lamelli-
parietes are l-50th of an inch in thickness at the outlet ofbrancluata-
the tube, and about l-30th at the opposite extremity. 's—
The free valve (figs. 21 and 22) is an unequal triangle,
with the angles rounded off, about
the thickness of a sixpence, mode¬
rately concave towards the soft
parts, striated only in the direction
of the layers of increment on the
outer surface. The layers of in¬
crement of the free valve gradually
increase towards the dorsal edge
for a little more than one-half of
the valve, beyond which the layers r ig
continue of almost equal breadth. $reeva\xe (Clavagella aperta).
This growth of the valve corresponds to the direction in
which the chamber is enlarged, which is principally on the
dorsal, dextral, and anterior sides. Now this is the mode
of enlargement best adapted for the full development of
the ovary ; so that it would seem that the Clavagella con¬
tinues for a certain time to work its way into the rock with¬
out material increase of size, leaving behind it a calcareous
tube which marks its track, after which it becomes sta¬
tionary, and limits its operations to enlarging its chamber
to the extent necessary for the accomplishment of the great
object of its existence.
The mantle envelopes the body like a shut sac, but is
perforated for the siphon and foot, the opening for the latter
being reduced to a small slit marked by the insertion of a
bristle in fig. 20, which serves to keep up a communication
between the chamber and its inhabitant; and it is seen that
the chamber has always a communication with neighbour¬
ing cavities in the rock by means of the calcareous tubules,
the formation of which is determined by the proximity of
those cavities. When therefore \heClavagella, by a sudden
contraction of its adductor muscles (fig. 20,/,/),has forcibly
expelled the branchial currents from the siphon, the space
between the free valve and the walls of the chamber would
be simultaneously filled either by water rushing in through
the tubules or forced out from the branchial cavity through
the small pedal orifice of the mantle.
The outer dermoid layer of the mantle is extremely thin,
and where it does not line the valves, it is mottled with
minute dark spots, and presents a glandular appearance
under the microscope. The muscular layer, after forming
the siphon and its retractors, is confined to the anterior
part of the mantle, where it swells into a thick convex
mass of interlaced and chiefly transverse fibres attached to
the valves along the sinuous submarginal depression above
mentioned, and forming one of the principal instruments in
the work of excavation. No fibres could be detected in
other parts of the mantle, nor could any longitudinally
radiating muscles be expected in a mantle which had no
lobes to be retracted.
The siphon, in the contracted state which it presented
in the specimen dissected by the writer, formed a slightly
compressed cylindrical tube half an inch in length, and the
same in the long diameter. It is traversed longitudinally
by the branchial and anal canals, which are separated from
each other by a muscular septum extending to the end of
the siphon, beyond which the two tubes do not separately
extend outwards. The inner extremity both of the anal
and respiratory tube is provided with a valvular fold. Their
terminations are beset with short papillae. The retractor
muscles attach the siphon to the posterior adductor on one
side, and to the anterior extremity of the oval mass of
muscular fibres above mentioned on the other, leaving an
intermediate space on both sides of the body, which exposes
part of the gills and labial tentacles. The muscular mass
which bounds the anterior part of the animal’s body is of
an oval form, 1 inch 3 lines in length, 8 lines in breadth,
Fig. 20.
Clavagella aperta.
Fig. 21.
Free valve (Clavagella aperta).
352 M O L L U S C A.
Lamelli- and varying in thickness from 2 to 3 lines. It is smooth
branchiata. an(j convex externally, and hollowed out within to lodge
the viscera at the base of the foot, for the passage of which
it leaves the small orifice above mentioned. The margins
attached to the valves are more or less irregular ; that which
is affixed to the loose valve is the broadest, being at the
ventral extremity 3 lines in breadth; it may here be re¬
garded as a third adductor. Posteriorly it is continued
into the small adductor muscle. This muscle is marked g,
the great or posterior adductor f, in fig. 20.
The ovary is of a gray colour, forming a mass at the dorsal
aspect of the body above the great adductor muscle, and
extending ventrad on either side the oesophagus and sto¬
mach to the opposite end of the base of the foot.
All this mass of intestinal folds, hepatic follicles, and ova,
was covered by a thin membrane. The little muscular pro¬
cess or foot which passes through the anterior slit of the
mantle is but 4 lines long and half a line in breadth.
The organization of Clava'gella, like that of Aspergillum,
described in the Reise von Afrik of Dr Riippell, is thus
seen to be modelled on the Lamellibranchiate type, and fol¬
lows most closely, in the variations from that type, the mo¬
difications which have been observed in Gaslrochcena.
The lengthened worm-like figure of Aspergillum is ex¬
changed in Clavagella for a shorter form, with greater lateral
development; and instead of the small rudimentary valves,
which are inchased, as it were, in the calcareous sheath of
Aspergillum, we find them here largely developed, and one
of them always remaining at liberty to be applied by a
powerful muscular apparatus to those offices which are
essential to the forcible expulsion of the fluid in the bran¬
chial cavity.
The Aspergillum exhibits the most extreme modification
of the true Bivalve type of shell by the complete coalescence
Fig. 23.
Aspergillum vaginiferum.
of its valves (fig. 23, a) with the parietes of the shelly tubes.
They there form the stamp of its true affinities, but sub¬
serve as little any ordinary final purpose as the teeth buried
in the gums of the foetal whale.
The larger end of the tube is pierced by a number of
short and small tubules and by a minute central fissure ; the
opposite or siphonal end is open, it is either plain or orna¬
mented by circular plicated outstanding plaits formed by the
shell-secreting layer of the siphons, and indicative of suc¬
cessive phases of growth of the tube.
The Aspergillum vaginiferum (fig. 23) inhabits the Red
Sea; other species have been found in Java, Australia, and
New Zealand.
Lamelli-
branchiata.
Family XXII.—PHOLADIDJE.
Animal clavate or vermiform ; siphons large, long, united
nearly to their ends; foot short, truncate. Shell gaping
at both ends; hingeless, with sometimes accessory valves,
or a supplementary tube and palettes.
Genera—Pholas,1 Xylophaga, Teredo, Teredina.
The piddocks {Pholas) perforate all substances that are
softer than their own valves. The mantle extends over the
hinge, and, in Pholas daetylus, developes two accessory
plates to protect the umbonal muscle, and a small transverse
plate behind ; a long unsymmetrical plate fills up the dorsal
interspace of the valves behind the hinge. The prominent
parts of the valves are beset with calcareous inequalities,
connected by fine transverse parallel ridges, roughening
the outer surface like a rasp. This species is used for food
in Scandinavia, and for bait in the south of England ; the
hyaline style, lodged in the translucent foot, is worthy of
note in the recent animal. The common piddock is gre¬
garious. Fig. 24 shows a block of stone perforated by the
Tig. 24.
Pholas dactylus.
Pholas dactylus: the breakwater at Plymouth is thus
infested.
In Pholas dactylus the labial processes are relatively
longer than in Pholadomya, but are equal, and both have
the usual transversely-plicated structure, although the outer
tone adheres by a great part of its outer surface to the
mantle. In the Pholas crispata the whole external sur¬
face of the labial process is adherent, but it retains the fine
plicated membranous structure; the internal labial process
is a thick, broad, scarcely flexible mass, convex outwardly,
concave where it is closely applied to the visceral mass, of
a soft parenchymatous structure, quite smooth on the con-
1 Gr. verb, “ to be hid in a hole.”
M 0 L L U S C A.
353
Lament- cave side, with hardly perceptible traces of the transverse
branchiate, lineations on the convex surface. This condition of the inner
WvyW labial process has not been found in other Bivalves.
The ship-worms or pile-worms {Teredo navalis) live in
wood, which they perforate in the direction of the grain,
save where a knot in the timber or the tube of another
Teredo is met with. The cavity in which they reside is
lined with a calcareous incrustation. They grow in the
wood, and do not first enter it as adult animals, for the
external aperture, towards which the two tubes {palettes)
are turned, is too narrow to allow the inclosed animal to
enter In fig. 25 the small valves of the true Bivalve shell
are shown at a > the foot, which with the valves constitutes
Fig. 25.
Teredo navalU.
the boring organ, is shown at c; d is the liver and ahmen
tary canal ; c the branchiae; the siphon-tubes and palettes
terminate the vermiform body, and always point to the
outlet of the burrow. . . ,
For the distinction of species recourse is had, amongst
other characters, to the form of the two small shovel-shaped
calcareous plates at the base of the siphons, commonly
named palettes or palmnla. One species, famous for the
iniury it caused to the piles of the dykes in Holland, in the
beginning of the last century especially, is referred by some
Dutch naturalists to the Teredo Selin {Teredo navalis, L.
et auctor. in part, Teredo batavus, Spengler). It is figured
in the work of Sellius, and in Blumenbach, Abh. naturhis-
torischer Gegenstande, No. 89. The palettes are fixed on
a short pedicle, inversely triangular, and terminating at the
broad end on each side in a point. Piles that had been
driven only six or seven weeks previously were seen to be
entirely eaten through by this worm, and robbed of all their
strength. In this way the island of Walcheren was in 17
threatened with destruction. From time to time the same
mischief was discovered in other places, especially on t le
Zuiderzee near Medemblik, Lambertshagen, &c.; West
Friesland was forced, in consequence, to mask its dykes with
large stones, which, being brought into the country from
abroad, occasioned a great expense. Since the middle of the
last century the mischief has much diminished. Copper¬
sheathing and broad-headed iron nails have been found most
effectual in protecting ship-timbers and piers from the rav¬
ages of this singular little Bivalve. An excellent account
of the pile-worm is given in the work of G. Selims,
nat. Teredinis, Traj. ad Rhen. 4to. Fossil Teredines are
found in the Tertiary and Chalk strata.
The phenomena of boring substances of different kinds
and densities by the Bivalve Mollusks have been the sub¬
ject of many observations and experiments, and have sug¬
gested many hypotheses. . , r .
The peculiar shape and development of the toot in the
Solen and other “burrowing” Bivalves, might have led to
its recognition as an excavating agent, if even it had not
been seen to effect the purpose in the living Mollusk.
Direct observation of the “ boring” Bivalves in the act of
perforation has been rarely enjoyed, and the instruments
have been more frequently guessed at or judged of from
the structure of the animal. The peculiar shape, great
strength, and restricted size of the concentrically-ridged
valves, the disproportionate size and strength, and the red
colour of their adductor muscle, with the curved umbcmal
processes for its advantageous leverage, in the Teredo nava-
Us could not fail to attract the attention of the unbiassed
observer to their adaptation for the function of excavating
wood.1 It indicates a mind unfitted for physiological dis¬
covery to deny this adaptation, because the exterior of the
valves is sometimes coated by a dried layer of the abun¬
dant mucus which is exuded from the pedial aperture during
the active movements of the borer. 1 he rasp-like exterior
of the shell of the Pholas crispata, with the modifications
of the adductors and their fulcral apophyses, m like manner
suggests the rasping rotatory action by which the valves
may produce, or aid in producing, the burrows in the rocks
in which the piddocks conceal themselves. To deny this
use of the Pholas shell because the shell of some other rock-
borino* Bivalve is smooth, is another inconsequential deduc¬
tion. C There are, doubtless, other modes of boring besides
the shell-action; but the recognition of any such need not
involve a negation of every mode save the one so recognise .
Mr Osier2 has advocated the hypothesis of a chemical
solvent as the boring agent, but such solvent has not been
demonstrated; and the necessity of its being apphed in
currents of water to calcareous rocks on which alone it
could operate, with the liability of the shell of the animal
secreting the solvent to be affected thereby, have been in¬
superable obstacles to the acceptance of the hypothesis.
Mr Garner3 has called attention to the streams generated
by the extensive surface of ciliated epithelium in tj16
Lamellibranchs, as probable aids to the rasping action of the
valves ; and since this demonstrated and constantly acting
dynamic causes as unceasing a current of water in the holes
of the borers, the non-extension of such current between
the shell and the rock, where they may be in close contact,
is no argument against the influence of the current in the
rest of the hole, and especially at the line where it is op¬
posed by such contact. The ingenious idea of the ciliary
action as an accessory power in boring may therefore be
accepted ; from its universal applicability it is, at least, cer¬
tainly worthy of notice.
The writer of the present article many years ago sug¬
gested that the same kind of instrument might be ap¬
plied by Bivalve Mollusks to boring in rock which had
been recognised as the one used for boring in sand. The
anatomy of the Clavagella offered many points highly
suggestive of the inadequacy of the hypotheses of the bur¬
rowing agents promulgated at the time when that hthodo-
mous Bivalve was first dissected; and its structure in¬
dicated a power that had not been previously suspected
in rock-borers. In the first place, it was evident that the
valves could not act, as they do in Teredo and Pholas;
for the terminal expansion of the chamber (fig. lo) had
an irregular elliptical form in transverse section; and,
moreover, one valve was fixed so as to form the Iming-
plate of its side of the chamber. The animal dissected
{Clavagella lata) had formed its • chamber ina rock of cal¬
careous grit; but a nearly allied species {Clav. australis)
had bored its way into siliceous grit; whilst specimens of
Clavaqella mehtensis were ensconced in argillaceous tufa.
A special solvent for each species greatly complicates the
chemical hypothesis. Ihe muscular layer of the mantle
of the Clavagella aperta presented, however, a peculiar
modification, being expanded into a thick convex cushion
(fif. 20, l), where it was applied to the bottom of the
chamber, through the development in its substance of a
mass of interlaced muscular fibres. The last excavated
part of the chamber was, as it were, moulded to the sur-
i In the great Teredo arenaria, which lives in soft mud, the valves are wanting, according to Dr Gray, oi their homologues form the
convex cap closing the periodical growths of the calcareous tube,
o ,1  'RrvT.inrr M«rinp Animals. Philnsnnhica
311 vex cap Closing tne ucj.    . QO/?
* On the Burrowing and Boring Marine Animals, Philosophical Transactions,
3 On the Anatomy of the Lamellibranchiate Bivalves, Zoological Transactions, vol. ii,, 18
4 All these rare species w-ere liberally confided for examination to the writer by Mr H. turning.
VOL. XV.
2 Y
354
MOLLUSC A.
Lamelli- face of the cushion, which was perforated by a minute
branchiata, s]jt for occasional passage of a filamentary foot. In
the original account of its anatomy it was thereupon
suggested that this muscular development of the mantle
must be “one of the principal instruments in the work of ex¬
cavation.1 But viewing its attachment to the moveable
valve, and the strength of the adductor muscles, it was
also supposed that that valve might be applied not only to
effect the forcible expulsion of the fluid from the pallial
cavity, but probably to assist in the excavation of the
abode.” Mr Hancock2 has recalled attention to the ex¬
cavating agency of soft and muscular masses in other
boring Bivalves analagous to that in Clavagella; such as
e.g., the thickened portion of the mantle in Saxicava and
Gastrochcena, and the foot in Pholas and Teredo.
If siliceous particles be actually secreted in the super-
fices of any of the burrowing discs, they must add to their
efficiency ; and it is certain that the perpetual renewal of
a softer surface will render it capable of wearing away a
harder one, subject to the friction of such softer sur¬
face, and not, like it, susceptible of being renewed.
The admission of the wearing and boring power of
muscular discs need not, however, involve the rejection of
the allied action of shelly valves and ciliary currents. The
diversity of the organization of the boring Mollusks plainly
speaks against anyone single and uniform boring agent in all.
The action of the foot and thickened border of the
pedial aperture may be inferior to that of the valves in
Teredo, as it certainly is in Pholas. A valued corres¬
pondent, Mr Robertson of Brighton, informs the writer—
“ Between thirty and forty Pholades have been at work in
lumps of chalk, in a finger-glass, and a pan of sea-water,
at my window for the last three months. The Pholas
dactylus makes its hole by grating the chalk with its rasp¬
like valves, licking it up, when pulverized, with its foot,
forcing it through its principal siphon, and squirting it out
in oblong nodules. They turn from side to side, never
going more than half round in their hole, and cease to
work as soon as the hole is deep enough to shelter them.”
The Pholades attain their largest size in soft yielding
stone; whilst in hard, and especially gritty rocks, they are
dwarfed in size, and the rough surface of their shell is
worn away. M. Caillaud has shown that the “ valves are
quite equal to the work of boring in limestone, by imitating
the natural conditions as nearly as possible, and making
such a hole with them.3”
The foot of the Pholas affords the requisite external fixed
point or fulcrum on which the power of rotation by internal
muscular motion depends. In Lithodomus (the Dactylus or
date-shell of the conchologists prior to Linnaeus), in Saxi-
cava and Ungulina, the foot is too feeble to serve as such a
fulcrum, and the valves are smooth, and retain the perios-
tracum; yet they bore into the hardest marble, and still harder
shells ; their holes, like that of Clavagella,axe not cylindrical,
and are doubtless formed, as in that genus, by the agency of
the thickened muscular borders of the pedial aperture.
Teredo navolis bores in the direction of the grain, un¬
less it meets another Teredo, or a knot in the timber; they
are probably warned by their organ of hearing of such con¬
tiguity. The rasp dust is introduced by the foot into the
pallial cavity, and is swallowed. The long intestine of the
ship-worm is usually laden with this debris.
GENERATION AND DEVELOPMENT OF THE LAMELLI-
BRANCHIATA.
All Bivalves are richly prolific. Countless myriads of
sperm-cells are developed in the one sex ; and the ovarium
Fig. 26.
Fry of XJnio litoralis.
swells with germ-cells as countless in the other sex. When Lamelli-
the sperm-cells in the male oyster, e. <7., have been developed branchiata.
into moving filaments, and are excluded as such, these are v',—
drawn into the pallial cavity of a contiguous female along
with the respiratory currents of sea-water; and at this
season the oviducts are seen to contain a milky fluid
abounding with spermatic filaments. By virtue of the
action of the vibratile cilia of the mantle and gills, im¬
pregnation is effected in the Bivalves of distinct sex ; even
when, like the oyster, both male and female are cemented
to the rock ; just as the pollen of the rooted male of the
dioecious palm is wafted by currents of air to the moist
stigma of the equally fixed and rooted female tree.
In the Naiadce, as has been remarked, the impregnated
ova are hatched in the cavity of the outer gill, as in a mar¬
supial pouch. The germ-mass, in the progress of deve¬
lopment, becomes covered by a ciliated epithelium. In
the group of four eggs of the Unio litoralis (fig. 26),
the little arrow indi¬
cates the course of the
rotation of such ad¬
vanced germ-mass in
the fluid albumen which
divides it from the cho¬
rion, or transparent
flexible “ egg - shell.”
This singular phenomenon was discovered by Leeuwenhoek
in 1695. When the rotation of the embryo is most active,
seven or eight revolutions may be observed in one minute.
Two parallel fissures next divide the germ-mass, at the
bottom of which the visceral mass first appears. As it
protrudes, the diverging moieties of the germ-mass assume
the character of the “ mantle-lobes,” or rather of a body
potentially including the gills and shell with those lobes,
those three parts being subsequently differentiated. The
gills make their appearance as ciliated, wavy folds (fig.
27, h) from the inner surface of the mantle, near the angle
between the pallial lobes and visceral mass. The cleavage
of the primitive germ-mass appears at first like an attempt
at spontaneous fission. Each embryonal moiety has its
own mouth, stomach, and heart; and it is by the subse¬
quent approximation and fusion of the two ventricles that
the common rectum of the two originally distinct intestines
is intercepted, so as to seem to pass through the heart.
The rest of the alimentary canal blends with its fellow as
the visceral mass grows up from the bottom of the cleft,
which growth is due chiefly to the progressive increase of
the testis or ovarium; and thus two sexless individuals
combine to form one with sexual organs.
By the phenomena observed in the progressive build¬
ing up of the embryo Lamellibranch, we learn the cause
or chief condition of that most singular anatomical fact,
which previously was a mere empirical one, without in¬
telligible explanation—viz., the passage of the rectum
through the centre of the ventricle of the heart. Calcifica¬
tion commences at the outer surface of the lobes, and the
first layer of the future shell forms a small triangular
valve on each side. The development of the adductor
muscle, single at the beginning and near the hinge, is in¬
dicated by feeble attempts at opening and closing the
valves. The albumen during this development is absorbed
and assimilated, and the embryo now distends the chorion.
The large detached ovum in fig. 26 exhibits the embryo
Vnio, or fresh-water mussel, ripe for exclusion. It escapes
from the chorion before it quits the branchial marsupium.
Filamentary processes, twisted together, resembling a
“ byssus,” project from the visceral mass. 1 he borders of
the valves are broken and armed with spines. I he young
1 Transactions of the Zoological Society, vol. i., 1834, p. 271. 2 Annals and Magazine of Natural History, 1848.
3 Woodward’s Manual, p. 327.
M 0 L L U S C A.
355
Encephala, of all the Naiades anchor themselves, soon after quitting
v ^ > the parent, by this byssus, which is temporary; the full-
grown and strong-shelled animals do not need it.
The embryos of many Bivalves have loco- j
motive structures equally temporary. Those ‘ '
of Crenella marmorata, e.g. (fig. 27), show a
broad disc fringed with long cilia d, and
provided with a slender tentacle f which
seems to be an organ of exploration. As
the pallial lobes and valves v, v grow, the
swimming disc decreases, and gives place to
the labial palpi and the foot. The youthful ^
excursion being ended, a byssus is finally
formed to anchor the maturing Crenella to
its final place of settlement.
In fig. 28, the embryo of the mussel (Mytilus eduhs,
after Loven), e marks the eye-speck which disappears
Fig. 27.
Crenella
marmorata.
offence, are in two pairs in many Encephala. The ante- Encephala,
rior pair, in which the olfactory sense may well reside, are *s—
usually also less dorsal in position than the posterior pair,
with which the eyes are frequently connected.
The accoustic sacs are connected with the subcesophageal
or pedial ganglia in most Encephala, but receive their
nerves from the supercesophageal ganglia, in some species.
In Encephalous Mollusks, as in fishes, the auditory con¬
cretions present themselves in one of two forms,—viz., as
solitary otolites or as granular otocones.
A very characteristic feature of the organization of the
head in the Cephalous Mollusks is the complex dentigerous
rasping or boring organ (figs. 29 and 96), called by some
the “ buccal mass,” by others the “ proboscis,” and by
others the “ tongue.” As it coexists with lateral horny
Fig. 28.
Enibryo Mytilus edulis.
with the locomotive power; e is the acoustic vesicle ; It the
labial tentacles; ss the stomach ; l the liver; b the bran¬
chiae; h the heart; v the vent; a, a the anterior and pos¬
terior adductors ; f the foot.
MOLLUSCA ENCEPHALA.
About three-fourths of the Mollusca are “ Encephalous,
or have a distinct head, commonly with eyes and tentacles,
and the mouth has a peculiar and complex preparatory
organ of digestion. .
The mantle, properly so called, is to be distinguished,
as in the foregoing group, from the ordinary external tegu¬
ment. It is the free fold or folds of the skin, produced
usually from the dorsal surface, and is in functional rela¬
tion with the breathing organ and the shell.
Any part of the skin of a Mollusk, even that covering
the foot, as in Lithedaphus, may produce a calcareous plate,
but it is, as a rule, the function of the mantle-lobe or
lobes.
In the following descriptions of the Cephalous Mollusks,
the part answering to that marked aa (in fig. 70), is called
the anterior or fore-part; the opposite end is the posterior
or back part. B denotes the ventral or lower surface, C
the dorsal or upper surface ol the body.
The parts called “ horns” or tentacles, but which are
organs of sense or of exploration, not of prehension or
Fig. 29.
Glottidium (Nudibranchiate Mollusk).
jaws in some species, e.g., Eolis (fig. 29, c) and Teihys, and
with vertical ones in others {Cephalopods, fig. 96), it seems
most homologous with the protractile dentigerous tongue
in Myxinoid and other fishes ; but as precise homology
cannot be predicated of the parts of animals developed
on plans so diverse as the vertebrate and molluscous, it
seems best to designate the apparatus in question by an
arbitrary “ molluscous” term, e.g., “ glottidium.”1
This is formed by a basis (chondrium)2 d, of usually
cartilaginous consistency, composed sometimes of a single
piece, as in the Aplysia, but more usually of a pair, or with
accessory pieces; the limpet, e.g., has four “ chondria.” The
chondrium is convex towards the upper and fore part of the
mouth. It is more or less enveloped by muscular fibres ;
some {glottidiales), e, passing to the cephalic parietes for
the protrusion and retraction of the entire glottidium;
others {radulares), f, inserted into the “ radula 3 g. The
rasping part, so called, consists usually of an elastic mem¬
brane stretched over the convexity of the chondrium, and
supporting a spinigerous membrane or “ tooth-strap.”
The “ glottidiales” are protrusors and retractors. The
protrusor muscles are usually two on each side, which pass
forwards to be attached to the walls of the head or to a
more advanced part of the mouth-channel. The “ radu¬
lares” are usually in two sets, radiating and transverse.
The radiating series,/,/ are the thickest, and often pre
sent a reddish colour. They arise from the back and
under part of the “ chondrium,” and diverge as they ascend
to be inserted into the extremities and sides of the radula.
The thinner transverse fibres, when present, combine with
the more constant diverging ones, in moving the ra¬
dula to-and-fro upon the chondrium alternately raising
and depressing the denticles by the same rasping or saw¬
ing movement.
deriv. from “gristle.”
1 Gr. ■y^arra, “ tongue/
3 Lat. for “ rasp/
356
MOLLUSC A.
Encephala. This mechanism seems to have been much misunder-
stood. Mr Huxley, for example, states that “ the result¬
ing action is precisely that of a circular saw ;”1 but the dis¬
tinctive action of the circular saw is to rotate in one direc¬
tion : the “ radula” of the Mollusk acts like a common saw
or rasp, by alternate movements to and fro.
The lining membrane of the mouth commonly protrudes
in folds near the glottidium, as at h (fig. 29) in Eolis and
in Onychoteuthis (fig. 96). The epithelial covering of
the inner side of these folds in the Cephalopod is beset with
series of short retractile horny teeth. Another complexity
in the higher Mollusks, and one which adds to the lingual
analogy of the glottidium, is the development in advance
of the “ radula” of one or more soft papillose and appa¬
rently gustatory lobes i. These caruncles have special
retractor muscles ; and the anterior “ radulares” derive in
Cephalopods an origin from the base of the lower jaw.
In fig. 29 of the mouth and glottidium of a Nudibran-
chiate Mollusk, a is the outer lip; b the inner lip; a is the
margin of the vertical jaw; c the fleshy mass supporting
the jaws; c the constricting muscle of the mouth ; d the
“chondrium;” e the “ glottidiales” muscles ;/the v‘ radu¬
lares g “ the tongue-strap A the buccal fold; / the
oesophagus.
The teeth are set upon either a broad or a narrow band;
in the former a median series of teeth or “ rachis” is flanked
by two lateral series or “ pleurae,” as in the Gastropod called
Bezoardica glauea (fig. 30). In some the “ rachidian ”
teeth, in others the “ pleural ” teeth, are absent; and the
number of longitudinal rows of these divisions may also dif¬
fer in different genera. According to these differences,
which, from their constancy, are valuable as generic charac¬
ters, they may be indicated by the terms uniserial, biserial,
triserial, septiserial, or multiserial, as, e.g., in Melania the
rachis is uniserial, the pleurae triserial. Whether the “ chon-
dria” or lingual cartilages consist of a single piece thinner
in the middle line, or of two or four pieces united by liga¬
ment and muscle, the
dental sac is lodged at
the back, and the dental
band is stretched over the
upper and fore part of the
chondrium. Herr Tro-
schel2 has devoted twenty
years to the study of the
dentition of the Mollusks, which he regards as important
as that of any vertebrate class of animals.
The peculiarities of the circulation in the Encephalous
Mollusks, which have given rise to the erroneous ideas of
the absence of proper walls to the circulating sinuses, and
the conditions originally attributed to that system in cer¬
tain Encephala^ under the term “ phlebenterism,” make
it desirable to premise a few observations on the true
state of the diffused venous system in other classes of
Invertebrata.
John Hunter first observed, that “the veins of the in¬
sect would appear to be simply the cellular membrane ; but
they are regularly formed canals, although not so distinctly
cylindrical canals as in the quadruped, &c., nor branching
with that regularity. They would appear to be, or to fill
up, the interstices of the flakes of fat, air-cells, muscles, &c,,
and therefore might be called, in some measure, the cel¬
lular membrane of the parts.” (Hunterian MS. Cata-
logue, printed in the Physioloqicul Catalogue, tom. ii.,
p. 31 (1834).
Baron Cuvier, as is well known, entertained, with regard
to the vascular system of insects, ideas closely akin to those
Fig. 30.
Teeth of Bezoardica glauca.
which some of his pupils have more recently expressed by Encephala,
the term “ phlebenterismfor Cuvier supposed that the
whole of the blood of insects stagnated in the lacunae or
cellular interspaces of the several organs: he was conse¬
quently led to deny that insects possessed a true circulation,
or that the dorsal tube (“ heart, extending through the
whole length of the animal,” Hunter, op. cit, 1793, p. 137)
acted as a heart. The more truthful views of Hunter,
based on the analogy of the already commencing irregu¬
larity and extent of the venous sinuses in the lobster and
snail, have been amply confirmed by the researches of Pro¬
fessor Cams, on the “ Circulation of the Blood in the larvae
of Ephemerides and Libellulae.3
With regard to the Crustacea, Hunter, who left prepara¬
tions, and a beautiful series of drawings, illustrative of the
circulating system in the lobster (Astacus marinus), thus
describes the latter:—
“ The veins in this class of animals, as in the winged in¬
sect, &c., are principally in the form of large irregular cells,
as if the cellular or investing membrane of the animal con¬
tained the venal blood ; and, when injected, we find the in¬
jection principally in large masses.” He then, referring to
his figures, describes the different sinuses, as “ a, a large
mass of vein lying on the stomach ; b, another mass similar
to the above, lying principally on the heart, which might
almost be considered an auricle, as from it are openings
into the ventricle.” (Hunterian MSS., in Physiological
Catalogue of the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons,
vol. ii., 1834, p. 138.)
The conditions of the vascular system in insects, crusta¬
ceans, and the snail, enunciated in brief but clear general
terms in the work On the Blood, 4to, 1793, and exempli¬
fied by preparations, drawings, and manuscript descriptions
left by Hunter in his museum, at his demise in the same
year, appear to have passed unappreciated abroad, until the
successive discoveries of analogous structures in other in¬
vertebrata, or the re-discovery of the same structures in the
same species which Hunter had dissected, had been made.
Baron Cuvier appears to have been the first to recal the
attention of comparative anatomists to this diffused and
expanded condition of the venous system in his dissection
of the Aplysia ; but he mistook the expanded sinuses which
fill the abdominal cavity, like those in the snail and slug, for
that cavity itself. Describing the vence cavce, which per¬
form the office of the branchial arteries, he writes :—“ Leurs
parois se trouvent formees de rubans musculaires transverses
et obliques, qui se croisent en toutes sortes de sens, mais
qui laissent entre eux des ouvertures sensible a 1’oeil, et en¬
core plus a toutes les especes d’injections, et qui etablissent
une communication fibre entre ces vaisseaux et la cavite de
1’abdomen ; de maniere que les fluides contenues dans celui-
ci penetrent aisement dans ceux-la, et reciproquement.”—
“ H resulte toujours que les fluides epanches dans la cavite
abdominale peuvent se meler directement dans la masse du
sang et etre portes aux branchees et que les veines font
1’office des vaisseaux absorbants. Cette vaste communica¬
tion est sans doute un premiere acheminement a celle bien
plus vaste encore que la nature a etablie dans les insectes,
ou il n’y a pas memes de vaisseaux particuliers pour le
fluide nouricier.”4
Jurine, in 1806, observing living specimens of a minute
crustacean (Argulus foliaceus) which were asphyxiated by
a few drops of alcohol added to the water they were in,
traced the course of the circulation, which he describes,
remarking:—J’ai evite d’employer le mot vaisseau pour
designer les conduits dans lesquels le sang circule, et que
j’ai remplace ce mot, tantot par celui de colonne, tantot par
4 Art. u Mollusca,” English Cyclopaedia, pp. 168, 667. 2 Das Gebiss der Schnecken, &c., 4to, 1856.
Blutkreislaufes in den Larven netzftiiglicher Insekten, 4t"t, 1827.
4 Me moire sur le Genre Aplysia, &c., in Annales du Museum, tom. ii., 1803, p. 287.
M 0 L L U S C A.
357
Encephala, celui de rameau. Les raisons qui m’ont engage a le faire
i ^ ^ reposent sur la maniere dont s’opere cette circulation. En
efFet, le sang chasse dans la partie anterieure du teste paroit
s’y repandre et s’y disseminer de ces parties, plutot que
d’etre contenus dans des vaisseaux particulieres. Je ferai ce-
pendant observer qu’il existe dans ce liquide quatre especes
de courans qui ferment les quatre rameaux dont j’ai parle
plus haut, et que, dans les ailes comme dans la queue, la
circulation ne se fait pas d’une maniere aussi diffuse que
dans la partie anterieure du teste, le liquide globuleux pa-
roissant y etre renferme dans une espece de large canal
pratique dans le parenchyme de ces parties.”1
It was probably owing to the misinterpretation of the
remarkable facts which Cuvier had observed, that Meckel,
notwithstanding the analogous structures, in the meanwhile
pointed out by Jurine in the Argulus, and by Gaspard2 in
the Helix pomatia, was led to deny the existence of the
apertures of communication observed by Cuvier in the
large muscular venae cavae of the Aplysia. In 1832, how¬
ever, the writer of the present article detected a structure
in the venous system in the Nautilus Pompthus closely
analogous to that which Cuvier had pointed out in the
Aplysia; but, having traced the continuity of the proper
lining tunic of the great muscular vena cava, through the
apertures in that coat, with a similar membrane lining the
abdominal cavity, he was led to describe the tunic of the
abdominal sinus as the peritoneum. “ There are several
small intervals left between the muscular fibres and corre¬
sponding round apertures in the membrane of the vein and
in the peritoneum, so that the latter membrane is continu¬
ous with the lining membrane of the vein.”3 And, after
referring to the analogous structure in the Aplysia, the au¬
thor adds, that this correspondence leads to the “ suspicion
that it may be more generally found on a further and more
diligent investigation of the venous system in this remark¬
able class of animals.”
Ten years later, M. Pouchet,4 professor of Zoology at
Rouen, demonstrated in Limax, a structure answerable to
that which M. Gaspard had described in Helix, viz., that the
blood passed from the arterial capillaries into the visceral
cavity, whence it was received by particular orifices into the
veins that carried it directly to the pulmonary chamber, rami¬
fying there like a vena portce before returning to the heart.
In 1834, the same year in which were published the figures
and descriptions by Hunter of the circulating system in the
lobster, M. Milne Edwards recorded his examination of the
same system in the same species,in the HistoireNaturelle des
Crustaces, vol. i., p. 101. He there describes the expanded
venous sinuses, as li plutot des lacunes situees entre les
divers organes que des canaux a parois bien formees. (Op.
cit., p. 102.) the term “ lacunes” is also adopted for that
of “ venous sinuses” by the editor of the posthumous edition
of the Lemons d'Anatomie Compare of Cuvier, t. vi., 1839,
pp. 504, 505.
In 1843 M. Quatrefages5 believed that he had discovered
a Mollusk, his Eolidina paradoxa, in which the organs
of circulation were reduced to a univentricular heart and
a system of arteries. “ Le syteme veineux,” he writes,
“ manque entierement. II est en quelque sorte remplace
par des lacunes du tissu areolaire.” In the same Nudi-
branchiate Mollusk the ramifications of the alimentary canal
are also described as penetrating the branchiae, “ where the
chyle was directly submitted to the atmospheric influence
exercised by the surrounding water.” To this supposed con¬
dition of the digestive, circulating, and respiratory systems, he
gave the name, “Phlebenterism,” and proposed thereon some Pteropoda.
corresponding changes in the classification of the Mollusca.
In the Report on this and other memoirs of M. Qua¬
trefages on the Nudibranchiate Mollusks, by M. Milne Ed¬
wards, that distinguished professor adopts the mode of
interpreting the modification of the venous system, and ap¬
plies it to the Crustacea. “ II existe (dans le genre Eo-
lidine) un cceur et des arteres bien constitues, mais pas des
veines proprement dites, et le sang ne revient des divers
parties du corps que par un systeme des lacunes irregu-
lieres, disposition tout-a-fait analogue a celle dont les Crus-
tacees nous avaient deja fourni un example. Enfin dans
d’autres especes, que M. Quatrefages a decouverte sur les
cotes de la Bretagne, le cceur et les arteres disparaissent a
leur tour ; de sorte que la circulation devient des plus in-
completes et resemblent a celle qu’on apper^oit chez les
Bryozoaires.” Subsequent researches by Messrs Emble-
don and Hancock demonstrated, however, the existence in
the genera Eolis and Acteonia, of both heart and arteries;
and the same careful anatomists confirm the observations
of M. Souleyet,6 that the veins were not wanting in the
Nudibranchs, but had only undergone that modification of
form to which the term sinuses is more properly given.
Not any of these authors have, however, published exact
and recognisable representations of the relations of tjie at¬
tenuated tunica propria of the veins, to the interspaces or
laminae which that tunic lines in forming the large and irre¬
gular sinuses in which the blood is diffused.
In several of the writer’s monographs, and especially in
plate iii., fig. 1, of that on the organization of the Brachi-
opoda,7 he has adduced evidence in proof that the diffused
and supposed merely lacunar venous system is continuous,
i.e., forms a part, by continuity of tissue, wfith the rest of the
circulating system. Thus all ulterior researches rightly
interpreted, since the time of Hunter, have served to confirm
and establish the accuracy of that great anatomist’s appre¬
ciation and explanation of the facts he discovered in insects
and crustaceans, and to extend our knowledge of the same
modification of the venous system as it exists in the series
of the Molluscous animals.
CLASS IV.—PTEROPODA.8
Encephalous Mollusks with wing-like fins from the sides
of the head or neck.
The Pteropoda are so called on account of the resem¬
blance of their principal organs of motion to a pair of wings,
both as to form and in their mode of action on the sur¬
rounding medium. These expanded fins are not, however,
the homologues of the part called the “ foot” in Gastropods.
The Pteropoda are small marine floating Cephalous Mol¬
lusks, many of them of minute size. The greatest extremes
in variety of form are presented in this order,—some species
of Hyalcea (fig. 31) and Euribia (fig. 40) being globular;
others, as certain Cleodorce (fig. 34), being very long and
slender. The body is divided into a “ somatal ” and “ vis¬
ceral” part.
In some—e.g., Hyalcea (fig. 31), Spirialis (fig. 42), and
Cymbulia (fig. 39):—the head is not distinct from the mus¬
cular partof the “soma;” in others—e.g., Clio(h%Ab),Pneu-
modermon (fig. 46)—it is defined therefrom by a constriction
or neck. In the seemingly headless group [Thecosomata)
the fins are confluent by their bases at the mid-line of the
dorsal aspect; in those with distinct heads (Gymnosomata)
the fins spring separately from the sides of the neck.
1 Sur VArgule foliact, in Annales du Museum, tom. vii., p. 431, 439 (1806).
2 Recherches sur la Physiologic de I’Escargot des Vignes (Helix pomatia), Journal de Physiol, de Magendie, 1822, t. ii., p. 295.
3 Owen, On the Pearly Nautilus, &c., 4to, 1832, p. 28. 4 Recherches sur VAnat. et la Physiol, des Mollusques, 4to, Rouen, 1841.
6 Annales des Sciences Nat., 1843, t. xix.; Comptes Rendus, 1843, p. 1124.
s Observations sur les Mollusques Gasteropodes designes sous le nom de Phlebenteres, par M. de Quatrefages, Comptes Rendus des Sciences,
&c., 1844, t. xix., p.355. 7 Monogr, cit. Palceontograph. Soc., 1853. 8 Gr. “ wing-footed.”
358
MOLLUSC A.
Pteropoda. As in most other natural groups of Cephalous Mollusks,
some Pteropods are naked, others provided with shells ; the
former have the best developed and most distinct heads.
The mantle presents corresponding modifications, or rather
the part of the skin, properly so called, exists only in the
testaceous Pteropods. In them the pallial fold is reflected
forwards over the visceral mass, leaving a wide anterior
opening for the access of water to the gills, which the
mantle thus conceals; it sends out processes conformable to
those of the shell. Its surface is ciliated. In the naked
Pteropods the integument is confined to the surface of the
animal, and is perforated only by the alimentary, excretory,
and genital orifices. It is thick, and of a firm sometimes
almost cartilaginous {Euribid)—texture.
The shell presents as extreme varieties of form as does
the body, but is always characterized by the delicacy and
transparency of its texture in these little floating Mollusks.
It deviates least from the ordinary form of the spiral uni¬
valve in the Pteropod, called on that account Spirialis. In
this genus (fig. 42) the shell is discoid, with the last whirl
much expanded, and umbilicate; the rest are disposed in
from three to five whirls, projecting more or less from the
last, with the mouth often angular; and in some (Sp. ven-
tricosd) subcanaliculate the shell is sinistral. Some of the
species (e.g., Sp. clathratd) are provided with an oper¬
culum (fig. 43). In Limacina the turns of the shell are
reduced to one whirl and a half. In Hyalcea, fig. 32, the
shell resembles a bivalve in which the two valves have been
cemented together along the hinge, leaving a narrow fissure
in front and at the sides. In Cleodora, fig. 34, the shell is
narrowed and lengthened out, the two plates being united
together along the sides, so as to leave only an anterior
aperture. In Cymbulia, fig. 39, the shell is internal, sym¬
metrical, shaped like a boat or slipper, and of a gelatino-
cartilaginous texture. The cephalic ganglions (fig. 35, 5,
nervous system of Cleodora) are united by a commissural
band a, passing above the oesophagus. The pedial ganglia
c, and the “branchial” or splanchnic d, form a mass which
is below the oesophagus.
No Pteropod possesses very distinct or well-developed
eyes; but the acousticle, or little sac with calcareous crys¬
tals attached to the suboesophageal ganglions, exists in all,
and was first discovered in these delicate subtransparent
floating Mollusks.1
The testaceous Pteropods have two tentacles; the naked
ones have four. In these the vent is on the right side of
the body, whilst in most of the testaceous Pteropods it is on
the left side, the shell where spiral being sinistral. The
heart consists of an auricle and ventricle, its position vary¬
ing with that of the gills, which offer extreme modifications
in this circumscribed group.
The organs of the male and female sex are combined in
the same individual. The most essential part of the com
plex generative organs of hermaphrodite Cephalous Mol¬
lusks, which had been alternately described as testis and
ovarium by different authors, before accurate microscopic
observation had proved that both organs were combined in
the same body, will be called in this article the “ ovi-
spermal” gland or body. The generative orifices are on the
right side, save in Cymbulia, where that of the penis is
median; the organ so called is for excitation, being imper¬
forate, and is remote from the sperm-outlet
Oeder I.—THECOSOMATA BL
With an external shell; head indistinct
Genus.—IlYALiEA,2 Lamarck.
Fig. 32.
Hyalcea tridentata.
Sp. Hyalcea £n'<iew<a<a(figs.31,32).—The shell of Ilyalcea Pteropoda.
consists of two plates, which, like the valves of a Brachio-
pod, are“ dorsal,”/, and
“ventral,”^, in relative C
position. It bears, in¬
deed, such a resem¬
blance to a Bivalve,
that Forskael,3 its dis¬
cover, referred it to
the genus Anomia,
as An. tridentata. To
Cuvier4 belongs the
merit of having de¬
termined, by anatomi¬
cal investigation, the
pteropodal affinities of
the beautiful little
Mollusk, for which Fig. si.
Lamarck, after Lamar- Hyalcea tridentata.
tiniere’s remarks on the affinity of the shell to that of Brown’s
Clio, proposed the name
of Hyalcea. f
The animal consists of
a “somatal” (fig. 33, C,
d) and “visceral” (g,h) di¬
vision. The former is a
broad, depressed muscular
part, from which the head
is not distinct, expanding
on each side into a fin C,
with a trilobed margin, the fins being united by a middle
plate or lobe d (fig. 33), continued from their hinder bor¬
der across the ventral aspect of the body.5 The head is
indicated by two small clavate tentacles (fig. 33, b), and
by the mouth a, which opens on the ventral aspect,
and is provided with two labial appendages (fig. 32,
/). The visceral division is lodged in the shell; the mantle
opens in front, and sends off from its sides variously-shaped
extensible appendages (figs. 31 and 33, e). The vent (fig.
33, o) is on the left side of the body, near the anterior border
of the mantle and the left extremity of the gill. The vulva
y is on the right, behind the base of the right fin ; the male
outlet is upon the right cephalic tentacle b. The gill
(fig. 33, ii) is horse-shoe-shaped, and circumscribes the
visceral mass behind and at the sides, being quite concealed
by the mantle. The shell (fig. 32) is vitreous, transparent,
and fragile; symmetrical; more or less globose, chiefly by
the convexity of the ventral valve g; it is tridentate behind,
with the angles or teeth h (figs. 31 and 32) more or less
produced, according to the species, with a fissure-like open¬
ing i, anteriorly and laterally, not adapted for closure by
an operculum. A single retractor muscle (fig. 33, k) arising
from the median point or apex of the shell, passes forward
along the dorsal aspect, expanding, and then bifurcating to
spread abroad and interlace with the muscles of the fins.
By the action of this retractor the whole “ soma” can be
retracted within the shell; the lateral prolongations of the
mantle have their own contractile fibres for the same
purpose.
For a full description of the nervous system of Hy¬
alcea the reader is referred to the Voyage de la Bonite,
Partie Zoologique, tom ii., 8vo, p. 131, and Atlas, fob, pi. 9,
figs. 20—24, whence the figures referred to are taken.
The labial boundaries of the triangular mouth are pro¬
longed, and subside in the grooves between the fins and
middle lobes of the soma. The glottidium has three di¬
verging series of minute recurved teeth.
1 Eydoux et Souleyet, Annales Franqaise et etrangeres d/Anatomie, tom. ii., p. 305. _ /von/'/ 1 .
3 Fauna Arabica, p. 124; and leones, tab. xl., fig. B. 4 Annales du Museum, tom. iv. (1804J, pp.
6 “Les nageoires ne torment q’un seule expansion, 1’analogue du pied des Mollusques gasteropodes,” Souleyet, Zoologie de la
Bonite, 8vo, p. 104; De Blainville. Malacologie, pi. 46, and Journal de Physique, tom. xciii., p. 81.
M 0 L L U S C A.
359
Pteropoda. The oesophagus, after traversing the nervous ring and
entering the visceral cavity, expands into an ingluvial pouch,
lined by an epithelium thickened into four longitudinal
horny plates with sharp angles ; the stomach, continued from
this part, rapidly contracts into an intestine (fig. 33, o),
which, describing a convolution round the liver p, is re¬
flected forward and to the left, to terminate, as above de¬
scribed, at o.
The skin of the Hyalcea is produced and reflected from
behind forwards, so as to form a true mantle, which cir¬
cumscribes beneath the viscera a branchial cavity opening
anteriorly. The branchial plates are attached to the bottom
of this cavity, and are disposed, as Cuvier well described,
in a crescentic curve, almost circumscribing the viscera.
Within the horns of the crescent are two supplementary
series of gill-plates, parallel with those terminal parts of the
main series, and more dorsal in position. The pericardium
lies behind the left supplementary gill; the anus opens in
front of it. The gill-plates are like those of the limpet, but
are more complex in structure. The urinary sac q sur¬
rounds part of the auricle r, the pyriform ventricle s sends
off a short aorta, which divides into two main branches.
The genital or ovispermal gland u is transversely ridged or
folded; its duct enters the side of a second larger canal,
with glandular walls, one end of which is prolonged into a
convoluted blind tube w, the other terminates in a kind of
matrix v, consisting chiefly of compacted convolutions of a
tube. The duct or canal of the matrix (vagina x) passes
forward and to the right, to terminate behind the right fin.
The exciting organ is a muscular tube b, whose folds
form a prominence to which the upper border of the so-
matal integument is attached; the tube opens externally
in front and to the right of the mouth ; its internal dilated
end appears to terminate as a closed cavity, connected only
with a retractor muscle. It is thus insulated, like the palp
of the male spider and the intromittent organ in some
Cephalopods, from the remaining and more essential part
of the male apparatus.
The Hyalceee inhabit the warmer temperate and tropical
zones, and have been taken in the Atlantic, Indian, Pacific,
and Mediterranean seas. They swim with moderate speed
by the action of their fins, but always with the back down¬
wards, which is indicated by the deeper colour of the more
exposed convex ventral valve. More than twenty species
Fig. 88.
Hyalcea tridentata (magn.)
have been defined,1 of which the Hyalcea tridentata is here
selected for the special illustration of the genus. The Pteropoda.
beautiful translucid shell of this species, about 9 lines in
length, is of a reddish-yellow, shading off to rose colour,
but pale on the dorsal plate. The ventral valve is marked
anteriorly by fine transverse striae. The dorsal valve has
five convex aorta, which diverge forwards.
Genus Cleodora, Peron, Lesueur. A beautiful transi¬
tion from Hyalcea to Cleodora is made by the Cleodora
lanceolata, Lesueur, in which
the anterior borders of the
shell are so produced as to
make its fissured opening in
part lateral as well as ante¬
rior ; the productions of its
apex and sides also re¬
semble those of Hyalcea
tricuspidata. Other Cleo-
dorce gain in length and lose
in breadth, until the open¬
ing of the shell is wholly
anterior, and its cavity pro¬
longed into the tubular or
serpuliform shape presented
by the Cleodora aciculata
(fig. 34).
The mantle sends out no
lateral processes or envelop¬
ing folds in such Cleodorce.
The fins care simply notched
or bilobed, and are more
distinct from the median
fold d. The mantle forms
a pouch for the branchiae
like that of the Hyalcea; its
muscular border follows
closely the progressive mo¬
difications of the shell aper¬
ture, and becomes simply cir¬
cular anteriorly, as at e in the
species figured; it is beset
with tufts of vibratile cilia,
as in Hyalcea. Save in the
modifications of proportion,
chiefly of length, conform¬
ably to the altered form of the body, the
digestive organs closely resemble those
of Hyalcea. In fig. 35, a is the buccal
mass, l the gullet, n the stomach, p the
liver, and 6 the intestine, which termi¬
nates further from the free border of the
mantle than in Hyalcea at o. The gill
forms half of a longer and narrower ellipse
than in Hyalcea; the heart has a similar
relative position, and consists of the usual
auricle and ventricle, but the urinary
cavity is a more distinct pyriform sac
than in Hyalcea. The ovispermal gland
(fig. 35, u) is sub-bilobed and trans¬
versely plicated. The oviduct is con¬
tinued directly into the glandular tube v,
which is not prolonged into a caecal
appendage, but contracts as it terminates
in the matrix w. The genital outlet y is
behind the right fin ; the excitory organ
is disconnected with the essential part of
generation, and is more in advance. The
retractor muscle k closely resembles that
of Hyalcea in its origin and insertions.
Difficult as it is to differentiate in any very essential degree
Fig. 34.
Cleodora aciculata.
1 Many of which are beautifully figured in the Voyage de la Bonite, plates 4, 5, and 6.
360
MOLLUSC A.
Pteropoda. Cleodora from Hyalcea, it is still more so to discriminate
v-"-'' from Cleodora the more slender conical species which have
been removed from that genus under the names Styliola
and Creseis.
In the Cleodora cuspidata and Cleodorapyramidata the
shell is pyramidal, three-sided, striated transversely with the
mid-costa, in the dorsal valve, so produced as to give it a
keeled appearance. In Cleodora virgula and Cleod. aci-
Fig. 35.
Cleodora pyrmidata.
culata the shell shows neither aortae nor striae, and is trun¬
cate anteriorly. The fins have a small lobe on their inner
border.
The geographical distribution of the species of Cleodora
agrees with that of Hyalcea.
Genus Cuvieria,1 Rang.—The Pteropods of the genus
Cuvieria are closely allied to the Cleodora, and were
ascribed to that genus by their discoverer M. Gaudichaud
(as Cleodora obtusa and Cleod. rosed). The fins (fig. 36, c)
Fig. 38.
Cuvieria eolumnella.
Fig. 36.
Cuvieria columnella.
have the same elongated form and terminal notch; but
the intermediate lobe d, which some suppose to be homo¬
logous with the part/, fig. 67, in Carinaria? presents also
a notch at its middle part.
The Cuvierice are also more particularly distinguished by
an appendage, which is attached to the under part of the
neck by a pedicle, and divides into two lobes, one (fig.
36, e) elongated and pointed; the other,y expanded, and
with a thickened, wavy, or plicated border. From the
lower part of the pedicle a fold of skin connects the ter¬
minal orifice of the vagina with the neck; and the bifid
appendage is probably the homologue of the penis in
Heteropods. The mantle does not develop lateral leaflets,
as in Hyalcea.
The crescentic branchia (fig. 38) is placed deeper in the Pteropoda.
mantle-bag than in Cleodora, and its horns are less symme-
trical. The shell (fig. 37)
has a septum s, which par- j
titions oft' its hinder end; ^
and its aperture i has a
rounded, not a trench- Fig. 37.
ant border. M. d’Orbigny Cuvieria columnella.
affirms that the hind end g is originally pointed as
in Cleodora, and that its usual truncation is due to
accident.
In fig. 38, i is the branchia, r the auricle, s the ven¬
tricle, and t the pyriform urinary sac.
The Cuvierice range
from the tropics to the
latitude of Cape Horn.
They are less common
than the Hyalcea or
Cleodora, but their mode
of life is the same.
In the Cuvieria co¬
lumnella (figs. 36 and
37), the shell is sub-
cylindrical, elongated,
smooth, contracted, or truncate at the hind end g ; de¬
pressed anteriorly, with an oblique aperture i with
rounded borders, the dorsal longer than the ventral lip.
Three varieties of form of this shell have been noticed:
in the first two the shell is moderately thick, firm,
hyaline, sometimes of a feeble rose colour, and with fine
longitudinal striae; in the third variety the shell is thin,
fragile, and quite transparent. The latter variety occurs in
the Chinese and Pacific Oceans.
Genus Cymbulia, Peron and Lesueur.—In this genus the
cartilaginous shell is developed in the substance of the
mantle, but is distinct. It is covered by so thin a layer of
the mantle that this is often torn, and the animal loses its
shell, which slips out; its substance contains chitine. It is
transparent, skiff-shaped, symmetrical, pointed in front,
truncate behind, with the aperture elongate and ventral.
The body of Cymbulia Peronii (fig. 39) is somewhat ob¬
scurely divided into a
somatal and visceral
part, the latter only be¬
ing lodged in the shell.
The fin-like expan¬
sions of the soma,(7,(7,
are unusually large,
expanding to beyond
the hinder end of the
body.
The mouth opens
on the ventral surface
of the body, at the
anterior interspace be¬
tween the fins. Above
and in front of this ori¬
fice are two protenta¬
cles, in front of which,
at the middle line, is
the prepuce. Fig. 39.
The visceral part is Cynibulia Peronii.
not inclosed by a pallial sac opening anteriorly, as in
Hyalcea, but is covered by the mantle only dorsally; while
on the ventral side it rests in a sac, formed by the detach¬
ment of the skin from the dorsal surface of the fins, and
opening posteriorly. There are no proper or free “ borders
of the mantlethat which circumscribes the orifice of the
1 In honour of Cuvier, the founder of modern Malacology.
2 (i Fins united by a semicircular lobe, the equivalent of the posterior element of the foot.,, (\\ oodward s Manual, p. 204.)
MOLLUSC A.
361
Pteropoda. visceral cavity is a simple fold, which is reflected thence over
s—the shell, which thus becomes “ internal.” The gills are two
membrano-vascular plates on the sides of the visceral pouch.
Sp. Cymbulia Peronii, Lam.—This is the type species,
and is met with in certain parts of the Mediterranean.
Two other species have been characterized as Cymbulia
-punctata and Cymbulia Norfolkensis by the naturalists of
the “ Astrolabe.” These Pteropods swim, like the Hyalcea
and Carinaria, with the belly upwards. Mr Adams figures
a Cymbulia proboscidea.
Genus Tiedemannia, Delle Chiaje.—The Pteropods of
this genus are Cymbulice, with the fins and foot-process
confluent and forming an orbicular disc; the mouth is at
the apex of a long proboscis ; the tentacles are elongated
and connate ; the eye-tubercles minute. The shell is hya¬
line, gelatinous, slightly excavated; it appears to be soon
or frequently shed.
Sp. Tiedemannia Neapolitana, V. Beneden {Exercises
Zootomiques, p. 21, pi. 2).—In this species the proboscis is
slender, and the fins have white and yellow spots at the
margin.
Genus Euribia, Rang.—The genus Euribia is founded
on a small and very rare Pteropod, of the shape and about
the size of a pea. (See the figure opposite the left hand in
fig. 41.) The chief part of the integument, although trans¬
parent, is of almost cartilaginous consistency, but an¬
teriorly becomes suddenly thin and flexible, forming a fold,
which borders on oblique fossa into which the “ soma,” or
the fore part of the animal developing the fins and tentacles,
and covered by a thin and extensible skin, can be retracted
with all its appendages. The firm globular hind part of
the integument, which thus acts as a shell, retains so
much muscularity that it can draw one side of the anterior
depression towards the other, and thus close the seeming
aperture upon the contracted and retracted cephalic ap¬
pendages, as in the enlarged figure opposite the right hand
in fig. 41. Of these appendages the largest and most conspi¬
cuous are the fins (fig.
40, c, c), which are at¬
tached to the sides and
under part of the head,
meeting and partially
blending at the latter
aspect; but with a me¬
dian pedial appendage
/ at the interspace.
The fins curve back¬
wards, and are dilated
at their extremity.
Anterior and vent-
rad of the fins come off
the long, transversely-
striated, and pointed
appendages (fig 40, e,
e), and in front of these
are the tentacles l, l.
At the fore part of the
right fin is the pre-
putium; at the back
part is the genital or
vaginal orifice y. The
vent o is to the right of the pedial appendage /. The
mouth a is an elliptic aperture, with two labial palps or
tentacles d. The “ glottidium” has a biserial dental
plate. The pair of caecal salivary glands ; the large stomach
surrounded by the liver p ; the reflected intestine o ; and
the androgynous generative organs u, v, w,—all accord with
the pteropodal type. The retractor muscles of the soma
are shown at k, k in fig. 35.
Fig. 40.
Euribia Gaudichaudii.
Fig. 41.
Euribia Norfolkenns.
The Euribia Gaudichaudii, Eyd. and Soul., was cap- Pteropoda.
tured by the accomplished naturalist after whom it is
named in the Pacific Ocean, in 20. N. Lat. and 170. E. Long.
He noticed in the living animal the vibratile action of tufts
of cilia on the anterior border of the fins. These append¬
ages were of a pale rosy tint; the visceral mass was partly
brownish, partly of an orange-red.
The Euribia Norfolkensis (fig. 41), captured by MM.
Quoy and Gaimard, off
Norfolk Island, Australia,
differs by the rugosities
or minute tubercles which
roughen the firm integu¬
ment. Fig. 41 shows this
part in its retracted and
contracted state magnified;
the figure to the left shows the aperture of the quasi-shell,
a little widened, of the natural size.
The small Pteropod which forms the genus Psyche of
Rang appears to differ from Euribia only in the softer
consistency of the integument. The name Psyche, more¬
over, is pre-appropriated by the Lepidopterists.
Euribia is in some measure intermediate between Cu-
vieria and Pneumodermon, and seems to indicate the tran¬
sition from the naked to the shelled Pteropods.
Genus Spirialis, Eydoux and Souleyet.—Were the long
and slender shell of Cleodora to be twisted spirally, and its
anterior aperture widened and closed by an operculum, it
would become transmuted into a Spirialis (fig. 42). The
soma and its natatory expansions differ only by slight and
unessential modifications of form from those of Hyalcea and
Cleodora. Thus the
fins (fig. 42, C, C),are
elongated, slightly ex¬
panded, and rounded
at their termination.
The intermediate lobe
is sub - pedunculate,
and bears the opercule
/ on its upper surface.
There are two minute
tentacles. The pre¬
puce is at the front
border of the head, a
little to the right. The
proper genital opening is behind the base of the right fin.
The branchial sac is now dorsal in position, as in Gastro¬
pods, through the spiral twist of the body. About half a
dozen species of Spirialis have been defined.
The Spirialis Bulimoides (fig. 42) has an elongated
sinistral shell of six whorls, with a sub-acute
spire. The mouth is ovaloid, angular at the
fore part, with the labrum sharp ; the colum¬
ella is slightly arched. The shell scarcely ex¬
ceeds a line in length; it is smooth. The
operculum (fig. 43, f) is chitinous, dextral, Fig. 43.
and paucispiral. Spirialis (mag.)
In the Spirialis clathrata (fig. 44) the surface of the
shell shows slightly elevated striae,
decussating so as to intercept lo¬
zenge-shaped areolae. It has three
sinistral whorls g, with a capacious
ventricose last turn or chamber f.
The minute Pteropods of this genus
are abundant, and are widely diffused
through the warm latitudes of the ocean.
Genus Limacina,1 Cuv.—This genus w7as proposed by
Cuvier for the Clio helicina of Phipps,2 and probably the
generic name was given, as Van der Hoeven suggests, inad-
Fig. 44.
Spirialis clathrata (mag.)
1 Lat. for a “ small slug.”
2 Voyage towards the North Pole, 4to, 1774.
VOL. XV
2 z
362
MOLLUSC A.
Pteropoda. vertently for Helicina; the slug-like Clio being distin-
7 guished as the Cl. Limacina from the testaceous Pteropod
now generally recognised as the Limacina arctica.
Limacina has a fragile, discoid, sinistrally spiral she 1,
deeply umbilicate on one side, and with the spire slightly
projecting on the other. It differs from that of Spiriahs
in having no operculum.
Sp. Limacina arctica, Cuv.—This species exists in my¬
riads in the arctic seas. . . ,. .
Sp. Limacina antarctica^ Hooker. The species in which
the shell-whorls are transversely striated, with the fins
notched on the hinder border, and with the post-pedial lobe
emarginate, is equally abundant in the antarctic seas.
Order IL—GYMNOSOMATA, Blainville.
Without a shell; head distinct; fins attached to the sides
"CLIO, Linn, and Muller. —The earliest form
of Pteropod known to naturalists was a species of the
genus to which the above name, originally applied by
Brown to another form, and by Linnaeus to all the Ptero-
pods he knew, is now by common consent restricted, i his
species (Clio borealis, Gmel., fig. 45), the well-known
whale’s food, or 14 whale-
bait” of the arctic voy¬
agers, is remarkable for
the high northern lati¬
tudes in which it exists,
and for the myriads of
its individuals that find
subsistence in those icy
seas. First indicated by
Martens in his Voyage to
Spitzbergen (1675), and
afterwards described, as to external characters, by Pallas ;
its true nature and affinities were made known anatomically
by Cuvier.1 2 Eschricht3 and Gegenbauer4 have ably com¬
pleted that work, and a wonderful structure has been
unfolded through their patience and skill. A study of the
works cited below will well repay the earnest student of
Molluscous organization.
In the genus Clio the body is oblong, acuminate, or appen-
diculate behind (Clio longicaudatus). The head (fig. 4o,
a) is defined by a constriction (Clio borealis), or by a neck
(Clio longicaudatus); it is terminated by two cowls or
hoods (preputia, Pallas), containing each three appendages
(fig. 45, a), and by a pair of retractile tentacles b. The fins c
are more wing-shaped than in most Pteropods ; their con¬
tracted bases are confluent across the ventral aspect of the
“ neck.” In swimming, the Clio brings the ends of its
fins almost in contact, first above, then below. The rudi¬
ment of the foot d is bifid. At the back of the neck are
two black “ ocelli.” The preputium in front of the right
fin gives exit to an unusually long bent excitory organ z,
when it is unfolded and everted. The vaginal orifice is
behind the right fin. The vent o is still more posterior
and nearer the ventral surface. The conical appendages
of the head, when fully expanded, form a radiated crown;
they are of a red colour on the recent animal; which colour Pteropoda.
depends on the presence of numerous separate superficial
points, about 3000 on each appendage. Each point, micro¬
scopically examined, is a sheath inclosing a central body
composed of a stem terminated by a tuft of about twenty
pedunculated discs. Eschricht, their discoverer, calls them
suckers, and reckons up about 360,000 of them. Gegenbauer
suggest that they may be pedunculated epithelial or pig¬
mental cells or scales.
Sp. Clio borealis, Muller (fig. 45).—This species abounds
in the neighbourhood of Greenland and Spitzbergen, and
though scarcely an inch in length, constitutes, with its
common associate, the still smaller Pteropod, Limacina
arctica, the chief food of the great whalebone whale
(Balcena mysticetus).
Sp. Clio fusiformis, Quoy and Gaimard (Zoologie du
Voyage de I'Uranie, pi. 66, fig. 2); Clio longicaudatus,
Eydoux and Souleyet (Zoologie du Voyage de la Bomte,
pi. 14, figs. 19-21). _ ,
Genus Pneumodekmon5 of Cuvier.—A naked 1 teropod,
about an inch in length, discovered by Peron in the Atlan¬
tic, and submitted to Cuvier’s examination, was described
by the great anatomist in the fourth volume of the Annales
du Museum, 1804, under the name of Pneumodermon or
“ lung-skin,” from the circumstance of the gills (fig. 46, i )
7/
Fig. 4fi.
Pneumodermon Peronii (mag.)
bein^ distinctly developed from a part of the integument.
Other species of this genus have since been discovered.
The head (fig. 46, a, and 47, A) projects anteriorly and
distinct from the fins c, c ; the mouth, when the mouth-mass
aa! is retracted, is a small terminal vertical sht, on each ot
which is a pit with a small pro-tentacle. The post-tenta¬
cles are still smaller, and are bifid. On the right side, in
advance of the fin, is the preputial orifice; near the hind
border of the fin is the vaginal orifice (fig. 47, y). Mill
further back, but still on the right side, is the vent (fig. 4b,
o'). On the middle of the ventral surface of the anterior
constricted part of the body is a heart-shaped disc (fig. 46,
d), composed of two lateral plates united together and
attached along the mid-line, but elsewhere free; fiom
above the back part or base of the above disc a long tri¬
angular lobe (fig. 46,/) freely projects backwards. I hese
appendages are homologous with the ‘ fin-foot and tail
in Heteropods; like the foot-disc in which the Pneumo¬
dermon uses the discoid part (fig. 46, d), to attach itselt to
the sides of the glass in which it may be placed.
1 Spicilegia Zoologica, f.ec. x., p. 28, tab. i., figs. 18, 19. vol. i„ p. 262, p>. 17.
3 Anatomische untersuchungen ueber die Clione Borealis, Copenhagen, 1838. g ^ £)r <( iung-skin.”
4 Untersuchungen ueber Pteropoden und Heteropoden, Leipzig, 18o5. • j Mnllnsmies Gastronodes—ses usages paraissent
3 “ Get appendice est tout a fait analogue, par sa position et par sa forme, au pied des une partie de son
etre semblables a ceux du pied des Atlantes, des Firoles, &c., qui, comme on e sai , • . d bv MM Evdoux and Sou-
etendu.” (Zoologie de la Voyage de la Bonite, tom. ii., p. 257.) The interesting homology above ^^(IpartofMr Huxley’s
leyet, whose “beautiful plates, illustrative of the Zoology of the voyage of the 1 oni e, are re err r<uvier should not have recog-
Memoir (p. 30), is adopted by that writer, who informs the Royal SocietyIt is very remarkablethatCuviershouiano g
nised in the ‘ espece de menton ’ and the ‘ deux petits levres ’ of Pneumodermon, the homologues of the foot of ^
the Anatomy of certain Pteropoda”, Phil. Trans., 1853, p. 39.) The true d^elfe!u^;ttleSfoo” asThe ground for his describing them
the belief which Cuvier entertained of the existence of a fissure between the folds of the htt ? \T\t Fvdmix and Soulevet
as 1 labial ’ folds. The anatomical illustrations of the Pteropoda here given are chiefly derived rom • i
M 0 L L U S C A.
Pteropoda. The visceral division op (fig. 47) forms the seeming trunk
of the animal; it is expanded, ovoid, and terminated behind
by membranous plates which support the branchial fila¬
ments. There is also a vascular process i (fig. 46), where the
integument is very thin, from the right side of the body a
little in advance of the terminal branchial region i, which
process is most intimately related to the vascular and respi¬
ratory function.
The only part of the integument that can be properly
regarded as “ mantle” is the slightly projecting border e
(fig. 46) from the four-radiate respiratory surface ; elsewhere
the skin is perforated only by the oral, excretory, and genital
outlets.
On each side the buccal cavity is an invertible pouch
(fig. 47, a), to the surface of which are attached numerous
Fig. 47.
Pneumodermon Peronii (mag.)
pedunculated suckers (fig. 47, b, and fig. 46, /'). The glotti-
dium is notched before and behind, and each moiety supports
four rows of recurved denticles. Beyond the glottidium are
the orifices of two long accessory appendages, consisting of an
outer sheath (fig. 47, e) having a muscular coat of longitudinal
and circular fibres, and an inner tube lined by an uncinated
membrane, capable of being everted and protruded (as at a',
fig. 46) when the hooks become external. The oesophagus
has a sigmoid flexure by which it adapts itself to the vary¬
ing conditions of the buccal appendages. The salivary
caecal glands (fig. 47, /, /) lie by its side. The stomach
m is capacious, and seems to be a lining to the hepatic mass
p; the intestine o is short, and is reflected forward to
terminate on the right side (fig. 46, o'), some way in ad¬
vance of the respiratory surface of the mantle. This sur¬
face is at the posterior part of the body (fig. 46, ie), which ^
shows four curved membranous folds; the dorsal and
ventral pair turn their convexities to each other, and are
united by the shorter lateral folds, which circumscribe an
irregular quadrangular space; the longer folds have a pinnate
arrangement of branchial lamellae i. On the right side
of the body there is a process of the skin also supporting
branchial lamellae.
The heart, consisting of an auricler, and a ventricles (fig.
47), is situated at the back part of the visceral cavity, close to
the part whence the last-mentioned branchial process pro¬
jects. The aorta divides and sends one branch to the visceral
mass, the other to the soma or rudimental foot and its ap¬
pendages. The renal sac q, which Loven deems homologous
with the plicated auricles of Terebratula, is closely
connected with the venous trunk entering the auricle
in Pneumodermon. The male and female organs are
combined as in other Pteropods. In fig. 47, u is the
blended testis and ovarium, u and w are the com¬
bined oviduct and sperm-duct, v is the uterus, x
the vagina, and y the genital orifice..
Sp. Pneumodermon Peronii. Cuvier (fig. 46.—
This species is of a violet-brown colour, deepening
towards the head ; the fins and branchial membranes
are white; it is about an inch in length. The
species is common in the Atlantic, in tropical lati¬
tudes. The individuals are aggregated in large
groups; they swim swiftly, and in their natural
position, with the ventral surface downwards, not
reversed like the Hyalcea. When at rest they can
attach themselves pretty firmly to any floating body by
their rudimental foot, or by their buccal suckers.
Professor Muller describes the larva of Pneumodermon
as being girt by three bands of vibratile cilia, one round
the fore part, another round the middle, and the third round
the hind part of the body.
CLASS y.—GASTEROPODA.1
The Encephalous Mollusca grouped together under the
above name by Cuvier, include the most typical forms of
the province; yet can hardly be regarded as so natural a
class as either the Brachiopoda, Lamellibranchiata, or
Cephalopoda. The muscular disc for creeping (fig. 48,
363
Gastero¬
poda.
Fig. 48.
Cyprcea tigris.
dd\ which is developed from more or less of the ventral
surface of the body, is the common external character by
which the Gasteropods are associated together; and yet
there are species (fig. 71, e.g.) in which the ventral foot
is as little developed, or recognisable as such, as its homo-
lo"ue is in Pneumodermon and some other Pteropoda.
°The snails and slugs exemplify the ordinary mode and
characteristic instrument of locomotion in the Gasteropodous
1 Gr. for “ belly-foot.
364
Gastero¬
poda.
MOLLUSC A.
class, most of the members of which are unsymmetrical,
with the visceral division of the body coiled spirally and
protected by a shell; the breathing organs of the left side
being, as a rule, atrophied. Most Gastropods are marine ;
some inhabit fresh waters; a few are terrestrial. The species
offer corresponding conditions of the respiratory organs in
relation to those media, with minor modifications, of which
the systematic naturalist has availed himself in distributing
the numerous and diversified members of the class into
orders. ^ , ..
The air-breathing Gastropods (Puhnonatci) constitute
a tolerably natural group: those that breathe water are much
more diversified. ,
In certain small shell-less marine genera, - e.g., Jxhodope,,
Tergipes, Eolidina—no distinct respiratory organs have
been detected: these form the order Apneusta?
Some that breathe by gills have those organs exposed.
The genera which support them on the back, such as
Glaucus, Scyllcea, Tritonia, form the order Nudibranchi-
ata ;3 all the species are without shells in the mature state.
Those genera which carry the gills at the lower part of the
sides of the body, between the foot and mantle,—as, e.g.,
Phyllidia,—constitute the order Inferobranchiata f they
are likewise naked when mature. The genera in which the
gills have a similar position, but extend around the body,
as in the limpet {Patella), and in Chiton, form the order
Cyclobranchiata; they are protected by a conical shell
composed of one or of many pieces.
In the rest of the water-breathers the branchia are con¬
cealed. Those genera,—as, e.g., Aplysia and Bulla,—which
have the gills protected by a fold of the mantle containing
a rudimental shell, or by a reflected portion of the foot,
form the order Tectibranchiata.0
In all the foregoing orders of Gasteropoda the male and
female organs of generation are combined in the same indi¬
vidual.
In the remainder of the class the sexes are distinct. A
small order of marine Gastropods, in which the gills are
packed in small compass, with the heart in a dorsal mantle-
chamber or in a small symmetrical shell, is called Nucleo-
branchiata; and also, on account of their stunted foot,
Heteropoda. Another small group of marine Gastropods,
including Fissurella and Halyotis, which have their comb¬
like branchia protected by a wide shield-shaped shell, is
called Sentibranchiata? A third small group in which
similar branchiae are protected with the entire body by a
tubular shell, is called Tubulibranchiata. In the last,
highest, and most extensive order, called Pectinibranchi-
ata, from the comb-shaped gills, which have a special
pallial cavity at the fore part of the back, and which, with
the rest of the body, are protected by a spiral univalve
shell, the males are provided with an intromittent organ.
A few species of Cymba, Litorina, Paludina, and Helix
are ovo-viviparous ; most Gastropods are oviparous. I he
young of the water-breathing Gastropods are excluded with
a protecting operculated shell, which in the naked
species is either shed or concealed by a fold of the mantle.
They swim by means of a pair of ciliated fins attached to
the sides of the head, and thus move far away from their
inactive or sedentary parents. The larvae, as they may
now be called, of all the water-breathers are very much
alike, and undergo metamorphoses in the course of attain¬
ing their adult, nudibranchiate, nucleobranchiate, or pec-
tinibranchiate forms. The air-breathing Gastropods un¬
dergo no such metamorphosis: their shell commences by
the deposition of crystals of carbonate of lime in the sub¬
stance of their skin, above the visceral cavity, and it is
persistent.
The soft parts of Gastropods are immediately invested
by a soft inarticulated lubricous integument, forming in
most a sub-circular fold (fig. 48, i) about the neck, behind
which it is produced into a sac containing the circulating,
Gastero¬
poda.
Fig. 49.
Dolium galea.
respiratory, and renal organs, which fold and sac are called
the mantle. This is, then, continuous with the thin skin
covering the rest of the visceral cavity, which is usually
disposed in a spiral form, and adapted to the deep recesses
of the shell. In the skin covering the “ soma” {i to d,
fig. 49) may be recognised an epidermal, a pigmental, and
a dermal layer, the latter being of a musculo-cellular struc¬
ture and highly contractile. The epiderm is ciliated over
nearly the whole body in the aquatic Gastropods, but only
in certain spots in the terrestrial species. The white stripe
at the sides of the neck and foot of the wood-snail {Helix
memoralis) are composed of short, thickly-set calcareous
needles ; the entire skin of Polycera and some other Nudi-
branchiates is studded with analogous ramified spiculse.
The shell results from the metamorphosis and calcification
of cells deposited in layers beneath the epidermis, in the
situation of the rete-mucosum in the human integument.
In Limax and Clausilia the first trace of the rudimental
shell is in the form of crystals of carbonate of lime in the
substance of the mantle. In most Univalves it is the result
of calcification of the nucleated cells of the outer layer of
the mantle, and especially of the thickened anterior border.
The first-formed part of the persistent shell is called the
“ nucleus the succeeding layers are not, however, formed
around this, but are added to the inner surface of the cir¬
cumference of the previously-formed parts; and the pio-
portions in which the new-formed layers extend beyond
their predecessors determine the figure of the future shell.
In some Gastropods, at certain seasons, the margin of
the mantle in which the shell-forming process is most
active, extends outwards at an obtuse or right angle to the
last-formed margin of the shell; and after having formed
a calcareous plate in this position, the mantle extends in
the ordinary direction, increasing the length of the shell,
and is again similarly extended at a right angle with the
1 Lat. for “ having lungs.”
4 Lat. for “ low-placed gills.1 *
2 Gr. for “without lungs.
5 Lat. for “ roofed aills.”
3 Lat. for “ exposed gills.’
6 Lat. for “ shielded-gills.
MOLLUSC A.
365
Gastero- last-formed part. It is to this periodical growth of the
poda. mantle, and plethoric condition of the calcifying vessels,
that the ridges on the exterior of the shell in the wentle-
trap (Scalaria pretiosa) and harp-shell (Harpa ventricosa,
fig. 85) are due. Should the margin of the mantle, instead
of being uniformly extended, send outward a number of
detached tentaculiform calcifying processes, these will form
a row of spines corresponding in length and thickness to
the softer parts on which they are moulded; and as the
calcification of the processes proceeds, the spines which
were first hollow become solidified, and finally soldered to
the margin of the shell.
This development of pallial calcifying processes or fila¬
ments, and of the resulting spines, likewise alternates with
periods of the ordinary increase of the shell; and thus its
exterior surface may become bristled with rows of spines,
as in the Murex crassispina. The periodical excretion of
the excess of calcareous matter in the blood is greatest in
the carnivorous Univalves.
The simple form of univalve shell is the cone, which may
be much depressed, as in the genus Umbrella (fig. 58), or
extremely elevated and contracted, as in Terebellum(ftg. 89),
or of more ordinary proportions, as in the limpets {Patella).
The apex of the cone is always oblique and eccentric;
directed, in limpets, towards the head, but in other Gastro¬
pods towards the opposite extremity of the body. The
conical univalve shell is generally spirally convoluted, some¬
times in the same plane,—e.g., Planorbis,—but more usually
in an oblique direction, as in Triton (fig. 50). The apex
ot the shell a is formed by the nucleus, or the part which
was developed in the egg; it
is mammillated in Fusus an-
liquus. The spiral turns of the
shell ww are called “ whirls,”
the last, w, ac, being the
“ body-whirl.” The lines or
grooves formed by their junc¬
tion are the “ sutures” s, s.
The “ whirls” above the body
one form the “spire” of the
shell, pc to a.
As a general rule, the spiral
Univalve, if viewed in the posi¬
tion in which its inhabitant
would carry it were it moving
forwards from the observer, is
twisted from the apex down¬
wards from left to right, the
spire being directed obliquely
towards the right; but in a
few genera,—e.g,, Clausilia
physa,—the shell is twisted in
the opposite direction, when it
is called “ reverse” or “ sinis-
tral.” Some individuals o£Pul-
inus partula, and Pupa, and a few marine species, as
Fusus sinistrosus, are sinistral. The part around which
the spiral cone is wound is termed the “ columella;” it is
exposed by removal of part of the shell in fig. 50, o. This
central pillar is sometimes simple, sometimes grooved, some¬
times plicated ;* in some shells it is solid, in some hollow,
as in Solarium and Dolium (fig. 49), where the narrow
elliptical aperture of the columella is seen to the left of the
wide shell-aperture; it is termed the umbilicus. In Sola¬
rium, as in Philippia, the apex of the shell is inverted, and
can only be seen by looking into the umbilicus.
The wide aperture which forms the base of the spiral
Univalve is bounded by an “outer-lip” (fig. 50, pc, ac) and
an “ inner lipthe latter offers a smooth convex surface,
over which the foot of the Gastropod glides to reach the
ground. In many Univalves, including most vegetable-
Fig. 50.
Triton.
feeders, the aperture of the shell is entire; in others it is
interrupted, the left side being formed only by the “ body
whirl;” or the “ peristome” (as the margin is called) may be
broken by a notch, like that which separates the outer lip
from the umbilicus in fig. 49, or it may be perforated by
one or more holes, or a portion of it may be produced into
a canal or siphon (ac, fig. 50); this is sometimes termed
the “ anterior cana.1,” and the notch or hole at the opposite
end of the peristome is called the “ posterior canal” pc.
These modifications are important, on account of the con¬
stancy of their relations to certain conditions of the respira¬
tory organs. Thus all the Pectinibranchiate Gastropods,
in which the water is conducted to the shell by a muscular
tube or siphon, have the margin of the aperture either
notched or produced into a canal; and the posterior chan¬
nel (fig50, pc) is anal in its function (Triton, Strombidce).
Sometimes it is represented by a slit (Scissurefla), or it is a
tube (Tgphis), or a perforation (Fissurella), or a series of
holes, as in Haliotis,
The relations of these modifications of the univalve shell,
which anatomy has made known, enable us to judge, from
a fossil shell, of the nature of the medium of existence, of
the respiratory medium, the food and habits, of its extinct
constructor. The Gastropods which first appear in the
Palaeozoic strata have entire mouths ; the siphonated spe¬
cies are not found lower than the Lias, and they go on in¬
creasing in numbers in and from the Tertiary series to the
actual sea-shores.
In some of the Gastropods the shell consists of one piece,
as in fig. 58, when it is termed an “inopercular Univalve ;”
but the aperture of the shell, in the majority of the species,
is closed by a lid or plate, attached to the back of the foot,
and called the “operculum” (fig. 86,/)* This lid is some¬
times calcareous, forming a second shelly plate, but it more
frequently consists of an albuminous membrane only, or is
horny, thus presenting the condition which the shell itself
manifests in certain genera, as Limax and Aplysia ; the
inner surface is marked by a muscular impression, but
unlike that on the shell, and whose lines bear no relation
to the external lines of growth. Some opercula increase
by the addition of matter to their
entire circumference, and these
are either “ concentric,” as in
Paludina, or “ eccentric,” as in
Ampullaria and most of the Pec-
tinibranchs. Other opercula grow
by the addition of matter to part
of their circumference, and these
are either “spiral” or “imbricate.”
Spiral opercules may be either
“ paucispiral” (Litorina, fig. 52),
or multispiral (Trochus, fig. 55).
In the “ imbricate” or lamellar
opercules (Purpura, fig. 54), the
layers of growth succeed each
other in a linear series, and the
nucleus is marginal. When the
nucleus is apical or in front, as in
Turbinellus and Fusus (fig. 53),
it is said to be “ unguiculate” or
claw-shaped ; when it has a projec¬
tion, as in Nerita (fig. 51), it is
“articulate.” No operculum pre¬
sents an annular form. Deshayes
figures the operculum of Solarium
patulum as composed of many dis¬
tinct and spirally-disposed lamellae.
Mr E. Layard has discovered a
similar complex operculum in
the Cataulus Austenianus, a little Univalve of Ceylon. In
Torina straminea the operculum is thick, horny, circular,
Fig. 51.
Articulate.
Fig. 52.
Paucispiral.
Fig. 53.
Unguiculate.
Fig. 54.
Imbricate.
Fig. 55.
Multispiral.
Gastero¬
poda.
366
MOLLUSC A.
Gastero- at the base, which is as large as the mouth of the shell,
poda. anci concave externally. The rest of the oper-
culum is produced conical, and of many whirls
(fig. 56).
As the operculum sometimes varies in struc¬
ture in the same genus, being horny in some
species and shelly in others of Ampullaria and ^
Natica,—as it is present in some volutes, cones, ‘ '
mitres, and olives, and absent in other spec.es of these
genera,—and as some genera in a natural family, e.g.,
Harpa and Dolium, among the Buccnoids, are with¬
out an operculum, whilst the other genera of the same
family possess that appendage,-it obviously affords cha¬
racters of secondary importance in classification. In
Lithedaphus {Calyptrcea) equestns the whole base of the
foot secretes a calcareous plate, which is cemented to the
rock • and the shell appears to consist of two valves. In
the Chiton (figs. 72 and 73), the shell is divided into eight
symmetrical pieces, arranged like scales upon the back.
The first of these is the smallest, the last the longest,
and most approaching the circular form. In the interior
of the shell the muscular impression is usually crescentic,
with the horns turned towards the head of the animal.
Most univalve shells are composed of three strata, which
differ in the arrangement of the calcareous particles. The
innermost layer is nacreous in the fucivoious Univalves,
e.g., Patella, Haliotis—sind resembles enamel in the marine
species. In Cassis rufa each layer is composed of many
laminae, which are perpendicular to the plane of the main
layer ; and each lamina consists of a series of prismatic cells,
adherent by their long sides. The laminae of the outer and
inner sides are parallel to the lines of growth, while those
of the middle layer are at right angles to them. In the
cowries [CypToea) there is an additional layer, which is
nacreous, and formed by the overlapping mantle-lobes (fig.
48, h, h) when the animal has attained its full growth.
Such’shells are called “cameo-shells,” these ornaments
being formed by the removal of one layer, and the carving
of the next. Hunter1 discovered that the molluscous
inhabitant of a shell had the power of absorbing part of its
dwelling. This property, which is now generally recog¬
nised, is well illustrated by the thinning of the parietes of the
internal whirls of the cones and olives, from which two out
of the three layers of which they were originally composed
may be observed to have been removed. The absorption
of shell is also illustrated by the removal or smoothing
down of the spines of the rock-shells (Murex), as the glow¬
ing whirl expands and overlaps its predecessor by the
flattening of the inner lip of the mouth of the Purpurce,
by the widening of the focal aperture of the Fissurellce ;
and it gives rise to various other modifications in the fbim
and structure of shell in the progress of growth.
Another change of form is due to the physical decompo¬
sition or destruction of a part of a shell during the lifetime
of the inhabitant. This occurs to the apex of cei tain Uni¬
valves after the shell has been excavated by the ongina
occupant in the widening and lengthening the shell to
accommodate it to an increase of bulk. Such shells are
said to be “ decollated,” as, for example, the Bulinus deco -
latus, Cerithium obtusum (fig. 79).
The inhabitants of univalve shells dispose in different
ways of that part of their calcareous abode which they
evacuate in the progress of growth. In the decollated shells
the vacated space is walled off, prior to its abrasion, by the
formation of a thin nacreous plate. In the Vermetus gigas
the vacated portion of the tube is retained, and successively
partitioned off; a series of concave plates or septa being
thus developed. In the Magilus antiquus the posterior part
of the shell, as the soft parts move forwards, is progressively
filled up with a dense, solid, subtransparent, crystalline de
posite of carbonate of lime. .
Univalves which inhabit rocks upon which surf-wTaves
are ever breaking have stronger and denser shells than
those that live in calmer seas, or in sandy and muddy bot¬
toms. The shells of air-breathing Mollusks, which, as a
rule, are thinner than those of marine species, exhibit analo¬
gous effects of external influences. The shells of the
burrowing Bulini, e.g., are colourless and subtransparent;
but the shell is vividly coloured in the species inhabiting
plains with scanty vegetation and much exposed to solar
light. The shells are largest and thickest in the arboreal
Bulini of tropical forests, which live amongst an abundance
of decaving vegetable matter.
The "part of the mantle which invests the viscera in the
conchiferous Gastropods—that behind letter i in fig. 49—
is smooth, thin, and subtransparent, resembling the sac of
a hernia, which, with the viscera themselves, appears to
have escaped from the common muscular integument of the
body. This “ visceral mass,” as it is termed, is lodged in the
upper part of the cone ot the shell, the spiral turns of w hich
it follows. The head (fig. 49, ab) and foot d of the
animal can be protruded from the mouth of the shell, and
be retracted within its last whirl, by the action of a muscle
which has its fixed point in the columella of the shell.
This retractor, which is attached to the operculum, seems
to answer to the posterior retractor of the foot in Bivalves,
much better, at least, than to the great adductor muscle.
The form and size of the shell-aperture correspond with,
and indicate the size of, the foot. In the pectinibranchiate
Mollusks, which are the chief fabricators of the beautiful
turbinated shells of the conchological cabinet, the foot is
attached to the anterior part of the body by a narrow base,
as in Rostellaria (fig. 88, d), whence they have been termed
by Lamarck Trachelipods. _
The primitive muscular fibre is smooth in ail Gastropods.
The primitive fasciculi have often numerous nuclei scat¬
tered through them, and will illustrate Kollikei s beautiful
discovery of the nature of the smooth organic fibre as a
much elongated cell-wall. 1 he cutaneous muscular l*}*-1
consists of oblique longitudinal and transverse fibres, inti¬
mately united with the corium. Upon the ventral surface
it becomes very thick, and forms a long disc called^ the
“ foot,” marked d in all the figures of the Encephala. The
fibres of this part contract successively, so as to form
wrinkles or transverse waves, following each other from be¬
hind forwards, whereby the disc glides over solid bodies or
the surface of water. 4 he circular foot of the limpet is
used as an adhesive sucker. In some species it expands to
a great breadth. In Siphonotus, Gasteropteron, and othei
Tectibranchs, it developes lateral swimming lobes, which
are analogous to the fins ot the Pteropods. In many Gas¬
tropods the foot is extended lengthwise, and more or less
cleft transversely, as in Phorus (fig. 78) and Rostellaria
(fig. 88). The anterior division d forms the chief creeping
disc ; the posterior one e supports the operculum / when
ic rlovtilnnprl rf lie nosterior lobe oi the foot in the
Gastero¬
poda.
this is developed. The posterior lobe of the foot in ^the
inoperculate Harpa is said to separate spontaneously when
the animal is irritated. In Atlanta (fig. 65, e) it is com¬
pressed, but supports the operculum/. It seems also to
form the tail in the beautiful Carinaria (fig. 70, C),m which
the middle part of the foot is reduced to a compressed fin-
shaped lobe (fig. 70, B) supporting a small suctoiial disc a.
This Mollusk and its allies, hence called Heteropoda, swim
on their back with their reduced locomotive oigan up¬
wards. In most Gastropods the tentacles, buccal ro&ss,
and penis, have their special retractor muscles. I he
opposite extreme of development of the foot is pie-
sented by some of the Neritacea. 4 he coriaceous loot or
1 Phil. Trans., 1785, p. 343.
MOLL
Gastero- the burrowing Nation (fig. 80, a) is much developed anteri-
poda. orly for perforating the sand, and can be reflected so as to
protect the tentacle in that act. The sides d are produced
for locomotion in water. The hind part of the foot h is
expanded so as to cover the shell like a mantle-lobe.
In the living Cyprcea (fig. 48) and Ovulum (fig. 81), the
mantle-lobes h, h are observed to be in almost constant
tremulous motion ; but the most vigorous muscular efforts
in Gastropods are those of the foot, combined with the
retractor-shell muscle. The strombs and scorpion-shells
thereby progress by successive jumps. The active olives
can turn over when laid on their back, and bury themselves
in the sand as the tide retires. The periwinkle advances
alternately the sides of its longitudinally-indented foot;
Buccinum arcularia defends itself by its dentated oper¬
culum.
At the grade of the Molluscous organization which the
Gasteropoda have reached, their capabilities and spheres of
action become more extended and diversified than in the
Pteropoda and Acephala; some are terrestrial, some
arboreal; whilst the more numerous aquatic species are
endowed with power to attain, subdue, and devour organized
matter, dead and living. The nervous system of the
Gastropods is accordingly not only more complex and con¬
centrated—not only subordinated to better developed masses
in connection with organs of special sense and exploration,—
but it offers greater variety in its general arrangement, and
especially in the position of its ganglions, than in the
Lamellibranchiate class ; and with these modifications, con¬
siderable differences in the outward configuration of the
body are associated. A few Gastropods, for example, are
symmetrical, more or less flat, or depressed ; others are com¬
pressed ; the majority are contorted, and lose their symme¬
trical form in an oblique twist. There are other diversities
of organic structure which more immediately affect the
condition of the nervous system, for some species possess
both eyes and tentacles ; whilst others are blind and akerous.
The nervous system has a distinct fibrous neurilemma,
often charged with pigmental cells. The ganglion-cells
are often pedunculated, and have usually a very large
nucleus, composed of obscure granules, in the midst of
which are two or four transparent nucleoli. Such cells
form the sole contents of the neurilemmal canal at some
parts of the nerves. (Lewes.) The central part of the sys¬
tem surrounds the oesophagus, and consists of different parts,
of wh ich that placed above the tube, and which usually includes
two contiguous ganglia, is called the brain (fig. 70, u).
In the limpet [Patella) and bubble-shell [Bulla), we
find that the cerebral ganglions, as in the Bivalves and
Pteropods, are still distant from each other, and situated at
the sides of the oesophagus, connected together by a nervous
chord or commissure, which arches over that tube; from
these ganglions two nerve-trunks proceed backward on
either side; the median and superior pair pass along the sides
of the oesophagus, converge, and meet below to form a pair of
ganglions in close contact with one another, which supply
the foot; these are evidently homologous with the bi-lobed
pedial ganglion of the Mytilus. The lateral and inferior
filaments pass downwards to join two widely-separated
branchial or splanchnic ganglions, homologous with those
situated on the posterior adductor in the Mytilus. There is,
however, a considerable difference in the relative positions
of the pedial and branchial ganglions in the limpet; the
latter have advanced into close contiguity with the pedial
' ganglions, and are connected with them by the same trans¬
verse chords, which in Pecten and Mytilus serve merely to
bring the branchial ganglions themselves into mutual com¬
munication. The position of the cerebral ganglions varies
according to the degree of extensibility of the mouth and
oesophagus. Thus in the snails [Helix) they are placed
above the mouth ; in Carocolla at the commencement of
U S C A. '367
oesophagus ; in the whelk [Buccinum), near the end of that Gastero-
tube ; in the Purpura beyond the stomach. poda.
As a general rule, we find that the superior ganglions
give off tentacular, ocular, and buccal nerves ; whilst the
inferior masses are the centres of the muscular, respiratory,
and visceral internuntiate chords. In the Carinaria (fig.
70), the superior or cerebral ganglions are marked u ; they
supply the eyes C, the tentacles b, the acoustic sacs u, and
complex parts of the mouth ; the buccal ganglions, situated
above the glottidium a, and developed upon the buccal
nerves, may well be deemed the centres for the reception
of such degrees of smell and taste as the Mollusk may
enjoy. We have here, therefore, indisputably the centres
of the nervous system which are analogous to the olfactory,
optic, and acoustic divisions of the brain of Vertebrata ;—
Who may say that they are not also the rudimental homo-
logues of such? Upon either basis the part of the Mollusk
“above” or “ dorsad” of the digestive canal is thus defined.
With a difference so great in the disposition of the
locomotive organs and muscular masses in the Vertebrate
and the Mollusk, corresponding differences in the ordinary
excito-motory nervous centres must be looked for. In the
Carinaria they are situated at v, above the base of the
compressed foot B; they are connected, as in Mytilus by
long commissural chords with the cerebral ganglia, and by
a short, thick commissure with each other; thus completing
a wide and loose oesophageal ring. Nerves or commissural
chords pass from both the cerebral and pedial ganglions to
the splanchnic or branchial ganglion x, situated, like the
pedial, below the alimentary canal, and supplying that
canal, the liver, heart, branchiae, and genital glands.
In the spiral Pectinibranchiate Univalves, where the bran¬
chiae and their nerves are twisted to the left side, it is the
left branchia which is atrophied, while the right one is of large
size. The nerves are similarly affected; the left branchial one
being filamentary, whilst the right is a large chord, and has
the branchial ganglion developed upon it.
The principal oesophageal ganglionic circle, in most
Gastropods, more closely surrounds the gullet than in
Carinaria, and is defended by a thick membrane, which,
in the large Tritons, assumes almost a cartilaginous hard¬
ness. A coloured pigment is not unfrequently found
occupying a position analogous to that of the arachnoid,
between the dense outer membrane and the ganglions.
In the Limnea and Planorbis this pigment gives to the
ganglions their orange or roseate hue.
Amongst all the observed diversity in the number, size,
and position of the nervous masses of the Gastropods,
certain ganglia are obviously homologous with those which
have received determinate names in the Lamellibranchiate
Mollusks. The branchial or splanchnic ganglions (figs. 18
and 80, x) receive impressions from, and transmit them to, the
gills, heart, and other viscera; they communicate with the
brain, and either through that centre, or by more direct con¬
nection with the pedial ganglions, associate the circulatingand
respiratory forces with all other parts of the body. In the
Gastropods which have great expanse of soft mucous in¬
tegument exposed,—as, e.g., Aplysia, Umbrella,—accessory
small ganglions, supplying such integument, are developed,
which are in more immediate connection with the splanchnic
ganglions. The pedial ganglions are more commonly dis¬
tinct than in the Bivalves; and the two divisions are, in
some Gastropods, wide apart, in consequence of the great
breadth of the foot; in most Gastropods the acoustic sacs
receivers in Bivalves, their nerves from the pedial ganglions.
The cephalic ganglions assume the character of optic lobes,
concurrently with the constancy and better development of
the eyes. Even when the organs of vision are more than
usually minute, or are wanting, these ganglions are always
larger than in the Acephala, and more decidedly superior
in position ; they supply also the acoustic vesicles in many
368 MOLL
Gastero- Gastropods, e.g., in the whole order of Nucleobranchiata,
poda. anc} in some Nudibranchiata. The cephalic ganglions, when
separate, are united by a thicker communicating chord,
and are larger, in proportion to the nerves given oft from
them, than in the Acephala.
Soft, lubricous, and irritable as is the exposed skin of Gas¬
tropods, it would seem to possess a very low degree of true
sensibility. Baron Ferussac affirms that he has seen a slug
allow its skin to be bitten by others, and, in spite of large
wounds thus produced, it has manifested no sign of pain.
Species of Eolis, in confinement, will devour each othei s
branchiae, which may be reproduced. The vascular inferior
surface of the foot may take cognisance of the chaiacter of
the surface over which it glides j but the special organs of
the tactile sense are the tentacles or “ horns,” which project
from the lateral and upper parts of the head. It is most prob¬
able that, with the exception of the cephalic ganglia, the
functions of the nervous centres are limited to the automatic
reception and reflection of stimuli, like those of Hartley’s first
class of vibrations in man, depending on nervous influence
“ which is detached down the motory fibres before reaching
the brain.” 1 «
The common snail offers a fair type of the digestive
system of a Gastropod. In fig. 63, a represents the
dentated horny jaw which arms the upper lip ; h the large
white salivary glands that spread upon the sides of the wide
gullet; / is the stomach ; g a caecal production which may
represent the rudiment of a pancreas ; u is the intestine,
the part traversing the respiratory chamber, and commonly
called rectum, laid open, terminating at /; i, i show the
lobes of the liver. That typical bend of the gut, whereby
its outlet is brought into communication with the respira¬
tory and renal chamber is also illustrated in fig. 65, at o
{Atlanta)', and again in fig. 70, at no {Carinaria)the
nearer approach to the straight course shown by the in¬
testine of Doris or Firola (fig* 71, mo), is an exceptional
departure from the Molluscous type, and is due to an
equally exceptional position of the breathing organ.
Other well-marked modifications of the digestive appa¬
ratus will be noticed in connection with the species of
Gasteropoda that may present them. The blood of the
Gastropod is often opalescent, with a few colourless cor¬
puscles or cells having an indistinct granular nucleus.
The auricle is divided in Fissurella and Chiton as in
Haliotis. Both auricles, however, equally receive the oxy¬
genated blood from the respiratory organ, as does the
single auricle in Atlanta (fig. 65, x), in Helix (fig. 63, e),
and in all the other Gastropods. The ventricle (fig.
63, p) propels the blood to the viscera and muscular
system of the body; and tbe heart is situated on the right
side of the back in the Pulmonata, most Tectibranchiata,
and the dextral Pectinibranchiata. It is on the opposite
side in Ancylus, Haliotis, and the sinistral Gastropods. It
is to the left of the dorsal median line in Carinaria, and
near the hinder end of the body in Firola. The heart
has a distinct pericardium in all Gastropods, save the Ap-
neusta, where it is at least not clearly defined. I he
aorta, continued from the apex of the ventricle, divides into
two principal branches in most of the Gastropods. Ihe
auriculo-ventricular aperture is usually defended by two
semilunar folds (fig. 63, between o and p). The aorta at
its commencement is frequently strengthened and enlarged
by a muscular layer similar to the bulbus arteriosus in
fishes, and which, in the Aplysia, is continued beyond the
origins of the primary branches of the aorta. The ramifi¬
cations of the aorta, as in crustaceans and insects, are
sooner or later lost in veins which expand to form sinuses,
U S C A.
occupying the lacunae of the viscera and other organs of Gastero-
the body.2 The anterior aorta terminates,—e. g., in Patella, ]?oda.
Triton, Haliotis,—in a large lacunar sinus, containing the *"
brain, the salivary glands, the oesophagus, and retracted
tongue. The resumption of the normal vascular character
by the venous system is more or less sudden, and is best
exemplified near the respiratory organ (fig. 63, nn), upon
which such venous trunk ramifies like an artery, without
any interposed branchial or pulmonic heart. The large
venae cavae of the Aplysia are perforated by minute aper¬
tures, communicating with the great sinus that lines the
cavity of the abdomen ; and the exterior of these veins is
provided with decussating muscular fibres, which probably
regulate the diameter of such communications.
The diffused condition of the vascular system most pre¬
vails in those Gastropods in which the respiratory organs are
least developed—e. g., the Apneusta. In the rest of the
class the general modifications of the respiratory organs are
indicated by the characters of the orders already defined.
In the terrestrial Gastropods the breathing organ has the
form of the simple undivided vascular sac (fig. 62, nn),
like the lung in the lowest air-breathing vertebrate animals.
Its orifice m is on the right side near the head. The forms
of the aquatic-breathing organ are as various as its position.
In most of the Nudibranchiate species the gills are tufted
and ramified, as in the higher Annelides. They are penni-
form in the Haliotis, and pectinated in all the dioecious
Gastropods (fig. 77, i), as the name of their order indicates.
In these they never exceed two in number, which are of
unequal size; and the branchial chamber is usually pro¬
longed into a siphon. In a few genera of amphibious Gas¬
tropods a pulmonary sac is combined with branchial organs ;
but in some of these,—as, e.g., Amphibola [Ampullacera)
australis,—the branchia are reduced to a mere gland. The
branchial surface is ciliated in all the Gastropods, as is also
the exterior surface of the body in the small Iresh-water
species.
As a compensation for the absence of gills, some Ap¬
neusta {Actceon, e. #.) have an aquiferous system, consisting
of a reservoir filled with water, behind the heart, from
which branched canals pass off in all directions, one of
which, according to Vogt, opens on the right side behind
the vent. Conspicuous aquiferous pores are situated at the
centre of the foot in Cyprcea, Conus, and Ancillaria ; and
at its margin in Haliotis, Doris, and Aplysia. Della
Chiaje has described a similar system in many of the higher
organized Gastropods. Besides the large and well-de¬
veloped hepatic and^ salivary glands which are associated
with the alimentary canal, certain fucivorous Gastropods
present tbe simplest rudimental condition of the pancreas.
The follicular renal gland, sac, or surface, for the urinary
excretion, communicates by the canal called its duct with
the external surface near the anus, and by an opposite
opening with the pericardial cavity. The sac has been
seen to contract rythmically in the transparent Pteropods
and Heteropods, and may perform the same movements in
other Encephala. Water seems to be freely admitted to
this glandular cavity. In some Gastropods the duct dilates
to form a small receptacle. A group of follicular glands,
sometimes imbedded in a distinct glandular sac, is present
in many species for the elimination of some peculiar and
characteristic colour. The yellow liquid of the Dullce, and
the famous purple secretion of the Purpura, are products
of saccular modifications of this follicular gland, which is
situated between the heart and liver. Numerous simple
and scattered follicular glands lubricate the mantle with its
characteristic mucus in all the Gastropods. In several
1 Hartley, On Man, &c., 8vo, 1749, vol. L, p. 97. . , rv i .* i. i
2 Pouchet, Recherche* sur VAnatomie et Physiologic ties Mollusques, 4to, 1842; Milne Edwards, Observations sur la Circulation chez lea
Mollusques, Annales des Sciences Naturelles, tom. viii., 1847.
MOLL
Gastero- terrestrial species the median line of the foot is occupied
poda. by a straight canal, lined with ciliated epithelium, which
ends in a large orifice beneath the mouth. On each side
of this canal are rows of follicles, which secrete a granular
mucus. A follicle excreting a similar mucus opens on the
extremity of each dorsal or lateral lobe in the Apneusta
which possess those appendages. “ Some of the Gastero¬
poda can suspend themselves by glutinous threads, like
Litiopa and hissoa parva, which anchor themselves to
sea-weeds (Gray), and Centhidea, which frequently leaves
its proper element, and is found hanging in the air. (Adams.)
A West India land-snail [Cyclostoma suspensurn) also sus¬
pends itself. (Guilding.) The origin of these threads has
not been explained ; but some of the Limaces lower them¬
selves to the ground by a thread, which is not secreted by
any particular gland, but derived from the exudation over
the general surface of the body.” (Lister ; D’Orbigny.) 1 2
Some peculiar scent-follicles must exist in the garlick-snail
(Helix alliarid). A species of slug, called Phosphorax, is
slightly luminous.
Gastropods have the power of repairing injuries and of
reproducing lost parts to a considerable extent. New ten-
tacula soon grow to replace those which may have been
amputated. When they support eyes, as in the snail, the
organs of vision are reproduced also. The mouth, with the
horny jaw, has grown again in this Gastropod; and when
the snail has been decapitated, but with the oesophageal
ganglions left behind, the head has been restored.
GASTEROPODA MONCECIA.
Order I.—APNEUSTA.
No distinct respiratory organs. No shell (in the adult
state).
Certain soft-bodied, subelongate, subdepressed, vermi¬
form, aquatic animals, with a soft mucous ciliated integu¬
ment, devoid of heart and respiratory organs, have been
placed in the Articulate province of the animal kingdom,
and therein have been associated with the Annelides, or
with the Entozoa, or have been kept apart in an interme¬
diate class, under the name of Turbellaria. In some of
these worms (fig. 1) the alimentary canal, commencing by
an evertible proboscis, sends off numerous branched blind-
tubes, which radiate into the surrounding parenchyme.
The oesophagus is surrounded by a nervous collar, develop¬
ing two oesophageal ganglia, from which the nerves are
sent off to the body. Some species have two cephalic ten¬
tacles (Planaria tentaculata ; Physanozoon, Griibe). The
ciliated skin appears to perform the function of respiration.
No heart has been detected. The male and female sexual
organs are combined in the same individual.
Similarly-shaped small marine animals, with a ciliated
soft integument, equally devoid of heart and branchiae,
with the nervous system, the digestive and the generative
organs, organized according to the same type as in the
above-cited Turbellaria, have been placed in the Molluscous
province. Such, e.g., are the species of Rhodope* and
Acteon. The transition from these abranchiate and acar-
diac worm-like animals to the Eolidians, which have a heart,
but are without gills,— Calliopea, e.g. (fig. 2),—and from
these to the true Nudibranchiates,—Doris and Tritonia,—
is so close, that in drawing the line of demarcation in the
series progressing from the Trematode Entozoa, through
xhe Plagiaries upwards, we define the Molluscous boundary as
U S C A. 369
arbitrarily as in the series progressing from the Bryozoa, Gastero-
through the Tunicata, to the same great province of the poda.
animal kingdom.
If the diffused and ramified type of the alimentary canal
were taken as a character of Turbellaria, as contradistin¬
guished from these Mollusca, we should find it in some,
—e.g., Eolis and Calliopcea,—associated with a distinct
heart; and in others,—e.g., Elysia,—associated also with
a respiratory organ of the type of that of the pulmonated
Mollusks. If we were to require definitely-developed re¬
spiratory organs as a title to admission into the Molluscous
province, we must exclude true Gastropods, like Glaucus
and Calliopcea, which are nevertheless too closely allied to
Scyllcea and Doris to be placed in a distinct primary divi¬
sion of animals from them.
For those naked Gastropodous Mollusks in which the
ramifications of the alimentary canal take the place and
discharge the functions of a liver, and in which, although
there may be productions of the skin simulating the more
localized branchial processes in higher Gastropods, those
productions receive gastro-hepatic caeca, not branchial
vessels—for the reception of such low-organized Mollusks—
an order or sub-order is requisite, for which the term Ap¬
neusta (“ gill-less”) may be retained. The order may be cha¬
racterized as one of “ Naked Gastropods, hermaphrodite,
marine, without distinct respiratory organs ; alimentary
canal with gastro-hepatic ramifications ; anus dextral.
The species often swim on the back, with the foot supine.”
Genus Rhodope, Kolliker.—Body naked, smooth, sub¬
depressed, without tentacles; organs of circulation un¬
known. The comparatively simple form, of the peculiar
digestive appendages of this species3 is an instructive one.
Had it first been observed, instead of the more complex and
ramified condition of the same parts, as in Calliopcea, it
most probably would not have been mistaken for a “gastro-
vascular apparatus,”4 or have given rise to the ideas origi¬
nally broached and generalized under the term “ phleben-
terisme.” The fry have no deciduous shell ; they swim,
like the Turbellarice, by means of superficial vibratile cilia.
Sp. Rhodope veranii.—About 10 lines in length. Hab.
Mediterranean.
Genera Lissosoma, Quatrefages ; Flabellina, Ed.; Phyl-
lirhoe, Peron.
Sp. Phyllirhoe Bucephalum, Lam.—Body oval,-elongate,
compressed, pellucid, without a trace of “ foot;” coloured,
with brown specks, head distinct, with two long, subulate,
twisted tentacles; tail truncate, rounded; a pair of horny
jaws ; glottidium, with 3—0—3 teeth on the tongue-strap.
Size of the animal varies from 8 lines to an inch. Hab.
common in the Atlantic.
Six species of Phyllirhoe have been named and charac¬
terized ; but the variability in the form of the soft con¬
tractile body, and in the superficial punctation and deeper-
seated (visceral) coloration of the body, is such as to throw
considerable doubt upon the constancy of the differences
of colour which have been interpreted as specific.
Genus Fucola, Quoy.
Sp. Fucola rubra, Quoy and Gaim. ( Voyage de VAstro¬
labe, pi. 24, figs. 21, 22).
Genus Action, Oken (Elysia, Risso).—Body subcylin-
drical, limaciform; head bordered by a depressed expan¬
sion, pointed behind; two subclavate non-retractile ten¬
tacles, with eye-specks behind them; vent, in some lateral
and dextral, in others subdorsal; glottidium, with uniserial
dental plate.
1 Woodward, Manual of Mollusca, p. 103.
2 Rhodope, Nuovo Genere di Gasteropodi; Kdlliker, in Giornale dell’ I. B. Institute Lombardo, Milano, 1847.
3 Kolliker, loc. cit., pi. i., fig. 1.
4 Sur 1’existence d’un appareil gastro-vasculaire chez la Calliope de Risso (E) Mollusque de la famille des Eolidiens, par M. H. Milne
Edwards, Annales des Sciences Naturelles, 2d serie, tom. xviii., p. 330, 1842. It must be remarkeJ, however, that the original discoverer
of the gastro-hepatic canals in the Eolidians (Prof. Lowen), entertained from the beginning correct notions of their nature and functions.
VOL. XV. 3 A
370
M O L L U S C A.
Gastero- Sp. Actceon corrugatus, Forbes and Hanley {J3rit. Moll.,
poda. t. ccc., fig. 5).
^ Sp. Actceon sinister, Qnatrefages (Ann. des Sciences Nat.,
1844, pi. 3, fig. 4; A. viridis, ib., pi. 3, fig. 2; A. elegans,
ib., pi. 3, fig. 3). , j ,
Genus Limapontia, Johnstone.—Body oblong, depressed
anteriorly, raised and rounded behind; head arched and
keeled on the sides ; eyes behind the carinse; no tentacles ;
vent dorsal, sub-posterior.
Sp. Limapontia nigra, Forbes and Hanley (hrit. Moll.,
t. ccc.5 fij?. 4) •
G^wTCalliopasa,D’Orb.—Body oblong,subdepressed;
head forming a kind of round swelling circumscribing the
mouth, with only two (posterior) tentacles, bearing eye-
specks at their base; the foot slightly dilated anteriorly.
Sp. CaUiopcea Souleyetii (fig. _57)—In this species the
mouth is subterminal; the glotti-
dium large, slightly protractile, and
bearing a uniserial imbricated plate,
with many denticles in each trans¬
verse row of the series. A slender,
elongated, salivary follicle a opens
on each side of the pharynx. The
oesophagus is very short, being de¬
fined simply by the nervous collar,
beyond which it dilates into a small
ingluvies S, and afterwards into
the stomach e, from the termina¬
tion of which the short intestine
and the gastro-hepatic canals di¬
verge. The latter are four in num¬
ber, are diverging, in two lateral
pairs (one forwards, the other back-
wards, c), and sending off the
branched gastro-hepatic follicles
from their outer side. The heart
is situated between the two diverg¬
ing posterior gastro-hepatic canals;
the wide auricle receives the blood
from the diffused sinuses which have exposed it to the respi¬
ratory influence acting through the delicate integument. The
aorta divides into two principal branches. The ovispermal
masses are divided into separate rounded bodies with their
several canals, which unite into a trunk traversing an ovoid
glandular enlargement; beyond this the oviduct separates
from the sperm-duct, the former terminating in a long con¬
voluted uterus with glandular walls, and the latter termi¬
nating in a long, tubular, evertible penis.
Genus Cenia (Syn. Ictis), Alder and Hancock.
Sp. Cenia Cocksii, Forbes and Hanley (Brit. Moll., t.
ccc., fig. 6).
Genus Pelta, Quatrefages.
Sp. Pelta coronata, Quatrefages (Annales des Sciences
Nat., 1844, pi. 3, fig. 6).
Genus Glaucus, Forster.—Body elongate, slender, pos¬
teriorly filiform ; foot linear, channelled; tentacles 4, coni¬
cal ; jaws horny; teeth in single series, arched and pecti¬
nated ; gastro-hepatic caeca prolonged into three pairs of
lateral, digitate, or palmate tegumentary sacs. Colour blue ;
length between 1 and 2 inches. Hab. Atlantic Ocean, be¬
tween the tropics.
Mr Bennett, who captured some of these beautiful little
pelagic Mollusks in Lat. 2. 26. N., Long. 19. 51. W., has
recorded some interesting observations on their living co¬
lours, movements, and food, in the Proceedings of the Zoo¬
logical Society, 1836, p. 113. The gastro-biliary and tegu¬
mentary productions, which some have called “ gills,” he
terms “ fins.” As they floated upon the surface of the water
(in the glass), the light silvery blue of the lateral parts con¬
trasted with the deeper blue of the upper surface. This
surface seemed to be most sensitive or irritable. When
Fig. 57,
Calliopcea SouUyetii.
touched the animal coils itself up, then dashes out into the Gastero-
linear form ; again coils itself up, and so remains for a short poda.
period, apparently exhausted by its efforts. “ But on the
cessation of the irritating cause, the animal quietly resumed
its original position, perhaps dropping one or two of its wea¬
ried fins, according as its own sensations of ease or comfort
might dictate.
“ When nothing irritated this tender Mollusk, it would
remain tranquilly floating upon the surface of the water,
with scarcely any movement but that which proceeded from
the undulating movements of the digitated extremities of
the fins, as well as an occasional slight twisting motion of
the same organs.
“ 1 felt much interest in the beautiful display of a circu¬
lating fluid on the dorsal surface of these animals, which was
afforded me by the assistance of a microscope. Through
the semi-transparent membrane of the back a fluid could
be readily perceived close to the surface, evidently flowing
in two directions, one taking a course downwards, and the
other returning upwards; but I was unable to distinguish
two distinct vessels for these separate actions.
“ These animals seemed to be very torpid in their move¬
ments, although sometimes, when floating upon the water,
they would be seen busily engaged in moving their fins
about; but those actions were soon suspended, and their
fins were suffered to hang lazily down, as if fatigued with
the short exertion, which did not move them one inch about
the glass of water; and even when the little indolent crea¬
tures did take the trouble to move themselves from one side
of the glass to the other, it was effected by a tardy motion,
stirring themselves first with one fin and then with the other,
according as circumstances might require.
“ I placed some small specimens of Porpita in the glass
of water containing the Glauci, to observe if they would at¬
tack them; for some time one of the Glauci was close to
a Porpita, and was even annoyed by the tentacula of the
latter touching its back ; yet the Glaucus bore this, although
with the usual characters of impatience, yet without attempt¬
ing to attack it. At last it seized the Porpita between its
jaws; and by aid of a powerful lens, an excellent opportu¬
nity was afforded me of closely watching the devouring
process, which was effected by an apparently sucking mo¬
tion ; and at this time all the digitated processes of the fins
were floating about, as at other times when the animal was
at rest. But I did not observe in one single instance that
they were of any use to the animal, either to aid in the cap¬
ture or to securely hold their prey when in the act of being
devoured ; for the animal seems to depend merely upon the
mouth in capturing its prey ; as in this and other instances,
which I had opportunities of observing, they seized their
prey instantly with the mouth and held it by that power alone,
whilst by a kind of sucking motion the prey was devoured.
The digitations may therefore only be regarded as appen¬
dages to the fins to aid the animal perhaps in the direc¬
tion of its movements, as it was observed that they turned
and twisted them about during the progressive motion
(that is, when this tardy animal is pleased to progress, which
appeared to me very rarely to meet with its inclination),
as if in some way or other to direct the movements of the
animal.
“ The Glaucus, after eating the tentacles and nearly the
whole of the soft under surface of its prey, left the horny
portion, and remained tranquilly reposing upon the surface
of the water after its meal, the only motion visible in the
animal being the playing of the digits of its fins. Ihe
mutilated remains of the Porpita sank to the bottom of
the glass.
“ Soon after another Glaucus began a devouring attack
upon another Porpita which had been placed in the glass,
eating a little of it, and then ceasing alter a short meal,
occasionally renewing the attack at short intervals. On
MOLL
Gastero- examining the Porpita, which had been partially devoured
poda. by the ravenous Glaucus, I found the disc had been cleared
of the tentacles and other soft parts ; a small part of the
fleshy portion only remaining upon the disc. Only one
part of the horny disc exhibited any injury, and that ap¬
peared to be the place where the animal was first grasped
by the Glaucus.
“ When any of these animals came in contact with an¬
other in the glass, they did not display any annoyance, or
coil themselves up, nor did they evince any savage propen¬
sities one towards the other; and they would often float
about, having their digitated processes in contact one with
the other, without exhibiting any signs of annoyance. Even
when placed or pushed one against the other they did not
manifest any irritation, but remained undisturbed, as in their
usual moments of quiet repose.
“ These animals soon perished. I could not preserve
them for any length of time in the glass of sea-water, al¬
though the water was changed as often as it was thought
necessary ; the digitated processes of the fins were observed
to shrink up on the death of the animal, and the process of
decomposition rapidly took place, the whole body becoming
a shapeless mass, having a bluish colour of deadly hue for
a short period, and then became of a blackish or brownish-
black colour. I have seldom seen a gelatinous animal which
appeared so firm whilst in the water, that proved so speedily
to decompose when removed from it. Even the beautiful
purple of the back, the silvery or enamel of the abdomen,
and the silvery blue of the sides, all speedily vanish, indeed
instantly disappear, upon the death of the animal, as if it had
been washed off; the expansive, delicate, and beautiful fins
and digitated processes are no longer seen ; they shrank up
to nothing.”
Order IL—NUDIBRANCHIATA, Cuvier.
Branchiae extending more or less freely from various parts
of the body.
Genera Scyllcea, Doris, Thetis, Polycera.
Ge/msScYLL^EA, Linnaeus.—Body elongated compressed ;
foot long, narrow, furrowed longitudinally ; head furnished
with two retractile tentacles; back with two expansions or
membranous and flexible wing-like lobes on each side;
branchiae penicillate, composed of filaments, scattered over
back, especially crowded in the wings.
Sp. Scyllceapelagica, L., Cuv. {Ann. du Mus. vi., pp. 416,
417, pi. 61, figs. 1-7 ; Mollusq. Mem. vi.; Blainv., Malac.,
pi. 46, fig. 5).—This species attaches itself by its furrowed
foot to Pucus natans, and is found in the Atlantic Ocean.
The glottidium has a triserial rasp, with 24-1-24 teeth ; the
gizzard is armed with chitinous trenchant plates.
Genus Tethys, L.—Body somewhat long, depressed, fur¬
nished anteriorly with a broad, funnel-shaped, fimbriated disc,
behind which it contracts into a sort of neck; mouth pro-
boscidiform, retractile. Two conical tentacles at the base
of the disc retractile into broad cup-shaped sheaths. Aper¬
tures of generation and vent at the right side in the anterior
part of body. Two rows of branchiae at the sides of back;
cirrose pectinate branchiae alternating with smaller bundles.
Sp. Tethys leporina, L. (Rondelet, Pise., p. 526, tertia
leporis marini Species ; Cuvier, Ann. du Mus. xii., pp. 259
-270, pi. 24, Mem. sur les Moll. vii.; Blainv., Malacol.,
pi. 46 bis, fig. 9).—This species sometimes attains a foot in
length. Hab. the Mediterranean.
Genus Douis,1 * * L., Cuvier.—Body oval, flat, or gibbous
above, with abdomen flat, covered by a loose membrane, and
plicato-marginate. Vent posterior, dorsal, in the mid line of
body, surrounded by branched or plumed branchiae disposed
U S C A. 371
in a circle. Apertures of generation at the right side. Two Gastero-
dorsal tentacles retractile within tubes, annulate with trans- poda.
verse lamellae; two quasi-tentacular productions from near ''“■'v'**"'7
the mouth. Mouth armed with two horny plates (fig. 29, d),
united near the front, and having two projecting points;
glottidium (fig. 29, d) having lingual teeth numerous, central
small, laterals similar, hooked, and sometimes serrated.
Genus Tritonia, Cuvier.—Body elongate, subtetragonal
or compressed, anteriorly rotundate, posteriorly acuminate ;
apertures of generation and of rectum at the right side, with
vent situated behind the genital orifice. Two tentacles with
branched filaments retractile into a sheath. Circular velum,
tuberculated or digitated, in front of mouth. Two lateral
jaws, acute, with margin denticulate. Branchiae arborescent
at the sides of back. Glottidium with triserial tooth-strap,
one central, and numerous lateral teeth in a row.
Order 1IL—INFEROBRANCHIATA, Cuvier.
Branchiae at the lower part of the sides of the body be¬
tween the foot and mantle. The heart lies in these Mol-
lusks in the middle of the body on the dorsal surface, and
receives the blood from the gills placed on each side. Both
“Prosobranchiates”and “ Opisthobranchiates” are contained
in this very natural group.
Genus Phyllydia, Cuvier.—Body oblong, with a tuber¬
culated mantle; head with four tentacles, the two dorsal
retractile within a cavity; the other two labial ; anus in
posterior and middle part of back. (Cuvier, Ann. du Mus.,
v., pp. 266-276, pi. 18; Mollusq. Mem. viii.)
Sp. Phyllidia trilineata, Cuvier ; Phyll. varicosa, Lam.,
Cuvier, 1. c., figs. 1-6; Blainv. Malac., pi. 47; fig. 1).—Hab.
Indian and Red Seas.
Genus Pleurophyllidia, Meckel. {Diphyllidia, Cuvier;
Linguella, Blainv.)—Body oblong, with ample mantle, acu¬
minate posteriorly; head with two tentacles placed towards
the back at the anterior margin of mantle; frontal veil
with angle produced on each side ; gills limited to the hinder
two-thirds of the body; vent on right side, behind genital
foramen.
Sp. Pleurophyllidia lineata {Dipjtyll. lineala, Otto, Nov.
Act. Acad. Gees. Nat. Cur. xviii.; Delle Chiaje, Memorie i.,
p. 128, tab. 10, figs. 12-20; Meckel, Archiv.f. d. Physiol.
viii. 1823, taf. ii., figs. 1-7, s. 190-207).—Hab. the Me¬
diterranean, and, according to Loven, the North Sea also.
Order IY.—TECTIBRANCHIATA, Cuvier.
Branchiae resembling pinnatifid leaves, restricted to one
side, and covered by the mantle and a small shell, which is
sometimes exposed. Most are phytiphagous; all have a
complex gizzard.
Genus Aplysia, L., Gmel.—Body oblong, limaciform,
mostly margined by a broad velum reflected from the sides
of the foot over the back; two contractile tentacles,
conical, sulcated, in upper part of the head; two produc¬
tions of the velum surrounding the mouth, forming as it
were, a second pair of inferior tentacles ; eyes sessile, in
front of base of superior tentacles ; branchiae dorsal, covered
by a production of mantle, including a flat membranoso-
corneous or calcareous shell, and folded posteriorly so as to
form an excretory siphon.
Sp. Aplysia depilans, L.—The tooth-strap of Aplysia
depilans is broad, short, brown. Teeth brown, many on
each diverging cross series; central tooth truncate, tri¬
angular, dilated beneath, with an arched base, and triden-
tate apex; lateral teeth 12,—12, in an oblique line, each
tooth arched, with the tip recurved, with three rounded
1 Boris ■ see the critique of Cuvier on this name and on the confusion of this genus by Gmelin and others in Awn. du Mus. iv., p, 447
and foil.;' Mollusq. Mem., No. 5 ; also Rapp, Ueber das Molluskengeschlecht Doris, Nov. Act. Acad. Cass. Leop. Carol, xiii., pp. 513-522,
tab. 26, 27.
372
MOLLUSC A.
Gastero- lobes on the lower edge; the crown of the anterior teeth
poda. worn5 so as to leave the reflexed and lobed part. The
gullet dilates into a large crop; the thick coats of the
gizzard are beset with firm horny processes, some in the
form of hooks, others of rhomboid crushing plates. Near
the pylorus there is a long pancreatic caecum.
The Aplysia depilans, or “ sea-hare ” of the Mediter¬
ranean, sometimes attains a foot in length. (For the other
species of this singular genus, see Sander Rang, JItst. Nat.
des Aplysies, Paris, 1828, folio.)
“ The sea-hares are mixed feeders, living chiefly on sea¬
weed, but also devouring animal substances; they inhabit
the laminarian zone, and oviposit amongst seaweed in
spring, at which time they are frequently gregarious.
(Forbes.) They are perfectly harmless animals, and may
be handled with impunity. When molested they discharge
a violet fluid from the edge of the internal surface of the
mantle, which does not injure the skin, has but a faint
smell, and changes to wine-red. (Goodsir.) In old times
they were objects of superstitious dread, on account of their
grotesque forms, and the imaginary properties of their fluid,
which was held to be poisonous, and to produce indelible
stains.” (Woodward.)
Genus Dolabella, Lam.—Operculum of branchiae
towards the posterior part of back, including a calca¬
reous shell. Body mostly truncated posteriorly with an
orbicular declining area.
Sp. Aplysia Rumphii, Rang (Dolabella Rhumphii, Cu¬
vier; Rumph, Amb. Rariteitk., tab. x., fig. 5, tab. xl., fig.
n the shell) ; Cuvier, Ann. du Mus. v. p. 437 and foil., pi.
39, figs. 1—4, Moll. Mem. 12.
Genus Siphonotus, Adams.—Body elongated; gills
covered by the mantle and shell; foot with the sides dilated
into swimming lobes; respiratory orifice prolonged into a
siphon. Shell nearly membranaceous.
Sp. Siphonotus geographicus, Adams.—Whitish-brown,
covered with minute dark specks, and large, irregular,
green, reticulated patches, margined with opaque white;
under surface of foot of a bright yellow, left side of foot
with a projecting lobe, which overlaps that of the opposite
side; siphon of the mantle prolonged into a tapering, sub-
cylindrical tube. Hab. Java Sea, among masses of floating
sea-weeds.
Genus Umbrella, Chemnitz.—Body chiefly composed
of a large, thick, tuberculated foot, deeply notched ante¬
riorly ; mouth (fig. 58, d) proboscidiform, retractile into
the pedal notch, overhung by a small velum ; tentacles two,
with plicated cavities at their base ; eyes sessile between the
tentacles; genital orifice in front of the tentacles; excre¬
tory orifice posterior, tubular. Shell orbicular, almost flat,
with a subcentral low apex.
Sp. Umbrella mediterranea (fig. 58).—The tooth-strap
Fig. 58.
Umbrella mediterranea.
of Lmbrella mediterranea is broad, longitudinally plaited ;
teeth in numerous oblique series, each containing nume¬
rous small, closely pressed, compressed, sharp-edged, trans¬
parent teeth.
Genus Bull^a, Lam.—Velum of head large, separated
Fig. 59.
Bullcea aperta.
from the mantle by a transverse furrow (fig. 59, m), which
invests the shell s. Vent, orifice of generation, branchiae,
and heart placed at the right side. Foot broad, shorter than
body, with the lateral margins l produced, but not envelop¬
ing. Tooth-strap with two or four series of sickle-shaped
teeth. Shell thin, convolute, with aperture large.
Sp. Bulleea aperta, Lam. (fig. 59).—The tooth-strap of
this species is thin and nar¬
row, with brownish transpa¬
rent teeth ; two in each trans¬
verse row, close together at
the base, long, slender, com¬
pressed, arched, nearly in half
a circle, with the inner edge
finely denticulated. The giz¬
zard is armed with three long,
partly horny, partly shelly
plates. The eggs are in a single series, in long spiral gela¬
tinous filamentary capsules. The fry are furnished with
ciliated vibratile swimming lobes, and have a spiral, oper-
culated shell.
Genus Scaphander, Montf.—In this genus the shell
is oblong, convolute, spirally striated, with the aperture
much expanded in front; the spire concealed.
Sp. Scaphander lignarius (Bulla lignaria, L.).—The
teeth are in two longitudinal series, claw-shaped ; crenulate
on the convex margin near the point, with a crest on the
same margin near the base. The gizzard is provided
with two large triangular calcareous plates, united to¬
gether by strong transverse muscular fibres attached to
their circumference, except at the upper part, where a third
small oblong plate is interposed between the two lateral ones.
The Scaphander lignarius feeds upon the Dentalium
entale; five of these have been found in the gizzard, with
the shells partly crushed and digested.1
Genus Tornatella, Lam.—Body ovate, white; head
broad, notched in front, with
a pair of eye-specks (fig. 60,
e), and two retroverted ten-
taculiform lobes h; the foot
has two small anterior pro¬
ductions b ; slightly developed
lateral lobes support the shell,
and an opercular append¬
age/.
Sp. Tornatella tornatilis,
Lam. (fig. 60).—Hab. British seas, in deep water.
Genus Bulla, Lam. (fig. 61).—Head in the form of
a large disc a, truncate, and often mesially notched in
front ; produced above into lobes 5'; laminated beneath,
and sometimes with lateral appendages b; two subcentral
Gastero¬
poda.
Fig. 61.
Bulla vexillum.
eye-specks; side lobes of the foot large. Shell ventri-
cose, convolute, partially exposed ; aperture long, lip sharp.
Bulla vexillum, Chemnitz (fig. 61) after Adams).—
This most beautiful species was captured in sea-weed, in
1 Madame Power in Annals and Magazine of Nat. History for November 1857.
MOLLUSC A.
373
Gastero about a fathom water, near Ambolan, Mindoro, by Mr
poda. Adams. The animal was of a delicate pink colour, with
the cephalic disc and lobes, and the foot, edged with white
and red. The foot, when not expanded for swimming, is
folded upon the shell. The inner margin of the mantle
forms a thick fleshy lobe, which partially fills the hind part
of the shell aperture ; the outer margin lines the outer lip.
Fig. 62 gives the character of the dentition in the Bidlidce,
the central teeth being small and few, as in Akera bullata,
or wanting ; the laterals single, slender, and recurved.
|f Aperture inclined downwards ; shell at the periphery Gastero-
carinate or subcarinate, mostly depressed. Labrum often Poda-
reflected, sometimes dentate.
Genus Carocolla, Lam.
Sp. Helix Lapicida, L. (Pfeiffer, Schn. i., tab. ii., fig. 26);
Helix Carocolla, L. (D’Argenv. Conch., tab. 8, fig. D ;
Guerin, Iconogr., pi. 6, fig. 1).—Hab. East Indies, &c.
Iff Aperture inclined downwards. Shell rounded at the
margin, most frequently subglobose.
Fig. 62.
Teeth of ATcera bullata (magn.).
According to Cuvier, the cephalic lobes b of the
Bullidce, represent the fused oral and dorsal ten¬
tacles. In the common “ bubble-shell ” {Bulla
Hydatis) they consist of a central stem bearing
numerous lateral plates, and are conjectured by
Mr Hancock to serve as olfactory organs.
Order V.—PULMONATA, Cuvier.
Part of the mantle-cavity forming a vascular
air-sac or lung.
This well-marked order of Mollusks is treated
of at length in the illustrated w'ork of Baron
Ferussac, Histoire Natur. des Mollusques ter-
restres et Jluviatiles, Paris, of which the first
part appeared in 1819. M. Deshayes, after the
death of Ferussac, began the continuation, which
was completed in 1851.
Most Pulmonata are terrestrial; those which
are aquatic rise to the surface of the water to
breathe. A few are naked; most are testaceous;
and the latter are distinguished as having, or
wanting, the operculum. The inoperculated
Pulmonates have a tongue-strap, paved with rows
of very numerous similar teeth, with broad bases ;
the operculated Pnlmonates have a tongue-strap
with arched rows of seven teeth, the median
tooth differing from the three on each side.
Genus Helix, Lam.
Sp. Helix Pomatia, L. (Sturm, Deutschl. Fauna, vi., Heft
i.; Pfeiffer, Schn. i., tab. ii., fig. 9 ; Cuv., H. Anim., ed. 2,
t. iii., p. 40, Moll., pi. 21. The Vineyard-Snail, le Grand Es¬
cargot).—The name Pomatia, from Aw/ia, cover {Cochlea
opercularis), was given to this animal on account of the
closure of the aperture of the shell in winter that occurs in
this and other species. In autumn the animal retracts itself
within the shell, and then a false operculum {epiphragma) is
Helix pomatia.
Section 1.—INOPERCULATA, Ferussac.
Family I.—HELICIDiE.
{Snails.)
Shell external, usually well developed, closed by an epi-
phragm during hybernation.
Genera Helix, Vitrina, Succinea, Bulinus, Achatina,
Pupa, Clausilia.
The common garden-snail {Helix nemoralis, L.) exem¬
plifies the present family. The species selected by Bru-
guieres from the wide Linnsean Helix to form his more
restricted genus, have since been much subdivided by
Conchologists. The following indicate some of the leading
modifications of the shell:—
f Aperture turned upwards, dentate on each side.
Genus Anostoma, Fischer, Lam.
Sp. Helix ringens, L. (D’Argenv. Conchyl., pi. 28, figs.
13, 14; Blainv. Malac., pi. 39, fig. 4.)—Hab. East Indies.
secreted, which is pushed off in spring, when the snail again
creeps out of its house. During the winter these snails in
our temperate climate “ hybernate,” i.e., take no food, but
lie torpid ; in like manner, in tropical regions the species of
this genus in the hot and dry months “ aestivate,” or fall
into a similar state of torpidity.
The anatomy of this large species of snail has been admir¬
ably described by Cuvier, from whose monograph the preced¬
ing" figure (fig. 63) is taken. The parts relating to the di¬
gestive, circulating, and respiratory systems have already been
pointed out. The modification of the singularly-combined
male and female apparatus, in this most highly developed
ofthe monoecious Gastropods, calls for a more detailed notice.
The complexity and bulk of the combined organs in
the vineyard-snail are truly extraordinary. The essential
organs, testis and ovarium, are associated together in the
form of a small compact gland (fig. 63, q), composed of many
parallel caeca imbedded in the substance of a lobe of the
liver i, and occupying the apex of the shell. Each caecum
consists of an external layer, producing ova, and an internal
sac, folded in the first, producing semen.1 The walls of
1 Meckel, II., Ueber den Geschlechtsapparat einiger hermaphroditischer Thiere, in Muller’s Archiv fur Physiologic, 1844, p. 376.
374
MOLLUSC A.
Gastero¬
poda.
these invaginated sacs are usually in contact, but become
separated at the points where the ova push the ovarian sac
outwards and the sperm-cells the testicular one inwards.
The common ducts from those series of combined sacs are
also invaginated, the oviduct being external, the sperm-duct
internal, and usually undulated. The testicular caeca and
sperm-duct are lined with ciliated epithelium; this is not
present in the ovarian sacs.
Both invaginated tubes r enter the albumimparous sac
and separate where they quit that part. There is a dila¬
tation or sperm-reservoir where the sperm-duct quits the
base of the albuminiparous sac, and this latter may be re¬
garded as a more special dilatation of the oviduct, with
follicular walls. The sperm-duct, enlarged and with more
glandular walls «, now proceeds, with many short folds
parallel with the uterus, to the base of the penis. This is a
long and slender organ v, usually retracted and concealed
within the visceral cavity, but, like the finger of a
capable of being everted and protruded externally. I he
so-called “uterus” £ is a long canal, with transversely-
plicated glandular walls, terminated by a vagina opening
into the common genital vestibule, the external orifice or
which is near the mouth of the respiratory sac, on the right
side of the head. With the vagina there communicates the
duct z ofa small pyriform vesicle z, which is a sperm-reservoir
for the fecundating element of another individual received in
coitu. A small caecum is developed from the duct in Helix
pomdtia, and a very long one in Helix arbustorum ; the duct
is short and simple in the slug [lAmax). The genital vesti¬
bule receives the terminal outlets of two groups of branched
caeca x, x, or “ multifid vesicles,” the function of which is
unknown. But the complexity of the generative apparatus
does not end here; the snail is provided with a pyriform mus¬
cular sac y, the aperture of which terminates close to the
generative outlet. The expanded base or head of a slender
conical calcareous style or dart is attached to the fundus of
the sac : its sharp apex extends close to the orifice, and by
the contraction of the sac it can be protruded outwards.
With it the snails pierce each other’s skin ; and the function
of this curious organ would seem to be to cause a prelimi¬
nary excitement to the reciprocal union of the two androgy¬
nous individuals. The dart, like the epiphragm, is annually
1 "'ofthe^are Helix vittata (fig. 64), which inhabits Balam-
bangan, Borneo, Mr Adams, its discoverer, remarks, that
Family II.—LIMACID2E.
(Slugs.')
Gastero¬
poda.
the animal is of “ a delicate subtransparent pinkish colour,
the free lobes of the mantle moveable, and often extended
from the fore part of the shell; eye-peduncles long, tie
truncatures for the eyes very broad, tentacles rather ong
and clavate ; foot compressed, finely crossed with oblique
lines, and margined inferiorly, the end with a laige ho ow
muciparous follicle, ending below in a sharp, moveab e,
rather recurved process.”
“ This beautiful and singular species lives among the
foliage of the low trees, about which it crawls with surpris¬
ing rapidity, reminding one of the movements of the Vitmrue
more than those of the Helicidce.n (Zool. Samarang, p.60.)
Shell rudimental, internal.
Genera—Limax, Arion, Parmacella, Testacella.
Genus Limax, Lam. ( Ground- Slugs, Path-Slugs). Body
oblong, naked, convex above, furnished anteriorly with a coria¬
ceous, subrugose mantle, and below with a longitudinal flat
disc or foot, which is not distinct from the body ; branchial
cavity under the shield or small mantle, in the anterior part
of back; respiratory orifice and vent placed in the right
side ; generative orifice beneath the right tentacles. 1 he
mantle in some contains a calcareous grit, in others a
small shell; when alarmed, they withdraw the head beneath
the mantle. At the hinder end of the body is a small
aperture, from which adhesive mucous threads proceed.
The slugs often climb trees in quest of the decaying
vegetable matter on which they feed, and they lowei them¬
selves to the ground by means of those threads.
Family III.—ONCIDIADjE, Woodward.
No Shell. . ^ .
Genera—Oncidium, Vaginulus, Peroma, Oncidoris.
The slugs (Limaces) and land-soles (Arioyis) of tem¬
perate climates are represented in the East by the Oncidium,
Veronicella, and Peronia, as they are in the Western Hemi¬
sphere by the Vaginulus. The Fcro?«W/a lives upon the trees
in the forests, and is active after showers; the Oncidia live
on aquatic plants in marshes and ditches ; while Peronia,
like Oncidoris, lives among the stones on beaches, but,
unlike the latter genus, above high-water mark, a little
beyond the influence of the tide. ... c
One species (Oncidoris celtica) is found on the coast ot
Cornwall, congregated in little groups, about a foot or two
from the surface of the sea, where the waves break over
them. They ascend and descend, so as to maintain their
distance as the tides rise and fall; but will not bear long
immersion in sea-water. (Couch.)
Family IV.—LIMNEID2E,
(Pond-snails.)
Head with a short dilated muzzle ; tentacles two, broad,
short, compressed, not retractile; eyes sessile between then-
bases : mouth armed with an upper mandible; tongue-strap
with teeth similar to Helix. Shell thin, horn-coloured ;
capable of containing the whole animal when retracted ;
aperture entire longitudinal; lip sharp, ascending towards
the columella ; apex sometimes eroded.
Genera—Limnea, Physa, Ancylus, Planorbis.
In the common pond-shell (TAmnea stagnatihs) the
apertures of the sexual organs lie far apart. Under the
right feeler is the prepuce, everting the penis; under the
respiratory aperture is the vulva, or that of the female
organs. To this it is to be ascribed that, in copulating, one
individual is connected with two others, one of which
impregnates it, whilst the other is impregnated by it. In
this way, hanging together, they often form long chains.
Von Baer has, however, observed self-impregnatmn also
in Limnea auricularis. (Muller’s Archiv, m, 183o, s. 2-4.)
The Limnean anatomy is well illustrated in Swammerdam,
Bijbel der Nat. i, bl. 164-169, tab. ix fig. 4 ; Cuvierf
Ann. du Mus. vii., pp. 185-193, pi. x., figs. 2-11 ; Mol-
lusq. Mem. No. 14; Stiebel, Dissert, inaug. sistens Limnei
stagnatilis Anatomen, Gottingae, 1815, 4to, c., tabulis 2.
“ The Limnaeids inhabit fresh waters in all parts of the
world; they feed chiefly on decaying leaves, and deposit
their spawn in the form of oblong transparent masses on
aquatic plants and stones. They frequently glide beneath
the surface of the water, shell downwards, and hybernate
or estivate in the mud.” (Woodward.)
MOLLUSC A.
375
Gastero¬
poda.
Family V.—AIJRICULID^E, Woodward.
Mouth with a broad and short muzzle, tentacles two, cy¬
lindrical, the eyes sessile behind them; mantle-margin thick¬
ened ; orifices as in the snails ; foot oblong ; sexes united ;
mouth with a horny upper jaw. Shell spiral, covered with horny
epidermis; spire short, body-whirl large; aperture elongated
denticulated; internal septum progressively absorbed.
Genera—Auricula, Conovulus, Carychium, Marinula,
Cassidula, Polydonta, Pedipes.
Mr Adams remarks,—“ The habitsof thisfamily are some¬
what variable. Marinula affects salt water only, and
Pedipes lurks in the cavities of rocks and under stones ex¬
posed to the sea. Cassidula is amphibious, having been
observed crawling on a sandy bottom in clear water at a
depth of nearly two fathoms, as well as in mangrove-swamps
and on the sea-beach. Curicula and Melampus live in
damp situations near the sea, and on the muddy banks of
rivers. Polydonta inhabits moist situations in woods near
the sea, but is wholly of terrestrial habits, living on decayed
vegetable matter, and crawling about actively after showers
of rain. Alexia and Carychium abound in salt-water
marshes.” {Zool. Samarang, p. 55.)
Section 2.—OPERCULATA, Ferussac.
“ The operculated land-snails are exceedingly like peri¬
winkles (Litorince), and chiefly differ from them in the
situations they inhabit and the medium respired. They
have a long truncated muzzle, two slender contractile ten¬
tacles, and the eyes are sessile on the sides of the head.
The mantle-margin is simple, and the pulmonary cavity is
situated on the back of the neck, and quite open in front.”
(Woodward.) The sexes are distinct..
Family I.—-CYCL0ST0MIDA2, Woodward.
Shell spiral, and spirally striated ; aperture sub-circular,
with a simple peristome; operculum spiral.
Genera—Cyclostoma, Lam.; Pupina, Vignard; Helicina,
Lam.
Only one British species of Cyclostoma {C. elegans) is
known, but upwards of 80 exotics have been characterized
from the south of Europe, Africa, and Madagascar. Nearly
half of these have the whirls spirally keeled, and have been
subgenerically separated under the name of Tropidophora.
Family II.—-ACICULID^E.
Shell elongated, cylindrical, with a subspiral operculum,
in most pellucid.
Genera—Acicula, Geomelania.
The two dioecious pulmonate families make a transition,
in regard to generative characters, to the next great section
of the Gasteropoda ; but the modifications of the parts of
the complex combined organs of the Androgynous Gas¬
tropods are manifold. In regard to their ultimate termina¬
tions or outlets, a common genital orifice is found in Doris,
Thetis, Bulimus, Clausilia, and Limax, as in the Helix
above described. In Limnea the sexual orifices are wide
apart; in Planorhis and Physa they are situated side by
side,—the male orifice in front, on the left side of the neck,
behind the tentacle. In Bulla, Bullcea, and Aplysia, the
male orifice is under the right tentacle; the female one
much further back. In Doridium the male orifice is be¬
neath the left tentacle; the female one on the same side,
but near the opposite end of the body. In Oncidium the
female orifice is situated close to the anus, at the posterior
end of the body; the male orifice is beneath the right ten¬
tacle. In all cases where the male and female organs are
separate, a furrow may be traced from one to the other;
the penis, when erected, projects from the male orifice.
GASTEROPODA DICECIA.
Order I.—HETEROPODA,1 Lamarck.
[Nucleohranchiata, Blainville.)
Locomotive organ compressed, resembling a fin, but single
and ventral in position; branchiae, when distinct, pectinate and
pinnate, packed in a small compass, with the heart in a dorsal
sac or in a symmetrical shell. Sexes distinct. These
Mollusks all live in the sea, and usually swim with the fin-
shaped foot upwards and the back downwards. They pro¬
gress rapidly by the vigorous movements of their compressed
tails, or by a fan-shaped ventral fin ; and adhere to sea-weed
by a small sucker placed on the margin of the latter.
Forskael, to whom we owe the first description of thisfamily
of animals, gave them the name of Pterobranchia. De
Blainville, associating with them certain Pteropods, called the
group Nucleobranchia.2 The existence of distinct sexes
was discovered by Lesueur, Laurillard, and Milne Edwards.3
There are two families of Nucleobranchiate Mollusks—the
Firolidce, with large bodies and small or no shells, and the
Atlantidce, which can retire into their shells and close them
with an operculum. Both animal and shell are symmetrical,
or nearly so; the nucleus of the shell is minute and dex-
trally spiral.
Gastero¬
poda.
F-i fi5i
Atlanta Keraudr&nii (magn.)
Family I.—ATLANTID^E, Woodward.
The shell large enough to protect the body.
Genera—Atlanta, Porcellia, Bellerophon, Cyrtolites.
Genus Atlanta, Lesueur.
Sp. Atlanta Peronii, Les. (figs. 66 and 67); Atlanta
Keraudrenii, Les. (fig. 68) ; Atlanta gibbosa, Soul. (fig.
69).—The soft parts of Atlanta are divisible into a “so-
matal” and a “pallia!” region. In fig. 65 the former or
chief fleshy part of the body is out of the shell;
the pallial or visceral part is in the shell, which
latter is an appendage to it. The “soma” is di¬
vided into the cephalic A, pedial B, and the lid¬
bearing tail or operculigerous lobes e,f; the two
latter having that distinct degree of development
which characterizes the Heteropoda. The head,
or cephalic lobe, includes the mouth-mass a, the
tentacles b, and the eyes l; the foot is divided
into the “fin” B and the “disc” <7; the tail in¬
cludes the “ leaf” e (“ expansion foliacee”), and
the “ lid ” or opercule/, with its surface of attach-
1 Gr., signifying an “ odd or imperfect foot.”
2 So called because the respiratory and digestive organs form a sort of nucleus on the posterior part of the back.
3 See also Leuckart, Zoologische Untersuchungen, Drittes Heft, Giessen, 1854, Der Bau der Heteropoden, pp. 1-68.
376
M 0 L L U S C A.
Gastero- ment. The shell of the Atlanta, besides the beauty and
poda. symmetry of its shape, purity of colour, and delicacy of tex-
' ture, is remarkable for combining two conditions of shell-
tissue ; retaining a large proportion of the mouth, or last-
formed part, in a soft flexible quasi-cartilaginous state, the
rest of the shell being vitreous. The whole is thin and
translucent. It is suborbicular, compressed (fig. 68), and
convolute on the same plane ; umbilicate on each side,
broadly keeled, and striated subtransversely. The whirls
are usually three in number, and are visible in each lateral
umbilicus; the last whirl, much larger than the rest, is
that from which the keel is developed. This is a single
plate, with a fine groove of uncalcified matter
along its free border, which subsides towards
the shell-aperture. The lid or opercule (fig.
67) is vitreous, transparent, very thin, and
marked by transverse striae of growth, of a
shape conformable to that of the shell-aperture.
The mantle includes the visceral mass, and
lines the shell which it has developed. Round Fig. 67.
the base of the visceral mass it forms a broad Atlanta Peronii.
ibid corresponding with the shell-aperture, and dilated
anteriorly into a large breathing-pouch. The
thickened border of this pouch is provided
with tufts of vibratile cilia, and in the species,
—e.f/., Atlanta Keraudrenii, in which the
shell-aperture is canaliculate, the border is
similarly produced (fig. 65, h), as in the
siphonobranchiate Univalves.
For a knowledge of the anatomy of the At¬
lanta science is mainly indebted to MM.
Eydoux and Souleyet, from whose beauti¬
ful illustrations of it in the Zoologie of the
Voyage of the Bonite the scheme in fig.
65 is chiefly derived.1 The viscera occupy
the spire and spiral half of the last whirl
of the shell; the rest of that whirl contains
the branchial sac and mantle, and into it the whole of the
soft parts of the animal can be retracted, and be there shut
in by the operculum. In this respect the Atlanta differs
from other Heteropods ; and the opercule is a correlative
peculiarity to the protective size and office of the shell.
The subspiral retractor muscle (fig.65, K) arises from the
convexity of the innermost whirl, expands as it approaches
the outlet, and then divides into fasciculi, which diverge to
the head, to the foot-fin and foot-disc, and to the tail; the
parts are retracted in the same order, the head being first
pulled in. The mouth a is terminal, with a circular lip ;
the glottidium a' is covered by a tooth-strap supporting a
median row of imbricated tridentate plates and lateral rows,
each row including a transverse plate with a hooked apex
and two sickle-shaped denticles; the teeth increase in size
from before backwards; the glottidium is partially pro¬
truded by short protractor muscles, and retracted by anta¬
gonistic fibres; the dental plates being alternately raised,
divaricated, and depressed in the alternate movements of
the rasp-like organ. The secretion of two long cylindrical
salivary glands n is poured into the beginning of the oeso¬
phagus. The oesophagus dilates into a fusiform preventri-
culus m, from which the alimentary canal, bending round
the inner whirl, penetrates the liver, and expands into a
subquadrate stomach n, receiving the wide bile-ducts;
the intestine o is reflected upon the dorsal aspect of the
stomach, passes forward into the branchial sac, and ter¬
minates there on the right side, at some distance from the
anterior border of the mantle. The short intestine is lined
Fig. 68.
Atlanta
Keraudrenii.
by ciliated epithelium. The chief mass of the blood, which,
from the translucent delicacy of the tissues, seems to be
diffused through the common cavity of the body, is con- '
tained in venous sinuses so disposed as to regulate the flow
of the venous blood to the respiratory surface, to the fila¬
ments or laminae i of the branchial chamber h. Thence
it is transferred and subjected to the action of the renal
emunctories q before it enters the auricle x, which is at
the bottom of the branchial cavity. The ventricle s dis¬
tributes the depurated blood by two principal arteries,—one
to the visceral mass, the other reflected forwards beneath
the alimentary canal, and supplying the foot and the head.
The nervous system includes two cephalic or superceso-
phageal, two pedial or subcesophageal, and a small visceral
ganglion; the acousticles are connected with the cephalic
ganglia or auditory sacs.2 The eye is lodged in its proper
tentacle, whose clear convex end forms the cornea. The
optic nerve, penetrating the inner wall, expands into a
retinal ganglion, in front of which is a spherical lens ; the
ganglion and back part of the lens are covered by black
pigment, and the whole is inclosed by a sclerotic which is
continuous with the corneal part of the tentacular eye-sac.
The acousticle has a small rotatory otolite. In the male the
testisusually more or lesslobulated,occupies,with theliver
p, the spireof theshell. It contains spermatozoa and sperma-
tozoids. Its duct communicates with a dark-coloured ac¬
cessory gland v, and a glandular dilated part or vesicle y,
whence the sperm-duct is continued a short way forwards,
and terminates in a ciliated groove leading to the base
of the penis z, which is attached to the right side of the
body. In the female the ovary occupies a corresponding
position to that of the testes ; the oviduct is continued from
the fore part of the ovary : it is wide and convoluted, and
terminates near the vent in the pallial cavity. Of this
genus, presenting the organization above defined, many
species have been characterized, chiefly by modifications
of the shell. In some—e.g., Atlanta Keraudrenii, Le-
sueur (fig. 68)—the keel is continued to the aperture of
the shell which is canaliculated anteriorly, with a correspond¬
ing siphonic modification of the mantle. In others—e.g.,
Atlanta Peronii (fig. 66)—the keel subsides before at¬
taining the aperture of the shell, which is deeply fissured.
In a few species—e.g., Atlanta gihhosa (fig. 69)—the
symmetrical form begins to deviate into the more
common type of spiral Univalves; the shell of the
embryo forming several obliquely spiral whirls
before the particular generic type is resumed by
the last large whirl of the adult. Thus the spire
projects from the right side, leaving an umbilicus
only on the left side; and the apex of the spire
is turned forwards.
To this interesting type belong also the At¬
lanta involuta, E. and S.; Atl.fusca, E. and S.;
and Atl. turriculata, D’Orbigny. Nomenclative naturalists
have not been wanting in the imposition of distinct sub¬
generic names upon the groups of the genus.3
These small, delicate, and beautiful Mollusks are common
in the high seas of tropical and temperate latitudes, floating
or swimming by vigorous strokes of their fin above unfathom¬
able depths. Such of their frail shells as may reach the
bottom will form one of the few evidences of life that depo¬
sits from deep seas are likely to reveal; and certain delicate,
finely-striated shells, analogous, if not allied, to Atlanta
—such, e.g., as BcculioniphalusBucklandii, Portlock, and
Bellerophon bicarinatus, Leveille— have been found fossil
in both Cambrian and Silurian rocks,—the most ancient
Gastero¬
poda.
1 The details given in the Philosophical Transactions for 1853, p. 36, are little more than confirmations of the facts made known by
the able French naturalists whose anatomical labours are passed over, except in regard to “ a small ganglion, ’ which the writer states
is “ not figured by Eydoux and Souleyet,” hut which they nevertheless have not omitted to specify and figure in allied Heteropoda.
The auditory vesicles were first pointed out in Heteropoda by Souleyet; Annales Francoises d'Anat. et de Phys., tom. ii., 1841, p.
305 ;—afterwards by Leydig; Anatomisch. Bemerkung. xib. Carinaria, Firola und Amphicora ; Zeitschr. fur wissensch. Zool. iii., 1851, p.
228. 3 See Zoologie de la Bonite, p. 362.
M 0 L L U S C A.
Gastero- of fossiliferous formations. Lamanon, the naturalist of La
poda. Peyrouse’s unfortunate voyage, believed that he had dis-
covered, in the Atlanta, the living type of the Cornua Am-
monis; and the resemblance to the compressed and carinate
species of Ammonite is undoubtedly very close ; but it is
one of analogy merely.
Family II.~FIROLID^E, Woodward.
A small branchial shell or none.
Genus Carinama, Lam.—The next step in the depart¬
ure from the common type of Univalves is made by the
Carinaria.
Sp. Carinaria cymbium, L. (fig. 70).—In this species
the somatal (fig. 70, A, B, C) far exceeds the visceral (D)
377
Carvnaria Mediterranea.
division of the body, and the shell E is correspondingly
reduced in size and adapted only to cover the visceral sac
circumscribed by the free border of the mantled h. Of the
three divisions of the “ soma,” the cephalic A is the largest,
the pedial B the least. The discoid portion d' of the foot
is less distinctly separated from the pinniform part d than
in Atlanta, and the tail C bears no opercule, the small
shell being closely filled by the pallial and visceral mass,
and affording no protection to the soma. The somatal
integument is lined by a strong layer of decussating muscu¬
lar bands, which layer is much more distinct and better
developed than in other Heteropods; in the fin the muscu¬
lar bands constitute four distinct layers: those of the two
deeper-seated ones crossing the superficial layers obliquely.
In the mid-space between the right and left layers lies the
cellular tissue with the pedial vessels and nerves. The
cephalic ganglions u are connected with the pedial gang¬
lions v by commissural “ cephalo-pedial” cords of a length
corresponding with that of the cephalic division of the
body, and consequently forming a so-called “ oesophageal
collar” of much greater extent than in Atlanta* Besides
branches from this collar to the fin and tail, one is sent to
the visceral ganglion x, and this brings the fin in relation
with the branchial, circulating, and cephalic influences.
The cephalic ganglions supply the same parts as in Atlanta,
communicate with the small buccal ganglion, and send a
nerve to the visceral ganglion x, situated at the base of the
pallial division of the body.
The mouth is provided with a large rasping glottidium d
armed as in Atlanta ; the oesophagus presents a fusiform dila¬
tation m, in its course to the liver p; the intestiniform sto¬
mach n describes a curve in that organ ; the intestine is re-
YOL. xv.
fleeted dorsad and forward to terminate (o) at the fore-part Gastero-
oi the palhal division, a little to the right of the median poda.
plain. The salivary glands / form a pair of oecal tubes,
relatively shorter than in Atlanta. The liver jp, of a violet
colour, fills the hinder half of the shell. The branchim i
are more constant and are relatively larger than in Atlanta;
in the form of pinnate processes projecting from the fore¬
part of the shell-aperture. The heart is composed of an
auricle and ventricle, the latter overlying the former, and
giving origin to a large aorta t. The testis w, of a’ gray
colour and granular texture, lies in the upper and back
pai t of the visceral mass, sends off a sperm-duct, which
dilates at its commencement into a nodular receptacle y,
lodged on the substance of the liver, and then extends,
to terminate in the groove
which leads along the right
side of the animal, to the
base of the penis z. This
consists of two non-retrac-
tile appendages, hanging
from a common base of at¬
tachment to the right side
of the body; one of these
is grooved lengthwise, and
is the true intromittent
part; the other has a granu¬
lar structure within, and
seems to be an excitory
organ.
The Carinaria Medi¬
terranea of Lamarck (a
synonym probably of Car.
cymbium, Linn.) takes its
name from the sea which it
inhabits. The Carinaria
vitrea is a native of the
Indian ocean; its shell is
highly prized.
In a closely allied genus,
called Cardiopoda by D’Orbrgny and Carinaroides by
Eydoux and Souleyet, the . shell is flexible, convolute,
with the cartilaginous peristome expanded and bilobed
in front, and enveloping the spire behind. The two figures
above the part of cut 70, opposite the right hand, exem¬
plify the shell, that on the opposite side is the shell of
Carinaria.
Genus Firola, Peron and Les.—As amongst the land
Gastropods the snails have a house-shell, the slugs a mere
heart-shield, whilst in Oncidium and Plulomycus even this
rudiment of a shell disappears; so in the present sea Gas¬
tropods, so singularly modified for a free swimming or
floating life in mid-ocean, while one genus has a shell
developed to include the whole body, and another has it
reduced to a mere protective covering of the heart and &
few other viscera; a third genus, with scarcely any other
organic modification of importance, shows no trace of
shell.
These parallel conditions of variability in the testaceous
appendage of the skin in different natural groups of the
Molluscous class show plainly the low grade of that appen¬
dage in the scale of organic characters, and the relative
standing of pure Conchology in Zoological science.
The genera Firola and Firoldides exhibit the zero
phase of shell development in the Heteropodous group.
The pallial or visceral division of the body presents its least
proportion, the cephalic as contradistinguished from the pe¬
dial part, its greatest proportion. The foot is now a mere
appendage to the somatal division, from which the cephalic
part, properly so called, can no longer be distinguished as in
Atlanta. The general form of the body, the transparency
of the integument, and its muscular layer, are very similar
3 b
MOLLUSC A.
378
Gastero- to those in Carinaria; but some species of Firoloi'ds
p°da. have no tentacles (fig. 71), and in none is the disc deve-
loped on the foot; this is exclusively a fin in form and
function. The mouth (fig. 71, a), and mouth-mass a b,
extend far in advance of the cephalic ganglions u, and
eyes c. The commissural cords connecting those gan-
Fig. 71.
Firoloides Lesueurii.
glions with the pedial ones v, cross the sides of the ingluvial
dilatation of the gullet m, and form a very long oesophageal
collar. The alimentary canal extends to near the caudal end
of the body before it begins to make its molluscous inflection,
and to expand into the gastro-biliary sac, with the substance
of the liver p. The very short intestine o ascends, forming
merely a right angle with the axis of the trunk before it
terminates in a vent o', just behind the renal sac and heart.
From the ventricle a large aorta proceeds, and divides into
a visceral and a somatal part; the latter advances forwards,
sends off a small branch to the tail, a larger one to the foot,
and is itself continued to the head. The pedial artery
terminates abruptly in the reticulate venous sinus of the
foot, and is said to exhibit a strong contractile power at
its termination ;x whence it is probable that, when the foot
is in vigorous action as a swimming organ, the flow of
blood into it is free; but when the muscles are at rest, the
current may be decreased or checked. From the general
transparency of the tissues of the Firoloids the delicate mem-
brana propria of the wide and effused sinuses by which
the venous blood is guided, and finally returned to the
auricle, has been overlooked. That such an essential part
of the mechanism of circulation should therefore be absent,
and the blood-corpuscles be doomed to wander back to
the heart “as best they may,”1 2 is an inference character¬
istic of the school which repudiates final causes (or purposive
adaptations) in organic structures.
From the delicacy of the somatal tissues it may well
be supposed that the oxygenated sea-water re-acts upon
the generally diffused venous blood; and it is certain that
m Firoloides proper, as in some species oiAtlanta, branchial
filaments are not developed, and the ciliated subspiral band
represents the sole localized or special breathing organ.
The renal sac is contractile, and alternately receives and
expels sea-water. Two small salivary caecal tubes communi¬
cate with the mouth.
Lesueur3 first discovered the distinction of the sexes in Gastero-
the Firoloids. The testis (fig. 71, m), is a whitish granu- poda.
lar body, situated at the upper and back part of the vis-
ceral mass. Its duct dilates into a receptacle (w) on quit¬
ting the gland, then contracts to a tube of capillary tenuity
opening into the groove that is continued into the intromit-
tent and excitory ap¬
pendage. This depends
from the right hinder and
ft lower angle of the body,
and divides into two
parts; the glandular por¬
tion terminating in a
globular body. The
ovary in Firoloides, as
in Firola, terminates the
small visceral mass be¬
hind ; it usually presents
ova, with a well-marked
germ-cell and nucleus.
The albuminous sheath
of the excluded eggs is
frequently seen hanging
from the outlet of the
short oviduct like a fila¬
mentary appendage.4
The Firoloids are
amongst the most abundant of the pelagic Mollusks ; they
float in myriads on the surface of the Mediterranean, and
in the warmer zones of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.
In Firola proper, the visceral mass, answering to the
pallial division of the body in Atlanta, is situated, as in
Carinaria, at about one-fourth from the hinder end of the
somatal division. This end terminates in a filamentary
appendage, varying in size and shape in different species.5
The branchial filaments, from twelve to fifteen in number,
project from the slight border or fold ot the small mantle,
which leaves the upper and back part of the visceral mass
exposed. The transparent integument of the body has a
few coloured tubercles scattered over it. A rudiment of a
disc has been seen on the compressed foot of some Firola,
but is not constant. A pair of small tentacles are present
in some species, not in others; they appear, however, not
to be constant in all the individuals of the same species.
In fact, the determination of a species is by no means an
easy or satisfactory operation in these soft, contractile,
transparent Mollusks.
The Firola Keraudrenii has a finely granular skin, and
a long filamentary caudal appendage; it is about 2 inches
in length.
In "Firoloides the visceral mass is terminal; only the
short filamentary appendage projects beyond it; in Fir.
Desmarestia, and in Fir. Lesueuria, the appendage is multi-
articulate, or antenniform. These delicate little Heteropods
rarely exceed an inch in length; they occur in both the
Pacific and Atlantic Oceans.
Order II.—TUBULIBRANCHIATA, Cuvier.
Branchiae two, symmetrical, behind the heart; inclosed
with the other soft parts of the animal in a long shelly
tube.
Gen. Dentalium, Linn.
1 Prof. Huxleyj Phil. Trans., 1852.   2 Ibi<H P* 32‘ .. , 18-0
3 Journal of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, vol. i., p. 3 ; Firoloides is dioecious, ux ey, * • ? fr,rwKrfi
4 The idea of the posterior termination of the body being homologous with part of the foot of gasteropoda has teen brou
as a novel one by the author of the paper published in the Philosophical Transactions for 1853, But concur in j , ,
lowing remarks by the distinguished naturalists of the Voyage de la Bonrte :—“ C’est la fausse analogic que on a ainsi . ,
de simples expansions de la peau et les veritables organes locomoteurs, qui a surtout fait meconnaitre ^es rappor^s^n ^ y>nHv from
lusques.” Zoologie de la Bonite, 8vo, 1841-1852, p. 346. The
which the hind lobe of the foot is developed in Limax and Boris
The parte (fig. 71) may be homologous with the hind part of the body from
Doris, but not with that lobe itself. 8 Zool. de la Bcnite, plate xvi., fig. 1.
MOLL
Gastero- Order III.—CYCLOBRANCHIATA, Cuvier.
pcda. Branchiae usually a series of lamellae, surrounding the
body between the foot and mantle.
Family I.—PATELLIDiE, Woodward.
Shell with the apex turned forwards.
Genus Patella, Linn. [Limpets).—Head with two acu¬
minate tentacles, ocelli sessile, on the outer side of their base.
Pallial margin fringed ; branchial series continuous. Shell
covering the body, oval, with a subcentral apex.
The tongue of the common British limpet [P. vulgata)
is rather longer than its shell; it has 160 rows of teeth,
with 12 teeth in each row, or 1920 in all (Forbes).
The intestinal canal is very long and forms many convo¬
lutions, the rectum being reflected, so that the vent is placed
under the head on the right side, whilst in Chiton it lies in
the mid line at the posterior extremity of the body.
“ The limpets live on rocky coasts, between tide-marks,
and are consequently left dry twice every day ; they adhere
very firmly, by atmospheric pressure (151b. per square inch),
and the difficulty of detaching them is increased by the
form of the shell. On soft calcareous rocks, like the chalk
off the coast of Thanet, they live in pits half an inch deep,
probably formed by the carbonic acid disengaged in respi¬
ration ; on hard limestones only the aged specimens are
found to have worn the rock beneath, and the margin of
their shell is often accommodated to the inequalities of the
surrounding surface. These circumstances imply that the
limpets return to the same spot to roost. On the coast of
Northumberland we have seen them sheltering themselves
in the crevices of rocks, whose broad surfaces, overgrown
with nullipores, were covered with irregular tracks, appa¬
rently rasped by the limpets in their nocturnal excursions.”
(Woodward.)
The limpet is much used by fishermen for bait; on the
coast of Berwickshire nearly 12,000,000 have been collected
yearly, until their numbers are so decreased that collecting
them has become tedious (Dr Johnston). In the north of
Ireland they are used for human food, especially in seasons
of scarcity ; many tons weight are collected annually near
the town of Larne alone (Pattison).
On the western coast of South America there is a limpet
which attains the diameter of a foot, and is used by the
natives as a basin (Cuming).
(For the anatomy of the limpet see Cuvier, Mem. sur les
Mollusq., No. 18, pp. 15-19, pi. ii., figs. 8-19, and the fig. of
Patella algira, Desh. in Cuv. P. Ani., ed. ill., Moll., pi. 66.)
Family II.—CHITONIDA:.
Shell subdivided into eight pieces.
These pieces or valves form an imbricate series on the
middle of the back (fig. 72, a). Each has a more or less
wide plate of insertion sunk into the mantle, with a deep
lateral notch on each side : the anterior and posterior valves
Fig. 72. Fig. 73.
Chiton squamosus. Chiton.
often with other notches on the terminal edges. The first
U S C A. 379
seven plates have posterior apices (fig. 73, 1-7), the eighth Gastero-
has its apex nearly in front. The six middle plates are poda.
each divided into a dorsal and two lateral areas. Gills conic,
lamellar, in two series, one on each side the hinder part of
the body. The heart is elongated like a dorsal vessel.
Mantle not covered by shell at the circumference, with the
margins hard, coriaceous, often aculeate or squamose. Ven¬
tral disc elongate, narrower than the body (fig. 72, b). Eyes
and tentacles none; head crested by a wavy veil. The
combined genital organs are symmetrically repeated on each
side, and have two orifices.
More than 200 species of Chitons are known ; they occur
in all climates throughout the world ; are most abundant on
rocks at low water, but frequently obtained by dredging in
10-25 fathoms water. Some of the small British species
range as deep as 100 fathoms (Forbes.)
The species of this genus are very numerous and diffi¬
cult to distinguish otherwise than by accurate measure¬
ments of the comparative length and breadth, the greater
or lesser inequality, &c., of the pieces of shell, and by the
nature of the margins of the mantle which are not covered
by the dorsal shields. In some species these margins of
the mantle cover, as though they came together by con¬
tinued growth, the dorsal shields, so that the shell is con¬
cealed within them. Of these Middendorff1 forms the sub¬
genus Cryptochiton (Sp. Cryptochiton Stelleri, Middend.,
1.1. Taf. i., figs. 1,2, Chiton amiculatus, Sowerby, ConchoL
Illustrations, Chitones, fig. 80, Reeve, Conchologia system.
ii., PI. 132, 133, fig. 80; from which Chiton amiculatus,
Pall., according to Middend., does not differ). The remain¬
ing species form the sub-genus Phcenochiton, Middend., in
which the branchiae are sometimes situated backwards, and
the row of pieces of shell is interrupted by the mantle
[Dichachiton, Middend., Chitonellus, Lam., Sp. Chitonellus
Icevis, Lam., Blainv. Malac., pi. 87, fig. 5); or the pieces
of shell close upon one another, and the branchiae are placed
round about at the sides of the mantle (Hamachiton, Mid¬
dend.) To this last division belong most of the species of
the genus Chiton of Lamarck.
Dr Gray has called attention to the value and constancy
of the modifications observable in the inserted part of the
plates, and this experienced naturalist remarks:—
“ It has been objected that the character derived from
the form of the plate of insertion of the valves can only be
seen by the destruction of the specimens as they are usually
kept in cabinets; but they can generally be seen from the
under side, or through the substance of the mantle. When
this is not the case, the form of the plate of insertion can
be easily developed by paring away the under surface of
the mantle, so as to show part of the edge of the valves,
without injury to the specimen; and they may be easily
made more visible through the inner side of the mantle by
being soaked for a few hours in a weak solution of caustic
potash; but care should be taken that the specimen is not
left too long in soak, nor the solution be too strong, other¬
wise the margin will be dissolved.
“ The form of the plate of insertion may also be easily
predicted by inspecting the inner surface of the valves, for
the notches in the margin leave an impressed line from the
vertex of the valve, as they are gradually filled up by the
growth pi the valve.
“ The valves are best separated from the coriaceous skin
of the body, called the mantle, by soaking them in a strong
solution of caustic potash; as then the plates of insertion
are cleaned, and not broken, which they are likely to be if
they are taken by force from the mantle.
“ The number of notches in the plates of insertion is some¬
times, but very rarely, liable to Variation. In one specimen
of Chiton Bowenii in the Museum Collection, the plate of
Memoires de VAcad. Imp. des Sciences, Petersbourg, tom. vi., 1848.
380
M O L L U S C A.
Gastero- insertion of the last valve but one has two notches on one
poda. but the normal single notch of the genus on the other.”
The anatomy of the Chiton has been illustrated in the
great work of Poli, Testacea utr. Sicilies i. Multivalv., pp.
1-10, tab. iii.; by Cuvier, Mem. pour servir a VHist. nat.
et a VAnat. des Mollusques, No. 18, pp. 22-28, pi. iii.,
figs. 8-14 ; and, more recently, in an exhaustive manner, by
A. Th. Middendorf, Beschreihung u. Anatomic neuer
Chitonen, Mem. de VAcad, imper. des Sc. de St Peters-
bourg, 6e serie, tom. vi., 1848, pp. 67-215, av. 14 pi.
The chief peculiarities of organization have been strik¬
ingly summed up, with perhaps some overstraining of the
similies, by Dr T. Williams, as follows:—
“ A Chiton has a carapace like an isopod Crustacean, a
dorsal vessel like an Annelid, bilateral symmetrical repro¬
ductive viscera like an acephalous Mollusk, a head and foot
like a patelloid Gastropod, a posterior anus like the Fissu-
rellidce, and branchiae like those of the brachyurous Crus¬
tacea! Such manifold affinities at once unite and sever
this odd group from several most dissimilar classes.” (Dr
T. Williams, Ann. § Mag. Nat. Hist., xvi., 408, 1855.)
The fry of the Chiton are not provided with a deciduous
. shell: they swim by a cincture of long vibratile cilia, near
a constriction which divides the oval embryo into two
subequal parts; a tuft of filaments and two dark eye-
specks denote the head. The hinder half elongates, be¬
comes marked on the back with seven transverse furrows,
between which the first rudiments of the shell-plates appear
as granules of carbonate of lime in the integument, which
coalesce into narrow bands or bars, with an irregular wavy
outline: they increase by the addition of layers on the
under surface : and their development gives no countenance
to the idea that the hindmost valve is the homologue of
the univalve shell of the limpet, and the seven in front
supplementary pieces. Loven, who has described the
development of the Chiton, regards the girdle of cilia as
answering to those on the velum of other Gastropods; the
homology of the head of the embryo, with its tuft of fila¬
ments, to the prominence supporting the flagellum in some
embryo bivalves (fig. 27), is more doubtful.
Order IV.—SCUTIBRANCHIATA, Cuvier.
Branchiae plumose or pectinate, and, with the entire body,
protected by a widely-open shield-shaped inoperculate shell.
Heart with two auricles, and traversed by the rectum.
Family I.—HALIOTIDA:.
{Ear-shells.)
Head with two long and slender tentacles; eyes on short
pedicles at the outer side of their base ; proboscis short;
branchial cavity with a fold or siphon occupying the slit or
perforation of the shell; retractor muscle large, subcentral.
Fig. 74.
Haliot* tuberculata.
Genus Haliotis, Lam. (Ormers or Ear-shells).—Shell
ear-shaped, with a spiral ridge on the left side, and a series
ot holes over the pallial fissure. These holes are closed as
the animal grows from near the apex of the shell onwards, Gastero-
new ones being formed near the aperture, where the notch poda.
becomes changed into a hole. The foot (fig. 74) dd is
expanded and sub-circular, its side lobes support a double
row of cirri and crenate processes; cirri project through
the perforations of the shell i, i.
Haliotis tuberculata (fig. 74) abounds in the Channel
Islands, where it is used for food; the hard tissue of the
muscular foot, d d, and retractor being pounded before the
animal is cooked.
Species of Haliotis range from Kamtschatka to New Zea¬
land. In the latter island is a sub-genus {Padollus), in
which the multi-perforate shell has two parallel spiral ridges.
The lining nacre of the ear-shell is beautifully iridescent;
most richly so in Haliotis iris and Haliotis “gigas, which
latter shells are imported in vast numbers for that sub¬
stance.
Genus Janthina, Lam. (fig. 75).—Head with a large
ventricose proboscis a; two subulate tentacles b, with short
eye-stalks d at their base; foot/ small, with lateral folds
Fig. 75.
Janthina fragilis.
g continuous behind. It secretes (in the female?) a series
of albuminous air-vesicles i, constituting a floating raft, to
the under surface of which the ovi-capsules mm are
attached. M. Rang states that this float is cast adrift after
the egg-bags are attached. The shell n of the Janthinse
is like that of a land-snail, and commonly of a beautiful
purple colour; it is ventricose, thin, and sub-pellucid, with
the aperture triangular, and the columella straight and
produced beyond the margin of aperture. Myriads of these
beautiful and delicate oceanic snails float in the Mediter¬
ranean, Atlantic, and Indian Oceans; specimens are occa¬
sionally drifted to the S.W. coasts of England. They are said
to feed on the small floating Velellce. The anatomy of Jan¬
thina has been given by Cuvier in the Ann. du. Mus. xi., pp.
121-130; and in the Mollusques, Mem. 15, pp. 2-10, figs. 1 -8.
Family II.—FISSURELLIDAl, Woodward.
Head with a short proboscis ; with two subulate tentacles,
having sub-pedunculate eyes on the outside of their base.
Mantle with a siphonal aperture in the back, and containing
two symmetrical pectinate gills. Foot expanded, with a
series of short cirri above its sides. Shell symmetrical, but
with a spiral nucleus, which is covered in most by later
growths of the shell; the apex perforated corresponding to
the branchial opening.
Genus Fissurella, Lam. (Key-hole Limpets).—Shell
oval, conical, radiately ribbed; apex subanterior or central;
perforation oblong, subapical; aperture wide, oblong; cavity
simple, muscular, impression with the points incurved. The
shell of the young animal is subspiral, with a perforation in
front of the apex. If the branchial excretory fissure were ex¬
tended so as to bisect the shell, and the two symmetrical halves
were connected by a hinge and adductor muscles, the Fissu¬
rella, with its symmetrical pair of gills, would closely resemble
a Lamellibranch, with a head and a very large and broad foot.
In Emarginula, Lam., the vent is anterior, and the shell
presents a slit at its front margin ; the foot supports a single
cirrus on its back part. In some species of Emarginula the
MOLLUSC A.
Gastero- shell can be partially covered by the mantle. The young
poda. ^ oiEmarginulafissura have a very minute, recurved, spiral
—shell, with rapidly enlarging and finely striated whirls with¬
out any slit. (Loven.)
Order V.—PECTINIBRANCHIATA, Cuvier.
Bianchiae composed of plates so formed and united as to
resemble a comb, usually two in number, very rarely obso¬
lete ; contained in a dorsal pallial cavity opening widely
above the head. This order of dioecious Gastropods is the
most numerous in genera and species; it includes nearly
the whole of the spiral Univalves, and also many with shells
simply conical. All the Pectinibranchiata have two tenta¬
cles and two eyes, in many supported upon pedicles; the
mouth is produced into a proboscis; the males have the
intromittent organ attached to the right side of the neck,
and, in most, it is folded back within the pallial cavity, but
in Paludina is retracted into a prepuce opening at the right
tentacle. The female has a nidamental gland excreting
the albuminous matter of the nidus for the eggs, which is
often large and complex. In some Pectinibranchs the
branchial aperture is entire; in others a portion of it is fis¬
sured or produced into a siphon; the mouth of the shell
presents conformable modifications: in some the shell is
without an operculum, but most Pectinibranchs possess one.
In the selection, compelled by the limits of the present arti¬
cle, the chief modifications of the soft parts or “animal” of
the univalve shells will be illustrated.
Section 1.—ASIPHONATA.
Family I.—CALYPREIDiE, Woodward.
(Bonnet and Slipper Limpets.')
Head with two tentacles, having small sessile eves on the
outside of their base;
branchia single and
long; sides of the
body in front of the
foot more or less
expanded and pro¬
duced ; tooth-strap
elongate ; teeth
3-1-3; the central
simple, recurved,
toothed at the tip;
the inner lateral
broad, with a trian¬
gular toothed tip;
the outer lateral
tooth claw-like ; the fig. 76.
second lateral mi- Calyptrasa Byronensis.
nutely toothed at the end. The eggs are inclosed in a
thin membranous bag in small groups under or in front of
the foot of the animal. I he shell in the egg is subglobular,
of one or two gradually enlarging whirls, which rapidly
enlarge as soon as the animal is hatched. Shell limpet-
shaped, but with the apex more or less spiral, and with a
variously-shaped calcareous process from the inner surface
to which the retractor muscle is attached.
Genus Calyptr^ea, Lam.—Head with a short and broad
muzzle (fig. 77, a), truncate, and with the angles slightly
pioduced; tentacles A rather short; aliform expansions d
from the sides of the neck (in Calypeopsis). Shell with
the inner process half-cup-shaped (Calyptrcea), or cup¬
shaped (Calypeopsis) (fig. 76, b), or with a second calcareous
plate formed by the surface of the foot, and adherent to the
foreign base of attachment (Lithedaphus). The anatomy of
a male Calpytrcea Byronensis is shown in fig. 77. a is the
mouth, k the glottidium with the tongue-strap and teeth as
381
above described; ll the simple elongated salivary follicles ; Gastcro-
m the oesophagus girt by the nervous collar before its ex- poda.
Fig. 77.
Calyptrcea Byronensis.
pansion into the stomach n; this cavity is almost concealed
y the liver, in the substance of which the intestine makes
an abmpt bend upon itself and returns, crossing the dorsal
side of the stomach to terminate in the right side at p, close
to the branchial or pallial aperture h. The pallial cavity is
laid open and spread out to show the extent of the single
comb-shaped gill ii. The great branchial vein x enters
the auricle w, and the small, dark, muscular ventricle pro¬
pels the blood through a short bifurcating aorta. The testis
r sends its product by the duct d to the base of a long and
slender grooved intromittent organ c, projecting from the
ng it side of the head, ff shows the smooth convex mass,
chiefly muscular, which fills the “ cup” (fig. 76, b); the dark
co our indicates the shape and position of the insertion of
the adductor muscle. These singular “ cup-and-saucer”
impets adhere to rocks or shells, to the inequalities of which
the margin of the “saucer” adapts itself, indicative of their
sedentary habits. Lithedaphus is a fixture.
In one group the shell is elongated, and the inner pro¬
cess is a partition covering the hinder half of the cavity
like a slipper, whence the name Crepidula (little slipper)
given to this group or genus.
The shells of all the Calyptreidce are peculiar for their
great range of adaptive modifications, which have given rise
to many nominal species. The experienced naturalist Dr
Gray remarks:—
“ Crepidula fornicata varies in shape according to the
body on which it rests; four or five different ages are fre¬
quently found riding upon each other. When growing on
Pecten concentricus it is found to have ribs corresponding
to those of the Pecten. When found in the cavities of shells
it is white and flat, with a convex diaphragm; the younger
specimens are rounded, but generally become elongated by
age and it is otherwise very variable in shape, confbrminfp
itself to the position it occupies in the throat of the sheik
When found among stones at the roots of seaweed, it is
generally of a small size, with a convex diaphragm.
“Crepidula dilatata changes its form and character
according to the body to which it happens to be fixed
“ 1. If attached to a broad stone or other body, the shell is
smooth, circular or ovate, and moderately convex; it is then
C. dilatata C. peruviana, C. depressa, C.patula, C.lineo-
lata, C. Adolpluei, C. chilensis, and C. strigata.
2. On the contrary, if fixed to a small round stone, and
382
MOLL
Oastero- the shells are obliged to group themselves on one another,
poda. it is then narrow, very convex, and C. nautiloides.
“3. When the young shell happens to be in deeper
water, and fixes itself between the roots of sea plants, it
becomes irregular, thick, and of a uniform colour; it is then
C. pallida.
“ 4. If it happens to be fixed on the inside of a dead
spiral shell, especially if that shell is inhabited by a soldier
crab, it becomes flat or even concave externally, and is of a
white colour; it is then C. plana or C. unguiformis.
“ Crepidula palagonica and C. aculeata occur attached
to stones on the coast of South America; the former often
chooses situations much beaten by the waves.
“ Crepidula dilatata forms large rounded massive groups,
the lower shell being attached to a stone or shell, and the
others all placed on the back of it.”1
Family II.—TURBINIDA3, Woodward.
In this family, as in the Bullidce, the head and sides of the
foot bear lobes, but they are fringed and tentaculate, as in
Haliotis ; the eyes are pedunculate outside the base of the
tentacles. The gill-cornb is single; the tongue-strap is
very long, extending into the visceral cavity. Like the
limpets, the Gastropods of the present family feed on sea¬
weeds ; they include ’the fabricators of the top-shells
{Turbo and Trochus) and pheasant-shells (Phasianella) of
the Conchologists; nearly all of which have a brilliant
nacreous lining. The operculum is either shelly, or is
horny and multispiral. The Trochus conchyliophorus, Born.,
Gm. (Cuv. Regne Animal, ed. ill., Moll., pi. 41, fig. 3),
causes little stones and pieces of bivalves from the bottom on
which it creeps to adhere to its shell; these foreign bodies in
time grow to the shell, which thus acquires a very irregular
appearance. Lamarck confounded with this species, from the
West Indian Seas, a fossil species from the tertiary forma¬
tions, which presents the same peculiarity, under the name
of Trochus agglutinans. The anatomy of the Trochus is
given by Cuvier, in Ann. du Mus. xi., pp. 184, 185; Mol-
lusques Mem. 16, pp. 15, 16, fig. 13.
Family III.—PALUDINIDA5, Woodward.
The Gastropods of this family inhabit fresh waters, and
have a world-wide distribution. Our well known river-
snail {Paludina vivipara, Lam.) may be regarded as the
type; the females are full of young in spring. The ova
are hatched in a long and wide oviduct, and the young
escape with shells, the periostracum of which bears spiral
rows of cirri. The shell of the adult is smooth, of a dull-
green colour, with red-brown bands and very convex
wreaths. The right tentacle is perforated in the male indi¬
viduals with an aperture which gives passage to the penis.
The gills consist of three series of filaments. It is found in
rivers, canals, and other fresh waters ; in the mud, or hiding
under stones; also creeping under water-plants. The ana¬
tomy of the Paludina vivipara, Lam., is given by Swam¬
merdam, Bibl. Nat. i., pp. 169-180, tab. ix., figs. 15-18;
by Cuvier, Ann. du Mus. xi., p. 170, Mollusques Memoire
15 ; and it has recently been admirably completed by Ley-
dig, Ueber Paludina vivipara, ein Beitrag zur nahern
Kenntniss dieses Thieres in embryologischer, anatomischer
und histologischer Beziehung, in Siebold u. Kblliker’s
Zeitsch. f. wissench. Zoologie, bd. ii., 1850, pp. 125-197,
pis. xi., xii., xiii.
Family IV.—LITORINIDA:, Woodward.
Head proboscidiform (fig. 78, a); tentacles b subulate,
with the eyes sessile on the outside of their base; foot of
U S C A.
moderate size, with a linear duplication in front, and a groove Gastero-
along the repent surface ; gill single ; mantle with a rudi- poda.
mentary siphonal canal. Shell spiral, turbinated, or de-
pressed ; aperture entire ; operculum horny.
Genus Litokina, Ferussac {Periwinkles).—Shell turbi¬
nated, thick, with few whirls, and no nacreous lining; oper¬
culum paucispiral.
Sp. Litorina litorea (Common Periwinkle).—This well-
known univalve lives in the lowest zones of sea-weed be¬
tween the tide-marks; it is oviparous, and is used for food.
Litorina. rudis.—This species is viviparous, and as the
young acquire a calcareous shell before exclusion, it is not
eaten; it frequents a higher zone than the common peri¬
winkle. The sides of the grooved foot advance alternately
in progression.
Genus Solarium, Lam. {Stair-case Shell).—To a sub¬
genus of this group {Torinia, Gray) belongs the Mollusk
with the spiral turriform operculum, fig. 56.
Genus PiiORUS, Montfbrt ( Carrier-Shell).—The propriety
of separating the “ carrier-shells” from the Trochi, which
they resemble in shape, has been proved by the discovery
of two living species, in both of which the soft parts are
distinct from those of Trochus proper. Except in that the
eyes are not raised on pedicles, the outward form of the
animal is similar to that of Strombus, which Phorus resem¬
bles also in its mode of progression, but its true affinities
are with the Litorinidce.
The animal of Phorus (fig. 78) is very slender in pro-
Fig. 78.
Phorus exutus.
portion to the size of the aperture of the shell. The foot
is divided into two parts, of which the anterior one is ex¬
panded, subservient to the purposes of locomotion, and the
hinder one supports a large horny operculum /, which is
partially free, as in Solarium. The proboscis a is very pro¬
minently developed and annulate; and the tentacles b
are long and tapering, with the eyes c sessile on the outside
of their base. The portion of the mantle lining the aper¬
ture of the shell is vascular, thin, and delicate, extending
over the front and outer lip, which is often much produced
and uneven in outline, especially in Phorus exutus (fig. 78).
“ The Phori invariably inhabit rough places incapable of
accommodating a gliding motion, and their mode of pro¬
gression, like that of the Strombi, is by little jumps. Each
species has its own peculiar manner of collecting the debris
of shells or pebbles which cover the ground it inhabits, and
each has, to a certain extent, its peculiar kind of debris.”
(Adams.)
In Phorus Solarioides, Adams, the animal is character-
1 Guide to the Systematic Distribution of the Mollusca in the British Museum, 8vo, 1857, p. 117.
MOLL
Gastero- ized by numerous circular striae, the tentacles are laterally
poda. compressed and rather prismatic, the proboscis is long and
transversely wrinkled, yellow at the tip and on the under
surface, but pink between the tentacles, which are straight,
rigid, and opaque dead-white; the eyes are black and con¬
spicuous. Hab. China Sea.
As compared with the Calyptreidce the carrier-shell
have a divided Stromb~Y\ke operculated foot, are of active
habits, and produce a regular convoluted shell, whilst the
cup-and-saucer shells have a simple foot, live attached to
foreign bodies, seem rarely to perform the act of progression,
have no operculum, unless the rare secretion of a calcareous
plate to the place of attachment can be regarded as the
homologue of one, and the spiral type is not carried out in
the completion of the adult shell.
Family V.—TURRITELLIDA:, Woodward.
Head with a short proboscis; eyes sunk in the outside
of the base of the tentacles ; margin of the mantle fringed ;
foot short; branchia single. Shell tubular or spiral, apex
partitioned off; aperture circular, entire ; operculum horny
multispiral. To this family belong the “turret-shells” (Tur-
ritella, Lam.), the “worm-shells” (Vermetus and Magilus),
and the wentle-traps (Scalaria, Lam.), of which the once
rare and highly-prized Scalaria pretiosa is a beautiful exam¬
ple. The wentle-traps exude a purple fluid when molested.
In the Vermetus of Adanson (the Serpula lumbricalis
of Linnaeus) the tubular shell is thin, divided by partitions,
with the spire adhering at the apex ; elsewhere it is loose.
The aperture is orbicular, with the margins connected. The
head supports two tentacles, which are oculiferous exter¬
nally at the base. The posterior appendage of the body is
bent downwards, and is mostly furnished with an operculum.
The branchiae are arranged in a conical series, at the left
side of the respiratory cavity.
The peculiar solidification of the elongated shell of the
adult Magilus has already been mentioned. In both the
above genera of tube or worm shells the shell has the form
of a regular spiral univalve when the animal is young.
Magilus inhabits madreporic masses in the Red Sea ; by its
anatomy it is nearly allied to the whelk family [Buccinidce).
Family VI.—CERITHIADiE, Woodward.
Head with a short non-retractile muzzle ; tentacles with
the eyes at their apex (fig. 79), or supporting them on short
peduncles ; margin of the mantle with a rudimentary si-
phonal fold. Shell spiral, elongate, and many-whirled;
aperture oval, oblique, with a short truncate or recurved
canal in front; operculum horny and spiral. About 100
living species of Cerithium are known ; they have a world¬
wide distribution, but flourish best in the tropics. They
live in great part in the sea, partly in brackish water or at
the mouths of rivers. The fossil species, which are still
most numerous (upwards of 400 have been defined), are
almost all limited to the Tertiary formations. Amongst
these Cerithium giganteum deserves to be noticed, a
species found in France near Grignon.
The animal of Cerithium obtusum, Lam. (fig. 79), cap¬
tured by Mr
Adams at the
mouths of rivers
in Borneo, “has
a broad, subor-
bicular, and ex¬
panded foot, and
and an elongat¬
ed, subcylindri- rig. 79.
Cal annulated Cerithium obtusum.
trunk of a light brown colour, with three rather broad,
U S C A. 383
well-defined, opaque, yellow lines extending along its upper Gastero-
surface, the central one of which extends from the head to Poda-
very near the extremity of the proboscis, where it is bifid,
the two forks diverging ; the two lateral lines are shorter,
not bifid at their extremities, and reach forward on the head
to within a little distance of the origin of the tentacles;
the tentacles are very short, annulated, with the eyes
(which are small, though with a distinct iris and pupil)
situated at their tip, w hereas they are mostly placed on tu¬
bercles situated on the outer side of the base of the ten¬
tacles, or on the tentacles themselves at a little distance
from their origin. The foot is of a light pinky brown on
its upper surface, mottled with a deep rich brown, and on
the under surface is lilac.”
The Cerithia obtusa live in brackish water in mangrove-
swamps and the mouths of rivers in Singapore and Borneo.
Sometimes they crawl on the stones and leaves in the
neighbourhood, and are not unfrequently found suspended
by glutinous threads to boughs and the roots of the man¬
groves. The operculum is round, horny, with a central
nucleus and concentric elements; it is semitransparent,
and borne upon the posterior part of the foot at its extreme
end. When the animal hybernates it retracts itself into
the shell, and brings its operculum to fit closely into the
aperture, after having previously affixed sixty or seventy
glassy, transparent, glutinous threads to the place of at¬
tachment, when they occupy the outer or right lip, and
extend half-way round the operculum.
“ A species of Cyclostoma {Megalomastoma suspensum,
Guilding) was found by the Rev. Lansdowne Guilding at
the Island of St Vincent, suspended in like manner from
the trees; and Rissoa parva has been observed by Mr
Gray, upon our own shores {Pro. Zool. Soc. 1833, p. 116),
to have the power of emitting a glutinous thread by
which it attaches itself to floating sea-weeds.
“ There is a very handsome Cerithium closely allied to the
foregoing, which I have frequently found crawling languidly
on the leaves of the Pontedera and sedges in the fluvia-
tile marshes on the banks of the rivers in many parts of
Borneo, and many miles in the interior where the water
is perfectly fresh, and which has the eyes likewise termi¬
nal and the proboscis marked with crimson and yellow; the
foot is very dark brown, and has a vivid scarlet line ex¬
tending round the lower margin. The position of the eye
varies considerably in this group. In an amphibious Bor¬
nean species, allied to C. decollatum, they are terminal at
the end of peduncles; in other words, the tentacles are
connate with the eye-peduncles for the whole of their ex¬
tent. In C. microptera the tentacles extend a third be¬
yond the eye-peduncles; in C. decollatum the eye-pedun¬
cles are truncated, with the eyes at the end, while the ten¬
tacle extends beyond them in the form of a minute fila¬
ment; all these species have circular multispiral opercula.”1
The foregoing evidence of the living habits of the Cerithia
has much interest in relation to the tertiary extinct species.
Family VII.—PYRAMIDELLIDiE, Woodward.
Head with broad ear-shaped tentacles, often connate,
with the eyes at their base ; proboscis retractile ; foot trun¬
cate anteriorly. Shell spiral, turreted; aperture small;
columella with one or more prominent plaits; operculum
horny, imbricated.
Genus Eulima, Risso.—“ The head of Eulima is small,
with the tentacles subulate and close together at the base,
where they are rather swollen. The eyes are situated at
the back of the head, behind the tentacles. The foot is
rather expanded, especially at the sides, and is furnished
with an ovate subspiral operculum. The polish of the
shell is occasioned by the front edge of the mantle being
1 Zoology of the Samarang, p. 43.
384 M 0 L L
Gastero- extended over it; the lobes are, however, difficult to ob-
poda. serve, in consequence of the extreme timidity of the animal
in speedily retracting them when disturbed. The soft
parts of Eulima major are, like the shell, of an opaque
pearly white, except that the tentacles are delicately tinged
with orange in the middle and with yellow at the tip. The
eyes, which are black, are usually concealed beneath the
front of the shell, the tentacles only protruding. The foot
is in advance of the head when the animal is creeping.
Genus Stylina, Fleming (Stylifer, Brod.)
Sp. Stylina astericola.—This little Gastropod is re¬
markable for its parasitic habits, being commonly found
immersed in the body of living star-fishes, or attached to
the spines of sea-urchins. The mantle is thick and re¬
flected over the body-whirl of the shell. The foot is much
produced beyond the head, but is very little extended
behind.
Family VIII.—NATICIDiE, Woodward.
Animal with a long retractile proboscis ; tentacles often
connate with an expansion of the head ; foot large ; man¬
tle-lobes reflected over more or less of the shell; this is
globular and with few whirls. Spire short and obtuse;
aperture semilunar.
Genus Natica, Lam.—The Natica melanostoma (fig.
80) is furnished with a strong coriaceous foot d, well de-
Fig. 80.
Natica melanostoma.
veloped in front, where it forms a fold a, which can be re¬
flected back upon the head. By means of this the animal
perforates the sand, while its tentacles are protected; but
when the tide rises and covers the sands, the large side
lobes and dilated hind part of the foot are expanded, and
the Natica flaps along above the sand. A great peculi¬
arity in the animal of this family is the existence of an
operculigerous lobe h, which in the polished species nearly
covers the shell, and is seen in our figure mounting up be¬
hind and partly covering the sides. In Sigaretus this
lobe is extended entirely across, and covers the shell,
while the operculum is rudimentary; in Lamellaria it not
only incloses the shell, but extends beyond it in front.
Section 2.—SIPHONOSTOMATA, Cuvier,
Margin of the mantle prolonged into a siphon, by which
water is conveyed into the branchial chamber. Shell
spiral; aperture notched or produced into a canal in
front; operculum horny, lamellar, rarely wanting. Most
of this section are carnivorous.
Family L—CYPICEIDJ3.
(Cowries.')
Head with a proboscis (fig. 48, a), two long subulate
tentacles b, with the eyes c usually at some distance from the
base; foot d long and broad, truncate in front; mantle
with side-lobes which can be reflected over the shell. These
lobes, in most species, are beset with tentacles, often
branched. The shell is richly enamelled by the secretion
of the pallial lobes. It is convolute, with the spire con¬
cealed in the adult; the aperture narrow, enamelled at
U S C A.
each end ; the outer lip, in the adult, thickened and in- Gastero-
flected; often transversely crenate; no operculum. In pocia.
the young of Cyprcea the shell has a thin and sharp outer
lip, a short but conspicuous spire, and a thin periostracum ;
the spire becomes concealed by the subsequent enamel
deposits from the reflected mantle-lobes; the line along
which these meet at the back of the skull is usually indi¬
cated by a pale line on the shell.
Sp. Cyprcea tigris (Tiger Cowry) (fig. 48).
Sp. Cyprcea moneta (Money Cowry).—Of this little
shell many tons’ weight are annually imported into Eng¬
land, for the purpose of barter with the negroes of the
west coast of Africa.
Genus Ovulum, Brug.—This group of cowries has been
separated from Cyprcea proper on some characters of the
shell which are barely of sub-generic value. In the Ovu¬
lum volva, or “ weaver’s shuttle shell,” the mantle is fur¬
nished near the edge with a row of dark tubercles. A
living specimen was taken by Mr Adams from a rocky
coral bottom off the Island of Basilan, in the Mindoro Sea.
It was languid in its movements, with the foot narrow, and
folded longitudinally upon the slender coral branches along
which it slowly glided.
The Ovulum verrucosum (fig. 81) approaches nearer
to the type of Cy-
prcea, having the
mantle h partially
lobed on each side ;
but it does not
wholly cover the
shell. The foot dd
is flat and expand¬
ed ; it is spotted
black, on a white fig- 81.
groundlike the man- Ovulum verrucosum.
tie. The tentacles b are subulate, of a pure white, with
black extremities; the eyes are on the outer side of
their base. The longest slope and narrowest end is the
fore-part of the shell.
This species is a sluggish, slow-moving Mollusk, not
more sensible to alarm than the true cowries.
The specimen figured was captured at Mindoro, one of
the Philippine Islands, on a sandy bottom, by Mr Adams.
Family II.—-VOLUTIDiE, Woodward.
Head with tentacles supporting eyes near their base ;
foot very large, partly covering the shell when out of
water; mantle in some genera reflected upon the shell;
siphon recurved. The shell turretted or convolute ; aperture
notched in front; columella obliquely plaited; no operculum.
Genus Marginella.—In this genus, as in Cyprcea, the
outer lip of the shell becomes thickened at the border (fig.
82), the spire becomes nearly or quite concealed, and the
outer surface is enamelled.
Sp. Marginella undulata, Deshayes (fig. 82). This
species was taken alive by Mr Adams from a sandy bot¬
tom in the east coast of Africa. The proboscis a, tentacles
b, the siphon, the foot d, and the mantle, are mottled with
carmine on a yellowish ground, the border of the mantle
bearing large crimson spots.
In the Marginella diadochus, Ad., the tentacles are yel¬
lowish with a row of marble crimsoned spots, the eyes
black and minute, the mantle pale, semi-transparent, ot a
pinkish yellow, with a row of semioval crimson spots round
the thin free edge, the remainder being covered with radi¬
ating linear spots and short waved lines ol a crimson colour;
siphon marbled with crimson; foot of a delicate yellowish-
pink, marked with deep crimson rays. 1 lie shell is of a
bright olive carnelian hue, conspicuously encircled at irre¬
gular intervals with broad black lines, having almost the
M 0 L L U S C A.
Gastero- consistency of bands. This species was captvired in the
poda. Straits of Sunda, from a sandy bottom, at a depth of about
three fathoms.
The tentacles of the Marginellee. appear to vary in dif¬
rig. 82.
Marginella undulata.
ferent species. In those observed by M. Deshayes on the
shores of the Mediterranean the tentacles are described as
being short, whilst in this and the preceding species they
are slender and elongated. The eyes of the Marginella
diadochus are more pedunculated than those of M. un¬
dulata (Adams).
Genus Voluta, Linn., Lam.—In this genus the siphon
has a lobe on each side near the base ; the shell is ventri-
cose, thick, with a short spire, having a mammillated apex.
The aperture is large, deeply notched in front; columella
plaited.
A beautiful species {Voluta dbyssicold) was discovered
by Mr Adams at the Cape of Good Hope.
“ This elaborately carved species is one of considerable
interest in a geological point of view, from the circum¬
stance of its being the first living representative yet dis¬
covered of a group of highly sculptured Volutes abounding
in the Eocene portion of the Tertiary beds of the British
Isles. The principal of these, V. lima, elevata, crenulata,
and digitalina, were distinguished by Mr Swainson as a
sub-genus, under the name Volutilithes. The Voluta abys-
sicola is not identical in species with the fossils, being cha¬
racterized by a closer and more sharply-defined pattern of
lattice-work, which comprises as many as thirty transverse,
and forty longitudinal ridges in a whirl. The upper
edge of the whirls is depressly flattened at the sutures,
forming a narrow ascending canal. The ridges are slightly
nodulous at the point of crossing, and round the upper ex¬
tremity impart a coronated aspect to the shell. The co-
lumellar plaits, four in number, are sharp and delicate.
The outer lip is thin, and does not appear to be mature.
The only specimen collected was dredged from a bank of
dead shells and rounded iron-stones, at the depth of 132
fathoms.” (Adams.)
Genus Mitra, Lam. {Mitre Shells).—The animal of
Mitra has in general a very short foot, straight and con¬
tinuous from side to side in some species, but in others
notched and produced, with a thickened anterior margin.
It is commonly narrow and rounded, or acuminated pos¬
teriorly, and it bears a very small semi-transparent horny
VOL. xv.
385
operculum, in some instances scarcely visible. The siphon Oastero-
is mostly directed forwards, and the somewhat short taper- Poda-
ing tentacles have the eyes either situated about half-way,
or they are placed on the outer side of the base. The
head is long and very flat, and the tentacles
are very close together at their bases. The
proboscis is rarely exserted when they are
crawling and lively, but as they become
languid after capture it becomes distended
with water and protrudes considerably. The
animal of Mitra Jlammigera, one of the deep¬
water species, is very prettily marked. The
body is gray, varied with round, well-de¬
fined white spots, and dark-brown blotches,
of a pyramidal form, arranged in a row
round the lower edge in a Vandyke pattern,
and below that a white rim with a row of
small, linear, horizontal black spots; the head
is white, marbled with gray-brown ; the eyes
black, and the tentacles white, with a large
oval black spot in their middle ; the siphon
is brown, edged with black, and with a broad
white band at its free extremity. The oper¬
culum is very minute, horny, and trans¬
parent. Hab. Caramata Passage; 14 fa¬
thoms, hard muddy bottom, mixed with sand
and broken shells.
Another species, with the same habits,
the Mitra interlirata, is semiopaque, white,
faintly mottled with light brown, with the
eyes at the outer base of the tentacles, and
black. Hab. China Sea; 10 fathoms.
“ The animal of that division of the genus which Swain¬
son included under Conohelix is the same as in the typical
species. I have found the Mitra conus buried rather
deep in the soft black mud under the roots of trees in
mangrove swamps, above high-water mark, in the Island
of Basilan. The M. conica is found in company with other
species of mitres, crawling slowly over the sandy mud in
shallow places, among the islands of the Philippine
group.
“ Although M. Quoy has rightly termed the Mitra an
‘ animale apathique,’ I have seen the small longitudinally-
ribbed species crawl about pretty briskly over the smooth
sand among the low coral islands. The Mitra episcopalis,
probably on account of the small size of its locomotive disc,
and the ponderous nature of its long shell, is a very slug¬
gish Mollusk. I have observed some of the Auricula-
shaped mitres that live among the Philippines, in the shal¬
low pools left by the receding tide, crawling about the
stones out of the water, in company with Planaxis and
Quoyia. The Mitres, like many of the large Volutes,
prefer, however, to associate together, and may be seen in
dozens crawling over the sandy mud-flats in shallow water,
being most active just as the flood-tide makes. When the
tide recedes, they bury themselves superficially in the
yielding soil, and are with difficulty discovered. Some of
the small-ribbed species cover themselves entirely with the
sandy mud, and in that disguised condition travel about
with comparative security. On one occasion, on the small
island of Ambolan, at the south end of Mindoro, I was
walking up to my ankles over a firm sandy mud-flat, tak¬
ing little notice of the Cones, Strombi, Meleagrince, and
Volutes, which people the water in great numbers, but
looking about anxiously for the rarer mitres, when I first
perceived these small species, under their ingenious dis¬
guise, marching in towards the shore as the tide flowed
rapidly over the level surface. Persons, by the way, should
never venture in places of this description barefooted, as
there is a species of Pinna which buries its sharp end in
the mud, but leaves the thin trenchant edges of the gaping
3 c
386
MOLLUSC A.
Gastero- extremity exposed, and when trodden on, inflicts very deep
poda. an(j painful incised wounds. Both myself and several of
the boat’s crew suffered in this way.”
“ The Philippine Islands would seem to harbour the
greatest number of these elegant and beautiful shells, al¬
though a great many species were obtained by Mr Cum¬
ing in tropical America. They appear to be chiefly con¬
fined to the equatorial regions, scarcely any being natives
of cold climates. I have met with several among the Meia-
co-shima Islands, at Loo-Choo, at Japan, and at the Keel¬
ing or Cocos Islands. They are most frequently to be
met with in somewhat shallow water among the ledges of
rocks, between small islands where the water barely covers
the land, and within the shelter of coral reefs ; sometimes
preferring a clear sandy bottom, and sometimes affecting
a hard muddy sandy soil. The transversely ribbed species
are frequently found in very deep water, and many were
dredged by us in 20 and 30 fathoms at Sooloo and in the
China Sea.” (Adams.)
Family III.—BUCCINIDiE.
{Whelks and their allies.)
Branchiae two. Predatory on other Mollusks.
Genus Ancillakia, Lam.—“ The animal of Ancillaria
(fig. 83) is voluminous, covering the entire shell, with the
exception of the
spire. The head,
which is entirely
concealed by the
reflected portions of
the foot, consists of
a short, inflated,
cylindrical, annulat-
ed proboscis, above
which is a semilunar
veil formed by the
dilatation and union
cation of eyes. The mantle lines the shell, and is pro¬
duced anteriorly into a long siphon. The foot is large
and bursiform, the side-edges being greatly extended and
reflected over the shell, meeting in the middle on the
back. As in Oliva, it is deeply fissured anteriorly, form¬
ing a semilunar disc before the head, divided by a deep
longitudinal groove into two lateral, triangular lobes, acu¬
minated transversely; posteriorly it is bilobed, and is
either without an operculum, or is provided with a thin,
horny, unguiform one, with apical nucleus, semilunar striae,
and an oval muscular impression.
“ Sp. Ancillaria obtusa (fig. 83) (Swainson, Journ. Sci.
Lit. and Arts, vol. xviii., p. 282 ; Sowerby, species Con-
chiliorum, Anc., p. o, fig. 24, 25).—Hab. east coast of
Africa, below Port Natal. The specimen taken alive at
the above-named locality was of a dirty white colour, marked
with dull brown elongated blotches, distributed with scarcely
so much regularity as represented in our figure. The oper¬
culum is shown above the chief figure.
“ The Ancillarice resemble the Olivce in their habits,
dwelling among the smooth sands in which they frequently
bury themselves. They crawl with a quick sliding motion,
and, as they glide briskly along, the tubular cylindrical
siphon only is visible, directed backwards and upwards, and
even laid flat upon the back; the alar expansions of the
foot slightly overlap each other in the middle, and, ex¬
tending considerably beyond the spire, form posteriorly a
loose open sac. It is possible that the dilated lobes of the
foot are sometimes extended and serve for swimming, as
D’Orbigny has observed in Oliva Tehuelchana (Voy.
Amer. Merid. Moll., p. 419, A. A.).” (Adams.)
Genus Dolium, Lam. (Tuns).—Head with a long pro¬
boscis (fig. 49, a) ; tentacles b subulate, with the eyes at the
outer side of their base; siphon h slender, canaliculate; Gastero-
intromittent organ y in the male very large, grooved, poda.
bent, with a plicate glans ; foot d produced in front of the
head without an operculum; pallial border * entire. Shell
ventricose, spirally furrowed; spire small; aperture very
large ; outer lip crenate.
Sp. Dolium galea (Helmet-Tun), fig. 49.—Shell and
soft parts. About fourteen species have been character¬
ized. The helmet-tun is a native of the Mediterranean ;
but most of the species are from warmer seas, as those of
Ceylon, China, Australia, and Polynesia. They affect reefs
and rocky beds, and some of the species acquire a great size.
Genus Columbella, Lam.—The animal of Colum-
bella has a long and somewhat narrow vertically depressed
head, with the eyes sometimes placed on the outer side of
the base of the tentacles, and sometimes on the outer side
of reflected prominences, situated at some little distance
from the head. The siphon, long and directed forwards,
is considerably dilated at the anterior extremity. The foot
is short and pointed posteriorly, and bears a small, semi¬
transparent, horny operculum, with concentric elements.
Anteriorly the foot is often considerably produced beyond
the head, where it forms a long, thick, flattened, fleshy,
finger-like process. Some¬
times it is expanded la¬
terally, when it is trun¬
cate anteriorly and fur¬
nished with two lateral
angular processes.
Sp. Columbella tceni-
ata (fig. 84). — Hab.
Borneo. Fi?.84.
There are two fillets Columbella tceniata.
of square red-brown spots on each whirl, the lower of
which is concealed in all but the last whirl. The Colum-
bellae live in shallow water, on sandy flats, or congregating
about stones.
Genus Harpa, Lam. (Harp-Shells).—The animal of
Harpa has a very large foot (fig. 85, d), semicircular ante-
Fig. 85.
Harpa ventricosa.
riorly, divided by lateral fissures from the posterior part e,
which does not bear an operculum, and is said to be spon¬
taneously detached when the animal is molested ; tentacles
b conical, with the eyes at the outer side of tne base;
siphon h cylindrical, elongate. Shell ventricose, with
ribs at regular intervals; spire short; aperture large,
notched in front.
Sp. Harpa ventricosa, Lam. {Buccinum Harpa, Linn.)
—Hab. Mauritius. The harp-shells are natives of tropi¬
cal zones, occurring in the Indian and Pacific Oceans.
They are generally brought up from deep water and soft
or sandy beds.
Genus Buccinum, Lam. {Whelks).—The whelks have
a lamellar operculum, with the nucleus external, or sub¬
central within the outer margin. Shell ovate ; spire mo¬
derate ; mouth oblong; outer lip rather sinuous; pillar
Fig. 83.
Ancillaria obtusa.
of the tentacles; there is no indi-
MOLLUSC A.
387
Gastero¬
poda.
rounded; operculum ovate. The silicious teeth of the
long tooth-strap are arranged in transverse rows of three, the
central or “rachidian” tooth hav¬
ing seven points; the lateral
teeth hook-shaped, with the
scape tridentate. The animals
of Buccinum undatum and
Chrysodomus antiquus are both
vended for food in the streets
of London under the name of
“ whelks.” They are also dredg¬
ed for bait. The nidamental cap¬
sules of the Buccinum undatum
are figured in cut 92. (For the
anatomy of the whelk see Cuvier,
Ann. du Mm. xi., pp. 447-457;
Mem. s. 1. Mollusq., No. 17.)
Genus Eburna, Lam. [Ivory-
Shells).—An instructive drawing
was made of the living Eburna
areolata, Lamarck, during the
voyage of the Samarang. It is
described as follows by Mr
Adams:—
“ Sp. Eburna areolata, Lam. (fig. 86) [Eburna tesselata,
Swainson).—Head flat, extended ; tentacles very long and
slender; eyes c consisting of a yellow iris and black
pupil, mounted upon pedunculated swellings on the outer
base of the tentacles; siphon K large, fleshy, and slightly
curved; foot d long, fleshy, and robust, acuminated be¬
hind and carrying a horny operculum f. Colour dull
pinkish-white, sprinkled with large, light brown, irregular
blotches; siphon and tentacles mottled with spots of the
same colour.” (Adams.)
The shells of the Eburnce are dense and smooth, hav¬
ing usually lost their periostracum. When recent they
bear dark-red spots on a pure white ground. They have
been dredged from fourteen fathoms, and are pretty
Fig. 86.
Eburna areolata.
widely distributed; occurring at the Cape of Good Hope,
the Red Sea, the Indian Ocean, Japan, China, and Aus¬
tralia.
Family IV.—MURICIDA:, Woodward.
Animal with a broad foot, much expanded in some; eyes
sessile on the tentacles at or near their base; branchise
two. Shell with a straight anterior canal; aperture entire
behind.
GWimsMurex, Linn. [Bock-Shells).—“ Shell ornamented Gastero-
with three or more continuous varices; aperture rounded ; poda.
Fig. 87.
Ficula laevigata.
beak often very long ; canal partly closed; operculum con¬
centric ; nucleus subspiral. The Murices appear to form
only one-third of a whirl annually, ending in a varix ;
some species have intermediate varices of less extent.
The ancients obtained their purple dye from species of
Murex; the small shells were bruised in mortars, the
animals of the larger ones taken out. Heaps of broken
shells of the M. trunculm, and caldron-shaped holes in the
rocks, may still be seen on the Tyrian shore (Wilde). On
the coast of the Morea there is similar evidence of the em¬
ployment of the M. brandaris for the same purpose (M.
Boblaye).” (Woodward.)
Genus Pyrula, Lam. [Ficula, Swainson, Fig-Shells).—
Head (fig. 87, C) elongated, slender, flattened ; tentacles
b long, subulate, placed at the sides of the
front, separated by a wide interval at their
base; eyes large, black, and sessile on the
outer side of the base of the tentacles ; siphon
a elongated, subcylindrical, and produced ;
mantle thin and membranous, produced on each
side into a rounded lobe h, equally reflexed
on each side over the shell ; foot d large,
expanded, rounded in front, rather produced on
each side of the front edge, expanded, broad
and tapering, and not furnished with any oper¬
culum.
Sp. Ficula Icevigata (fig. 87), (Reeve, Conch.
Icon., Ficula, pi. i., fig. 4 ; Bulla ficus, Linn.;
Pyrula ficus, Lamarck).—Head and neck pink,
varied with scattered yellow spots; mantle
bright pink, mottled with white and darker
pink; under surface of foot dark purple cho¬
colate, varied with yellow scattered spots.
Hab. Sooloo Sea, at the depth of 35 fathoms.
The dark chocolate colouring of the under sur¬
face of the foot presents a rich contrast with
the bright freckled pink of the upper.
Sp. Ficula reticulata (Reeve, Conch. Icon.,
Ficula, pi. i., fig. 1; Pyrula reticulata, Lamarck).—Head and
tentacles white ; mantle light pink, marbled and reticulated
with darker pink; foot pink, with six large opaque white spots
at about equal distances. Hab. west coast of Borneo;
from mud at a depth of about 17 fathoms. The head of
this species differs from that of the former in being colour¬
less. The mantle is characterized by the same pink reti¬
culated marbling as the foot.
“ The Ficula is a very lively animal when observed in its
388 MOLL
Gastero- native element, crawling along with considerable velocity,
poda. and, owing probably to the lightness of its shell, able to
^ m ^ ^ ascend the sides of a glass vessel, in which I had it captive,
with facility. The proboscis is rarely exserted when the
animal is in motion, but the long slender tentacles are
stretched out to their full extent.” (Adams.)
Family V.—STROMBIDiE, Woodward.
Animal (fig. 88) with pedunculate eyes c, and tentacles
b, from a common elongated ba^e; foot d narrow and
small, but produced, and subservient to active leaping move¬
ments, during which the shell oscillates from side to side;
operculum f narrow, pointed, and serrated on the outer
edge.
Genus Strombus, Linn. {Wing-Shells).—Shell subven-
tricose; spire short; outer lip dilated into a very ample
wing excised towards the canal by a sinus ; canal straight,
or inflected by the columella obliquely outwards ; canal
short, emarginate, or truncated ; sinus of outer lip distinct
from canal; in older shells this lip is expanded into a
wing, simple and entire. Strombus, Lam.
Sp. Strombus gigas, L. (Lister, Conch., tab. 863, fig. 18).
—Hab. West Indies. This species forms the largest known
univalve shell, weighing sometimes four or five pounds ; its
apex and spines become solidified by calcareous deposits with
age. From its occasional use as a garden ornament it has
been called “ fountain-shell.” Vast numbers are annually
imported from the Bahamas for the manufacture of cameos
and for porcelain works. Canal elongate ; sinus of outer lip
not contiguous to canal; the lip produced into digitate
laciniae. Pterocera, Lam.
Sp. Strombus Chiragra, L. (Lister, Conch., pi. 870, fig.
24); Strombusscorgius,^.^hxgQX\., Conch., 14, fig. b.)
Genus Rostellaria, Lam. (fig. 88).—Shell with a long
spire ; whirls numerous; canal subulate, extending behind
up the spire; sinus of outer lip contiguous to the canal.
The Eocene fossil species have the outer lip enormously
expanded.
Sp. Rostellaria rectirostris.—The subcylindrical an¬
nular proboscis (fig. 88, a) has a broad central dark-
bronze line, the edges of which are yellow, bordered with
vermilion ; eyes c deep blue, with black pupils, surmounted
on long cylindrical peduncles; tentacles b white, with a
narrow vermilion streak along their anterior surface ; body
cylindrical and much elongated, marked with red-brown
on the outer surface, white beneath; foot d narrow, rather
dilated and rounded in front, with a thickened anterior mar¬
gin, small and subquadrate behind, separated by a deep
notch from the lid-bearing part e; operculum f ovate-trian¬
gular, annular, horny, semitransparent.
The R. rectirostris, like the rest of the Strombidce,
progresses by bending the foot under the shell and sud-
U S C A.
denly straightening, which enables it to roll and leap over Gastero-
and over. (Adams, loc. cit.) P0^-
Genus Terebellum, Klein., Lam.—The discovery of the
living Terebellum has occasioned the removal of that genus
to this family, on account of its affinity with Strombus.
The eyes are pedunculated, and the mantle is characterized
by the same peculiar divided edge. In the narrow form of
the foot and proboscis-like head it is allied to Struthiolaria
and Aporrhais, and, like Oliva, the mantle has a long
filamentary cord winding into the sutures of the shell.
Sp. Terebellum subulatum (fig. 89), Lamarck {Anim.
Fig. 89.
Terebellum subulatum.
sans vert., Deshayes’ edit., vol. x., p. 584).—Hab. China
and Sooloo Archipelago.
“ The animal of Terebellum may be thus described:
Head proboscidiform (7; tentacles connate with the long
cylindrical eye-peduncles, at the ends of which are placed
the eyes b, b; mantle with the right edge reflexed over
the outer lip, produced in front into a short siphon a, and
furnished behind with three or four filaments, the inner
edge spread over the columella, and ending behind in a long
slender filament, which occupies, as in Oliva, the channelled
suture of the spire; foot large, ovate, fleshy, laterally
compressed, with a lobe at the fore part, rounded behind,
and bearing a minute, horny, triangular operculum/.
“ The eye-peduncles of this species are finely dotted with
brown, the proboscis and the fore part of the body is punc-
tulated with the same; the rest of the body is opake white,
with three large irregularly-shaped red-brown blotches on
the fore part; the under surface of the foot is light brown,
with a white subcruciate marking.
“ The Terebellum is extremely shy in its movements.
Poising its shell in a vertical position, and cautiously pro¬
truding its longest telescope-eye from the truncature in the
front of the shell, it will remain stationary until assured of
security. It will then use its pointed foot as a lever and
roll its shell over and over, progressing by a series of
irregular leaps. When removed from the water, before
dying, it will jump several inches from the ground. Mr
Cuming assures me his knowledge of the animal coincides
with my own experience, and that on one occasion he lost
a fine specijnen owing to its suddenly leaping from his
hand into the water. I have observed both the varieties of
this species alive. In the spotted variety, the muzzle is
reddish towards the tip, the body is opake pearly white, the
eye-peduncles mottled with dark red; in the common
variety there are three large red-brown blotches on the
fore part of the body.” (Adams.)
With these active forms of carnivorous Gastropods, we
seem to reach the summit of this branch of the great Mol¬
luscous tree.
The ova of the marine Gastropods are enveloped, before
exclusion, in mucous capsules, prepared by a special gland
situated near the termination of the oviduct. T he secretion
in some species is soft, flexible, and transparent; in most
it hardens by contact with the sea-water, and assumes various
definite and characteristic forms; the nidus is sometimes
simple, sometimes compound, but each compartment contains
MOLLUSC A.
389
Gastero- many ova; and the development of the embryo proceeds
poda. in the nidamental chamber until its own little defensive
shell is acquired.
In the terrestrial Gastropods the ova are usually spherical
and opaque, and separately extruded: snails and slugs
oviposit in the earth. The tropical Bulini1 cement leaves
together to form an artificial nest for their large eggs.
Fig. 90 is an outline of the egg of the Bulinus ovatus
of the natural size. The shell of the
embryo is an inch in length when it is
excluded. Specimens of both egg and
young of the species are preserved in
the Cumingian collection.
The ova of the sea-slug {Tritonid)
are expelled together in the form of a
long thread, and are arranged in a spiral
manner in the tenacious transparent
covering of the thread. In the Doris
muricata the ova are aggregated in a
flattened spirally disposed albuminous
band when excluded from the oviduct. Fig.90.
The harder albuminous capsules Buimus ovatus.
which defend the ova of other marine Gastropods offer a
great variety of forms, some of which are remarkable for
their complexity, others for their symmetry and beauty.
The nidamental sacs of the frail lanthina (fig. 91, b)
Fig. 91.
lanthina.
are of a flattened pyriform shape, composed of a delicate
reticulate film of albumen, and are attached by one ex¬
tremity to a float a, formed likewise by a secretion of al¬
buminous matter, dilated into a discoid group of cells filled
with air. To this float the parent lanthina commits her
little progeny, and having securely fastened their several
cradles or nursery cells she detaches the float, which bears
the ova to the surface, and sustains them where they may
best receive the full influence of solar light and heat. The
nidamental capsules of the Pyrula rapa2 are attached in
regular linear series to portions of decayed wood ; they are
of a flattened sub-conical figure, adhere by their apex, and
have their base emarginate. The nidamental capsules of
the whelk (fig. 92),
are common ob¬
jects on our sea¬
shore ; they are ag¬
gregated in large
irregular masses,
often attached to
portions of oyster-
shell; each cap¬
sule presents a de¬
pressed ovoid fig¬
ure, with one side Fig. 92.
convex, the Other Egg-capsules of the Whelk (Buccinum).
flat or concave. The upper figure opposite the left hand
shows the round hole in the inner side of the capsule,
whence the young has escaped ; the figure to the right is
the shell of the embryo magnified four diameters. (Wood¬
ward).3 The small nidamental cells of the cowry {Cyprea)
are aggregated in a flattened group. In the Turbinella
the cells are of a flattened subpentagonal form, and adhere
together, superimposed one upon the other, forming what
is termed a camerated nidus. Each chamber contains be¬
tween twenty and thirty embryos. The rudimental shell
is completely calcified and fitted to defend the little Gas¬
tropod before it emerges from the temporary shelter pro¬
vided for it by the parent. Numerous other modifications
of these secreted nests of the Gastropodous Mollusca might
be enumerated.
The development of the Gastropods has hitherto been
traced in a few apneustal, nudibranchiate, tectibranchiate,
pulmonate, and pectinibranchiate species ; and the results
show considerable modifications in its course and pheno¬
mena. Most Gastropods are oviparous; some species of
Litorina are ovo-viviparous; Paludina and Clausilia ven-
tricosa are viviparous.
With the singular exception observed in Buccinum, in
which the segmental or granular germ-mass from which
the embryo is developed results from a confluence of
numerous, perhaps fifty, previously distinct germ-masses
in the nidamental capsule, that germ-mass is due to pro¬
gressive segmentation of the yolk, the result of the usual
multiplication of germ-cells, which clothe themselves with
the so subdivided but coherent yolk-substance. One cell
in Pulmonata and Aplysia, indeed, is from the beginning
conspicuously larger than the rest, and has been called the
directive cell {richtungs-blaschen).
In all Gastropods the germ-mass takes the form of a
large round embryo, one end of which becomes indented
and clothed by ciliated epithelium, by which it rotates on
its axis in the albumen of the egg. Sars, who noted the
oviposition of the Tritonia Ascanii on the 1st of February
.1840, traced the segmentation of the yolk to the 8-fold
division on the 4th day, and the completion of the germ-
mass on the 8th day. The indentation producing the
bilobed end of the embryo took place on the 15th day ;
after which the ciliated lobes extended outwards, and as¬
sumed the form of wings or vela (fig. 93, c, c). Dr Grant
had long before discovered the
corresponding ciliated vela in
the embryos of Purpura, Tro-
chus, Nerita, Doris, and AEolis.
On the 20th day the rudiment
of the foot appeared beneath
the bases of the vela, and on
the 22d a transparent shell s
was developed, which covered
all the body save the ciliated
vela and foot. “ I could scarce believe my eyes,” writes
Sars, “when I made this discovery.” As the body and
shell enlarge and elongate, the cilia become stronger on the
lobes, and the active movements of the embryos, crossing
each other like midges in the clear albumen of the nida¬
mental band, offer a most singular spectacle; the vela now
move by muscular contraction, alternately approximating
and stretching outwards. On the hinder part of the foot
is an operculum (fig. 93,/), which closes the mouth of the
shell when the embryo retracts itself. Among the internal
organs the acoustic capsules appear first, then the eyes.
The tentacles next protrude, and the border of the mantle
appears. The mouth is established between the vela. On
the 36th day the stomach and a looped portion of intestine
come into view out of the germ-mass, the remnant of which
is chiefly changed in the hepatic and genital glands. A
longitudinal muscle for retracting the body into the shell
also now appears. During this course of development the
nidamental band has become, by endosmose of sea-water,
three times as thick as before. The albuminous substance
is absorbed by the embryos; they respire by the reaction
of their ciliated surface on the imbibed water. As they
Gastero¬
poda.
1 See Prep. 2943 B., Hunterian Physiological Series, Lend. Coll, of Surgeons. 2 lb., Prep. 2947 A.
3 lb., Preps. 2948 and 2949.
390 MOLL
Gastero- grow they with difficulty find room for their revolutions, and
Poda- between the 32d and 38th days rupture the delicate mem-
brane of their nest, and struggle out. They are now about
one-eighth of a line in length, and swim by ciliary action,
the vela being kept stiffly outstretched. They survived in
the vessels of daily renewed sea-water two weeks, then died,
their embryo shells floating on the surface.
The ova of the Aplysia are excluded in a long string,
enveloped by a transparent flexible mucus, in the centre of
which they are aggregated in several irregular series.
When examined at this period, the yolk has apparently
divided itself into six, seven, or more numerous globules,
or, in other words, as many germinal vesicles, included in
the same mass of albumen and in a common chorionic coat
have given origin to as many aggregations of vitelline cells.
These, therefore, may be regarded as so many independent
yolks, in each of which the same progressive fissiparous
multiplications have been observed as in the single vitellus
of the ovum of the Planorbis and of animals in general.
After the multiplication of the globules has gone on to a
certain point, two of them, of larger size than the rest,
indicate, one the seat of the future branchial organs, the
other that of the muscular mass.
The ciliated epithelium, with which the vitellus is now
almost entirely covered, occasions the usual rotations of that
body. The process of transformation of this monad-like
embryo to the gastropodous form resembles closely that
which has been described in Tritonia. The remains of the
vitelline mass not yet metamorphosed into special organs
indicate the expanded alimentary sac. The rudimental foot,
and the velum with its strongly ciliated border, protrude
from a rudimental, thin, pellucid, and flexible shell, which
covers all the rest of the surface of the body. The embryo
describes elliptical revolutions in the chorionic cavity. As
development proceeds and the embryo increases in size,
the shell acquires a more distinctly turbinated form, and is
slightly bent out of its vertical plane. An operculum is
formed upon the protruded surface of the foot. The course
of internal development accords with that in Tritonia.
The ciliated branchial surface begins to be withdrawn
more into the interior; and in this state, protected com¬
pletely by an external shell, the young Aplysia is launched
into the ocean.
Truly may the subsequent growth, which effects an
entirely internal position of the shell, with such a mutation
of its form that the primitive nucleus can scarcely be de¬
tected upon the almost flattened plate, now destined to
protect the equally internal respiratory organs of the mature
animal,—-justify us in applying to it the term “ metamor¬
phosis.” This term is still more applicable to the develop¬
mental phenomena in the Tritonia and Dons, since these
Gastropods, which are not only naked like the Aplysia,
but are devoid of any internal rudiment of a shell, are
yet provided with a delicate, little, operculated, nautiloid,
horny, external shell, in their young state. The same
general course of development in which the embryo or
larval Mollusk is provided with the ciliated lobes and oper¬
culated shell, has been traced by Loven in AEolis, Bulla,
Cerithium ; by Lund in Murex and Natica ; by Nordmann
in Tergipes; by Allman and Vogt in ActcEon ; by Carus
in Pteropods ; and by Siebold in Vermetus. Rudiments
of the vela are retained in Tergipes, AEolis, Doris, Tri¬
tonia, and Aplysia ; and in Thetys they continue in almost
their primitive form and proportions, unless the broad head-
lobes of the adult be substituted for the embryonal vela, as
is the case with the fins of the Pteropods; otherwise the
little Cymbulia, with its delicate, symmetrical shell (fig.
39), would represent a persistent embryo form of the higher
Gastropodous Encephala.
U S C A.
Professor Muller has detected ova and embryos of a Cephalo-
Gastropod, which he believes to belong to a species of poda.
Natica, within the body of the Synapta digitata. They *v^-
were contained in elongated sacs, firmly attached or fused
at one end to the head, at the other end to the gut, of the
Synapta. The upper portion of the sac contains both sper¬
matozoa (like those of Natica) and ova; the lower portion
of the sac was intus-suscepted with a blind end, and this
contained the ova, with developed embryos, according to
the velated type. This remarkable discovery indicates
some singular parasitic habit in the generative economy of
the Mollusk.
The development of the pulmonated Gastropods proceeds
without any such metamorphosis as that, above described.
In the testaceous species its course has been ably traced
by Prevost and Dumortier in Limnea, by Pfeiffer in
Helix, by Jacquemin and Quatrefages in Planorbis, and
by Oscar Schmidt and Gegenbauer in Helix, Clausilia,
and Limax.
The whole yolk is transmuted into a germ-mass. This
becomes partially divided into a pallial or visceral and a
pedial or somatal lobe. The fore part of the pallial portion
dilates into a contractile sac, by Gegenbauer deemed the
homologue of the “ velum ” of pectinibranchiate embryos.
A similar contractile sac is formed at the end of the pedial
lobe ; and the contractions of the two sacs alternate, pro¬
ducing a flux and reflux of fluid pabulum before the heart
is developed. A peculiar gland is attached to the pallial
sac. The first granular rudiments of the shell are deposited
in the substance of the mantle. The anterior tentacles
and the parts about the mouth are the last to be completed.
CLASS VI.—CEPHALOPODA, Cuvier.
Encephalous Mollusks, with locomotive and prehensile
organs radiating from the head; dioecious and ametabolian.
Animal divided into a somatal and pallial (fig. 94, m, o)
portion. The former is chiefly muscular (fig. 94,/, h). It
contains the organs of sense, mastication, and deglutition,
and supports the organs of prehension and the chief powers
of locomotion. It is called the “ head ” (fig. 97, a, c).
The pallial division (fig. 97, a, bb), termed “ trunk,” or
abdomen, consists of a more or less muscular sac or mantle,
with a transverse anterior aperture, from which an expira¬
tory siphon or “ funnel ” projects ; and it contains the
respiratory, generative, and digestive organs. The branchiae
are pinnatifid and concealed. The sexes are distinct. All
Cephalopods are oviparous. As far as observation has ex¬
tended, a part only of the yolk is assimilated into a germ-
mass ; and development is progressive, without metamor¬
phosis, to the completion of the miniature Cephalopod in ovo.1
Order L—TETRABRANCHIATA, Owen.
Branchiae in two pairs, without branchial hearts; fun¬
nel formed by a convolute muscular plate ; mantle thin,
and feebly muscular; no ink-bag; arms very numerous,
hollow, and with retractile tentacula; mandibles with cal¬
careous tips; eyes pedunculate; head retractile, within a
shell, which is external, many-chambered, siphunculate,
the outer layers porcellaneous, the inner layers and parti¬
tions nacreous.
Genus Nautilus, Linn.—Shell discoid, symmetrical,
with the apertures, sutures, and siphuncle, simple. The
anatomical characters of the order are also those of the sole
existing genus. It is the representative of numerous
genera and species of chambered Cephalopods that abounded
in the Palaeozoic and Secondary periods, but which seem to
1 See Kolliker’s masterly Entwickelungsgeschichte der Cephalopoden, 4to, 1844.
MOLL
Cephalo* have been superseded, as carnivorous Mollusks, in the Ter-
P0<la- tiary and recent periods, by the Pectinibranchiate Gastropods.
The organization of the Pearly Nautilus {Nautilus Pom-
pilius), first made known in 1832,1 throws light upon that
of the extinct Ammonites, Orthoceratites, Lituites, Turriidts,
&c., and possesses, therefore, an extrinsic interest, besides
that which arises from the peculiar modifications of Mol¬
luscous structure which it presents. The soft parts (fig. 94,
t, o) form an oblong mass, divided by a constriction into two
slightly unequal segments; the posterior (m to 6) is smoothly
rounded, soft, and membranous, containing the viscera,
and adapted to the last chamber of the shell; the anterior
(wi to t) is densely muscular, and includes the organs of
sense and locomotion. It can be retracted within that
chamber, as is shown in fig. 94, which is here selected as
Fig. 94.
Nautilus Pompilius.
showing the relations of the soft parts of the Pearly Nautilus
to the shell in a specimen in which those relations had
never been disturbed. The subject dissected and described
by Professor Owen in 1832 consisted of the soft parts
only, and their relations to the shell were determined on
anatomical grounds, as they are illustrated in plate 1 of the
Memoir above cited. The author’s deductions were con¬
tested by Dr Gray, in the Philosophical Transactions
for 1833, p.774; by Professor R. Grant, in the Lancet,
1833, pp. 506 and 509; and by M. de Blainville, in the
Nouvelles Annales du Museum, tom. Hi., p. 7. The second
specimen of the Pearly Nautilus, which was brought to
Europe in 1838, consisted also of the soft parts only. It
was described by Professor Valenciennes,2 who adopted
Professor Owen’s conclusions as to their relative position
to the shell. The third specimen, brought to England by
Captain Sir Edward Belcher, R.N., in 1842, was contained
in the shell, but not attached. It had been taken out, and
been replaced in the position it originally occupied, accord¬
ing to Sir E. Belcher’s convictions. That position agreed
with the figure in plate 1 of Professor Owen’s Memoir. The
present figure, from a drawing in the possession of Dr Gray,
F.R.S., is from a specimen in the British Museum, naturally
attached to and retracted within the shell, a portion of
which has been removed to show the soft parts; and the
principal viscera are indicated in outline.
The mantle is very thin upon the posterior part of the
U S C A. 391
body. It is continued backwards in the form of a slender Cephalo-
tube, which penetrates the calcareous siphon in the septum P°da.
closing the occupied chamber behind, and is thence con-
tinued, as the membranous siphon, through all the other
divisions of the shell to the central nucleus. As the mantle
advances towards the anterior part of the abdomen it
increases in thickness, becomes more muscular, extends
freely outwards [m), and forms a wide concave fold in the
dorsal aspect, which is reflected over the black-stained
involuted convexity of the shell s. The margin or collar
of the mantle is continued downwards and forwards on each
side with a sinuous outline, and is perforated below for the
passage of the muscular expiratory and excretory tube
called the “ funnel ” f. In the female Nautilus the nida-
mental glands form two circular convexities on the ventral
surface of the abdomen, behind which the mantle
is encircled by a thin layer of brown matter, like
the periostracum, which is very narrow above
and below, but expands on each side into a
broad plate a, corresponding in size and form
with the surfaces of attachment of the two
great muscles for adhesion to the shell.
The somatal division forms a strong and
wide sheath, containing the mouth and its more
immediate appendages; its inner surface is for
the most part smooth, the outer one divided and
extended into many parts or processes. The
chief of these forms a broad triangular muscular
plate or hood h, covering the upper part of the
head, and presenting a middle and two lateral
superficies ; the former being traversed by a
median longitudinal furrow, indicating the
place of confluence of the two large hollow
tentaculiferous processes of which it is com¬
posed. The back part of the hood is exca¬
vated for the lodgment of the involuted con¬
vexity of the shell, and the above-described
fold of the mantle s covering it. Each side of
the head supports a group of perforated processes
or digitations t, the largest of which is next the
hood, and the rest decrease in size as they descend in
position. Exclusive of the short subocular perforated
process, and of the confluent pair forming the hood, the
digitations are eighteen in number on each side, and are of
a conical form ; each contains a long and finely annulated
tentacle, with the inner surface supporting narrow, close-set
transverse plates.
To the nineteen tentacula which are supported by the
confluent and free digitations on each side of the head, two
others must be added, which project from very short sheaths,
one before, the other behind, the eye ; the lateral transverse
incisions are deeper in these than in the digital tentacles.
The eyes are about the size of hazel-nuts, and are attached
each by a short peduncle to the side of the head, behind
the digitations, and a little below the margin of the hood.
The inferior surface of the oral sheath is excavated for the
lodgment of the infundibulum /. It appears that, amongst
other remarkable peculiarities of the Nautilus, is its posses¬
sion of external ears. Mr Macdonald writes:—“Both
Professors Owen and Valenciennes noticed that the hollow
subocular process of their specimens of Nautilus Pompilius
was not tentaculiferous, and I may be permitted to say that
this was also true of several specimens of Nautilus Pompi¬
lius, and one of N. macromphalus examined by me. But
there is still another matter worthy of remark with reference
to this process, namely, that its cavity may be traced down¬
wards, inwards, and a little forwards, to within about the
1 Owen, Memoir on the Pearly Nautilus (Nautilus Pompilius, Linn.), &c., 4to, 1832.
2 Ifouvelles recherches sur la Nautile flombe, Archives du Musbum, 4to, 1839.
392 MOLL
Cephalo twentieth of an inch of the auditory capsule; indeed it
poda. would appear as though provision had been made for the
entrance of sonorous waves through a rudimentary external
ear.” “ The interior of the tube is lined with a glandular
membrane, thrown into small folds disposed longitudinally.”1
The mouth is armed with two mandibles, shaped, as in
other Cephalopods, like the beak of a parrot reversed, the
lower mandible overlapping and curving upwards beyond
the upper one. Both mandibles are horny, with their tips
encased by dense calcareous matter, and their base implanted
in the thick muscular parietes of the mouth.
They are immediately surrounded by a circular fleshy lip
with a plicated anterior border, external to which there are
four broad flattened processes continued forwards from the
inner surface of the oral sheath, two of which are superior,
posterior, and external, the other two are inferior, anterior,
and more immediately embracing the mouth ; the latter are
connected together along their inferior margins by a middle
lobe, the inner surface of which supports a series of longi¬
tudinal lamellae. On the inner surface of the oral sheath
beneath these processes there are two clusters of soft conical
papillae, and on each side of these a group of lamellae. Each
of the four processes, which are called “ labial,” is pierced
by twelve canals, the orifices of which project in the form
of short tubular processes from the anterior margin, and
each canal contains a tentacle similar to, but somewhat
smaller than those of, the digitations. Thus the number of
tentacula with which the Pearly Nautilus is provided,
amounts to not less than ninety, of which thirty-eight may
be termed digital, four ophthalmic, and forty-eight labial.
All Cephalopods have an internal cartilaginous skeleton :
that of the Nautilus is confined to the inferior surface of the
head; no part of it extends above the oesophagus. Viewed
sideways, it presents a triangular form; a portion of the
annular brain is protected by a groove on the upper surface
of the cartilage; two strong processes are continued from
its anterior and superior angles into the crura of the infun¬
dibulum, giving origin to the chief muscles of that part.
Two other thinner processes are continued backwards, and
curve inwards and downwards: they give origin to the
two great muscles which pass from the internal to the ex¬
ternal skeleton, or, in other words, attach the animal to the
shell.
The muscular fibres of the “soma” or oral sheath arise
from the whole of the anterior or outer part of the internal
skeleton. The muscular structure of the funnel presents a
much greater development than in the naked Cephalopods;
and, from its relation to those masses which, on the one
hand, attach the soft parts to the shell at a, and, on the
other, connect the head to the trunk, we may conclude that
the funnel is the principal organ of natation, and that the
Nautilus is propelled, like the Octopus, by a succession of
jerks occasioned by the re-action of the respiratory currents
upon the surrounding water. The orifice of the funnel is
guarded by a valve.
The principal masses of the nervous system are concen¬
trated in the head, and are more or less inclosed by the
cephalic cartilage. The supercesophageal portion is a thick
transverse rounded chord, connected at each extremity
with three ganglionic masses; the middle and superior of
these (ophthalmic ganglions) supply the eyes; the anterior
and inferior pair are united below the tesophagus; the pos¬
terior and inferior pair form a second oesophageal nervous
centre. The nerves given off immediately from the super-
oesophageal mass supply the muscular and other parts of the
mouth, and have small buccal ganglions developed upon
them. The anterior oesophageal ring gives off principally
the nerves to the tentacida, and the two median ones are
connected with a ganglion, which supplies the tentacula of
U S C A.
the inferior labial processes and the lamellated organs on Cephalo-
that part of the oral sheath. The tentacular nerves are poda.
continued, like those of the arms in the higher Cephalopods,
along the middle of the tentacle, attached by loose cellular
tissue to the vessels of the part. The posterior collar gives
off numerous nerves of a flattened form, which supply the
muscles of the shell. The respiratory nerves form a small
ganglion at the base of each pair of gills, from which
branches are sent to those organs, to the heart, and to the
appendages of the veins. A plexus of more delicate visceral
nerves is continued backward along the interspace of the
branchial nerves, and the chief branches are connected with
a small ganglion situated between the cardiac and pyloric
orifices of the stomach.
The calcareous extremity of the upper mandible is sharp-
pointed and solid to the extent of five lines. The lower
mandible is sheathed with a thinner layer of the hard white
substance, which forms a dentated margin. The fossils
termed “ rhyncholites ” are the homologues of these calca¬
reous extremities of the beak in cognate extinct Cephalo¬
pods. The muscular subspherical mass, which supports
and moves the mandibles, is provided with four retractors,
and can be protruded by a strong semi-circular muscle,
which is continued from the margin of one of the inferior
labial processes over the mandibles and their retractor
muscles to the labial process of the opposite side.
The glottidium is supported by a horny, slightly curved,
and transversely striated plate. The fleshy substance forms
three distinct papillose caruncles anteriorly, or “tongue”
proper, into which the retractor muscles are inserted. The
tooth-strap supports four longitudinal rows of recurved
spines, behind which the surface of the glottidium is again
soft and papillose. Two broad duplicatures of mucous
membrane project forwards from the sides of the pharynx ;
they each include a simple layer of salivary follicles, the
secretion of which escapes by a single perforation in the
middle of the process.
The lining membrane of the pharynx is disposed in
numerous longitudinal folds, where it begins to contract
into the oesophagus. This tube, having passed through the
nervous collar, dilates into a capacious crop (fig. 94, c),
from the bottom of which a contracted canal, half an inch
in length, is continued to an oval gizzard g. The intestine
commences near the cardiac orifice, and soon communicates
with a small, round, laminated pouch, through which the
biliary secretion passes to the intestine. This tube forms
two abrupt inflections, and terminates in the branchial
cavity near the base of the funnel close to the proboscidian
end of the oviduct.
The epithelium of the oesophagus and ingluvies is de¬
veloped into a thick articular membrane, with minute
ridges in the gizzard. In the specimen dissected by the writer,
the crop and gizzard were laden with the fragments of a small
crab, the pieces being more comminuted in the gizzard.
The liver / is a bulky gland, extending on each side of
the crop as low down as the gizzard ; it is divided into four-
lobes, connected posteriorly by a fifth transverse portion:
the lobes are subdivided into numerous lobules of an angular
form. The secretion of the bile is derived, as in other
Mollusks, from arterial blood; it is conveyed from the liver
by two main trunks, which unite into one duct, about tw o
lines from the laminated sac. The bile, having entered
the sac, is diverted by a peculiar development and disposi¬
tion of one of the laminae from flowing towards the gizzard.
The follicular structure of this and the other folds ot mem¬
brane indicate their glandular character; and the entire
laminated pouch may be considered as a more developed
form of pancreas than the simple caecum which represents
that gland in some of the Gastropods. No other foreign
1 Proceedings of the Royal Society, 1856, p. 381.
MOLL
Cephalo- secretion enters the alimentary canal, as there is not any
poda. ink-gland in the Pearly Nautilus.
The heart and large vessels, with their follicular append¬
ages, are contained in a large cavity opposite the letter 4,
subdivided into several compartments. Some of these
contain groups of follicles developed from the veins pro¬
ceeding to the branchiae, and they communicate by small
apertures with the pallial cavity. Sea-water is thus admis¬
sible into the pericardium, and thence into the siphuncle.
Any matter excreted from the venous follicles, which seem
homologous with the so-called “renal gland” of lower
Mollusks, may escape by the above apertures into the pal¬
lial cavity. The principal venous trunk, returning the
blood from the soma, is separated from the abdominal cavity
by a layer of decussating, chiefly transversely disposed,
muscular fibres. There are several small intervals left
between the muscular fibres and corresponding round aper¬
tures in the venous tunics. These communications with
the general abdominal cavity are similar to that discovered
by Cuvier in the Aplysia. M. Valenciennes detected the
same structure in the specimen of the Nautilus dissected by
him. The blood from the diffused abdominal venous sinus
is thus received into the chief vein proceeding to the gills.
The branchial circulation may be considered to commence
when the blood again begins to move from trunk to
branches, four of which trunks are continued from the termi¬
nal venous sinus to convey the carbonized blood to the four
gills, of which there is a larger and a smaller one on each
side. Each pair of gills, situated opposite the letter b in
fig. 94, is connected by a common peduncle to the inner
surface of the mantle; the larger branchia consists of a
central stem supportingforty-eight vascular plicated lamellae
on each side; the smaller branchia has thirty-six similar
lamellae on each side.
The four vessels continued from the venous sinus have
attached to them, in their course to the gills, the clusters of
glandular follicles above mentioned. The veins extend
beyond the follicles each to the root of its respective gill,
where it receives a small vein. At this part there is a valve
which opposes the retrogression of the blood; the vessel,
which may now be termed branchial artery, penetrates the
root of the gill, and dilates into a wider canal, which is
continued through the soft white substance forming the
branchial stem. A double series of branches are sent off
from the lateral lamella?, which ramify and subdivide to
form the capillary plexus, from which the returning vessels
terminate in the branchial vein. These veins quit the
roots of the gills, and return to terminate at the four corners
of a subquadrate transversely elongated ventricle. From
this ventricle two arteries arise, one anterior, the other
posterior, of large size, and with a muscular bulb at its
commencement, with which is connected an elongated,
pyriform, apparently closed sac.
The female organs of the Nautilus consist of an ovary,
an oviduct, and, as in the Pectinibranchiate Gastropods,
of an accessory glandular nidamental apparatus. The ovary
is situated on the right side of the gizzard in a peritoneal
cavity peculiar to itself. It is an oblong compressed body,
one inch and a half in length, and an inch in breadth ; con¬
vex towards the lateral aspect, and on the opposite side
having two surfaces sloping away from a middle longitu¬
dinal elevation. At the anterior and dorsal angle there is
an orifice about three lines in diameter, with a puckered
margin, which conducts into the interior of the ovarv. It
is filled with numerous oval ovisacs of different sizes, which
are attached by one extremity to the ovarian capsule, but
are free and perforated at the opposite end. The oviduct
terminates at the base of the funnel near the anus. The
nidamental gland consists of numerous close-set pectinated
U S C A. 393
laminae. An interesting account of the dissection of a male Cephalo-
Nautilus Pompilius has been contributed by Professor poda.
Van der Hoeven to the fourth volume of the London Zoo-
logical Transactions, p. 21. Professor Vrolik has published
a good description and figures of a specimen in his collec¬
tion, from Amboyna, in the tenth volume of the Memoires
de la Societe Linneanne de Normandie, 1855.
In contrasting the organization of the Nautilus with that
of the inferior Mollusca, already treated of, we find the
main advance to have been made in the organs of animal life.
A true internal skeleton is established in the Nautilus,
and thus the lowest Cephalopod offers an approximation to
the vertebrate type, which not even the highest of the
articulate series had attained. Perfect symmetry now
reigns throughout the animal and vital organs. The mus¬
cular system forms a larger proportion of the body, with
various arrangements and complications unknown in the
lower Encephalous Mollusks. The respiratory tube, though
still completed by the overlapping, not by the coalescence,
of its side-walls, has received an enormous development as
contrasted with the siphonated Trachelipods; and, by its
powerful muscles, and their firm cartilaginous basis of
attachment, would seem to be endowed with a new func¬
tion, in relation to propelling the Cephalopod with its testa¬
ceous dwelling through the sea.
The nervous centres concentrated in the head have re¬
ceived a marked increase of bulk, which, nevertheless, is
still manifested more strongly in the inferior masses, and
especially in the anterior suboesophageal ring than in the
superior or cerebral part. Here, however, we find for the
first time in the Molluscous series, especial ganglions subor¬
dinated to the greatly enlarged organs of vision.
The organs of reptation, which had progressively ad¬
vanced (as Lamarck’s denomination of the higher Gastro¬
pods indicates) towards the head, are exclusively attached
to that part in the Nautilus, and project from before the
eyes and mouth. The mouth, besides its jaws and spiny
tongue, is now served by organs of prehension; and it is
most interesting to observe that these cephalic, prehensile,
as well as exploratory, tentacula, at their first appearance
manifest the vegetative character in their multiplied repeti¬
tion and comparative simplicity, compared with their homo-
logues in the Dibranchiate Cephalopods.
Some of the Gastropods have a pair of jaws working
upon each other, but in the horizontal plane, as in insects.
In the Nautilus they are opposed to each other vertically, as
in the vertebrate series, and they present a form which
is repeated amongst fishes by the Scari, amongst reptiles
in the Chelonia, and almost universally in the class of
Birds. The close resemblance to the latter class which
the Nautilus offers in the modifications of the alimentary
canal is sufficiently striking, but hardly more so than some
of the Bryozoa present, in which radiated animalcules
may be discerned one of the roots of the great Molluscous
branch of the Animal Kingdom.
In the very few Conchiferous Gastropods that are able
to swim the shell is of diminutive size, of a simple form
and structure, and of an extremely light and delicate tex¬
ture. The strong and muscular occupant of the Pearly
Nautilus shell would seem to have that abode adapted for
occasional natation by the air-chambers and siphuncle. The
first living specimen which was captured and brought to
Europe in a state fit for dissection was observed floating on
the sea with the shell upwards^ and was obtained by the
boat-hook. The parts of the shell, progressively vacated
during the growth of the animal, are successively parti¬
tioned off by smooth plates concave towards the outlet.
The formation of these proceeds from the circumference
to the centre, and there meeting with the siphuncular
3 D
VOL. XV.
1 Owen, Memoir, ut supra, 4to, p. 7.
394 MOLL
Cephalo- prolongation of the mantle, which retains its primitive con-
poda. nection with the shell-nucleus, calcification is continued
backwards for a short distance around that process, which
now forms the membranous siphon, and acquires the
partial protection of the calcareous tube. An air-tight
chamber is thus formed, traversed by the siphon ; by a
repetition of the same processes a second chamber is
formed, included within two perforated septa; and similar,
but wider partitions continue to be added, concurrently with
the formation of the new layers which extend and expand
the mouth of the shell, until the animal acquires its full
growth, which is indicated by the body having receded for
a less distance from the penultimate septum before the for¬
mation of the last septum is begun.
The periodical formation of these septa in the progress
of growth is analogous to that of the projecting external
plates in the Wendletrap, and of the rows of spines in the
Murex ; but these external processes consist of the opake
calcareous layer of the shell, whilst the internal processes
in the Nautilus consist of the nacreous layer like the septa
in the Turritella. Thus the embryo Nautilus at first in¬
habits a simple shell like that of most univalve Mollusca,
and manifests, according to the usual law, the most general
type at the early stage of its existence ; although it soon
begins, and apparently before having quitted the ovum, to
take on the special form.
In acquiring the camerated structure of the shell, the
Nautilus gains the power of rising from the bottom, and the
requisite condition for swimming; by the exhalation of some
light gas into the deserted chambers, it attaches to its other¬
wise too heavy body a contrivance for ascending in its
atmosphere, as we ascend in ours, by the aid of a balloon.
But the Nautilus, superior to the human aeronaut, com¬
bines with the power of elevating and suspending itself in
the aqueous medium, that of opposing its currents and pro¬
pelling itself at will in any direction. It possesses the lat¬
ter essential adjunct to the utility of the balloon as a loco¬
motive organ, by virtue of the muscular funnel, through
which it ejects into the surrounding water, doubtless with
considerable force, the respiratory currents.
It appears that the proportion of the air-chambers to the
dwelling-chamber of the Nautilus and its contents is such
as to render it of nearly the same specific gravity as the
surrounding water. The siphon, which traverses the air-
chambers, communicates with the pericardium, and is most
probably filled with fluid from that cavity. It certainly con¬
ducts small blood-vessels, which are essential to the main¬
tenance of the vitality of the chambered part of the shell.1
In air a large and perfect shell of the Nautilus Pompi-
lius weighed six ounces and a-half avoirdupois; it required
an additional weight of one ounce seven drams to sink
it in water. The soft parts of a female Pearly Nautilus
weighed, in air, five ounces; but the specific gravity, includ¬
ing the contents of the crop, was nearly that of sea-water.
The power by which the Nautilus alters its specific gra¬
vity is probably like that possessed by the fresh-water tes¬
taceous Gastropods, depending chiefly upon changes in the
extent of the surface which the soft parts expose to the
water, according as they may be expanded to the utmost,
and spread abroad beyond the aperture of the shell, or be
contracted into a dense mass within its cavity. The Nau¬
tilus would likewise possess the additional advantage of pro¬
ducing a slight vacuum in the posterior parts of the cham¬
ber of occupation which is shut out by the horny cincture
and muscles of adhesion from the rest of that cavity; and
it is possible that the gas in the last air-chamber might ex¬
pand as the Nautilus protrudes from the shell, and be in the
same degree condensed as it forcibly drew itself back.
W hatever additional advantage the existing Nautilus
1 Owen, Memoir, ut supra, 4to, p. 47.
3 “ On Belemnites with their soft parts,” Philos. Trans., 1844,
U S C A.
might derive, by the continuation of a vascular organized Cephalo-
membranous siphon through the air-chambers, in relation poda.
to the maintenance of vital harmony between the soft and
testaceous parts, such likewise must have been enjoyed by
the numerous extinct species of the Tetrabranchiate Cepha-
lopods, which, like the Nautilus, were lodged in chambered
and siphoniferous shells.
Sp. Nautilus Pompilius (Pearly Nautilus).—This species
ranges from the Persian Gulf and Indian Ocean, to the
Chinese Seas and Pacific.
Sp. Nautilus scrobiculatus (\]m\}\\\caXe Nautilus).'—Hab.
the warmer latitudes of the South Pacific.
Sp. Nautilus macromphalus (Widely Umbilicate Nauti¬
lus).—Hab. New Caledonia, and neighbouring isles of the
South Pacific.
It is not certain to which of the above species the fol¬
lowing remark, on their abundance, applies :—“ ThePearly
Nautilus is so abundant, that its shell serves the Papouans
of Port Praslin in ‘ Novelle Bretagne,’ and throughout the
Papouan Archipelago, as a scoop to bale out the water from
their canoes; the debris of the shell cover the shores of
those islands.”2
If the Nautilus extended itself in a straight line during
its growth, instead of revolving round an imaginary axis, a
straight conical shell would be produced, with the chambered
part divided by simple septa concave next the outlet. Such
are, in fact, the characters of the fossil shells called Ortho-
ceratites.
The margins of the septa of the shell in all the existing
species of Nautilus are slightly sinuous, which makes the
surface next the aperture of the shell convex at one part
and concave at another. In an extensive genus of extinct
chambered shells called Ammonites, the sinuosity of the
margins of the septa is much greater, and most of the sur¬
face next the outlet is convex : the siphon perforates the
septa at their centre in extremely few species, and in the
rest is situated at that margin which is next the outer
curve or circumference of the shell. Certain chambered
shells thus characterized are straight, like the Orthocera-
tites, but generally compressed, with their numerous septa
joining the outer shell by foliated dentations: they are
termed Baculites. In the true Ammonites the shell is dis¬
coid, and coiled upon itself as in the Nautilus ; but it is
strengthened by arched ribs and dome-shaped elevations
on the convex surface, and by the tortuous windings of the
foliated margin of the transverse partitions. Separate casts
of the interior of the chambers are not unfrequently ob¬
tained, which have become detached by the solution of the
calcareous walls and septa of the shell, or are held together
by the dove-tailed lobes of the margins of the chambers.
The Turrilite is essentially an Ammonite disposed in
spiral coils. The Hamites and Scaphites are other mo¬
difications of the outward form of similarly-constructed
chambered shells: in the former the small extremity of the
shell is curved, the rest being straight; in the latter both
ends are curved towards each other like those of a canoe.
With none of these species has there ever been found a
trace of the ink-bag; a part, indeed, of so delicate a tex¬
ture that some surprise may be excited that any evidence
of its existence could be met with in a fossil state. Not
only the ink-bag, but the muscular mantle, fins, and cepha¬
lic arms, of extinct Cephalopods, with chambered shells,
have been discovered in Oolitic strata, which have de¬
termined such fossil shells to belong to the second and
higher order of Cephalopods.3
Order IL—DIBRANCHIATA, Owen.
Branchiae two, forming a pair, each with a branchial
2 Duperrey, Zoology of the Voyage de la Coquille, p. 246.
p. 65.
M O L L U S C A.
395
Cephalo- heart; funnel an entire tube; mantle muscular; an ink-
poda. bag ; eight non-retractile acetabuliferous arms, with two
long additional tentacles in most; eyes sessile ; beak horny;
shell internal (save in the females of one genus).
Compared with the Nautilus, the cephalic organs of pre¬
hension in all Dibranchiates are much reduced in number,
the external ones, continued from the oral sheath, not
exceeding eight, as in figs. 97, c, and 100, c, to which, in most
of the genera, is added a pair of internal and much longer
tentacula, as in figs. 97 and 100, d. The arms are much in¬
creased in size and of a more complicated structure, support¬
ing on their internal surface numerous suckers, and some¬
times connected together by a powerful muscular web. The
eyes are much larger and more complex, are no longer pen-
dunculated, but lodged in orbits (fig. 97, ee). The mouth
(fig. 96) is armed with two piercing and trenchant horny
jaws, c, resembling in shape and in their vertical move¬
ments those of the Nautilus. The gills (fig. 95, g) are two
in number, each with a ventricle i expressly appropriated
to the branchial circulation ; the systemic circulation
having a single muscular ventricle h, as in the Nautilus.
The infundibulum 5 is a complete muscular tube, shaped
like an inverted funnel. They possess a gland and mem¬
branous receptacle p for secreting and expelling an inky
fluid. The sexual organs are in distinct individuals, as in
the Tetrabranchiate order. All the species of both orders
of Cephalopods are aquatic and marine.
TheDibranchiate order maybe subdivided into two tribes;
the one provided with the eight ordinary arms and the two
longer tentacles, hence called Decapoda (fig. 97) ; the other
tribe without the tentacles, and called Octopoda (fig. 101).
The various forms of the extinct Belemnitidce constituted
one family in the Decapod tribe. The little Spirula, cha¬
racterized by a less complex, but internal chambered shell,
is the type of a second family. The cuttle-fish (Septa,
fig. 97), known by its internal calcareous shell (fig. 98),
which feebly represents that of the Belemnite, exemplifies
a third family of Decapods called Sepiadce. The common
calamary (Loligd), in which the internal shell is reduced to
a horny quill-shaped plate, represents the fourth and most
extensive family of the present tribe, which I have called
Teuthidce; and in which one genus (Enoploteuthis) had
the caruncle of its acetabula produced into horny claws.
In all the Decapods the mantle supports a pair of fins, and
the siphon is generally provided with a valve.
In the tribe Octopoda fins are rarely developed from
the mantle ; but the eight ordinary arms are longer, thicker,
and are united together by a broader web, which forms a
powerful organ for swimming in a retrograde direction.
One family in this tribe (Testacea) is represented by the
genus Argonauta (fig. 102), in which, in the female sex,
the first or dorsal pair of arms is dilated at its extremity
into a broad thin membrane, like the mantle in the tes¬
taceous Mollusks ; by means of these membranes the ani¬
mal, in fact, forms for itself an extremely light, slightly flex¬
ible, and elastic, but calcareous, symmetrical shell, which
is simple, and not divided into chambers ; the vacated
portion communicating with the rest, and being used by the
inhabitant as the receptacle for the eggs (fig. 103). The
siphon is without a valve, but is articulated at its base on
each side to the inner surface of the mantle. The second
family of the Octopods is termed Nuda, the species not
being provided with an external shell (fig. 101). The first
pair of arms is elongated, and contracts to a point: the
funnel or siphon is without an internal valve or external
joints. The rudimental shell is represented by two short
styles, encysted in the substance of the mantle. The typi¬
cal genus of this family is termed Octopus, in which the
arms are provided with a double alternate series of sessile Cephalo-
acetabula. In a second genus, Eledone, the arms are pro- poda.
vided with a single series of acetabula. In the Sciadepho-
rus a pair of filaments project between each of the suckers.
The skin of the naked Cephalopod is generally thin and
lubricous, and can be more easily detached from the sub¬
jacent muscles than in the inferior Mollusks. In some of
the smaller Cephalopods it is semitransparent; it is densest
in the Calamaries, in which the epidermal system is most
developed, as is exemplified in the horny rings or hooks
upon the acetabula. In the Octopods the epidermis is
reflected over the interior of the acetabula without being
condensed into horn. Upon the body the epiderm may
generally be detached in the form of a thick white elastic
semitransparent layer. The second, or pigmental layer of
the skin, analogous to the rete mucosum, consists of nu¬
merous cells of a flattened oval or circular form, containing
coloured particles suspended in a fluid. The colour is
rarely the same in all the cells; the most constant kind
generally corresponds more or less closely with the tint of
the inky secretion. In the Sepia there is a second series
of vesicles containing a deep yellow or brownish pigment:
in the Loligo vulgaris there are three kinds of coloured
vesicles, yellow, rose-red, and brown; in the Octopus vul¬
garis there are four kinds of vesicles, red, yellow, blue, and
black. In the skin of the Argonauta all the colours which
have been observed in other Cephalopods are present, and
contained in their appropriate cells. These cells possess
the power of rapid alternate contractions and expansions,
by which the pigment can be driven into the deeper parts
of the corium, or brought into contact with the semitrans¬
parent epiderm. If the skin of an Octopus be slightly
touched, the colour will be accumulated, gradually or ra¬
pidly, like a cloud or a blush upon the irritated surface.
The Argonaut strongly exemplifies this chameleon-like
power of change of colour.
The sole locomotive organs in the ordinary Octopods,
and the sole prehensile organs in all the Dihranchiata are
the appendages developed from the head, termed “ arms,”
“ feet,” and “ tentacles.” They have no true homology
with the locomotive members of the Vertebrata, but are
analogous to them, inasmuch as they relate to the locomo¬
tive and prehensile faculties of the animal.1
The eight arms of the Octopus commence by a hollow
cone of muscular fibres attached by a truncated apex to the
anterior part of the cephalic cartilage. The fibres are for
the most part oblique, and interlace with one another in a
close and compact manner, as the cone advances and ex¬
pands to form the cavity containing the mandibulate mouth,
at the anterior extremity of which they are continued for¬
ward, and separate into eight distinct portions which form
the arms. The development of the eight external arms
bears an inverse proportion to that of the body ; they are
longest in the short round-bodied and shortest in
the lengthened Calamaries and Cuttle-fishes, in which the
two elongated retractile tentacles are superadded by way of
compensation. These latter organs are not continued from
the muscular cone which corresponds with the cephalic
sheath in the Nautilus, but arise, like the internal labial
processes in that Cephalopod, close together from the
cephalic cartilage, internal to the origins of the ventral pair
of arms. They proceed at first outwards to a large mem¬
branous cavity situated anterior to the eyes, and emerge
between the third and fourth arms on either side.
The complex mechanism of the suckers of the arms is
under the most complete control of the predatory Cepha¬
lopod. Mr Broderip states, that he has attempted, with a
hand-net, to catch an Octopus that was floating within sight
1 Geoffroy St Hilaire regarded the cuttle-fish as a vertebrate animal bent double, with the approximated arms and legs extending
forwards.
396 MOLL
Cepbalo- with its long and flexible arms entwined round a fish which
poda. j(. was tearing to pieces with its sharp hawk’s bill; the
Vs-Cephalopod allowed the net to approach within a short dis¬
tance of it, before it relinquished its prey, when in an in¬
stant it relaxed its thousand suckers, exploded its inky am¬
munition, and rapidly retreated under cover of the cloud
which it had occasioned, by rapid and vigorous strokes of
its circular web.
The Cephalopods which frequent the more open seas,
and which have to contend with more agile and powerful
fishes, have still more complicated organs of prehension.
In the Calamary the base of the piston of the sucker is in¬
closed in a horny hoop with a dentated margin. In the
Onychoteuthis the margin is produced into a long, curved,
sharp-pointed claw. These formidable weapons are some¬
times clustered at the expanded terminations of the tenta¬
cles (fig. 100,/), and in a few species are arranged in a double
alternate series along the whole internal surface of the eight
ordinary arms, as they were in the extinct Belemnite.
In connection with the uncinated acetabula at the extre¬
mities of the long tentacula of the hook-squids, may be
observed a cluster of small simple unarmed suckers at the
base of the expanded part. When these parts in each ten¬
tacle are applied to one another, they become locked together
(fig. 100, e), and the united strength of both the peduncles d
is thereby more effectually brought to bear upon any resist¬
ing object which may have been grappled by the terminal
hooks. This is a very striking mechanical contrivance:
human art has remotely imitated it in the fabrication of the
obstetrical forceps, in which either blade can be used sepa¬
rately, or by the interlocking of a temporary joint be made
to act in combination.
The brain (fig. 9o, a) is inclosed in a cartilaginous cra¬
nium, together with a portion of the cesophagus, from which
it is separated by the membrane analogous to the dura
mater. Between that part of the fibrous membrane which
lines the cerebral cavity and the pia mater covering the
e c
Fig. 95.
Plan of anatomy of Dibranchiate.
brain, there is an intervening space filled with a gelatinous
arachnoid tissue. In the cuttle-fish, the supercesophageal
cerebral mass a consists principally of a cordiform body,
superficially divided into two lateral lobes by a median
longitudinal furrow. From the lower and lateral parts of
this body proceed the short and broad optic nerves, which
constitute the peduncles of the large reniform optic gan¬
glions, and upon each peduncle there is placed a small
spherical medullary tubercle. These tubercles exist also
U S C A.
in the Calamaries, but appear not to be present in the Cephalo-
Octopods. poda.
From the inferior and anterior parts of the superoeso-
phageal mass, a thick cord descends on each side of the
cesophagus, unites with its fellow, and dilates below that
tube to form the anterior suboesophageal ganglion, from
which the nerves of the feet and tentacles arise. Two
broader bands descend from the supercesophageal mass be¬
hind the preceding, and form, by a like enlargement and
union, the posterior oesophageal body, which blends laterally
with the anterior one, and forms with it a large mass with
a central perforation. Four short and slender chords, two
of which are continued from the anterior apices of the optic
lobes, and two from the anterior subcesophageal lobes, con¬
verge forwards and unite to form a round flattened ganglion,
which is closely applied to the back part of the fleshy mass
of the mouth above the pharynx, from which are sent off
the nerves to the different parts of the mouth. Two fila¬
ments from the pharyngeal ganglion descend to join a pair
of ganglions below the mouth, homologous to the labial
ganglions of the Nautilus. The nerves of the arm proceed
from the anterior and inferior subcesophageal ganglion, and
correspond in number to the organs which they supply,
being eight in the Octopoda, and ten in the Decapoda.
The nerves answering to those of the shell muscles in the
Nautilus form a single large pair, arising from the posterior
angles of the subcesophageal mass, and after a certain course
outwards and backwards they expand into large stellate
ganglions, from which the nerves of the mantle and of the
pallial fins are derived. The branchial and visceral nerves
and ganglions correspond pretty closely with those in the
Nautilus.
With respect to the parts of the brain in the Vertebrata
which are represented by the cephalic nervous masses in
the Dibranchiate Cephalopods, we may regard the cordi¬
form superior mass, which is principally in communication,
and co-exists with the large and complex eyes, as the homo-
logue of the optic lobes. The smaller super¬
cesophageal mass, anterior to the optic lobes
in the Octopus and some other Cephalopods,
may represent an olfactory lobe. The large
subcesophageal nervous mass, since it gives
origin to the brachial nerves, to the acoustic and
respiratory nerves, and to those two large mo-
to-sensory columns which represent, by their
structure, position, and distribution, the spinal
chord of the Vertebrata, must be regarded as
the representative of the medulla oblongata:
it is obviously the part of the nervous centre
which is most intimately connected with the
vitality of the animal, and which is therefore
here, as in the higher animals, the deepest seated
and best protected part of the nervous system.
The Cephalopods are predatory and carni¬
vorous animals. The curved, pointed, and
trenchant mandibles (fig. 96, e, c), are encased
upon a dense muscular cushion, c, and are pro¬
tected by an outer lip a, and an inner lip b.
Theglottidium retains the true complex mollus¬
cous type (compare with fig. 29); but a greater
proportion of it is uncovered by the tooth-strap,
and forms soft caruncles suggestive of the pos¬
session of the faculty of taste. Their retractor muscle is
shown at i. A fin is represented as in the duct of the sali¬
vary gland. In most of the Dibranchiata a second and
larger pair of salivary glands is situated on each side of the
cesophagus, at the commencement of the abdominal or he¬
patic cavity; their ducts unite to terminate below the tongue
in the concavity of the lower mandible.
The peritoneal membrane is divided and disposed as in
the Nautilus, in order to form special receptacles for the
M O L L U S C A.
Cephalo- different viscera, he oesophagus is narrower than in the
Po<la. Nautilus, and provided with longitudinal plicae: it dilates
Fig. 96.
soon after having passed through the cranium into a long
ingluvies, forming a large cul-de-sac (fig. 95, c), at its com¬
mencement in both the Octopus a.nd Argonauta ; but in the
Decapods it continues narrow and of uniform breadth to
the stomach. This cavity (fig. 95, e) is an elongated sac,
presenting, in the disposition of its muscular fibres, in the
proximity of the cardiac and pyloric orifices, and in the thick¬
ness of the epithelial lining, the usual characters of the giz¬
zard. The intestine, at a short distance from the pylorus,
communicates with a glandular and laminated sac q, homo¬
logous with that in the Nautilus, and presenting a similar
globular form in the JRossia and Loligopsis ; but elongated
and spirally convoluted in the Sepia and Loligo. It re¬
ceives the biliary secretion between two broad lamellae, as
in the Nautilus. The intestine is very short in all the Di-
branchiata. In the Octopus it is bent upon itself (fig. 95, r),
as in the Nautilus; but in the Sepia and Loligo it is con¬
tinued forwards in a straight line, as at/ (fig. 95), from the
stomach to the vent. Its internal membrane is longitudi¬
nally folded, but is smooth at the short tract beyond the
entry of the duct of the ink-bag; its termination is con¬
stricted either by the muscular fibres of the branchial sep¬
tum, or by those which connect together the pillars of the
funnel. In the Decapods provided with fins for swimming
forwards, the anus can be closed by triangular fleshy valves ;
and in some species these are modified into the form of
antennal filaments.
The liver is of large size in the Dibranchiata (fig. 95),
but of more simple form than in the Nautilus. In the
Sepia it is divided into two lateral lobes, which are notched
at the upper extremity; in the Onychoteuthis it is a simple,
elongated, compressed lobe, with undivided extremities;
in the Octopus it forms a single oval mass, flattened
anteriorly; in the Eledone it is spherical, corresponding
with the ventricose visceral sac. In the two latter genera
the ink-bag (fig. 95, p) is enclosed within the capsule of
the liver, and was naturally mistaken for the gall-bladder
by some of the early anatomists of these Mollusca; but in
the Argonaut, and in all the Decapoda, it manifests its dis¬
tinct function by its separate position. The liver is sur¬
rounded by a smooth capsule, and is not subdivided
externally into lobules, as in the Nautilus and lower Mol¬
lusca. The biliary ducts in the Octopoda are simple canals,
which unite and terminate by a common orifice, in the
397
pancreatic sac. In the Decapoda. they receive the ducts Cephalo-
of numerous clusters of ctecal appendages beyond the smooth Po¬
part of the liver.
The ink-bag consists of tough white fibrous texture, the
outer surface of which is coated by a thin silvery or nacre¬
ous layer; its inner surface presents a fine spongy glandular
texture. It presents a trilobate form in the Sepiola, and
an oblong pyriform shape in the Sepia and Loligo. It is a
very active organ, and its inky secretion can be reproduced
with great activity. The tint of the secretion varies in
different species, as is exemplified by the Italian pigment
called “ sepia,” and the Chinese one called “ Indian ink.”
It is of a very indestructible nature, as is exemplified by
its frequent preservation in a fossil state in both the extinct
Calamaries and the Belemnites. It is affirmed by some
chemists to contain a peculiar animal principle, which Vizio
has termed “ melanine.”
Many of the Cephalopods possess the power of emitting
a luminous secretion. All of them are nocturnal and social
animals, and are readily attracted by bright metallic sub¬
stances.
The chief modifications of the circulating and respiratory
systems of the higher order of Cephalopods are expressed
in the characters of the order Dibranchiata..
The branchiae (fig. 95, g') are concealed, as in the Nau¬
tilus, by the mantle, which extends in front of the other
viscera to form the branchial chamber, the infundibular
muscular tube q projecting from its outlet. The rectum
and the generative organs o open into the branchial cham¬
ber at the base of the funnel, manifesting the same relation
of the breathing organs to the termination of the alimentary
canal which characterizes the lower orders of the Mollusca.
Each gill consists, as in the Nautilus, of a number of tri¬
angular vascular laminae, extending transversely from either
side of the fleshy stem, and decreasing in size to the extremity
of the gill. Each plate is composed of smaller transverse
laminae, which are themselves similarly subdivided ; the
entire gill presenting the tripinnate structure, which affords
the most extensive surface for the minute subdivision of
the blood-vessels. In the Loligopsis each gill has twenty-
four pairs of plates ; in the Sepia, thirty-six pairs ; in the
Loligo sagittata, sixty pairs. The stem of the gill is not
only attached by its base, but by a thin fibrous membrane
through nearly its whole length to the mantle.
The mechanical part of the respiratory act is performed
by the muscular actions of the mantle and funnel, the gills
not being provided with vibratile cilia, as in many of the
inferior Mollusca. The water is admitted into the branchial
cavity at the anterior aperture of the mantle, outside the
base of the funnel. Two large valvular folds of fibrous
membrane, which are concave towards the respiratory cavity,
prevent the currents from escaping by this entry. They
are therefore propelled by the whole force of the con¬
traction of the muscular mantle through the cavity of the
funnel, the base of which is articulated, in most of the
Cephalopods, by lateral joints, with the sides of the anterior
aperture of the mantle.
In the male Cephalopod, the testis, lodged at the bottom
of the visceral sac, consists of a membranous pouch, to
one part of the inner surface of which are attached nu¬
merous dichotomising blind spermatic tubuli. These
swell and burst at the breeding season. The spermatozoa
are conveyed along a convoluted sperm-duct, where they
are moulded, with added mucus, into a slender cylindrical
coherent thread; this next passes into a wider tube, with
glandular walls, where the thread divides into packets of
spermatozoa, which become inclosed in albuminous sheaths ;
a glandular sac or caecal tube (called “ prostatic”) commu¬
nicates with the vesicular canal; and this finally opens
into the pouch in which filamentary packets of sperm-
material, having acquired the requisite mechanism, exhibit
398
Cephalo¬
poda.
MOLLUSC A.
the movements which first attracted the attention of Need¬
ham.1
These moving filaments in the terminal pouch, or cap¬
sules of spermatozoa and sperm-fluid, with a peculiar asso¬
ciated mechanism, of which an internal spiral spring is the
most conspicuous part, form one of the most remarkable
peculiarities of the Cephalopoda, and have been regarded
as parasitic worms, under the names of Echinorhynchus,
Scolex dihothrius, Needkamia expulsatoria, &c., by different
comparative physiologists. They are now denominated
“ spermatophora and they parallel in the male the albu¬
minous packets of ova in the female, ffhe efficient cause
of their movements appears to be a combination of the
contractility of the external sheath and sperm-receptacle,
with the elasticity of the internal spiral membianej and the
phenomena of endosmosis. -The final intention of the su¬
per-addition of protecting sheaths for the semen, like those
for the ova, appears to relate to the safe conveyance of the
spermatozoa to the ova of the female, there being apparently
no true intromission in the Cephalopoda. The peculiar
mechanism of the sperm-receptacles insures their rupture
and the dispersion of their contents after their brief transit
through the sea-water.
The female organs consist in the Dibranchiate Cephalo-
pods, as in the Nautilus, of ovarium, oviduct, and super-
added nidamental glands, but with several modifications in
the efferent part of the apparatus. The ovary (fig. 95, o)
is always single, and the ovisacs, characterized by their
elliptical form and reticulate parietes b, are attached to one
part of its cavity, as in the Nautilus. In the cuttle-fish
there is a single oviduct, with a glandular laminated outlet;
and there are two distinct laminated nidamental glands on
each side of its termination. In the Octopoda there are
two oviducts, which in the Octopus and Eledone are each
provided with a special glandular enlargement about the
middle of their course ; but there are no detached nida¬
mental glands. In the Lolipo there are two distinct con¬
voluted oviducts, and two separate nidamental glands.
These glands in the cuttle-fish rest upon a soft parenchy¬
matous body, of a bright orange colour. The corresponding
part is rose-coloured in the Sepiola ; it is double in the
Rossia and the Calamaries. These bodies have no ducts.
Tribe L—DECAPOD A.
Arms eight, tentacles two.
Family I.—SPIRULKLE, Woodward.
Shell internal, nacreous, discoidal, whirls separate, many-
chambered; the involute spire next the ventral surface of
the body ; septa concave, next the outlet; siphuncle near
the concavity of the shell-curve ; mantle with a tricuspid
front-border, bilobed behind, and terminated by a sub-
circular fleshy disc, with a narrow lamelliform appendage
on each side ; at the notches on the dorsal and ventral^
sides, above the disc, are exposed parts of the last whirl ot
the shell.
Genus Spirula, Lam.—Body oblong ; arms short, with
six rows of minute suckers ; tentacles long, cylindrical,
funnel-valved, and with elongated basal lateral joints with
the mantle. The internal organization of the Spirula
accords with the Dibranchiate type, and exhibits the mo¬
difications characterizing the Decapodous tribe, such, e.g.,
as the glandular follicles upon the hepatic ducts, the absence
of the septum or fraenum of the branchial chamber, the
appendages to the branchial hearts, the absence of an
ingluvial dilatation of the gullet, the division of the liver into Cephalo*
two lobes, and the separation of the ink-bag from the liver. i>oda.
The most perfect known example of the Spirula is in the
collection of Mr Cuming. It was picked up by Mr Percy
Earl on the coast of New Zealand. This specimen is
nearly three inches in length from the pallial disc to the
tips of the arms; only the clavate ends of the tentacles
seem to be wanting. It is figured in the Annals and Ma¬
gazine of Natural History, vol. xv., pi. 15, and in L. Reeves’
Elements of Conchology, part i., plate A, figs, a, b, c. The
names Spirula Icevis and Spirula australis have been
proposed for this specimen. The species Spirula reticulata
(Owen, in the Zoology of the Samarang, Mollusca, pp.
14-16, pi. iv., figs. 3 and 9) is founded on a mutilated spe¬
cimen, taken by Mr George Bennett, F.L.S., on the coast
of Timor.
If the Spirula taken in the Atlantic Ocean, and figured
by Peron in the Atlas du Voyage aux Terres Australes,
tab. xxx., fig. 4, be there accurately delineated, it may be
regarded as a distinct species, and retain the name of
Spirula Peronii.
The Spirula is widely diffused over the warmer parts of
the ocean, especially in the southern hemisphere. The
delicate shell is strewed in abundance over parts of the coast
of New Zealand, and a few specimens have been brought
by the Gulf Stream to the south-west coast of England.
Family II.—BELEMNITIDAI, Owen, Gray.
Shell internal; the chambered and siphunculated part,
called “ phragmocone,” is straight, conical, and is lodged
in a sheath or guard, produced more or less anteriorly into
a calcareo-albuminous plate, and behind into a solid “ mu-
cro,” varying in length and shape. This is the part com¬
monly known as the “ belemnite.” The septa of the
phragmocone are concave next the outlet or base, and the
siphuncle is at the ventral side. All the genera and species
of the family are extinct. The acetabula of the arms were
provided with horny hooks.1 2 They range from the lias to
the gault.
Family III.—SEPIADA1, Woodward.
(Cuttles or Cuttle-fishes.')
Trunk or pallial part (fig. 97, a, b) sack-shaped, bordered
on each side with a narrow longitudinal musculo-dermal
fin bb ; shell (fig. 98) internal, gelatino-calcareous, friable,
consisting of a flattened closely-laminated phragmocone
be, lodged in an open expanded guard aa, prolonged be¬
hind into a “ mucro.”
Genus Sepia, Linn, (as restricted by Cuvier)—The
septa of the phragmocone are very numerous and close-set;
they are united by finely-undulated vertical lamellce (fig.
98, A). The whole shell is light and porous. It is still
used as “pounce,” and for polishing the ivory plates of
miniature-painters. It is sometimes given medicinally as an
antacid, the hardening salt being pure carbonate of lime.
Arms (fig. 97, c, c) with four rows of suckers; funnel
valved, and articulated to two lateral tubercles on the
mantle.
Sp. Sepia officinalis, Linn. (fig. 97).—a, constriction be¬
tween 14 soma ” and “ pallium 5 b, pallial fins ; c, cephalic
or somatal arms ; d, clavate tentacles ; e, eyes. The
left ventral arm in the male has many of the suckers on its
basal half very small or oblate ; and the arm is there ex¬
panded, with the inter-acebular membrane pitted and reti¬
culate. The spermatophora are attached in coitu to the
lip of the female. (Steenstrup.3 *)
The eggs of the Cuttle-fish are of comparatively large
1 An account of some microscopical discoveries in the Calamary, and its wonderful milt-vessels, 8vo, D4t5- , Transactions 1844
2 Description of certain Belemnites, preserved with a great proportion of their soft parts, &c m the }f^d
Some of the species here described have been formed into a sub-genus, called Belemnoteuthis ; bu e^. 1™S , Tfi«tcvrv Autmst 1857
“ guard,” which are the essential characters of the extinct family. 3 Annals and Magazine of Natural History, August 1857.
MOLL U S C A.
Cephalo- size, of an oval form, attenuated at the extremities, and each
poda.
Tig. 97.
Sepia officinalis (one-fourth natural size).
enveloped in its proper horny covering, which is prolonged
into a pedicle at one extremity, and
attached thereby to some foreign
body. Many of these egg-capsules
are generally found clustered to¬
gether. They are called “ sea-
grapes ” by the fishermen.
Family IV.—TEUTHID^, Ow.
( Calamaries, Squids.)
Shell internal, reduced to an al¬
buminous or horny plate, consisting
of a stem or shaft, and two lateral
expansions or wings. It is called
the “ gladius ” or pen (fig. 99).
Sub-Family 1.—(EGOPSID^L.1
Eyes exposed ; fins terminal and
united.
Genus Omaiastrepiies, D’Orb.
(Flying-Squids). — Gladius with
three diverging ribs, and a hol¬
low conical appendage ; body long
and cylindroid ; fins terminal, large
and rhombic; arms with two rows
of suckers ; tentacles with four ter¬
minal rows of suckers; eyes not
covered by the integument. Mus¬
cular chord on the funnel.
Sp. Ommastrephes sagittatus
Fig. 98.
Shell of Sepia.
(Loligo sagittata, Lam.)—In the sagittated Calamary the
male has a shorter body and longer and
stronger arms, the second and third pairs of
which have relatively larger acetabula than
in the female. The spermatophora are at¬
tached in coitu, within the mantle, to its
wall or to part of the viscera of the female.
The species of this genus are gregarious, and
frequent the open ocean. With the best or¬
gans of vision, they manifest the highest pow¬
ers of locomotion in the Molluscous province,
leaping out of the water so high as sometimes
to fall on the decks of ships; whence they
are called “ flying squids.” They form the
chief food of the cetaceous dolphins and ca¬
chalots, and of the albatross and larger petrels.
They are used as bait in the Newfoundland
fisheries.
Genus Onychoteuthis (Hook-Squids).—
Gladius lanceolate, with a hollow conical
stem-base; arms (fig. 100, c, c) with two
rows of suckers; tentacles d long, with the
clavate ends provided with a double series of
hooks f and usu¬
ally with a group
of suckers at
fW$ t^e kase’ which,
uniting with that
of the opposite
tentacle, as at e. Fig- "•
r\r\ Gladius of
. 100, enables Loligo.
both to act in conjunction ;
terminal fins unite to form a
rhomb.
Genus Exoploteuthis,
D’Orb.—Gladius and termi¬
nal fins as above ; arms pro¬
vided with a double series of
hook-bearing pedunculate a-
cetabula; tentacles long, with
terminal hooks. The hook-
squids are solitary, frequenting
the open sea, often near the
banks of sargasso-weed.
A specimen of the second
genus (Enoploteuthis ungui-
culata) was taken during
Cook’s first voyage, in the
South Pacific, which must
have been six feet long from
the tips of the arms to the end
of the mantle. The huge
rhomboid pair of fins are still
preserved, dried, in the Hun¬
terian Museum of the London
College of Surgeons, together
with spirit-preparations of sec¬
tions of the uncinated arms,
the heart, and the mouth. Fig.
96 is taken from the last speci¬
men, but is reduced to one-
half the natural size.
The natives of the Poly¬
nesian Islands, who dive for
shell-fish, have a well-founded
dread of these formidable
Cephalopods.
Genus Loligopsis, Lam.
•—Arms with numerous small
acetabula; the third pair usu-
CL'
Fig. 100.
Head and arms of Omjchoteuthis.
399
Cephalo-i
poda.
1 Gr., signifying “ eyes which turn/
400 MOLL
Cephalo- aiiy the longest, the first the shortest; tentacles very long
y. P0da_! , ancl slender, rarely preserved in captured specimens; body
conical, tapering to the extremity, at or near which is a
pair of rounded fins; no infundibular valve ; mantle sub¬
transparent, widely open anteriorly.
Sp. Loligopsis Zygaena.—This species has the tentacles
acetabulate throughout their length. The Loligopsis Ver-
onyi is remarkable for the great length of the tentacles;
the suckers are limited to the clavate ends. 1 he Loli¬
gopsis vermicularis has the slender head longer than the
longest arm.
Genus Leachia, Stp.—The Leachia Reinhardlii is dis¬
tinguished by its strong armature of cartilaginous bands on
the mantle ; one, denticulate, along the middle of the back;
arms in length, 3, 2, 4, 1, or each with two series of suckers.
Sp. Leachia hyperborea, Stp.—Fins narrow, extending
along half the length of the body, and forming together a
lanceolate figure; arms, as to length, 3, 2, 1, 4, with very
large acetabula; tentacles twice as long as the arms.
Sub-family 2.—MYOPSID^E.
Eyes covered (wholly or almost) by skin.
Genus Cranchia, Leach.—Body large, ventricose ; fins
small, terminal; mantle supported in front by a branchial
septum; head very small; arms short, with two rows of
suckers ; tentacles with four rows of suckers on the clavate
ends ; funnel with a valve ; gladius long and narrow.
The Cranchia scabra, Leach, a species about two inches
in length, was taken off the west coast of Africa, during
Tuckey’s Congo expedition : the genus founded thereon was
named in honour of Mr Cranch, naturalist to the expedition.
Genus Loligo, D ’Orb. (part of the genus Loligo of
Lamarck), (Calamaries or Common Squids).—Body elon¬
gate, especially in the male, tapering behind, with a pair of
rhomboidal, terminal, more or less extended, fins; gladius
narrow, pen-shaped, with the shaft produced in front—it is
multiplied by age, several being found packed closely, one
behind the other, in old specimens; arms with two rows
of pedunculate suckers; tentacular club with four rows of
suckers, the fourth left arm in the male, with the suckers of
the terminal part, gradually disappearing, whilst their pe¬
duncles increase, and assume the form of long papillae, espe¬
cially along the outer margin, giving the extremity of the
arm a pectinate appearance; spermatophora attached, in
coilu, to the fringed lip of the female.
In Loligo vulgaris the suckers of the peduncular club
are very large on the two central rows, and very small in
the lateral rows; the horny ring of the central suckers is
finely toothed along half its circumference.
In Loligo Forbesii the central rows of the peduncular
suckers are scarcely larger than the lateral ones, and not
more than one-third larger than the largest suckers of the
third arm; the horny ring of the peduncular suckers is
toothed all round. A specimen of the species has been
taken which was 2 feet long, including the tentacles.
These squids are good swimmers; they also crawl, head
downwards, on their cephalic disc. The ova are inclosed
in long gelatinous cylindrical sheaths, and offer a close ana¬
logy to the spermatophora in the male. Bohadsch estimated
a cluster of these capsules to contain nearly 40,000 eggs.
Genus Sepioteuthis, Bl. {Long-Jinned Squids).—Gladius
lanceolate, narrowed anteriorly, convex dorsad; lateral
pallial fins as long as the mantle.
In Sepioteuthis sepioidea the fourth left arm in the male
has the outer row of suckers of the terminal part metamor¬
phosed into compressed leaf-like papillae, united by a mem¬
branous bridge with the roots of the peduncles in the oppo¬
site row, which are transformed into blunt elevations. The
fourth right armhas the terminal suckers scarcely discernible,
and probably assisting the left during the generative act.
1 he spermatophora are attached, in coitu, to the fringed lip
U S C A.
of the female (Steenstrup). The species are distributed in the Cephalo-
Mediterranean, Indian, South Atlantic, and Australian Seas. P0,ia-
Genus Loliolus, Stp.—Internal shell horny, broad, with
the shaft sharp-keeled; no muscular chords to the funnel,
and suckers without the elevated band round the horny
ring, thus resembling Sepiola and Rossia.
In Loliolus typus the left fourth arm in the male is with¬
out a trace of sucker; the acetabular bed being converted
into a compressed obtusely- den tate edge, produced by the con¬
fluent bases of the peduncles of the inner series of suckers.
Genus Sepiola, Leach.—Abdomen short, purse-like;
fins dorsal, rounded, contracted at the base; no muscular
bands to the funnel; no elevated band round the horny ring
of the suckers ; mantle continuous with the back of the head.
In the Sepiola Rondeletii the left dorsal arm in the male
is expanded by the confluence of the elongated stalks of the
suckers, especially of the inner row, and by a production of
integument at the base of the inner side of the arm. (Stp.)
Genus Rossia, Ow. (so named in honour of Sir James
Clark Ross, R.N., the arctic and antarctic navigator).—
Body short, ventricose, with subdorsal rounded fins, no mus¬
cular bands to funnel; posterior border of the mantle free ;
the dorsal pair of arms in the male obliquely twisted in¬
wards, with about eleven of the outer row of suckers elevated
on long peduncles, the roots of which are compressed, leaf¬
shaped, and surrounded by dermal folds or processes.
“ In one of my males I found two soft envelopes of sper¬
matophora between the cutaneous folds of the arm.” (Stp.)
Sp. Rossia palpebrosa, Ow.-—This is the largest known
species of the genus. It is characterized by numerous
small suckers on the tentacles. A fold of integument is
reflected, like a large lower eyelid in front of the eyeball.
The species was obtained by Captain Sir James Ross at
Elwin Bay, Prince Regent’s Inlet. The utility of the pe¬
culiar defence of the eyes, in a species living in seas some¬
times charged with spiculse of ice, is obvious.
Sp. Rossia Mblleri, Stp.—This is distinguished by very
large suckers on the tentacles, in both males and females ;
the middle row exceeding in size the largest brachial
suckers. Hab.—Greenland.
The Rossia dispar, Rupp. [Heteroteuthis, Gray), has
very large suckers on the third pair of arms.
The Rossia Oicenii, Ball, agrees with the male, and
Rosiia Jacobii, Ball, with the female, of the Rossia ma¬
crosoma, of D’Orbigny, and of Forbes and Hanley.
Genus Histioteuthis, D’Orb.—Trunk short, bursiform,
with a pair of terminal subdorsal rounded fins; palpebral
orifice large ; first, second, and third pair of arms united
by a web to within one-fourth their length from their tips.
* Sp. Histioteuthis bonelliana, D’Orb.—This species was
discovered by M. Verany in the Gulf of Genoa. rI he re¬
markable form of Cephalopod of which it is the type is
beautifully figured in plates 19, 20, and 21 of the Mol-
lusques Mediterraneens of that excellent Malacologist.
Section OCTOPODA, Leach.
Arms with sessile suckers, no tentacles; trunk united
to the head by a broad nuchal band; branchial chamber
divided by a longitudinal partition; two oviducts, with¬
out nidamental glands.
Family I.—PINNATA, Owen.
A pair of advanced subdorsal fins from the mantle.
Genus Sciadephorus ( Cirroteuthis, Eschricht).—Pal¬
lial fins rounded; arms united by a web nearly to their
tips ; suckers in a single row, alternating with cirri. In
the male a portion of the suckers seems, as it were, stripped
off the lower third of the right arm.
Sp. Sciadephorus Mulleri {Cirroteuthis Mulleri, Esch¬
richt).—Hab. coast of Greenland.
Cephalo-
poda.
MOLL
Family II.—NUDA, Owen.
No pallial fins. Shell represented by two short styles
in the substance.
Genus Eledone, Leach.—Arms with a single series of
suckers. In the male the third right arm is shorter and
somewhat thicker than the left one, with fewer acetabula
(sixty-four instead of ninety-three in Eledone moschata).
A strong cutaneous border commences in the middle, on
the margin of the membrane, stretched between the third
and fourth arms, and thence runs along the arm to its
apex, where the terminal plate is furnished with several
longitudinal folds. All the other arms have membranous
laminae instead of suckers at their extremity. (Stp.)
The Mediterranean species, Eledone moschata, is so
called on account of the musky odour it emits.
Genus Octopus, Cuv. (Poulps).—Arms with a double
alternate series of suckers united at their base by a web.
The species of Eledone and Octopus were the “ polypi” of
Aristotle. They swim by vigorous contractions of the
interbrachial muscular web, darting with the rounded end
of the trunk forwards. They creep on shore with the same^
part upwards, and with their eight arms, like the legs of
a spider, sprawling over the surface, in a rotating shuffling
manner. The ink which they discharge is of a dark
chestnut-brown colour. In the male the third right arm is
much shorter, but is as thick or thicker than the left, with
fewer acetabula, and bearing externally at its apex a long-
ish plate provided with a greater or less number of trans-^
verse ridges with intervening pits. A muscular fold of
skin connects this plate with the web at the base of the
arm, the fold running down the dorsal margin of the arm ;
which margin is so rolled towards the inner side of the arm
as to form a more or less closed channel, probably to con¬
duct the spermatophora to the apical plate. rI he female
oviposits on sea-weeds or in empty shells.
“ Octopi of enormous size are occasionally met with
among the islands of the Me'ia-co-shimah group. I
measured one, which two men were bearing on their
shoulders across a pole, and found each brachium rather
more than 2 feet long, giving the creature the power ot
exploring an area of about 12 feet without moving, taking
the mouth for a central point, and the extremities of the
arms, to describe the circumference.” (Adams.)
Genus Tremoctopus.—Dorsal pairs of arms (in the
female) webbed to or near to their ends; suckers in two
rows ; conspicuous aquiferous pores on the back of the head.
In the male of Tremoctopus carence (fig. 101) the
arms are not webbed; but the third right arm df is
enlarged with a double row of numerous (forty in each
row) suckers, and a terminal disc /; a cavity in this arm
contains a long convoluted spermatophore. It is deci¬
duous in coitu, and adheres to the female, usually to the
U S C A. 401
inner side of the mantle, where it was mistaken for a para- Cephalo-
sitic worm [Eectocotylus, Cuvier2) when first discovered. P°da.
This hectocotylised arm is further distinguished from the
rest by being white or colourless.3
Family III.—TESTACEA, Owen.
Dorsal arms of the female (fig. 102, 1), with much ex¬
panded terminal membranes, serving to secrete and sustain
a symmetrical involuted nidamental shell. The third left
arm in the male is “ hectocotylised” and deciduous in coitu.x
Genus Argonauta, Linn.—The characters of the family
are those of its sole representative genus.
Sp. Argonauta argo, Linn.—On this species, which in¬
habits the Mediterranean, and is found in tolerable abun¬
dance at Messina and Sicily, Madame Power made her
observations and experiments, which finally determined the
1 Catalogue of Mollusca in British Museum, Part I., Cephalopoda Antepedia, pp. 5 and 14.
2 Memoire sur un ver parasite d’un nouveau genre (Ilectocotylus), Annales des Sciences, vol. xviii., 1829. _ ,
3 Aristotle, describing this species of “ Polypus,” wrote, “ differt mas e femina eo, quod habet corpus oblongius, et gemtale, quod e
piscatoribus vocatur, in brachio, album.” {Hist. Anim., lib. v., c. 10, 1, ed. Schneider, p. 196.)
4 The following is Prof. Steenstrup’s summary of the sexual characters presented by the males of the Cephalopoda.-
Octopoda 
| Third j j arm a Hectocotylus, deciduous, colourless, developed in a sac. (Feminas polyandrce.)
| Third right arm hectocotilised, permanently attached, coloured, developed in a free state, {heminw
J Monandrce?)
Argonauta
Tremoctopus
Octopus
Eledone
Decapoda—
Eossia
Sepiola
Myopsidce S ^
1 Sepioteuthis
I Loligo
\ Loliolus
f Ommastrephes ^
AEgopsidas ( Onychoteuthis >
First left arm hec¬
tocotylised
( Fourth left arm hec-.
| tocotylised
with the right one only in the middle.
alone, in its whole length.
at the base,
at the apex,
at the apex,
in its whole length.
( Loligopsis
no hectocotylised arm yet observed.
3 E
VOL. XV.
402 MOLL
Cephalo- long-mooted question whether that Cephalopod was the
Fig. 102.
Argonauta gondola.
The question arose out of the anomalous relations of the
shell to its occupant; the shell not being attached by any
muscle to the Cephalopod, and this having been observed
to quit the shell and survive in captivity for some time
without attempting to resume it. Madame Power first
observed and published1 the function of the brachial mem¬
branes in maintaining the shell in proper relation to the
body, as shown in fig. 102, 1, where the membrane is
partly retracted from the shell, which it can wholly cover.
She likewise demonstrated, experimentally, the function of
those membranes in the formation and reparation of the
shell. She removed portions of the shell from healthy
argonauts imprisoned in her aquaria, and preserved them
long enough to witness the mode and degree of reproduc¬
tion of the mutilated parts of the shell. She cut off one
of the membranous arms, and preserved the mutilated
argonaut long enough to show that the growth of the side
of the shell next the amputated arm did not proceed;
whilst that which remained covered by the membrane of
the entire dorsal arm had received a notable increase.
Specimens of the shells, showing that inequality of the two
sides of the shell as the result of the experiment of re¬
moving one membranous arm, were transmitted by Ma¬
dame Power to the author of the present article, by whom
the experiment was suggested to that lady.2 3
The argonaut shell is, however, peculiar to the female
sex. It has the special function of an incubating and pro¬
tective nest. It is not the homologue of the camerated
shell of other testaceous Cephalopods, nor of the internal
rudimental shell in naked Cephalopods. It is to be re¬
garded as answering to the cocoon which is secreted for
a similar office by the leach and in many Articulata, and
to the nidamental float in Janthina.
Fig. 103 shows the place of attachment of the eggs,
which are appended by filamentary stalks to the involuted
spire of the shell. They are usually compacted in that
part of the shell, and concealed by the body of the parent
U S C A.
argonaut. This figure, and fig. 102, are of the species Cephalo.
described by Mr Adams 3 as the Argonauta gondola, of Poda-
which he writes:—
“ There is a con¬
siderable difference
in the general aspect
and disposition of the
spots, &c., between
the animals of Argo-
nautce gondola and
argo. In A. gondo¬
la the sac-like mantle
Nidamental shell and eggs {Argonauta gondola). js more ovoid and
elongated; the head is narrower; the funnel broader,
shorter, and furnished, at the upper and anterior extre¬
mity, with two conical elongations; the eyes are consider¬
ably larger and slightly more prominent; the tentacular
arms are much shorter in comparison and of greater width,
more particularly at their basal portions; the suckers are
much larger, more prominent, and placed closer to¬
gether. This species varies also considerably in colour
from A. argo. The extremities of the brachia are marbled
with deep-red brown, and, in the other parts, are covered
with large, irregular, oval, reddish blotches, eacn mar¬
gined with a dark colour; the circumference of the suckers
is marked with brown spots; the upper surface of the fun¬
nel is covered with pale pink, rather scattered and irre¬
gular, quadrate blotches, margined with dark-red brown ;
the mantle, on the dorsal surface, is densely sprinkled with
round and square spots of a chestnut-brown and crimson of
different sizes ; the velamenta are minutely dotted with
crimson and red-brown, and have a more bluish tinge than
those of A. argo ; the under surface is mottled and mi¬
nutely dotted with dark chocolate on the arms, and on the
body is marked with small, irregular, dark red-brown spots.
“ In the specimen of A. gondola from which the ac¬
companying drawing was made, the ovary was distended
with ova, but in a much less advanced stage of develop¬
ment than those deposited in the shelly nidus. Some of
these latter were sufficiently matured to enable me to trace,
under the microscope, the early indications of the being of
the argonaut; and although the progress is not followed
very far, it is sufficient to ascertain the similarity with the
changes observed by Poll in the same genus, with whose
writings I afterwards compared my remarks ; the only dif¬
ference of any importance appears to be that Poli regarded
as the shell what I have called the yolk-bag. At first, the
ova are semi-opaque, pale yellow, and apparently speckled
minutely, w'hich is owing to the granular yolk ; afterwards
they become clouded with light brown blotches, and three
dark spots make their appearance, one for each eye and
one for the viscera; these spots, in the next stage, ap¬
proach each other, and a faint outline of the future argo¬
naut is visible, a club-shaped embryo, rounded in front and
tapering behind. The front part is then lobed; a black
mark for the horny mandibles is perceived, and the eyes
are large and prominent; the yolk-bag, or vitellus, is next
seen very distinctly, and the processes extending from the
head are more elongated.” {Loc. cit., p. 7.)
The most complete series of observations on Cephalo-
podous development are those recorded by Kblliker, of the
cuttle-fish (Sepia officinalis).1 The primary germ-cell
Fig. 103.
1 Giornale di Galinctto di Messina, December 1834; and Ragguaglio delle Osservazioni ed Esperienze fatte sullo Argonauto Argo
(L.) da Madama Jannette Power, in Giornale di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti, Messina, Maggio, 1836. See also Proceedings of the Zoological
Society of London for February 1839.
- Reports of the British Association, 1844, Transactions of the Sections, p. 74. The fabled office of the brachial membranes, as
“ sails'’ to waft the argonaut along the surface of the ocean, and that of the attenuated arms, as “ oars” extending over the sides of the
boat, have afforded a favourite topic for poetic imagery and philosophic analogy during many ages; and the little hypothetical navi¬
gator of nature’s ship has been the object of the disquisitions of the naturalist from Aristotle to Cuvier, and of the song of the poet from
Callimachus to Byron. '
3 Zoology of the Samarang, Molluscs, p, 3.
MOLL
Cephalo- divides and subdivides, but assimilates only a small pro-
poda. portion of the vitellus to form the germ-mass ; the rest of
v'"—' the yolk being taken in for food after development of the
embryo, as in the oviparous shark and bird. What is
called a “ germinal area” is thus formed upon the yolk.
The basis of the trunk or mantle seems to be the first to
appear ; but almost simultaneously follow parts which are
afterwards recognised as the “ funnel-lobes,” “ gills,” and
“ eyes.”2 Next appear parts of the head called 41 anterior”
and 44 posterior” cephalic lobes; then the arms, beginning
by the ventral pair, and all these parts, save the gill-ru¬
diments, manifest ciliary action. The lobes or crura of
the funnel elongate, the eyes become reniform, the mouth
is established as a median semilunar depression with a
raised border. The mantle first liberates a border at its
ventral side (some Cephalopods, e.g., Sepiola octopus, re¬
tain this stage); afterwards the free border extends all
round, and by its growth begins to cover the gills. The
crura of the funnel approximate, the cephalic lobes co¬
alesce, the bases of the dorsal pair of arms extend, ap¬
proximate, and complete the encompassing of the mouth.
There is nothing in the developmental relations of the
cephalic arms that countenances the idea of their homology
with the repent ventral disc of Gastropods. The crura of
the funnel first coalesce at their dorsal margin, and in Nau¬
tilus the development of the tube is arrested at this stage ;
but the ventral overlapping borders of the funnel-lobes
next coalesce, completing the tube. The alimentary canal,
with the liver and ink-bag, are successively developed.
The molluscous bend of the intestine is formed as the
mantle-cavity rises from the germinal area; the anus hav¬
ing been previously established between the gill-rudiments
and the ventral ends of the funnel-lobes. The vitelline
sac is drawn in between the mouth and vent, and becomes
divided into an internal and external yolk ; the latter be¬
coming progressively 44 internal” until finally absorbed.
At a certain stage of pallial growth alternate contractions
and expansions of the mantle indicate the respiratory
movements. The ink-bag is conspicuous by the colour of
its contents, which suffice to blacken a considerable quan¬
tity of water. At the period of exclusion five layers
of the shell of the young cuttle-fish have been formed ; but,
except the nucleus, which is calcified, they are flexible and
transparent; the internal shell of the Teuthidai is arrested
at this stage. The pallial fins are relatively broader than
in the mature animal, and the cephalic arms are furnished
with both suckers and a basal web. Thus the little cuttle
is enabled to swim either backwards or forwards, and its
eyes have acquired the requisite development to direct it
to its appropriate food, or warn it of an approaching enemy,
from which it has also the means of concealing itself by its
already developed ink-bag.
In the class at the summit of the Molluscous series, as
in the Arachnida of the Articulate series, there is no me¬
tamorphosis. The Cephalopodic character is manifested
before the parts of the embryo are completed; even the
Dibranchiate peculiarity of the infundibular cartilages is
recognisable, when as yet, only the visceral sac, funnel,
gills, and eyes have been outlined on the germ-mass. No
phase or form of Molluscous existence below the Cephalo-
pod is transitorily manifested. Before the ciliary action
is visible on the germ-mass, the parts that afterwards exhibit
it bear the Cephalopodous stamp. The retained conditions
which are transitional in the embryo Sepia are peculiar,
as has been pointed out, to certain other Cephalopods.
Were growth superinduced at any arrested stage of Cephalo¬
podous development, no known inferior form of Mollusk
would result; and no arrested stage of Vertebrate develop¬
ment would produce anything like a cuttle-fish.
U S C A. 403
The notices of the habitats of the species selected to il- Cephalo-
lustrate the several divisions of the Molluscous province, ^ ^ a‘ ;
will have served to convey a general idea of their distribu- v"1*1
tion in space. It remains only to sum up briefly the rela¬
tions of the Mollusca to time.
In the oldest known fossiliferous deposits—Cambrian or
Lower Silurian—this province of life is represented by
species of Brachiopoda (Orthisina, Pseudocrania), of
Lamellibranchiata {Lyrodesma, Modiolopsis), of Gas¬
teropoda, both Nucleobranchiate {Maclurea, Belerophon)
and Scutibranchiate (Rhaphistoma, Holopcea), and of Te-
trabranchiate Cephalopoda {Gonioceras, Lituites, Endo-
ceras). Thus the leading modifications or classes of the
Mollusca appear simultaneously at the earliest begin¬
nings of life to which our present knowledge reaches.
Some additional but allied species of tbe same families ap¬
pear in the Upper Silurian beds. In the Devonian system
of rocks the Brachiopoda are principally represented by
Spirifera, and Producta here makes its first appearance;
the Lamellibranchiata are exemplified by Megalodon
and Pterincea ; the Cephalopoda by Clymenia and Bac-
trites. The Goniatites, which make their first appear¬
ance in the Devonian, flourish most in the Carboniferous
series. New Brachiopoda—e.g., Camarophoria—first
appear in the Permian, at which period the Lamellibran-
chiate Myalina was most abundant. A Permian Bivalve
has been referred to the genus Lima ; the Brachiopodous
Lingula and Crania have continued to be represented
from the Cambrian epoch to the present day; but most
of the Molluscous genera of the Palaeozoic rocks are ex¬
tinct.
True Ammonites first appear in the Trias, and the Te-
trabranchiate Cephalopods were most abundant and various
at the Oolitic periods, when the Dibranchiates, under the
form of Belemnites, first appeared on the stage of life. In
the same secondary strata the Gasteropoda are chiefly
represented by asiphonate genera. The siphonated Aporr-
hais and Pyrula first appear in the Cretaceous strata.
Fresh-water Pulmonifcra occur in the Purbeck beds;
but terrestrial species have not been found in strata
older than the Tertiary. The Lamellibranchiate genera
are reckoned by Woodward to be seven times more nu¬
merous in the newer Tertiary than in the Palaeozoic strata.
In the latter the genera belong to the families with an open
mantle. 44 The siphonated Bivalves do not appear till the
middle of the secondary age, and are only now at their maxi¬
mum.” {Manual, p. 418.) Fossil shells have afforded the
readiest mode of testing and characterizing the chief
divisions of the Tertiary system. To those strata in
which a small per-centage is only referable to recent
species the term 44 Eocene” is given, as if the dawn of
actual life had then appeared. Strata of the “Miocene”
age are those that have not more than 50 per cent,
of recent species. When they constitute from 50 to 70
or 80 per cent, they characterize the 44 Pliocene” Tertiary
beds.
The natural families of the Mollusca which seem now
to be verging towards extinction are the Rhynchonellidce,
the Trigoniadce, and the Nautilidce. The following seven
families have altogether passed away :—Productidce, Or-
thidce, Spiriferidce, Hippuritidce, Orthoceratidce, Ammo-
nitidce, and Belemnitidce.
In this retrospect of Molluscous organization, so far as it
can be carried through the dark vistas of geological time,
we discern 44 an ascent and progress in the main.” Lam-
mellibranchiate have superseded Palliobranchiate Bivalves ;
Siphonate have succeeded Asiphonate Univalves; and the
Dibranchiate now vastly outnumber the Tetrabranchiate
Cephalopods. (r. o.)
1 EntwicTcelungsgeschichu der Cephalopoden, 4to, 1844.
3 Ibid., taf. ii., fig. xvi.
404 MOL
Moloch MOLOCH, or Molech, or Milchom, the national god
Mo|t n t^e Ammonites, who dedicated their children to him, by
v 0 ori’ j making them “ pass through the fire.” There are various
” opinions concerning this method of consecration. Some
think that the children leaped over a fire sacred to Mo¬
loch ; others are of opinion that they passed between two
fires; and others conceive that they were really burned in the
fire by way of sacrifice to this god. That the latter opinion
is the only tenable one may be shown from such passages as
Ps. cvi. 38 ; Jer. vii. 31 ; Ezek. xvi. 20, xxiii. 37. It cannot
be precisely ascertained at what period the Israelites be¬
came acquainted with this idolatry, but it is highly probable
that it was before the time of Solomon, the date usually
assigned for its introduction.
Moses in several places forbids the Israelites to dedi¬
cate their children to this god, as the Ammonites did, and
threatens death and utter extirpation to such persons as
should commit this abominable idolatry. (Lev. xx. 1-5.)
There is great probability that the Hebrews were much
addicted to the worship of this deity; since Amos (v. 26),
and after him Stephen (Acts vii. 43), reproaches them with
having carried along with them into the wilderness the
tabernacle of their god Moloch.
Solomon built a temple to Moloch upon Mount Olivet
(1 Kings xi. 7); and Manasseh, long afterwards, imitated
his impiety by making his son pass through the fire in
honour of Moloch. It was chiefly in the valley of Tophet
and Hinnom, to the east of Jerusalem, that the Israelites
paid their idolatrous worship to this false god of the Am¬
monites. After the restoration all traces of this idolatry
disappear.
The accounts of this idol and his worship found in the
Old Testament are very scanty. Miinter has collected the
testimonies of the classical writers on this point with great
completeness, in his Religion der Karthager. Many of
these notices, however, only describe late developments of
the primitive rites ; the description, e.g., of the image of
Moloch as a brazen statue, which was heated red hot, and
in the outstretched arms of which the child was laid, so
that it fell down into the flaming furnace beneath. This
account, which is first found in Diodorus Siculus as refer¬
ring to the Carthaginian Kpovos, was subsequently adopted
by Jarchi and others, but is not admitted by Movers, to
apply to the Moloch of the Old Testament.
The names of Moloch (“ king”) and Baal (£< lord”) are
almost synonymous. Their connection is seen by com¬
paring Jer. xxxii. 35 with xix. 5; where both names are
used as if they were interchangeable, and where human
sacrifices are ascribed to both deities. Baal is the chief
name by which the principal god of the Phoenicians is
known in the Old Testament; but only the two above-cited
passages ascribe to him the sacrifice of human victims. The
Greek, and Latin authors, however, give abundant testi¬
mony to the human sacrifices which the Phoenicians and
their colonies offered to their principal god, in whom these
classical writers have almost always recognised their own
Kpovos and Saturn. Thus we are brought to the difficulty of
reconciling Moloch, as Saturn, with Baal, as the sun and Ju¬
piter. In reality, however, this difficulty is in part created
by our association of classical with Semitic mythology.
When regarded apart from such foreign affinities, Moloch
and Baal may appear as the personifications of the two
powers which give and destroy life, which early religions
regarded as not incompatible phases of the same one God
of nature.
MOLTON, South, an old market-town and municipal
borough of England, county of Devon, on the right bank of
the Mole, 26 miles N.N.W. of Exeter. It has an ample
market-place and several well-built and cleanly-kept streets.
principal building is the parish church, a Gothic
edifice of the fifteenth century, containing a richly-carved
MOL
stone pulpit. It has also a guildhall and a borough jail. Moluccas.
Manufactures of coarse woollen fabrics and lace are carried
on here. The borough is governed by a mayor, 3 aider-
men, and 12 councillors. Market on Saturday. Pop.
(1851) 4482. In the neighbourhood are some rich copper
mines, where gold is occasionally found. About 3 miles
to the N.E. is a small village called North Molton.
MOLUCCAS, or Spice Islands, a numerous group of
islands in the Asiatic Archipelago, situated between Celebes
on the W. and New Guinea on the E., and stretching from
N. Lat. 2. to S. Lat. 9. They are believed to amount to
several hundreds, though many of them are small and un¬
inhabited. The group is formed of three smaller clusters,
viz., the Gilolos or Moluccas proper, the Ceram group,
and the Timor Laut group. The first of these, extending
from 2. S. to 3. N. Lat., comprehends the islands of Gilolo,
Morty, Mandioly, Batchian, Ooby, Mysole, Ternate, and
Tidore, besides others of smaller size. The cluster of Ceram,
which lies in the centre of the group, between 3. and 5.
S. Lat., contains, among others, the islands of Ceram, Booroo,
Amboyna, and Banda. The third group lies farther to the
S., situated between Australia and the W. of New Guinea,
and includes the Timor Laut, the Key, and Aroo islands.
The surface of the whole group is decidedly mountainous,
and attains in some of the islands heights varying from
7000 to 8000 feet above sea-level. In its geological struc¬
ture the group is principally volcanic, and contains several
active craters, ‘as well as a number of hot springs, which are
found chiefly in the island of Amboyna. The outline of
the mountains, moreover, is bold and rugged, and the coasts
are both steep and irregular. Violent earthquakes are of
frequent occurrence. The mountains are extensively wooded,
even to their summits; while in the lower regions there is
a rich soil. There are numerous excellent harbours, but
sand-banks are frequently thrown up on the coast by
the earthquakes, which render the navigation intricate.
Owing to their tropical situation, the climate of the Mo¬
luccas is at all seasons warm; but the smallness of their
size, and the prevalence of the monsoons, prevent the heat
from rising to an excessive degree. From October or
November till April or May, when the N.W. monsoon
prevails, the hot and rainy season continues; but during
the other months, when the S.E. monsoon blows, the tem¬
perature is considerably lower. The moisture of the air,
however, is at all times great, and even during the dry
season occasional showers fall. The nature of the climate
and soil prevent the cultivation of corn in the Moluccas;
and the principal food of the natives is obtained from the
sago palm; besides which, bread-fruit, cocoa-nuts, and
many other products of tropical countries, grow in great
abundance. Spices, however, as the name of the islands
indicates, are the articles of produce most important to
Europeans. Of these, cloves and nutmegs are the prin¬
cipal, and are exported in large quantities. Sandal and
other kinds of wood useful for furniture are also obtained
here. Small quantities of gold, coral, madrepore, and
mother-of-pearl are found on the islands; and some com¬
merce is carried on with China in edible birds’ nests, sea-
slugs, and sharks’ fins. The Dutch monopolies, however,
which have trammelled the trade here for so many years,
are now almost completely abolished, and the good effects
are rapidly becoming more apparent in an extended com¬
merce. The inhabitants of the Moluccas are of two races,
—the Papuans and the Malays. The former, believed to
be the same as the inhabitants of Australia, have in many
of the smaller islands been exterminated by the Malays,
and in the larger ones have only retained possession of the
interior and mountainous parts. The Moluccas were first
visited by the Portuguese in 1510; but shortly after, their
right of possession was disputed by the Spaniards under
Magelhaens, at the head of a small fleet sent out by Charles
405
MOL
Molyn. V. This dispute at length terminated in favour of the
^latter. It was not till 1596 that the Dutch made any per¬
manent settlements on these islands. The Dutch East
India Company, founded in 1603, had obtained in 1618 the
supremacy over many of the princes of the Moluccas, who
were allowed to retain their authority subject to the
company. This company was dissolved in 1795, and the
Moluccas became immediate dependencies of Holland.
During the French war of 1796, however, they were
taken by the British, who held possession of them till
1800, when they were returned to Holland. The islands
were again occupied by the British in 1810, but were
finally restored to the Dutch in 1814, by the treaty of
Paris.
MOLYN, Peter, surnamed II Tempesta and Pietro
Mulier or l)e Mulieribus, a distinguished painter, was the
son of an artist of the same name, and was born at
Haerlem in 1637. At an early age he was initiated in his
art by his father, and is said to have been so fond of draw¬
ing, that he used to play truant from school, and to skulk
by the sea-shore, sketching the ships in the distance, and
the cattle that were grazing near him. His first models
were the hunting pieces of Snyders; and his imitations, if
continued, might in course of time have rivalled their
originals. In his thirtieth year he was converted to Popery
by a Carmelite monk, and shortly afterwards proceeded to
Rome. There Molyn practised his art with great success.
The Duke of Bracciano became his patron, and his fame
rapidly increased. He was especially remarkable for the
wild imaginative power with which he represented devoted
ships tossing amid the confused turmoil of the elements.
So striking, indeed, was his success in storm scenes, that he
came to be generally known among the Italians by the
name of “ Tempesta.” He also excelled in landscape-paint¬
ing. His pictures of that description are marked by an
imposing variety of scenery, consisting of woods, lakes,
rocks, and romantic edifices, overhung by troubled skies,
and relieved by lively and expressive figures. While
Molyn was thus raising himself in the rank of his profession,
he was also degrading himself in the scale of morality, and
was fast becoming insensible to every virtuous emotion.
At length, it is said, growing tired of his wife, an Italian
lady, he left Rome on some pretence, and, after visiting
Venice and Milan, settled in Genoa. From this city he
was not long in despatching an accomplice to Rome with a
letter to his wife charging her to come to him with the
messenger. The lady, full of suspicion, at first refused, but
on a second summons complied. She was murdered on the
way by her companion ; and her husband at the same time
married a woman of Genoa, of whom he had become
enamoured. Such suspicious circumstances led Molyn to
be tried for murder, convicted, and condemned to perpetual
imprisonment. The gloom of his dungeon, and the terrors
of his guilty conscience, seem to have stimulated the
peculiar powers of his imagination, for the tempests which
he continued to paint were darker and more terrific than
before. After Molyn had lain in prison for five years,
according to some, or for sixteen years, according to others,
he contrived to escape. Taking up his abode at Milan, he
plied his pencil with greater success than ever, and in¬
creased both in affluence and in profligacy. He lived most
sumptuously, and kept a private menagerie to afford him
facility for the study of animal-painting. At the same
time he became so notorious a libertine that he received
the additional surname of “ Mulier.” Towards the close of
his life the decaying faculties of Molyn failed to sustain him
in his former style of living, and he lapsed into comparative
poverty. He died of a fever in 1701. Many of his
pictures may be seen among the collections in Milan and
in its neighbourhood. (See Lanzi’s History of Painting,
and Stanley’s Dutch and Flemish Painters.)
MOM
MOLYNEUX, William, a learned mathematician, was Molynoux
descended from a family of fortune, and was born at !!
Dublin in April 1656. He entered the university of his
native city in 1671, and after graduating as B.A., he re-
paired to London in 1675 to study law at the Middle
Temple. The greater part of his time, however, was
devoted to philosophy and mathematics. On his return to
Ireland in 1678, his independent fortune enabled him to
marry, and to devote all his time to the cultivation and
advancement of his favourite studies. It was at his sug¬
gestion that the Dublin Philosophical Society was instituted
in 1683. He became its first secretary ; and by the zeal
and talent with which he discharged this office, he speedily
attracted the notice of some of the most influential men in
the country. The consequence was, that in 1685 he was
appointed by the Irish government to inspect the fortresses
in Flanders; and in the following year he was elected a
member of the Royal Society of London. During the
commotions that prevailed in Ireland in 1689 and 1690,
Molyneux was in England engaged in completing his
principal work, the treatise on Optics. In 1692 it was
published in 4to at London, under the title of Dioptrica
Nova, and with an appendix containing the theorem, newly
discovered by Dr Halley, for finding the foci of optic glasses.
Molyneux sat in the Irish Parliament in 1692 for the city,
and in 1695 for the university of Dublin. He was a
bosom friend of Locke, and while suffering under his last
illness, he undertook a journey to England to visit that philo¬
sopher. His death took place in October 1698. Molyneux
also wrote a Translation of the Six Metaphysical Medita¬
tions of Descartes, together with the objections against them
by Thomas Hobbes, Lond., 1680, and twenty-seven papers
on miscellaneous subjects in the Philosophical Transactions.
MOMBAS, a seaport-town of Africa, on a small island,
3 miles in length by 2 in breadth, in a bay on the coast of
Zanzibar, in Lat. 4. 4. S., Long. 39. 38. E. The bay in
which the island is situated is about 5 miles in length by
3 in breadth, and forms the harbour of Mombas, said to be
one of the best in the world. The coasts of the island con¬
sist of steep cliffs of madrepore, and render the town almost
impregnable; while it is still further defended by an old Por¬
tuguese fort, situated on an elevation to the S. of the town.
The town, which is in a wretched and ruinous condition,
consists of two parts,—one occupied by Arabs, the other by
Sowhylese, a Moorish race, who inhabit a great part of this
coast. Although Mombas is very suitable both as a com- *
mercial and military station, it seems to be less used in the
former capacity than Uzi, a town which absorbs most of
the trade of the neighbourhood. Mombas was first visited
by the Portuguese under Yasco de Gama in 1498, and
the town was then large and flourishing. In 1505 Fran¬
cisco de Almeida, the Portuguese viceroy of India, in re¬
venge for some insults offered by the inhabitants, took
and burned the town. It was, however, afterwards rebuilt,
when the Portuguese in 1529 returned and repeated their
work of destruction. From that date to 1720 it was held
by the Portuguese. In the latter year Mombas fell into
the hands of the Imam of Muscat, but he was soon dis¬
possessed by a rebellion of the inhabitants. From 1824 to
1826 the town came under British protection; but it is
now governed by an Arab sheikh. Pop. 3000 or 4000.
MOMPOX, a river-port town of New Granada, capital
of a province of the same name, in the department of ,
Magdalena. It is situated on the left bank of the
Magdalena River, about 20 miles above its confluence
with the Cauca. Lat. 9. 15. N., Long. 74. 30. W. The
town is regularly laid out, with broad streets crossing each
other at right angles. Some of the houses near the centre
of the town are well built; but the greater part of them are
little more than mere sheds. Mompox has a handsome
custom-house, and a quay sufficiently elevated above the
406 MOM
Mom us stream to be secure from the great floods, which in the
II month of December raise the waters of the river 10 or 12
Monach- ^eet above their usual level. This town is of considerable
v 18im ) importance, being the great commercial emporium for the
Magdalena valley. The climate is very warm and moist;
and the neighbourhood is infested with alligators and mos¬
quitos. Pop. (1851) 11,600.
MOMUS, in fabulous history, was the god of raillery,
or the jester of the celestial assembly, who ridiculed both
gods and men. He is the personification of mockery and
censure. Being chosen by Vulcan, ISeptune, and Minerva,
to give his judgment concerning their works, he blamed
them all: Neptune for not making his bull with horns be¬
fore his eyes, in order that he might give a surer blow;
Minerva for building a house which could not be removed
in case of bad neighbours; and Vulcan for making a man
without a window in his breast, that his seciet thoughts
might be seen. Venus he considered alone blameless.
For the freedom of his reflections upon the gods, Momus
was expelled from heaven. He is generally represented as
raising a mask from his face, and holding a small figure in
his hand.
MONACHISM (from Latin monachus, a monk; Greek
fxovaxos, solitary) is a general name descriptive of a mode
of religious life which has prevailed in the church from
almost the earliest ages, and which, during many periods of
its history, has formed the most characteristic and powerful
expression of its activity. It sprang into settled existence
during the third century, and was the natural product of
many influences then moving the church. Previously to
this period, indeed, a system of solitary and ascetic devo¬
tion is found prevailing among the Jews both in Pales¬
tine and in Alexandria. The F^ssenes, on the western
shores of the Dead Sea, and the Therapeutae, on the borders
of Lake Moeris, seem to have formed regular communities of
ascetics, whose existence long preceded the rise of Chris¬
tian Monachism, and to whose example the origin of the
latter may in some degree be attributed. Ihe main causes
out of which Monachism arose, however, are undoubtedly
to be found within the church itself,—in those hardships and
persecutions which oppressed it, especially during that age,
and the spirit which these persecutions naturally quickened
and fostered. During the severities which followed the edict
of Decius in the year 250, many Christians were driven
from their homes in search of shelter from the relentless
vengeance which pursued them. The comparative security
of those remote wilds in which they sought refuge, the
peacefulness and freedom from idolatrous intrusion in which
they found themselves, combined with a growing spirit of
mystical devotion which had sprung up, as in many other
cases, from the very extremity of the social distractions in
the midst of which they had lived, seem to have been the
direct sources of the monastic idea. Such an isolation as
that in which many now found themselves came to be re¬
garded by them, under the force of such circumstances as
those in which they were placed, as the only possible reali¬
zation of the Christian life. In such a position alone did
it appear practicable to carry out that spirit of self-denial and
abstinence from worldly enjoyments which represented the
ideal of their holy calling.
Egypt was the fruitful soil in which such thoughts ger¬
minated and sprung to maturity. The honour of their ori¬
ginal has been shared by two names—Basil and Anthony;
the former of whom may be regarded as the first in point
of time who exemplified in his own practice that Christian
asceticism which developed into Monachism; but the latter
ot whom was really the first who drew such attention to the
monastic life as to spread abroad its fame and attract many
to its adoption.
Anthony was born on the borders of Upper Egypt, in the
village of Coma, in the province of Heracleopolis, about the
MON
year 251. A spirit of simple and earnest, but somewdia Monach-
unintelligent piety, animated him from his youth. Losing ism.
both his parents about his twentieth year, the care of a
young sister and of considerable property devolved upon
him. Setting aside the ordinary Christian obligations arising
out of this position, he conceived himself called upon, like
the rich young man in the Gospels, to dispose of his pro¬
perty, and submit to a life of voluntary poverty, in which
he might, without impediment, give himself to his spiritual
duties. In obedience to this impulse, he assigned his landed
estates to the inhabitants of his native village, under condi¬
tion that he should receive no trouble as to any charges to
which they were liable; and having made provision for the
education of his sister with a society of pious virgins, he
settled down near his paternal mansion, and commenced a
life of rigid asceticism. He supported himself by the labour
of his hands, and distributed whatever exceeded the supply
of his own bare wants for the benefit of the poor. This
solitary life, however, was not without its temptations. Those
natural feelings which he strove to mortify continued to
assert themselves in such a manner as to disturb the serenity
of his spiritual contemplations, and grosser feelings even
obtruded themselves under the guise of alluring imagina¬
tions, which rose before him with a more painful distinct¬
ness the more he laboured to subdue them. Afterwards
he learned the more Christian way of resisting such temp¬
tations by cheerful activity and trust in the presence of the
Lord ; but at first he thought to overcome them by a still
stricter seclusion and more severe regimen. He retired to
a farther distance from his native village, and took up his
abode in a recess of rock, such as the Egyptians used for
purposes of entombment. Here he fasted and afflicted
himself till he was overtaken by illness, and carried back
in a fainting and semi-deranged condition to the village. A
morbid spirit of devotion, however, burned in him too
ardently to be quenched. He afterwards sought a still
more distant retirement, where he remained for twenty
years, maturing a saintly renown which spread abroad his
name, and brought many to seek his advice and to settle
under his encouragement to the same mode of life. The
deserts of Egypt began to swarm with devotees, who
courted his presence and example, and naturally acknow¬
ledged him as their leader. The love of seclusion pre¬
vailed over his love of power; and the numbers who in¬
truded upon his solitude drove him to a still more inac¬
cessible retreat among the mountains. But even here he
did not escape molestation. Followers gathered around
him in spite of all his efforts to maintain his privacy ; and the
first rudiments of a monastery grew up in this remote wild.
Anthony did not indeed aim at any complete organization
of his followers; this task remained for another; but he
taught them to labour for their support, and directed to
some extent their religious duties.
The life of Anthony was prolonged to upwards of a
hundred years, and his saintly fame, as may be easily con¬
ceived, grew with his years, till a peculiar sacredness and
a miraculous virtue were supposed to attach to his per¬
son. On two occasions on which he made his appearance
in Alexandria the religious enthusiasm which he excited
was intense and universal; and especially on the latter
occasion, in the year 352, when he was more than a hundred
years old, it reached such a height that even pagans are
said to have pressed forward to touch his garment, in the
hope of being healed of their diseases. He distinguished
himself at such times of public activity as the warm friend
of Athanasius in his contest with Arianism; and it is to
this circumstance that we probably owe the record of his
life from the pen of the great Trinitarian—a record to
which the historian is indebted for such facts as we have
now related.
The system thus begun by Anthony speedily spread into
'
M 0 N A C H I S M. 407
Monach- Syria and Palestine, favoured by the congenial circumstances
ism. of climate and the prevalence of a similar ascetic spirit to
V*-'' that which existed in Egypt. Hilarion, a disciple of An¬
thony, was chiefly instrumental in the promotion of Monach-
ism in Palestine; while the great Basil of Caesarea, the
fellow-student and friend of Gregory Nazianzen, warmly
embraced its spirit, and more than any other contributed
to its progress throughout Syria and to the shores of the
Black Sea. It is interesting to contemplate in such men
as Basil and Gregory, particularly in the latter, the struggles
of the monastic with the higher and more comprehen¬
sive Christian spirit, and the manner in which this spirit at
length succumbed to the perverted tendency of their age,
always gathering fresh strength from the increase of social
confusion and disorder. Gregory, indeed, never virtually
assumed, like Basil, the monastic vows; but the triumph of
the ascetical bent was in the end scarcely less complete in
him than in his friend. It is deserving of notice that the
single monastic order which has subsisted in the Greek
church derives its name from St Basil.
While the institution of Monachism thus extended itself,
from the example of Anthony, not only in Egypt, but
throughout the East, its more complete organization is
associated with the name of Pachomius, another Egyptian
ascetic, who, independently of Anthony, had entered on a
similar career. To him is attributed the foundation of the
cloister life, or the collection of the monks in several classes,
according to a regular system, and in one large connected
building. This was properly the first establishment of the
monastery or ccenobium. The whole community of monks
thus formed was placed under a president or abbot (from
the Hebrew or Syriac word for father), from whom descended
an organized gradation of offices and ranks, fitted to pre¬
serve the integrity of the society and to secure its order.
In the natural course of things, this organized form of
Monachism soon came to usurp an exclusive character as
the only valid expression of the ascetic spirit. The earlier
Anachorets—who lived in single cells, with only a casual
combination, and without submitting to any definite rule—
were gradually absorbed into the more regular establish¬
ments, although in the East they long continued to survive,
and to assert their independence in all shapes of ungoverned
fanaticism. One class of these independent ascetics, who
are known to us under the name of Sarabaites, seem to
have been peculiarly obnoxious to the regular monks in the
vigour with which they maintained their separate position,
and refused to own any government or superior. Cassian,
a monk of Palestine, who travelled into Egypt towards the
close of the fourth century, with the view of inquiring into
the various orders of ascetics there, attributes to the Sara¬
baites all sorts of excesses and disorders; but his picture
is to be received with suspicion, as that of a partizan who
resented their independence as insubordination, and black¬
ened their characters because they opposed his system.
The most various ’esults, as may be imagined, sprang
from an institution like eastern Monachism. In some cases
there was formed a comparatively pure spirit of devotion,
such as that which, upon the whole, with all his earlier
excesses, animated its great founder Anthony. Nor can it
be disputed, that social consequences of a useful and bene¬
ficent kind followed the establishment of monasteries
throughout the deserts of Egypt and along the bleak shores
of the Pontus. A ready and generous hospitality dis¬
tinguished the cloisters. The traveller received with an
ungrudging spirit maintenance and lodgings. The Coeno¬
bites of Egypt, especially, were productive corn-growers,
and sent ships laden with food and articles of clothing to be
distributed among the poor of Alexandria. The wildest
and most ridiculous excesses at the same time grew out of
the system. Bands of roving devotees, historically known Monach-
under different names, as Euchites (cf^trat), from their no- ism•
tion about constant inward prayer, as Choreutes (xopevrai)
from their mystic dances, and as Enthusiasts (ertWiacrrai)
from their pretended spiritual communications, infested
whole districts of country, and spread themselves from the
Nile to the Black Sea. These fanatics abandoned all use¬
ful employment, and even any regular practices of devotion,
and professed to give themselves up to spiritual contempla¬
tion ; not unfrequently degenerating, by that necessary re¬
action inherent in all extremes, into gross licentiousness.
Individual fanaticism, moreover^ took the most grotesque
and incredible shapes ; as in the case of the famous Simeon
Stylites, who is reported to have passed thirty years on the
top of a pillar 60 feet from the ground. “ Habit and exer¬
cise,’' writes Gibbon in his characteristic manner, “in¬
structed him to maintain his dangerous position without
fear or giddiness, and successively to assume the different
postures of devotion. He sometimes prayed in an erect
attitude, with his outstretched arms in the figure of a cross;
but his most familiar practice was that of bending his meagre
skeleton from the forehead to the feet; and a curious spec¬
tator, after numbering twelve hundred and forty-four repeti¬
tions, at length desisted from the endless account. The
progress of an ulcer in the thigh might shorten, but it could
not disturb, this celestial life; and the patient hermit ex¬
pired without descending from his column.” (Milman’s
Gibbon, vol. vi., pp. 251-2.)
Athanasius has obtained the reputation of extending
Monachism into the West. During his compulsory sojourn
in Rome in 341 he is said to have carried certain Egyptian
monks in his train, whose austerities and devotion, though
at first disgusting to the polished Romans, gradually attracted
interest, and at length admiration. His Life of Anthony,
moreover, which was speedily translated into Latin, gave a
great impulse to the monastic spirit. It could not fail,
indeed, that this spirit, so soon as it became dominant in
the East, should spread to Rome, and, in such a centre of
mingling superstitions, receive a ready support. All the
most illustrious of the western teachers contributed by
their countenance to this result. Ambrose of Milan, Mar¬
tin of Tours, and even Augustine, were drawn within its
influence, and lent it their encouragement. The restless
activity of Jerome during his residence in Rome was
exerted in its behalf, and under his influence rich and
noble ladies were led to retire from the world and conse¬
crate themselves, amid the solitudes of Palestine, to a life
of devotion.1 The labours of Martin of Tours, and of Cas¬
sian at Marseilles, were especially successful in trans¬
ferring Monachism westwards, until, in the course of the
fifth century, thousands of devotees spread themselves
through the south and middle of France into Britain and
Ireland, carrying with them, it cannot be doubted, many
influences of civilization, and forming in their settlement
rallying points of Christian enlightenment and education,
under the repeated incursions and devastations of barbarian
tribes..
It may be readily conceived that such a fanatical spirit,
in its growth and extension, had a constant tendency to
degenerate from its primitive strictness, and to end in mere
indolence and license. A yet more thorough system of
organization was accordingly necessary to strengthen its
widely-branching relations, and to consolidate it in its diffu¬
sion. And such a system was not long wanting. There
arose among the monks of Italy one who saw the dangers
to which Monachism was exposed, and who resolved to
encounter them by a more systematic and efficient control
Benedict of Nursia was prepared for this great task by a
self-discipline of the strictest character. Secluding himself
1 The case of Paula and her daughter Eustochium, alluded to by Gibbon, vol. vi., p. 236, is well known.
408 M 0 N A C H I S M.
Monach- from all companionship, he spent three years of solitary
ism. devotion, unrelieved by a single visit, and his retreat un-
's—known to any save a brother monk, who provided him with
what he could spare of his own daily allowance of food, by
dropping it by a rope to the foot of a steep rock near the
grotto in which Benedict lived. Some shepherds at length
discovered his retreat, and spread abroad the fame of the
holy hermit. His influence was thus at once secured; he
was invited to the rule of a neighbouring convent, and
accepted it, although under protestation that the severity of
the government which he would feel bound to establish
would prove intolerable to those who gave him the invita¬
tion. It turned out as he supposed: the refractory monks
even sought his life; and, leaving them in disgust, he re¬
tired once more to his solitude. This event only con¬
tributed the more to his fame; wealthy citizens of Rome
reverentially sought him out, and entrusted their sons to
him for education. He was gradually enabled to found
and regulate, according to his own plan, twelve cloisters in
the neighbourhood of his original seclusion; and subse¬
quently, on retiring from the scene of his labours to a moun¬
tain at some distance, he laid the foundation of a monastic
institution, which, under the name of the Abbey of Mcnte
Casino, was destined to play an illustrious part in the annals
of the Papacy.
Rigorous as were the personal austerities of St Benedict,
he was convinced by experience that an undue severity of
fasting and mortification was incompatible with a western
climate and western habits. His rule, accordingly, in the
ultimate form in which it obtained ascendancy throughout
all the monasteries of the West, was characterized rather
by its simplicity and order than by any particular severity.
He aimed at subordination and discipline by a regular sys¬
tem of alternate labour and devotion, so that no period of
the day remained unoccupied. Two hours after midnight
the monks were aroused to vigils, and the time between
this and daybreak was consumed in learning the psalms by
heart, or some other similar study. At daybreak matins
were performed, somewhat in the same manner as vigils,
by chanting psalms and reading lessons from Scripture.
The duty of private and mental prayer was also enjoined
under certain restrictions. These early services wrere fol¬
lowed throughout the day by manual labour and reading.
During summer the day was so divided that seven hours were
given to the former occupation and at least two to the latter;
during winter more time was given to study, but no altera¬
tion appears to have been made in the hours of labour.
The Sabbath was entirely given to reading and prayer. A
system of rigid temperance was of course enjoined, but
of such a reasonable character that even the moderate use
of wine was not forbidden.
The rule thus established by Benedict extended itself,
as we have said, throughout the West, and tor many years
was instrumental in preserving the integrity and simplicity
of devotion in its cloisters. With the gradual increase of
riches, however, the Benedictine monasteries lost their pri¬
mitive character, and became the seats of indolence and
vice rather than of cheerful industry and piety.
Many attempts were made to revive the first vigour of
the rule, and still more successfully to apply it in new forms,
each of which in their turn achieved a great reputation,
and powerfully helped the cause of the Papacy in the dif¬
ferent countries into which they spread. In this manner
arose the Order of St Cluni, and the Cistertian and Car¬
thusian Orders—all branches, as it has been said, from the
stem of St Benedict. (Waddington’s Church History,
vol. ii., p. 377.) One and all of these orders, it is remark¬
able, sprung from the teeming soil of France, in the south
and east; and they follow one another, in their full pro¬
sperity, at the interval of about a century, beginning with
the commencement of the tenth. As a monk of Cluni
it was that Hildebrand nursed those ambitious schemes Monach-
which he afterwards carried out as Gregory VII. The ism.
immortal name of St Bernard is associated with the Cistertian v'—
Order, of which the Abbey of Clairvaux was a dependent;
and the simple purity of the Carthusians, maintained for
many years in the midst of surrounding license, acquired
for them a great reputation and a strong settlement in al¬
most every land of Europe, from the south of Italy to the
northern shores of Scotland.
In the meantime other forms of monastic order had
sprung up, the most notable and distinguished of which,
dating from an early period, was the Order of St Augus¬
tine, which was destined to play so prominent a part in the
advance of the Reformation. This order, at least in its
origin—which, although claiming the sanction of the great
teacher of the West, cannot be carried back so far—was
chiefly composed of those who were looking forward to,
or ordained to, the clerical profession—who were eccle¬
siastics, in short; while in the convents generally, accord¬
ing to their original constitution, there were but a few
eligible or devoted to the ecclesiastical life. In the course
of time, however, and from the increase of wealth, the
number of those exclusively given to spiritual or eccle¬
siastical offices multiplied in all the convents,—a change
which was greatly fostered by the institution of what were
called Lay Brethren, upon whom the routine of manual
labour and the discharge of all servile duties devolved.
There are still two further developments of the monastic
system that claim notice, although our space will scarcely
enable us to do more than mention them. These are the
rise and establishment of the Military and the Mendicant
or Preaching orders.
The former sprang up out of the close union subsisting
between the ecclesiastical and the military professions in
the middle ages, and especially out of the crusading spirit
of the twelfth century, and the necessities of defence which
it created. They are well known under the historical names
of The Knights of the Hospital, The Knights Templar, and
The Teutonic Order. They one and all took their rise in
Palestine, and are associated with some of the most bril¬
liant, and at the same time tragic, passages in the history of
the church. They gradually disappeared about the time of
the Reformation—the Knights Templar, especially, having
been, two centuries previously, subjected to a fierce perse¬
cution, instigated and chiefly carried out by Philip IV. of
France, who cherished towards them the most deadly and
unrelenting hatred.
While the Military orders arose out of the external neces¬
sities of the church, and the warlike spirit kindled by the
advance of Mohammedanism; the Mendicant orders origin¬
ated in the internal dangers of the church from the encroach¬
ing spirit of reform and of free opinion. St Dominic (1191)
acquired his fame as a preacher against the heresy of the
Albigenses; and, recognising the effects following such
eloquence in his own case, he framed the bold idea of estab¬
lishing an order of Mendicant preachers, whose vow should
especially bind them to the interests of the Holy See, and
the extirpation of heresy. Innocent III. at first looked
coldly on the project, but its obvious policy soon commended
it to papal recognition; and St Dominic found himself at the
head of one of the most devoted and illustrious societies
which ever sought its own aggrandizement in the gratifica¬
tion of papal ambition and of orthodox vengeance. For it
was under the shadow of the Dominican Order—although
not, as it has been sometimes maintained, under the sanc¬
tion of St Dominic himself—that the Inquisition inau¬
gurated its bloody career. St Francis of Assisi was a
contemporary of St Dominic, and pursued, independ¬
ently of him, a similar course of fanatical activity. Enthu¬
siastic almost to insanity, with a temperament capable
of sustaining the most intense and prolonged raptures of
MON
Monaco devotion, and covetous of the most abject and degrading
II austerities, he burned to realize, in a definite social form,
Monaghan, pictures 0f evangelical purity and of self-renunciation
which his imagination had conjured up. The story of his
interview with Innocent III., when he first appeared before
him with his plan, is well known. Hurried away from the
holy presence as a mean madman—a convenient dream
aroused the Pontiff to his mistake, and led him to lend all
his countenance to a scheme which at first he repelled.
While preaching was the characteristic feature of the Do¬
minican rule, poverty was intended to be the chief distinction
of that of St Francis ; but the two orders gradually merged
their distinctive peculiarities, and the members of each gave
themselves equally to mendicancy and preaching. The his¬
tory of these orders, as well as that of Jesuitism,—which
may be said to be a development of the monastic spirit,
but in such a distinct shape as to require separate notice,
—is inseparably bound up with that of the Papacy. Their
labours and rivalries form one of the most stirring chapters
of human interest, of ecclesiastical ambition, and, we should
add, so far at least as the Dominicans are concerned, of
philosophical and theological activity.
Since the Reformation Monachism cannot be said to
have manifested any inherent vitality or power. With the
advance of modern civilization, its highest meaning and only
conservative use are gone ; and, so far as it still maintains
itself in Europe, it must be held to be an opponent at once
of genuine religious life and the advance of an elevated ra¬
tional cultivation.
(For the more particular history of Monachism, the general
reader may be referred to the Church Histories of Neander,
Waddington,and Milman; and fora special accountof its ear¬
lier phases, to Burgham’s Antiquities, and the learned reader
to Helyot’s Histoire des Ordres Monastiques, Paris, 1714
and 1792.) (J. t—h.)
MONACO, a small principality of North Italy, bounded
on the S. by the Mediterranean, and on all other sides by
the Sardinian States, under whose protection it is. It has a
length of about 10 miles from N. to S., a breadth of 6, and
an area of 52 square miles. The soil is fertile, and its
climate mild, as it is sheltered towards the north by the lofty
range of the Alps. Oranges, lemons, citrons, and other
fruits are produced in abundance, and large herds of cattle
are fed on the excellent pastures. Since the tenth cen¬
tury Monaco has been in the hands of the Grimaldi family, to
whom it still nominally belongs; but it is now governed by
the King of Sardinia, and garrisoned by his soldiers. The
town of Monaco is situated on a lofty promontory 9 miles
E.N.E. of Nice. It was called in ancient times Arx Her-
culis Monocci, from which its modern name is derived.
The town is walled and fortified, but is completely com¬
manded by the higher elevations towards the north. It has
a good harbour, which is secure and well sheltered. Pop.
about 1500. Mentone is a larger town than the capital,
and contains about 4000 inhabitants. The entire popula¬
tion of the principality is about 7000.
MONAGHAN, an inland county of Ireland, in the pro¬
vince of Ulster, bounded N. by Tyrone, E. by Armagh and
Louth, S. by Louth and Cavan, and W. by Cavan and
Fermanagh. It comprises an area of 500 square miles, or
319,757 acres, of which 285,885 are arable, 21,585 uncul¬
tivated, 5816 in plantations, 304 in towns, and 6167 are
under water; of the 21,000 acres of uncultivated land
14,500 are situated at elevations exceeding 800 feet, the
remainder consisting chiefly of small detached bogs and
marshy lands on the margins of lakes. About 7000 acres
are capable of improvement by cultivation, 8000 acres might
be improved by draining, and 6000 acres may be considered
as incapable of improvement.
The general appearance of the surface is hilly, yet not
rising into heights of considerable elevation. The principal
VOL. xv.
MON 409
mountain range is that of Slievebeagh, a rugged and barren Monaghan
tract, extending south-westward along the Tyrone boun- V'—
dary into Fermanagh, and nowhere exceeding 1050 feet
in altitude. North of Castleblayney, on the confines of
Armagh, the Mullyash Mountain rises to the height of
1030 feet. There are no rivers of any consequence. The
Finn, which rises near the centre of the county, scarcely
merits the title of river until after its entrance into Fer¬
managh ; and the Blackwater, forming part of the north¬
eastern boundary towards Tyrone, is the receptacle of many
of the smaller rivulets which take their rise in Monaghan.
Although deficient, however, in rivers of magnitude, it is
amply furnished with streams of running water, well suited
to the purposes of agriculture and of manufacturing in¬
dustry. The number of lakes in this county is 184, thirty
of which are considerable sheets of water, but the great
majority are of very small extent. The most remarkable
are Lough Egish, on Grieve Mountain, which supplies water
for a long succession of mills and bleaching-greens ; Lakes
Damby, Camm, and Oona. Others are celebrated for the
beauty which they impart to the scenery ; more particularly
the chain of lakesbetween Coolehill and Ballybay, which orna¬
ment the demesnes of Dawson Grove and Bellamont Forest,
and the beautiful Lough Muckno, which contains several
islets, and forms part of the demesne of Castleblayney.
The soil is of various kinds. In the central and more
level part of the county it consists of a rich limestone.
The southern districts are partly of the same quality, and
partly a deep clay, capable of a high degree of cultivation
under judicious management. The north consists mostly
of a stiff retentive clay, marshy in winter, and hardening
quickly by the heat of summer, yet interspersed in many
parts with tracts of valuable calcareous soil. Whilst the
limestone formation predominates in the level districts, the
more elevated portions exhibit traces of sandstone and
basalt. Coal has been found between Moynalty and Car-
rickmacross, in more than one portion of a small basin which
rests on a patch of the carboniferous limestone insulated
within the slate district; but in beds so poor and scanty as
not in any case to exceed 14 inches in thickness, which, in
addition to the very difficult working caused by the strata
dipping at a large angle, renders this coal district valueless
in an economical point of view. Slates of good quality are
quarried in Grieve Mountain. A lead mine was also worked
there, but has long since been relinquished. Ochre, pot¬
ters’ clay, brick-clay, manganese, antimony, and fullers’
earth are also found. There is a chalybeate spring at
Drumtubberbuy, on Cairnmore, the water of which casts
up a thick scum of ochre. A well near Clones is much
celebrated for its efficacy in cases of jaundice, whence it has
acquired its name of Granabuymore, or “ the great yellow
cure.” This county has a large proportion of bog, which,
together with its great number of lakes, and its exposure to
the N.W. winds, renders the climate damp, though not un¬
wholesome.
The state of agriculture has much improved during the
present century. Descriptions given shortly after the year
1800 speak of the old country plough of clumsy construc¬
tion, the slide-car without wheels, the conveyance of manure
and field produce on horses’ or asses’ backs, and of spade-
husbandry, as being generally prevalent. At present many
of the improvements introduced by scientific agriculturists
are to be seen in practice here, as far as they have been
found consistent with the peculiar nature of the soil and
climate. Ploughs on the most improved plan, Scotch carts,
and implements of various kinds to supersede the im¬
provident exertion of manual labour, are universal; yet in
some parts, where the nature of the ground forbids the use
of the plough, considerable tracts of land are still culti¬
vated by the spade. The old, stunted, and ill-conditioned
breeds of black cattle, sheep, and hogs, have given way to
3 F
410
MONAGHAN.
Monaghan, esteemed British or foreign stocks, the character
of which has not unfrequently been made more suitable to
the agricultural localities by judicious crossings with the
native breeds. The extent of land under each description
of crop in 1850, 1855, and 1857 was,—
1850.
Acres.
Wheat  5,861
Oats  80,946
Barley, here, rye, beans, and peas 7,467
Potatoes   22,105
Turnips  7,190
Other green crops  2,543
Flax .   f.  10,157
Meadow and clover 11,399
1855. 1857.
Acres. Acres.
3,466 5,046
83,562 75,402
3,711 4,095
25,399 28,915
7,061 6,963
2,129 2,162
11,858 11,537
15,377 17,659
Total  147,668
152,563 151,779
Oats and potatoes are the principal crops, together with
flax, for the growth of which the soil is peculiarly favourable.
Clover is much encouraged, and few farmers are without a
patch of it, however small. It is cut for green food, and
found extremely economical. The tops of furze or gorse are
also used, when pounded, as food for horses. The manure
is formed of composts, of which lime and burned turf-
mould are generally component parts; marl, though abun¬
dant, is little used; and the coal strata of the county afford
a large deposit of gypsum, which, from its moderate solu¬
bility in water supplies lime for the growth of clover, &c.,
better than any other compound. The fences in some
parts are of white thorn, interspersed with sallows ; in others
a slight mound of earth serves rather to determine the
boundary than to prevent trespassing. The county, which
is now very bare of trees, was once almost a continuous
forest, excepting the higher lands, which appear to be of a
nature ungenial to the growth of trees. The numerous
demesnes of the nobility and gentry, however, are richly
embellished by plantations of modern growth. Ash and
sycamore are much encouraged, the wood of the latter be¬
ing in great repute for some parts of mill-machinery.
Osieries are frequently to be found in the marshy bottoms
at the foot of hills, and prove highly profitable.
The estates in land are of every value, from L.20,000
per annum to L.20, being partly held under grants of the
escheated lands in Ulster in the time of James I., and
partly arising out of the forfeitures in the time of Crom¬
well. The total number of farms or holdings exceeding
one acre in extent, which in 1847 amounted to 23,255,
has diminished to 19,000. Of this number about 3000
are between 1 and 5 acres in extent, 9000 between 5 and
15 acres, and 5000 between 15 and 30 acres; the remain¬
ing 2000 exceed 30 acres.
The mansions of the landed proprietors are numerous
and elegant; the houses of the wealthier farmers, and more
particularly of those who combine manufactures with agri¬
culture, exhibit every indication of comfort; but the dwell¬
ings of the cotters and labourers are miserable in the ex¬
treme. Flesh-meat seldom forms a part of their diet; and
those living in districts remote from towns are seldom able
to procure any food but potatoes and butter-milk. Fuel is
cheap and abundant in consequence of the quantity of bog.
The principal manufacture is that of linen, which has
long been carried on with great spirit. The woollen manu¬
facture is chiefly employed in supplying the domestic con¬
sumption. The sand or gritstone of Cairnmore has given
rise to a manufacture of millstones there, which are in con¬
siderable demand. Coarse earthenware is manufactured at
Glasslough; and a small ironwork at Smithborough, near
Clones, supplies many of the agricultural implements used
in the county.
Ihe Ulster Canal, which intersects the county, passing
the towns of Monaghan and Clones, affords water communi¬
cation with Lough Erne and Lough Neagh; and the Dun¬
dalk and Enniskillen and other railways will shortly furnish Monaghan
the means of transit to the ports of Londonderry, Belfast,
Drogheda, and Sligo.
The education of the county is chiefly in the hands of
the national schools. In 1851 there was a total of 242
schools in Monaghan, with an aggregate of 9372 scholars.
Ofthe schools in that year, 114 were national, 58 private, and
45 connected with religious bodies. The number of persons,
five years old and upwards, who could neither read nor write,
in 1841 and 1851, was ascertained by the census commis¬
sioners to be—
Rate
Males. Females. Total. percent.
1841  37,431 53,006 90,437 51
1851  22,270 31,859 54,129 42
The use of the Irish language in this county, as elsewhere,
is on the decline.
Monaghan has few remains of antiquity. The most re¬
markable are two round towers,—one near the county of
Fermanagh, in the burial-ground adjoining an ancient
church at Clones; the other at Inniskeen, on the borders
of Louth. The former, which is a very rude specimen of
these singular monuments of antiquity, consisted of five
storeys, the traces of which are still visible in the walls, its
door being about 4 feet above the level of the ground.
Near it is a large stone coffin, above ground, with a cover
of the same material shaped like the roof of a house. The
tower at Inniskeen, which is in a very inferior state of pre¬
servation, is unique, as having its door upon a level with the
surrounding country, although this is supposed by some to
be the effect of a modern alteration. Near Clones are
two large raths, one in good preservation, exhibiting dis¬
tinct traces of its fosses and ramparts; the other smaller
and much decayed. Danish forts are numerous ; but the
county is singularly deficient in those ancient ecclesiastical
and military remains which abound in the neighbouring
counties of Meath, Louth, Armagh, and Fermanagh. The
only monastic structure of which any vestiges remain is that
of Clones, which was a foundation of regular canons. It
was destroyed by Hugh de Lacy shortly after the arrival
of the English; but was rebuilt soon afterwards, and pro¬
tected by the erection of a castle in its neighbourhood.
An abbey of Conventual Franciscans was founded at Mon¬
aghan by one of the M‘Mahons, but was afterwards totally
destroyed, and a castle erected on its site, which also was
in a ruinous state in the reign of James I. The ruins of
the castle of Mannan are to be seen at Donaghmoyne near
Carrickmacross.
The population of the county has been ascertained at the
following periods:—In 1821 it amounted to 174,697; in
.1831 to 195,536; in 1841 to 200,442; and in 1851 to
141,813. In 1841 Monaghan was one of the most densely
peopled counties in Ireland, having no less than 401 in¬
habitants to each square mile; in 1851, however, this num¬
ber had diminished to 287,—a decrease in ten years of 114
persons for each square mile, being the greatest decline of
population exhibited by any Irish county during that period.
This county was represented in the Irish Parliament by
four members,—two for the county at large, and two for the
borough of Monaghan. The latter were struck off at the
Union, and no alteration has since been made.
The district now forming the county of Monaghan is
supposed to have been occupied by a tribe of the Scoti in
the time of Ptolemy. Subsequently it formed part of the
territory of Uriel and Orgial, and was long known as “ Mac-
Mahon’s Country,” after a sept who for some time maintained
their authority here. In the reign of Elizabeth it was
reduced into shire-ground, and divided into the five baronies
which still exist,—viz., Cremorne, Dartrey, Farney, Mon¬
aghan, and Trough. The whole of the county, which con¬
tains twenty-one parishes, is comprised within the diocese
of Clogher.
MON
Monaghan Monaghan, the capital of the above county, is situated
!l near its centre, a short distance north of the Blackwater, a
Monarchy. p]ace 0f considerable thoroughfare and business in the linen
trade and the sale of agricultural produce. Its ancient
name was Muinechan (The Town of Monks), given to it
from the religious establishment formerly existing there.
The principal buildings are a market-house, erected by
Lord Rossmore in 1792, a court-house, and a parish church.
In the immediate vicinity of the town is a Roman Catholic
chapel, a Presbyterian meeting-house in the New Market,
the county infirmary, the diocesan school-house, the barrack
for cavalry at the northern entrance of the town, an ex¬
tensive county prison, and the union workhouse. Its
population in 1851 amounted to 3484. The other towns
in the county whose population exceeds 2000 are as fol¬
lows :—Carrickmacross, 2534 ; Clones, 2333 ; and Castle-
blayney, 2084. (n. s—R.)
MONARCHY. Literally translated, this imposing word
signifies single power, implying government placed in the
hands of one individual, that individual being the sole ruler
of his people. Originally, the difficulty of obeying the wills
of many different persons possessing authority, and not agreed
as to the method of administration, led, in all probability,
to the establishment of a monarchy. The corruption of the
proto-republic thus gave birth to kings. A French philo¬
sopher has said, that when commonwealths become rotten
they degenerate into monarchies; and a French emperor
has given it as his opinion, that old monarchies can never
be successfully converted into young republics. A third
Frenchman has asserted that there exists no example of a
people voluntarily destroying their own x-epublic, and sur¬
rendering themselves and their laws to the irresponsible
rule of a despotic monarch. The latter may, by force or
cajolery, have imposed himself upon a nation ; and, it may
be added, that when the nation has been unfit for liberty, a
salutary despotism may be for the country’s good.
There is but one real basis for the stability of a monarchy,
—love. The hatred of subjects denatui'alizes the kingly
system. According to Montesquieu, the time principle of
monarchy is honour,—of a republic, virtue ; which is very like
many other of the distinctions drawn by Montesquieu, having
in them very little difference indeed. It has been objected
against what may be called the legality of monarchy, that
if it had been of Divine origin, it would have rendered those
subjected to it happy. Here again is a fallacy; for the
monarchy of heaven itself was assailed by the angels who
could not be happy under that Divine system.
The wellbeing of a people is perhaps never so perfectly
secui’ed as under a constitutional monarchy, which is, in
fact, a republic with safeguards against revolution ; or
rather a commonwealth under which the people do not
learn the “ sacred right of insmrection,” but accomplish
all necessax-y revolutions quietly, surely, and according to
law. When the accomplished Halifax was treating of
despotic monarchs and turbulent republics in his Character
of a Trimmer, he said:—“ We take from the one the too
great power of doing hurt, and yet leave enough to govern
and protect us. We take from the other the confusion,
the parity, the animosities, and the license, and yet reserve
a due care of such a liberty as may consist with men’s
allegiance; but it being hard, if not impossible, to be ex¬
actly even, our government has much the stronger bias
towards monarchy, which, by the general consent and prac¬
tice of mankind, seems to have the advantage in dispute
against a commonwealth.” This advantage was acknow¬
ledged so long ago as the era of the Macedonian monarchy.
The system was of course despotic; yet, if we may believe
Quintus Curtius, the Macedonians had an innate affection
for their kings:—“ Ingenitam illi genti erga reges suos
venerationem.” But this is always advanced by interested
rulers or writers in favour of despotism. The Poles fol-
MON 411
lowed another system, which they considered the best,— Monarchy,
namely, the elective system. It was a miserable failure;
and yet the people, by which must be understood the nobles
only, were wont to boast of it in these terms,—“ In other
kingdoms the monarch holds the people, but we hold the
monarch.” The elective system is still followed in the
case of that ecclesiastical monarch, the Pope, the electors
of whom are supposed to be influenced by the Holy Ghost,
in answer to the prayer, “ Yeni Creator Spiritus.” Accord¬
ing to Bishop Jewel, the prayer was once replied to by the
appearance of an owl in the conclave; and, according to
Beranger,the reply to the invocation was, “Non,” dit le Saint
Esprit, “ je ne descends pas!” The state papers recently
published having reference to the candidature of Wolsey
for the papal throne, best show the system by which this
elective monarchy was perpetuated. The third form is con¬
stitutional monarchy, according to which the sovereign is
the first magistrate of a free people, with regal'd to whom
there are laws in common, and rights and duties peculiar
to each. And this constitutional monarchy may be in its
origin elective, as that of England, when the nation,
through Parliament, disinherited one family, elected a
second, and then declared that the sceptre should be here¬
ditary in such family, under certain stipulations. It may,
however, be considered as a genei'al rule, that all mon¬
archies are the consequences of election on the part of
the people. Except where a conquerer has chosen to rest
on his right of the sword, there has seldom existed even
an usurper who has snatched the crown without going
through some ceremony by which he seemed to acknow¬
ledge, or the people were made to imagine, that the result
was the effect of a cause traced to the love, veneration,
free-will, and unshackled choice of the nation.
To a constitutional monai’ch laws are not manacles, but
garlands. They adorn rather than oppress him. “ Thei’e
is a wantonness,” says the noble statesman whom we have
already quoted, “ in great powei’, which men are generally
too apt to be corrupted with, and for that reason a wise
prince, to prevent the temptation arising from common
frailty, would choose to govern by rules, for his own sake
as well as for his people’s, since it only secures him.from
errors, and does not lessen the real authority that a good ma¬
gistrate would care to be possessed of. For, if the will of
a prince is contrary either to x'eason itself or to the uni¬
versal opinion of his subjects, the law, by a kind restraint,
x'escues him from a disease that would undo him. If his
will, on the other side, is reasonable or well-directed, that
will immediately becomes a law, and he is arbitrary by an
easy and natural consequence, without taking pains or
overturning the world for it.” For a monarch under such
restraint there is no doubt a far greater degree of happi¬
ness than was ever enjoyed by despots, who feared their
own guards next to dreading their own people, and that,
too, when the acknowledged system of government was
comprised in the talismanic words, “ Quod principi placuit,
lex esto!” It was in those days when monarchy was sup¬
posed to mean, and to be, simply the will, more or less idle,
of the monarch, that men were slaves whose very breath
could scarcely be drawn in fi-eedom, even when the tyrant
slept. The old lines by M. Bret illustrates this sentiment
exactly; and, “ done into English,” they run thus:—
“ Upon his golden couch a tyrant dread,
In seeming tranquil sleep, reclined his head :
‘ Is slumber made,’ said one, ‘ for wretch so rare ?
Does Justice nod, and Heaven its victim spare ? ’
‘ Hush ! ’ said a fakir, ‘ lest the noise you make,
E’en by a whisper, should the monster wake.
’Tis G od who thus allows him to he blest,
That Innocence may have a moment’s rest.’ ”
In classifying the great monarchies which have held the
world in awe, St Augustine names but two,—the Baby-
412 MONA
Monarchy. Ionian and the Roman. The more usual method is to
reckon the four great monarchies, — the Assyrian, the
Persian, the Grecian, and the Roman. Legend, however,
notices a monarchy older than the oldest of these,—namely,
the Chaldean. This dynasty, which, like that of Bacchus,
is wanting in records, is said to have commenced 460 years
after the creation, and under ten kings to have lasted half a
million of years ! The name of the first king of this won¬
derful dynasty was Alorus,—in other words, “ Shepherd of
his People,”—a significant title to commence with, it must
be allowed. We are accompanied by the wonderful even
when we have the traditionary. Ihus of Nimrod (or
Belus, the Orion of the skies), the first king named by
Moses, we are told in a pretty story, doubtless suggestive
of the Divine origin of his kingship, that as he was one day
abroad hunting, he saw in the heavens the figure of a
starry crown. Taking the appearance to have special re¬
ference to himself, he engaged a craftsman to copy the
sparkling pattern; and when this was fashioned into a
sparkling diamond crown, Nimrod wore thesame as a symbol
of the authority and the favour conferred on him by Heaven.
The Assyrian empire properly commences with Ninus,
the son of Belus, who reigned in Assyria, built Nineveh,
and captured Babylon. This took place about 2060 years
b.c. About 1200 years elapsed before Jonah told of the
disastrous end, in the streets, of Nineveh ; and Sardanapalus
gave way to the conquering Arbaces 820 years before that of
the Redemption. The empire continued to exist, however,
with narrower limits, till 621 B.C., when the second Sardana¬
palus perished like the first, and Assyria was divided among
the conquerors.
The Persian monarchy, which may be said to have
annexed, or to have been included in, that of Assyria, dates
from Zoroaster, 2115 b.c. Its early annals present only
inextricable confusion; but we find Cyrus, King of Persia,
master of all Asia in the sixth century b.c. ; and the Per¬
sian empire stood, under alternations of glory and disaster,
till the conquering Alexander subjected the country, and
laid the foundation of the Greek empire, 331 b.c.
The Greek or Macedonian empire had, in Alexander, for
its chief the twenty-first king of Macedonia. Such part of
that wide empire as, after the death of Alexander, was
comprised in Macedonia, fell before the Roman ASmilius
Paulus, who pronounced Macedon a Roman province,
and (167 B.c) took its last king, Perseus, and his sons to
Rome, where they walked in chains before the chariot of
the conqueror.
The Roman monarchy, if it is to be dated from the
building of the city by Romulus, commenced 752 b.c.
Seven kings had reigned when, on the deposition of 1 ar-
quinius Superbus, the first consuls Brutus and Collatinus
were appointed 509 B.c. The republic existed till the
foundation of the imperial monai'chy in the person of Julius
Csesar, 48 b.c. In the year of our Lord 363 the Roman
empire was split into two divisions on the death of Jovian.
The Western empire expired on the deposition of Romulus
Augustulus, by Odoacer, King of the Heruli, a.d. 476. 1 he
Eastern empire, with Byzantium for its capital, existed
nearly a thousand years later, its fall dating with the ex¬
tinction of the imperial families of the Comneni and the
Palaeologi, a.d. 1453.
It would be impossible to name here all the other mon¬
archies under which government has been administered;
for of some, like that of Achaia, the names of the kings have
been forgotten, and of others, like the Davids of Georgia,
their acts are scarcely worth recording. In a tabular and
alphabetical form, however, we give below some brief ac¬
count of the existence of the principal monarchical systems
which have won or exacted the obedience of mankind.
Alba.—Founded by Ascanius, 1152 B.c.; annexed to
Rome by Tullus Hostilius, 665 B.c.
R C H Y.
Algiers.—Founded as an independent monarchy in 1505 Monarchy,
by Harush Barbarossa, a Sicilian renegade. Houssan, the
thirty-second and last of the “ Deys,” was dethroned and
expelled by the French in 1830.
Arcadia.—Founded by Pelasgus, 1521 b.c. The last
king, Aristocrates II., was stoned to death, and Arcadia
made a republic, 681 b.c.
Argos.—Founded by Inachus, 1856 b.c. It existed as a
monarchy upwards of seven centuries, but it subsequently
became a republic.
Armenia.—The kings of Armenia were absolute over their
own subjects, but the country itself was successively subject
to the three great monarchies; and the Roman power be¬
came paramount in Armenia after the dethronement of
Tiridates, a.d. 62.
Assyria.—(See above).
Athens.—Cecrops founded a monarchy here 1556 b.c.
After a period of nearly 500 years, occupied by seventeen
kings, royalty was abolished, on the singular ground that
it would be impossible to find such another king as Codrus,
the last of the line.
Austria.—(See below, Germany).
Babylon.—(See above, Assyria).
Bavaria.—This monarchy was established in 1805, when
the elector, Maximilian Joseph, was declared king.
Belgium was formed into a kingdom in 1831.
Bithynia.—The first independent king was Dydalsus, 383
B.c. The last sovereign, Nicomedes, bequeathed the king¬
dom to the Roman republic, 75 b.c.
Bceotia.—This monarchy, founded by Cadmus, 1493 B.c.,
was abolished by the Thebans, 1215 b.c.
Bohemia was originally governed by dukes. The regal
title was conferred by the Emperor of Germany on Vratislaus
in 1061. The crown was ultimately secured to the Austrian
family by the treaty of 1648.
Bosphorus (Cimmerian).—A line of kings ruled here for
about five centuries and a half. The last was Mithridates II.,
at whose deposition the Emperor Claudius made of the king¬
dom a province of the empire.
Brazil.—Erected into an empire, a.d. 1825.
Britain had its kings at the period of the Roman inva¬
sion. The first Christian king was Lucius, a.d. 179. Con¬
stantine added Britain to the Roman empire, a.d. 306. In
the year 446 the Saxons were invited over by King Vorti-
gern. The Saxon heptarchy was converted into a monarchy
by Egbert, King of the West Saxons, a.d. 827. During the
heptarchy, however, the most powerful king was called Rex
Gentis Anglorum. From the establishment of the Norman
line, a.d. 1066, the following are the dates and names of the
successive dynasties that have possessed the English throne :
—House of Lancaster, 1399; York, 1461; Tudor, 1485;
Stuart, 1603; Brunswick, 1714.
Burmese Empire.—Founded by Alompra, from whom the
reigning monarch is descended, in the middle of the last
century.
Caliphate (The).—The first caliph was Abu Bekir (“Fa¬
ther of the Girl”), a.d. 632. After a succession of fifty-seven
caliphs, the capture of Bagdad by Holagou Khan, a.d. 1258,
put an end to the line in the person of Al Mostasim Billah.
The Egyptian caliphate, which was the consequence of a
schism, a.d. 908, flourished vigorously till the overthrow ot
the Eastern caliphate. When Selim I. annexed Egypt to
Turkey in 1517, and received from the last of the Abbas-
sides the key of the temple at Mecca, the Turkish sultan
became the representative of the caliphs, and the “ Father
of the Faithful.”
China has been governed by twenty-two dynasties since
the establishment of the first dynasty, 2207 b.c. 1 he last
monarch of the Chinese race, Whay-tsong, of the House of
Ming, hung himself, 1628. Since his death the Mogul race
of Tsing has reigned in China.
M 0 N A R C H Y.
413
Monarchy. Corinth.—The monarchy was founded by Sisyphus 1376
b.c. The glory of Corinth dates from the establishment of
the republic 582 b.c. It fell under the dominion of Rome
146 b.c.
Denmark.—In the Danish annals there is a list of fifty-six
kings previous to the period when Margaret united the three
crowns of Sweden, Denmark, and Norway. The present
king is the twenty-first sovereign of Denmark since the last-
named era.
Egypt.—Vulcan, or “Elementary Fire,” is fabulously said
to have been the first king of this ancient monarchy. There
is nothing that is said of the ancient royal records that can
be relied on till the period of the foundation of the dynasty
of the Pharaohs in the person of Mizraim, 2188 B.c. This
dynasty disappeared before the conquering Cambyses 525
B.c. The Persian dynasty held Egypt till its conquest by
Alexander, at whose death commenced the line of Ptolemies,
beginning 304 B.c. with Ptolemy Soter, and terminating
27 b.c. with Cleopatra, the thirteenth sovereign of that line.
Since that period it has never been, in the strict sense of
the word, an independent monarchy.
England.—See Britain.
Epirus.—The annals of this monarchy are obscure. Ne-
optolemus, son of Achilles, is said to have been the first king,
1170 b.c. It was annexed to Macedon, 220 b.c., about
fifty years after the death of its last king, the great Pyrrhus.
Etruria.—The monarchical system observed in this an¬
cient kingdom deserves a word of notice in this place. The
country anciently comprised twelve different nations, each of
which had its respective monarch, under the title of Lucumon.
France.—This monarchy popularly dates from Pharamond,
the Frank.invader of Gaul, a.d. 418 ; his second successor,
Merovaeus, or Merovig, gave name to the line Merovingian.
The Carlovingians began with Pepin, the father of Charle¬
magne, a.d. 751 ; the House of Capet with Hugh Capet,
a.d. 987; House of Valois, Philip VI., 1328; Bourbon,
Henri IV., 1589; the empire, Napoleon I., 1804; Bour¬
bons restored, 1814; House of Orleans, 1830 to 1848;
second empire, 1852.
Germany.—The “ Holy Roman Empire” in the west was
restored by the Pope, a.d. 800, in the person of Charle¬
magne. His line has been thus followed:—By the Saxon
line, a.d. 911; the Franconian line, 1024 ; the Suabian line,
1138 to 1212. The imperial throne was occupied by sove¬
reigns of various houses, but chiefly of Austria, from the
latter date till the year 1438, when Albert II., a descendant
of Rudolph of Hapsburg, commenced the uninterrupted
line of Austria. In 1804 the elective German empire was
abolished ; but its last emperor, Francis II., became Francis
I., hereditary emperor of Austria.
Greece.—The modern kingdom of Greece was founded
in 1832 in the person of the Bavarian Otho, the reigning
monarch.
Hanover was erected into a kingdom in 1814, George III.
of England being its first king. The succession being in the
male line only, Ernest, Duke of Cumberland, succeeded to
the throne on the death of William IV., King of England
and Hanover, in 1837.
Hayti has been a hybrid sort of monarchy from the time
Dessalines was crowned emperor in 1804.
Holland.—This commonwealth became a kingdom in
1806, under Louis Bonaparte. After the fall of the French
empire, William Frederick, Prince of Orange, assumed the
style of King of the Netherlands, 1815.
Hungary, having become free of the German empire in
997, Stephen, Duke of Hungary, was named by the Pope
“ Apostolic King” of that country. After a line of thirty-two
monarchs, it became permanently annexed to Austria (1527)
by the marriage of Anne of Hungary with Ferdinand of
Austria.
Ilium.—This kingdom was founded by Dardanus 1480
B.c.; and at the overthrow of Priam, its sixth king, had Monarchy,
lasted about three centuries.
India.—The Ghiznian dynasty, the first of which we
have authentic records, was founded by the invader Mah¬
moud Ghizni about the year 1000 of our era. After a
succession of thirteen kings, Mahmoud Ghour established
the short-lived dynasty of two kings, named after him, in
1186. The Patan or Delhi line, commenced in 1210 with
the Kuttub-ul-Deen. The Mogul race of Timour com¬
menced in 1525 in the person of the famous Zehir-ud-Deen
Mahomed Baber, or the “ Tiger.” This once glorious race
sank into insignificance in the middle of the last century,
since which time the Mogul monarchs ceased to have any
political importance until the temporary restoration of a
Mogul chief, consequent on the outbreak of 1857.
Ireland.—The monarchical annals of Ireland contain lists
of hundreds of kings, from the flood downwards. The first
sole monarch, however, was Brian Boru, by election of the
people, a.d. 1027. Nearly a century and a half later
Henry II. of England became “ Lord of Ireland.”
Italy.—After the deposition of Romulus Augustus, a.d.
493, Odoacer, chief of the Heruli, assumed the title of
“ King of Italy;” the line existed about three quarters of a
century, disappearing before the Lombard kings. In mo¬
dern times the first and only crowned “ King of Italy” was
Napoleon I., a.d. 1805.
Japan has had an hereditary succession of ecclesiastical
emperors from the year 660 b.c.
Jerusalem.—When the Crusaders captured the city, a.d.
1099, they established a kingdom which lasted eighty-eight
years,—that is, till the recapture by Saladin, a.d. 1187.
The first Christian king was the renowned Godfrey de
Bouillon; its ninth and last was Guy de Lusignan. The
monarchy was elective.
Jews.—The kingdoms of the Jews commence, it is
almost superfluous to say, with Saul, chosen by lot; but it
was not until the death of Solomon that the kingdoms di¬
vided into Judah and Israel, about 975 b.c. That of Israel
lasted till Samaria was captured, and the ten tribes were
carried into captivity by the Assyrians, 721 B.c. The
kingdom of Judah existed till the year 587 B.c., when the
temple and city were burned by the invading Nebuchadnez¬
zar, who razed the walls of Jerusalem to the ground.
Lombardy.—The kingdom of the Lombards, a people
from North Germany, existed from the year 570, when the
Lombard soldiers at Milan proclaimed their chief Alboin
king, till the year 772, when Charlemagne took possession
of the country, and deposed the last king, Desiderius.
Lydia.—This kingdom boasted of a long line of mon¬
archs, namely, from Argon, a descendant of Hercules,
1223 B.c., to Croesus, after whose deposition the “kingdom
of the richest king among kings ” was annexed to Persia by
Cyrus, 548 b.c.
Macedon.—Named above.
Media, although at different times annexed to Assyria and
Persia, claims mention as an independent monarchy from
the period of its revolt against Arbaces, 820 B.c., till its
conquest by Cyrus, 537 B.C.
Mexico, when discovered in 1518, had long been under
the rule of a line of monarchs. After it threw off the yoke
of Spain, Iturbide was made emperor in 1822, but was de¬
posed, and was shot for attempting to restore the empire
in 1824.
Morocco.—A line of kings in Fez was commenced as
early as the end of the eleventh century ; the line did not
expire till the opening of the thirteenth. About two cen¬
turies later the foundations of the empire of Morocco were
laid by Hascen, of the race of Sheerefs, at a time when there
were still chiefs in Fez styling themselves kings. The
empire, as comprising Morocco, Fez, Susiana, Tophilet, &c.,
was not, however, consolidated and established till the
414
MONARCHY.
Monarchy, seventeenth century, under Muley Abdel Melech, whose
descendant is now on the throne.
Naples, or the Two Sicilies.—Goth, Lombard, Saracen,
Norman, Gaul, and Spaniard, alternately occupied this
locality. The treaty of Utrecht (1713) made Victor Ama¬
deus, Duke of Savoy, King of the Two Sicilies, a title
known as early as 1442. Subsequently the Savoyed kmg
exchanged his crown for Sardinia, with a kingly title. The
Two Sicilies belonged to the German empire till 1734,
when Spain conquered them, and established there a line
of Bourbon princes, of whom the present monarch is a de-
scendant.
Netherlands.—See Holland, and Belgium.
Parthia.—The monarchy here lasted from the period ot
Arsaces, 250 B.C., to that of Artabanus V., a.d. 229, when
it was annexed to the new kingdom of Persia.
Pergamus.—This kingdom was founded by Philetaerus,
283 b.c. The last king, Attalus Philomater, bequeathed
his kingdom to Rome, 133 B.c.
Persia was reconstructed by Ardisheer Babegan (Artax-
erxes I.) Between the death of Alexander and this last
period, Persia had seen the Syro-Macedonian dynasty of
Seleucus and that of the Parthian Ash, or Arsaces. Ar-
taxerxes I. was the founder of the Sassanian dynasty, which,
amid triumphs and defeats, existed upwards of four centu¬
ries. Persia was subsequently possessed by the Caliphs and
by the Tartars; afterwards by Timour Leng, at the begin¬
ning of the fifteenth century. A century later the disor¬
ganized monarchy was seized by Hussoon Uzun, chief of
The tribe of “ White Sheep,” whose son Shah Ismael (1502)
was the first of the nine shahs of the Suffavean dynasty.
The Afghan line commenced with Mahmoud, a.d. 1722,
and ended with the eighth and last monarch, Shah Rokh,
1750. After a few years of anarchy, the Zund dynasty
succeeded in the person of Kureem Khan Zund. His
last descendant, Lootf Ali Khan, was slain in 1794 by Aga
Mahomed Khan, the founder of the Kujur dynasty, of which
the reigning shah, Nasr-ul-Din, is the fourth sovereign.
Poland, at first governed by dukes, was raised to a
sovereignty by papal authority under Boleslaus I., a.d. 999.
The Piast kings of Poland were native sovereigns, and not
a regular dynasty. The Jagellon line commenced at the
close of the fourteenth century, and continued till the
middle of the sixteenth. The monarchy existed in its
elective form till 1795, when Stanislaus Poniatowski was
deposed by Russia.
Pontus.—This kingdom was an offshoot from that of
Persia. Darius Hystaspes, named “ Artabazus,” was the first
sovereign of Pontus, 487 B.C. After the death of Mithri-
dates VII., a.d. 40, the kingdom became a province of the
Romans. Subsequently a new and Christian monarchy
was established within a portion of the limits of the old
kingdom of Pharnaces, Tigranes, and Mithridates. V hen
the Crusaders, or “ Latins,” established their temporary
empire at Constantinople, a dynasty of five successive so¬
vereigns carried on the old succession from 1204 to 1261,
under the name of the Greek empire of Nicaea. In the last-
named year Michael Palaeologus recovered Constantinople
from Baldwin II.
Popes of Home, as elected monarchs with temporal
power, claim a word of notice in this record. Stephen II.,
the ninety-ninth pope, who was elected in 752, was the
first who united the sovereign temporal and ecclesiastical
dignities, in which he has been followed by 169 orthodox
successors, one only of whom was an Englishman (Nicholas
Breakspeare of St Albans), Adrian IV., 1154-1159.
Portugal.—The monarchy here dates from a.d. 1139,
when Alphonso, Count of Portugal, was proclaimed king
by the army, after defeating the Moors at Ourique. With
the exception of the period 1580-1640, when Portugal was
a province of Spain, and that of the French occupation in
the present century, the independent monarchical system Monarchy,
has been uninterrupted in Portugal.
Prussia, after being governed since 1134 by margraves,
electors, or dukes, was raised to a kingdom in 1701. It has
had six kings, of whom the present, Frederick William IV.,
began to reign in 1840.
Rome.—See above.
Russia.—From the period of Ruric, 862, to the com¬
mencement of the sixteenth century, the Russians were
governed by sovereign dukes, called of Kiev, Vladimir, or
Moscow. In 1533 Ivan Vasilievitch assumed the title of
“ Czar,” and that title Peter the Great exchanged in 1708
for that of Emperor.
Sardinia or Piedmont.—See also Naples. The first
king of Sardinia was Victor Amadeus, 1713. The present
monarch, Victor Emanuel II., is the eighth of the line, four
sovereigns of which have abdicated.
Scotland.—The Scottish annals name kings of Scotland
as far back as the period of Alexander the Great; but it
will suffice to state here, that Kenneth MacAlpine, by unit¬
ing Scots and Piets, became the first sole monarch of Scot¬
land, a.d. 843. From that period till the accession of
James VI. to the throne of England, a.d. 1567, the go¬
vernment was administered, more or less independently, by
above forty kings.
Spain.—Few nations have seen so many different mon¬
archical systems as Spain. At length the various crowns of
the kingdoms of Oviedo, Navarre, Cordova, Castille, Leon,
Barcelona, Aragon, and (Moorish) Granada, were united
on the head of Ferdinand V. in 1512, since which period
fourteen sovereigns have successively occupied the throne.
Sparta (Lacedaemon).—This celebrated republic under
kings, some of whom were puppets and many were “ ab¬
solute,” enjoyed a long but a chequered career. The rule
of kings begins with Lelex, 1516 b.c., and nearly thirteen
hundred years elapsed before royalty was totally abolished.
Sweden.—Between the year 1001, when Olif Schoet
Konung was elected first king of Sweden, to the year 1393,
when the tyranny of Albert of Mecklenburg was followed
by revolt, and that by anarchy, Sweden reckons twenty-
one monarchs. In 1397 the three northern kingdoms were
governed by one sovereign, but this union was repealed in
1523, when the patriotic Gustavus Vasa ascended the
throne. The reigning monarch, Oscar, is the son of Charles
John Bernadette, originally a private soldier in the army of
Louis XVI. of France.
Syria.—See Assyria and Persia.
Thrace.—The government here was originally monarchi¬
cal, but divided among independent princes. It was an¬
nexed to the Macedonian empire about 335 B.C.
Turkey.—This monarchy established itself in Europe by
the capture of Constantinople under Mahomed II. in 1453.
That sultan was the ninth of a line founded in Asia by
Othman, a.d. 1299. Abdul Medjid is the twenty-fifth sul¬
tan since the fall of the great Christian capital in the east
of Europe.
Vandals and Goths.—The Italian monarchy of the latter
has been already noticed. About the end of the fourth
century they founded a kingdom in Spain, which expired
in the eighth century with Roderick, their last king. In
the year 428 Genseric crossed from Spain, and established
the dynasty of Vandal kings in Africa. The line consisted
of six monarchs, with the last of whom fell modern Car¬
thage, Arianism, and the royal Vandal line, before the
conquering sword of orthodox Belisarius, a.d. 534.
Wirtemberg, formerly a ducal electorate, became a king¬
dom at the close of 1805, of which the reigning king,
William I., is the second sovereign, having succeeded his
father Frederick in 1816.
By the above list the reader may learn in what period
the strongest empires have fallen into decay, and may safely
M 0 N
.[onasteer predict that the mightiest which have followed them will,
II like them, pass away, and all earthly distinctions shrink to
Moncey. nothing. When all crowns lie shivered, as one day they
must, then will be applicable to the entire roll of once
living monarchs the noble lines which Beaumont penned
on the royal tombs in Westminster:—
“ Mortality, behold and fear!
What a charge of flesh is here!
Think how many royal hones
Sleep within these heaps of stones !
Here they lie, had realms and lands,
Who now want strength to move their hands;
Where, from their pulpits, seal’d with dust,
They preach, ‘ In greatness is no trust.’
Here’s an acre, sown indeed
With the richest, royalest seed
That the earth did e’er suck in
Since the first man died for sin.
Here the bones of birth have cried,
Though gods they were, as men they died.
Here are wands, ignoble things,
IDropt from the ruin’d state of kings.
Here’s a world of pomp and state
Buried in dust, once dead by fate.”
(j. D-R-N.)
MONASTEER, a seaport-town of Tunis, on the Medi¬
terranean, 85 miles S.E. of the town of funis ; Eat.
35. 45. N., Long. 10. 49. E. It has a citadel, a harbour,
manufactures of woollen stuffs, and a considerable trade.
Pop. 12,000.
MON ASTIR, or Bitolia, a town of European Turkey,
capital of a department of the same name, in the province
of Macedonia, is situated on the Yestrizza, at the edge of
a large plain, 90 miles W.N. W. of Salonika. Most of the
commercial intercourse between Albania and the iEgean is
carried on through it; and it is the centre of all military
operations in Albania, Macedonia, Thessaly, and Bosnia.
Pop. 15,000.
MONCEY, Bon-Adrien Jeannot, Due de Conegliano,
was the son of an advocate, and was born in 1754 at Moncey,
the village near Besancon of which he afterwards assumed
the name. In 1774 his relations, yielding to his master-
passion for a soldier’s life, allowed him to enrol in the gen-
darmery of Luneville. After passing into the volunteers of
Nassau-Siegen, and then into the “Chasseurs Cantabres,”
he became captain in 1791; and in 1794 we find him, as
general-in-chief, defeating the Spaniards at Villa Nova.
Chancing to be in Paris at the revolution of the 18th bru-
maire, he zealously supported Napoleon, and thus opened
a path to future preferment. He was appointed by the
First Consul inspector-general of the geridarmery, and in
1804 was rewarded with a marshal’s baton, the title of Due
de Conegliano, and the rank of grand officer of the Legion
of Honour. In 1808 he commanded in the Spanish pro¬
vince of Catalonia, but was recalled by Bonaparte to the
command of the gendarmery. In 1813 he received the
additional appointment of commander-in-chief of the
Parisian National Guard, and was entrusted with the pro¬
tection of the city during the Russian campaign of Na¬
poleon. No one was more active during the defence of
the capital in 1814 than Marshal Moncey. He organ¬
ized the National Guard of Paris, and was among the last
to lay down his arms after the capitulation of the city.
At thf beginning of the Hundred Days his submission
was tendered to the Bourbons, but was withdrawn as
soon as Napoleon landed from Elba. He was nominated
president of the commission for the trial of Marshal Ney in
1815; yet, rather than accept this nomination, he chose
to be deprived of all his titles and to lie for three months
in the prison of Ham. In 1816 he was restored to his
dignities, and was received into the favour of the king. On
the outbreak of the Spanish war in 1823 Moncey was far
advanced in age ; he accepted, however, the command of
MON 415
a division, and served in Catalonia with all the fire and Moncolieri
vigour of his prime. He died in April 1842. II
MONCOLIERI, a town of Sardinia, North Italy, is Moncreiff.
pleasantly situated on the slope of a hill, near the right bank
of the Po, 5 miles S. of Turin. The town is entered by
two gates. It possesses an ancient palace, two handsome
churches, several convents, an elegant college, several
schools, a town-hall, a theatre, and an hospital. Manu¬
factures of earthenware, tiles, cabinet-work, and silk, are
carried on ; and the town has a considerable trade in cattle,
for which there is a fair in October. Pop. 9129.
MONCREIFF, Sir Henry Wellwood, Baronet,
D.D., an eminent Scottish divine, was the son of the Rev.
Sir William MoncreifF and Catherine Wellwood, and was
born on the 7th February 1750, at Blackford, a parish in
Perthshire, of which his father was minister. After com¬
pleting his elementary education at the parochial school of
Blackford, he repaired to the university of Glasgow in 1763,
with the view of pursuing his studies for the Scottish church.
In the midst of a brilliant collegiate career he had the mis¬
fortune to lose his father. The patrons of the charge thus
left vacant at once resolved to reserve the living for young
Sir Harry, who had already given such promise of future
eminence. He removed to Edinburgh in 1768 to prose¬
cute his theological studies; and on the 15th August 1771
was ordained minister of his native parish. The superior
talents of the young preacher early attracted the attention
of the Scottish metropolis; and in October 1775 he was
appointed minister of St Cuthbert’s parish in the city of
Edinburgh. Here he commenced the arduous duties of
his office with great zeal, and continued to labour with re¬
markable energy, at once for the spiritual advancement of
his parish and for the general good of the Scottish church.
He was possessed of talents which might have won for him
a bright reputation in any of the higher walks of public
distinction, but he preferred the more exalted, if less am¬
bitious career of fulfilling the pious duties of the Christian
pastor, and of freeing his church from what he conceived
to be serious barriers to her spiritual progress. “ Had he
not preferred his church to every other object,” says Lord
Cockburn, “ there is no public honour to which he might
not have fought his way.” {Life of Lord Jeffrey, vol. i., p.
188). When Sir Harry entered upon public life the moder¬
ate party was dominant in the Scottish church, and political
independence was seldom to be met with. Worldly in¬
terest and his own secular rank might have inclined him to
the majority, but he at once took a decided position with
the liberal and evangelical party. He soon became their
leader and oracle; and among the people his “ mere name,”
says Cockburn, “ was a tower of strength.” He was un¬
animously chosen moderator of the General Assembly
of his church in 1785, and during his subsequent career
had the same honour repeatedly conferred upon him. He
possessed great power and energy as a debater, and was
distinguished for soundness of judgment and unflinch¬
ing integrity. The writer just quoted, who knew Sir Harry
well, remarks in his Memorials of his Time, p. 234, “ In
comparison with him every other churchman who has ap¬
peared since I knew the world must withdraw. Nothing
that I could say would express one-half of my affectionate
and reverential admiration of this great man.” He shone
more on the platform than in the pulpit; and public speak¬
ing, rather than literary labour, seemed to be his peculiar
sphere. As a writer he was comparatively feeble. His Life
of Dr John Erskine is in no way remarkable; and his three
volumes of sermons do not possess very high merits. They
were published in 1829 and 1831, with a brief memoir by
his son, Lord MoncreifF. His opinions were uniformly
liberal and charitable, and he was characterized by very
great benevolence. He took a deep interest in whatever
was calculated to relieve suffering or encourage merit.
416 MON
Mondonedo Among his personal friends he numbered the most distin-
I! guished names in Scotland during his time. He died in
Money. August 1827, leaving his title to his son James Wellwood
Moncreiff, who had been chosen Dean of Faculty during the
previous year. Sir James was born in 1776, and was edu¬
cated at Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Oxford. He devoted
himself entirely to the law, but inherited much of his father s
zeal for the evangelical cause of the Presbyterian Church
and for the politics of the Scottish W bigs. Fie was a man of
an energetic mind, and was distinguished for great zeal and
purity. So exceedingly conscientious was he, that Lord
Jeffrey, who had the greatest regard for him, used to call
him “ the whole duty of man.” He was raised to the bench
under the title of Lord Moncreiff in 1829. Fie died on the
30th of March 1851.
MONDONEDO, a town of Spain, Galicia, 30 miles
N.N.E. of Lugo. The streets are paved and clean, and the
houses generally commodious. F he cathedral, commenced
M 0 IS1
in 1221, has an image of wonderful remedial power, said to Mondovi
have been conveyed from London at the Reformation. !]
The town and neighbourhood was sacked by Mathieu in Money.
1809. Pop. 6305. '
MONDOVI, a town of Sardinia, capital of a cognominal
department in the province of Coni, and see of a bishop,
stands on a hill near the Ellero, 53 miles W. of Genoa.
The town proper, or Piazza, is situated on the summit; and
the three suburbs of Carazzone, Brea, and Piano, on the
sides and at the foot of the hill. The upper town is walled,
and contains a large piazzaof ahexagonal shape,acathedral,
four other churches, an episcopal palace, several convents,
and a royal college. The manufactures consist of woollen
and cotton stuffs, silk, leather, iron, earthenware, &c.; and
the trade is considerable. Mondovi was the scene of a vic¬
tory gained by Napoleon in 1796 over the Sardinian troops
under Colli; and three years later was taken and pillaged
by General Moreau. Pop. (1851) 17,370.
MONEY.
MoneyI (Gr. Moyjjra, voiuepa ; T^at. moneta, pecunia, num-
mus; Fr., monnaie,) the name given to the commodities or
articles which the people of different countries univer¬
sally accept, either voluntarily or by compulsion, as
equivalents for their services, and for whatever else they
may have to dispose of.
Part I.—Metallic Money.
Sect. 1.—Circumstances which led to the use of Money.
Principal properties which all Commodities used as such
ought to possess. Metallic Money not a Sign or a Measure
of Value, hut a real Equivalent.
Circum- Were the division of labour unknown, and did indi-
Btances yiduals or families directly supply themselves with the
le<1 artides required for their subsistence and accommoda-
of money6 tion, there would be no exchanges, and, consequently,
no money. But, after this division has been established,
the employment of money becomes necessary, or, at
least, highly advantageous. A small part only of a
man’s wants is then directly supplied by his own exer¬
tions. The greater part is indirectly supplied by his
exchanging services, or articles belonging to him, for
such services or articles rendered by or belonging to
others as he has occasion for, and they are willing to
furnish. Every man thus lives by exchanging, or be¬
comes in some measure a merchant, and the society itself
grows to be what is properly a commercial society.
“But when the division of labour first began to take
place, this power of exchanging must frequently have
been very much clogged and embarrassed in its operations.
One man, we shall suppose, has more of a certain com¬
modity than he himself has occasion for, while another
has less. The former, consequently, would be glad to
dispose of, and the latter to purchase, a part of this
superfluity. But, if this latter should chance to have
nothing that the former stands in need of, no exchange
can be made between them. The butcher has more meat
in his shop than he himself can consume, and the brewer
and the baker would each be willing to purchase a part
of it; but they have nothing to offer in exchange except
the different productions of their respective trades, and
the butcher is already provided with all the bread and
beer which he has immediate occasion for. No exchange
can, in this case, be made between them. He cannot be
their merchant, nor they his customers ; and they are all
of them thus mutually less serviceable to one another.
To avoid the inconveniency of such situations, every
prudent man, in every period of society, after the first
establishment of the division of labour, must natuially
have endeavoured to manage his affairs in such a manner
as to have at all times by him, besides the peculiar pro¬
duce of his own industry, a certain quantity of some one
commodity or other, such as he imagined few people
would be likely to refuse in exchange for the produce of
their industry.”2 _ .
This commodity, or Marchandise banale, as it is termed
by the French, whatever it may be, is money.
Different commodities have been used as money in 0ommodi-
different countries and states of society. Those nations ties used a
which chiefly subsist by the chase, such as the ancient money.
Russians, and the greater part of the Indians who occupy
the unsettled portions of America, use the skins of wild
animals as money.3 In pastoral societies cattle are some¬
times used for that purpose. Homer tells us that the
armour of Diomed cost only nine oxen, whilst that of
• Etymologists differ respecting tie derivation of the word money. Some contend that it
uidas, in voce M<9v»t«.
2 Wealth of Nations, M'Cullocli’.s ed., in one vol., p. 10. . . . Amerinvp tom ii r>. 100.
^ Storch, Traite d Economic Politique, tom. ifi. p. 16) Ulloa, Menmres PhrlosopMques url by
kina, hides, or pieces of leather marked with a stamp (cormm forma pvPhca VcteramiProkqv. xx., etc),
de Carthaginians and Spartans, (Seneca, Be Beneficiis, hb. v. c. 14. he v el, oenna u. (,nT)tf,rKKn£r ’+hat it merely refers to
his statement, which is not a little obscure, has been very differently interpreted ; some cn desimate small hits of leather,
uch entire skins or hides as were bartered for other things, while others contend that i is me npidiarL most probable that both
narked with a stamp, and (like our bank-notes) substituted.for and representing real money. ^Apvp^ppn^ised sometimes in the one
interpretations may he true, that is, that entire skins and bits of leather, marked with stamps, may , f ]eatper its nominal
ray and sometimes in the other. The stamp on the skin or hide might represent its weight, and that on the bit ot leatlier
alue, or the money to be given for it to the holder.
MONEY.
417
Money. Glaucus cost a hundred.1 The etymology of the Latin
word (pecunia) signifying money, and of all its derivatives,
would seem to prove that cattle (pecus) had been the
primitive money of the Romans.2 And that they had
been used as such by the ancient Germans is obvious ; for
their laws uniformly fix the amount of the penalties to be
paid for offences in cattle.3 In remoter ages corn was very
generally used in agricultural countries, as money; and
even now, nothing is more common than to stipulate for
corn rents and wages. Other articles have been used in
other countries. Salt is said to be the common money of
Abyssinia.4 Cowries, a species of shells gathered on the
shores of the Maidive Islands, are used in smaller pay¬
ments throughout Hindostan, and form the only money
of extensive districts in Africa.5 Dried fish serves as
money in Iceland and Newfoundland ;6 and Adam Smith
mentions that, at the period of the publication of the
“Wealth of Nations” (1776), it was customary in a
village in Scotland for workmen to carry nails, as money,
to the baker’s shop and the alehouse.7
Defects of j}u(; these articles universally want some of the prin-
modities111* ProPer^es which money ought to possess. Products
must frequently be brought to market which are worth
only part of an ox and part of a skin ; but as an ox
could not be divided, and as the division of a skin would
most probably deprive it of part of its value, they could
not be exchanged for such money. Divisibility is not,
however, the only indispensable quality in a commodity
used as a medium of exchange. It is farther necessary
that it should admit of being kept for an indefinite period
without deteriorating ; that it should, by possessing great
value in small bulk, be easily carried about; and that
one piece of money of a certain weight and fineness, should
be precisely equivalent to every other piece of money
of the same weight and fineness. But none of the com¬
modities specified above, as having been used as money,
possesses these properties. Though cattle had been
sufficiently divisible, they could neither be preserved, nor
transported from place to place, without a great deal of
trouble and expense; while, owing to the difference in
their qualities, one ox of a superior might be worth two
or three oxen of an inferior variety. It is plain, there¬
fore, that they could not serve as money except in a very
rude state of society, when the arts were almost unknown,
and the rearing of cattle formed the principal employment.
Corn is sufficiently divisible ; but its bulk is far too great
in proportion to its value to admit of its easy transporta¬
tion, and it also is of very different and not easily
appreciated qualities. Salt, shells, and fish, are all open
to insuperable objections. Equal quantities of all of them
differ very greatly in their values ; some of them cannot
be divided, and others cannot be preserved or transported
without much loss.
These commodities were also deficient in a still more
important particular. Their value was not sufficiently Money,
invariable to permit of their being advantageously used
as money. They were not durable or lasting, nor was it
possible to adjust their supply so as to avoid sudden fluctu¬
ations of price. The occasional abundance and scarcity
of pasture has a powerful influence over the price of
cattle, which is still more seriously affected by the occur¬
rence of epidemical diseases, and other contingencies.
The fluctuations in the price of corn, arising from varia¬
tions of the seasons, are too frequent and obvious to
require to be pointed out. And in the islands where
cowries are picked up, a strong gale from a particular
point of the compass has frequently, in a few hours, sunk
their value considerably. It was not, therefore, to be
expected that such commodities should be either generally
or permanently used as money in civilised societies.
Parties would very frequently be unwilling to buy, or
barter produce for articles which might, in a few weeks,
or even days, lose a third or a half of their value.
The desire of uniting the different qualities of invari- Gold and
ability of value, divisibility, durability, facility of trans- silver the
portation, and perfect sameness, doubtless formed the fittest ipa-
irresistible reasons which have induced all civilised com¬
munities to employ gold and silver as money. Though
far from invariable, the value of these metals changes
only by slow degrees; they are readily divisible into
any number of parts, which may be reunited, by means
of fusion, without loss; they do not deteriorate by
being kept; their firm and compact texture makes them
difficult to wear; their cost of production, especially of
gold, is so considerable, that they possess great value in
small bulk, and can, of course, be transported with com¬
parative facility: and their identity is perfect, the pure
gold and silver supplied by Russia and Australia having
precisely the same qualities with that furnished by Cali¬
fornia and Peru. No wonder, therefore, when almost
every property necessary to constitute money is possessed
in so eminent a degree by the precious metals, that they
have been used as such from a very remote tera. Their
employment in this function is not ascribable to accident,
to the genius of any individual, or to any peculiar combina¬
tion of circumstances. It grew naturally out of the wants
and necessities of society, on the one hand, and the means
of supplying them possessed by these metals, on the other.
They became universal money, as Turgot has observed,
“ not in consequence of any arbitrary agreement among
men, or of the intervention of any law, but by the nature
and force of things.”
terials for
money.
A considerable period must necessarily have elapsed, intr0(juc.
after the introduction of the precious metals into com- tion of gold
merce, before they were used generally as money. But, and silver
by degrees, the various qualities which so peculiarly fit as money..
them for this purpose would become obvious; and, in
I
1 Iliad, lib. 6, lin. 235. Gamier contends, in a note to his translation of the Wealth of Nations (v. p. 18, ed. 1822), that by oxen, in
the statement now referred to, Homer did not mean the animals so called, but coins impressed with tne figure of an ox. But though the
oldest Attic and some other ancient coins are marked with an ox, it does not follow that cattle were not used as money previously to their
being issued. Indeed, the fair presumption is, that that circumstance was the cause of their figures being impressed on the coins.
2 Morellet, Prospectus d'un Nouveau Dictionnaire de Commerce, p. 115.
3 Storch, in loco citato.
4 Wealth of Nations, p. 10.
5 Dans les pays ou le cuivre a trop de valeur pour pouvoir representer celle des plus menues denrees, on est encore oblige lui substituer
quelque autre matiere plus commune. C’est cette circonstance qui a fait adopter aux Indiens 1’usage des cauris en guise des petite
monnoie. Get usage pourroit paroitre etrange dans les pays aussi riches et d’une civilisation aussi ancienne que le Bengale et I’lndoustan :
maise le cuivre y est si rare, et les vivres y sent a si bon marche, qu’une piece de la valeur de 1 cop. et \ [about a halfpenny English]
[>eut y acheter une quantite des denrees suffisante pour la subsistence journaliere d’un homme du peuple. On est done oblige de deviser
a plus petite monnoie de cuivre en plusieurs fractions ; et comme une monnoie d’aussi peu de valeur couteroit plus a fabriquer qu’elle ne
pourroit valoir, on la remplace par un coquillage dont la nature fait presque tous les fraix. Quelque mince que soit la valeur d’un cauris,
elle sufiit dans ces contrees fertiles pour acheter une piece des bananes ou quelque autre fruit commun.’’—Le Goux de Flaix, Essai sur
I’lndoustan, tom. i. pp. 143-226, quoted by Storch, Economie Politique, tom. iii. p. 133.
8 Smith, uhi supra; and Horrebow, Description de VIslande, tom. ii. p. 90.
7 Wealth of Nations, loc. at.
VOL. XV. ' ^ G
418
MONEY.
Money, consulting their own advantage, individuals would en-
deavour to exchange some portion of their produce tor
commodities which could be easily concealed or carried
about, which did not deteriorate by being kept, and ot
which they could give a portion that would be equivalent
to, and readily accepted for, any article they might after¬
wards wish to obtain. When first brought to market,
gold and silver, like copper, iron, or any other meta ,
were in an unfashioned state, in bars or ingots, bheep,
oxen, corn, cloth, &c., were then bartered or go or
silver, exactly as they were bartered for iron, copper, tin,
or anything else. The parties having agreed upon the
quality and quantity of the metal to be given for the goods,
the latter was ascertained by weight. Isons this a mere
conjectural statement, advanced m a later age to explain
appearances, and resting on probability only. Aristotle
and Plinyi 2 tell us, that such was, in fact, the method
by which the precious metals were originally exchanged
in Greece and Italy; and the sacred writings present us
with a remarkable example of the prevalence of the same
primitive practice in the East. We are there told that
Abraham weighed four hundred shekels of silver, and
o-ave them in payment of a piece of ground he had
purchased from the sons of Heth.3 It is also mentioned
that this silver was “ current money with the merchant,”
an expression which evidently refers to its quality only;
for, had it been coined, or marked with a stamp, indi¬
cating its weight and fineness, it would have been un¬
necessary to weigh it. rI hese ancient practices still
subsist in various countries. In many parts of China,
gold and silver do not circulate as coin under the
authority of a public stamp. When exchanged, they are
cut into pieces, supposed to be nearly proportioned to
the value of the article they are to be given for; and the
pieces are then weighed to ascertain their precise value.
This practice is also prevalent in other countries.4
Before the art of metallurgy was well understood, the
baser metals were frequently used as money. Iron was
the primitive money of the Lacedemonians, and copper
of the Romans. But these metals deteriorate by being
kept; and, besides this defect, the rapid improvement of
the arts, and the consequent reduction of their price,
speedily rendered their bulk in proportion to their value
much too great to permit of their continuing to serve as
money. Copper, however, is still advantageously used
in the form of tokens, convertible into silver in very
small payments. In Great Britain, copper pence and
half-pence are rated far above their real value. But as
their issue is exclusively in the hands of government, and
as they are legal tender to the ext ent of one shilling only in
any one payment, this over-valuation has not, for reasons
which will be afterwards explained, had any bad effect.5
The trouble and inconvenience attending the weighing
of the metal in every exchange of gold or silver for com¬
modities, must have been early experienced. But the
greatest obstacle to the use of unfashioned metals as
money, would undoubtedly be found in the difficulty of
determining their quality, or the degree of their purity,
with sufficient facility and accuracy. The operation of ^Money.
assaying is one of great nicety and delicacy; and, not¬
withstanding all the assistance derived from modern
art, it is still no easy matter to ascertain the precise
degree of purity of a piece of metal. In early ages,
such an operation must have been performed in a clumsy
and bungling manner. It is most probable, indeed, that
when the precious metals were first used as money, their
quality would be appreciated roughly by their weight
and colour. A very short experience would, however,
be sufficient to show the inexactness of conclusions de¬
rived from such loose and unsatisfactory criteria; and
the devising of some method by which the fineness of the
metal offered in exchanges might be easily and. correctly
made known, would very soon be felt as indispensable
to the general use of gold and silver as money. Such a Coinage,
method was not long in presenting itself. It was early
discovered that the purity of the metal would be indicated,
and the trouble and expense of weighing it avoided, by
marking each piece with a public stamp^ declaring its
weight and fineness. Such seem to have been the
various steps which led the ancients, at a very remote
sera, to the introduction of coined money.6 * It was an
invention of the greatest utility, and has powerfully con¬
tributed to facilitate commerce, and to accelerate the
progress of civilisation and the arts.?
^Without some article of known exchangeable value, Advan-
such as coin, readily received as an equivalent for other tagestf
things, the interchange of commodities must have been money_
very limited, and consequently the divisions of labour
very imperfectly established. Now, money obviates
these evils, and by a twofold operation, augments pro¬
duction. In the first place, it saves all that time and
labour which, while the intercourse between man and
man is carried on by barter, must frequently intervene
before a person can be supplied with the quantity of the
commodity which he wants. In the second place, and
in consequence of its saving the time and labour which
must otherwise be spent in effecting exchanges, it multi¬
plies the transactions of mercantile industry, and thus
allows the divisions of employment to be more thoroughly
established. By the first operation, it disengages a very
considerable portion of labour from an unproductive
occupation, and enables it to receive a more useful direc¬
tion. By the second operation, it increases in a very
high degree the productive powers of the labour already
usefully employed. It assists every man in availing
himself of the skill and dexterity which he may have
acquired in any particular calling, and promotes cultiva¬
tion in a manner suitable to the climate and soil ot
different districts, and of different countries. And by
both these operations, coined money increases, to. an
extent, not easy to be calculated, the wealth of civilised
communities.”8
But however great the advantages attending the use
of coins, their introduction did not, in any degree, affect
the principle of exchanges. Equivalents are still given
i FoUt Hb i Cap 9 2 Hist. Nat. lib. 38, cap. 3. 3 Genesis, chap, xxiii. verse 16.
'• WiltS ml by Master of the Min., p. 378 of tie Appendix .0 the Lords- Ecpor. on the
toS“’Si?tDe“1br5SS,E)S“te?toin. i. p. 2C8, 4to. edit. See also Part’s 2M», Tol. '■ P’464;?T^e®-to ,h ugcof
2 The Roman jurists have given a brief, but clear and comprehensive, account of the circumstances which kd to t^ use ^
money.-Origo emendi vendenique apermutationibus ccnpit. Olmemm non ita erat nummus; neque ^^Itt^dSZuperest alteA
sed unusquisque, secundum necessitatem temporum ac rerum, utilibus inutiliapermutabat, quandoplerumque e q accwere velles electa
desit. Sed quia non semper, nec facile concurrebat, ut, cum tu haberes quod ego desiderarem, eSn^teria formct,
materia est, cuius publica ac perpetua cestimatio difficultatibus permutationum cequahlate quantitatis sm&k > JL 7. vretium
publicd percussa, usum dominiumque, non tarn ex substantia prcebet quam ex quantitate f nee vlti a merx u q ,
vacatur.—(Digest, lib. xviii., tit. i., De Contr. Empt. Leg. i.)
8 Torrens On the Production of Wealth, p. 305.
MONEY.
419
Money, for equivalents. The exchange of a quarter of corn for
an ounce of pure unfaahioned gold bullion, is undeniably
Coins not as much a barter as if the corn were exchanged for an
siots of 0Xj or a barrel of beer. But supposing the metal to be
what sense formetI into a. coin’ tliat is> impressed with a stamp indi-
measnres eating its weight and fineness, that circumstance would
of value, evidently make no change in the terms of the barter.
The coinage saves the trouble of weighing and assaying
the bullion, but it does nothing more. A coin is merely
a piece of metal of a known weight and purity, and the
commodities exchanged for it are always held to be of
equal value. And yet these obvious considerations have
been very generally overlooked. Coins, instead of being
viewed in the same light as bullion or other commodities,
have been regarded as something quite mysterious. They
are said to be both signs and measures of value. But a
sovereign is not a sign, it is the thing signified. A promis¬
sory-note payable on demand, or at some stated period,
may not improperly be considered as the sign of the
specie to be paid for it ; but that specie is itself a com¬
modity possessed of real exchangeable worth. It is
equally incorrect to call money a measure of value, at least
in the peculiar sense in which that phrase is commonly
understood. Gold and silver do not measure the value
of commodities, more than the latter measure the value of
gold and silver. Everything possessed of value may either
measure, or be measured by, everything else possessed of
value. When one commodity is exchanged for another,
each measures the value of the other. If the quartern
loaf sold for a shilling, it would be quite as correct to say,
that a quartern loaf measured the value of a shilling, as
that a shilling measured the value of a quartern loaf.
Standards The quality of serving as a measure of value is, there¬
of value, fore, inherent in every commodity. But the slow degrees
by which the precious metals change their value, renders
them peculiarly well fitted for forming a standard by
which to compare the values of other and more variable
articles. To this standard reference is almost always
made in estimating the value of products in civilised
countries. We do not say that one man is worth a
thousand acres of land, and that another is worth a
thousand sheep, but we ascertain for how much gold or
silver the land and the sheep would respectively exchange,
and then say that their proprietors are worth so much
money. But in this there is nothing mysterious. We
merely compare the value of one commodity with the
value of another. And as coin or money is the most
convenient standard of compaidson, the value of other
commodities is usually estimated or rated in it.
tenc'eXfS" ^ 0^V^0US5 from this statement, that the exchange
abstract or °^one commo^ity, or set of commodities, for another, may
idea] sometimes be adjusted by referring to money, without any
standard, money being actually in the possession of either of the
parties to the exchange. If a horse, for example, com¬
monly sold for £10, an ox for £5, and a sheep for £1,
the animals might be exchanged in this proportion with¬
out the intervention of money. The frequent recurrence
of transactions of this kind seems to have given rise to
the notion of an abstract or ideal standard of value.
Thus, instead of saying that a horse is worth £10, an
ox £5, &c., it has been contended that it might as well
be said that they are respectively worth lOcc, 5*, and
lx; and, since the comparative values of commodities
may be as clearly expressed in this way as in sums of
money, that the latter may be discarded as a standard,
and a set of arbitrary terms adopted in its stead. But
those who ai’gue thus completely mistake the nature and
functions of a standard. Its object is not merely to mark
the known relations between different commodities, but
also to enable those which are unknown to be readily
discovered. And although a series of arbitrary terms
may serve well enough for the first of these purposes, it
is quite impossible that it can ever serve for the second.
This, however, is the principal object of a standard ; and
it is sufficiently plain that nothing can be used as such
unless it possess the same properties as the things with
which it is to be compared. To measure length, a
standard must have length ; to measure value, it must
have value. The value of commodities is ascertained by
separately comparing them with money, and we express
their relation to each other by stating the result of our
inquiries ; that is, by mentioning the number of dollars,
of pounds, or of fractions of a pound, they are respec¬
tively worth. And, when any new commodity is offered
for sale, or when any change is made in the cost of an
old one, we ascertain its relation to the rest, by compar¬
ing it with a dollar or a pound. It would be impos¬
sible, however, to do this, were the terms dollar or
pound purely arbitrary, and referable to no really valu¬
able article. We might as well try to estimate distances
by an imaginary inch or an imaginary foot, as to estimate
prices or values by an imaginary shilling or an imaginary
sovereign. When we say that an ox is worth £5 and a sheep
£1, we not only mean that each is worth a certain amount
of gold or silver, but also, that when an ox and a sheep
are compared together—that is, when the one serves as
a standard by which to estimate the value of the other—
one ox is worth five sheep. But suppose that we wish
to ascertain what is the relative value of some other
commodity—a hat, for example—to oxen or sheep. Of
what use would it be to be told that one ox was worth
five sheep, or that when the value of an ox was repre¬
sented by the term “ 5x,” the value of a sheep was repre¬
sented by the term “ lx ” ? It is not the relation
between oxen and sheep, but the relation between these
animals and hats, that we are desirous of learning. And,
though this relation may be learned by comparing the
cost of oxen and sheep with the cost of hats, or by ascer¬
taining for how much of some other really valuable
commodity an ox, a sheep, and a hat will respectively
exchange, it is obvious it will never be learned by compar¬
ing them with x or z, or other arbitrary term or symbol.
It would not, in truth, be more absurd to attempt to
ascertain it by comparing them with the hieroglyphics
on an Egyptian sarcophagus. Nothing that will not
exchange for something else can ever be a standard or
measure of value. Commodities are always compared
with commodities, and not with abstract terms. Men
go to market with real values, or their equivalents, in
their pockets. And it is to something possessed of real
worth—to the gold contained in a sovereign, and not to
the word sovereign—that they always have referred,
and must continue to refer, in estimating value.1
This principle has been neatly and perspicuously stated
by Locke :—“ Men, in their bargains,” says he, “ con¬
tract not for denominations or sounds, but for the
* The following passage of Montesquieu has often been referred to in proof of the existence of an ideal standard :—“ Les noirs de
la cote d’Afrique ont un signe des valeurs sans monnoie ; e’est un signe purement ideal fonde sur le degre d’estime qu’ils mettent dans
leur esprit a chaque marchandise, a proportion du besoin qu’ils en ont; une certaine denree, ou marchandise, vaut trois macutes • une
autre, six macutes ; une autre, dix macutes ; e’est comme s’ils disoient simplement trois, six, dix. Le prix se forme par la comparaison
qu’ils font de toutes les marchandises entre elles : pour lors, il n’y a point de monnoie particuliere, mais chaque portion de marchandise
est monnoie de 1’autre.”—Esprit des Loix, liv. xxii. cap. 8.
But, instead of giving any support to the notion of an abstract standard, this passage might be confidently referred to in proof of its
420
MONEY.
Money, intrinsic value ; which is the quantity of silver (or gold)
by public authority, warranted to be in pieces of such
denominations. And it is by having a greater quantity
of silver (or gold) that men thrive and grow richer, and
not by having a greater number of denominations;
which, when they come to have need of their money,
will prove but empty sounds, if they do not carry with
them the real quantity of silver (or gold) that is required. 1
In common mercantile language, the giving of money
for a commodity is termed buying, and the giving of a
commodity for money, selling. Price, unless when the
contrary is particularly mentioned, always means the
value of a commodity rated in money.
Having thus endeavoured to explain the circumstances
which led to the introduction of money, and to show
what it really is, and what it is not, we proceed to
investigate the laws by which its value is regulated. It
is chiefly from the prevalence of erroneous opinions on
this subject, that the theory of money has been so much
misunderstood.
Sect. II.—Circumstances which Regulate the Exchangeable
Value of Money.
Value of
money:
This branch of our subject naturally divides itself into
two parts : 1st, An inquiry into the principles which
regulate the exchangeable value of money when the
power to supply it is free or unfettered ; and, 2d, An
inquiry how far these principles are affected by the
operation of monopoly.
When the I- There does not seem to be much room for difference
power to of opinion respecting the circumstances which regulate
supply it the value of the precious metals, and their distribution
s trie ted throughout the various countries of the globe. Bullion
is a commodity, on the production of which competition
operates without restraint. It is not subjected to any
species of monopoly, and its value in exchange must,
therefore, depend on the cost of its production, that is,
on the quantity of labour required to produce it and bring
it to market.
If the same quantity of labour always produced the
same quantity of bullion, its value would be invariable,
and it would constitute a standard by which the varia¬
tions in the exchangeable value of other commodities
might be correctly ascertained. But this is not the case Money,
with bullion or anything else. Its value fluctuates like
that of other articles, not only according to the greater
or less productiveness of the mines from which it is
extracted, but also according to the varying skill of the
miners, the improvement of machinery, and other circum¬
stances.
In his treatise on Political Economy, Say has a chapter
entitled “ De la valeur que la qualite d'etre monnoie ajoute
d une marchandise.” But a little reflection will convince
us that this is a mistake, and that the circumstance of the
precious metals being used as money adds nothing to their
value. Say reasons on the hypothesis, which is equally
at variance with principle and fact, that an increase of
demand is always productive of an increase of value.
The latter, however, depends upon the cost of production ;
and it is obvious that the cost of a thing may be dimi¬
nished while the demand for it is increased, and con¬
versely. This is so plain a proposition, as hardly to require
to be substantiated by argument. And the instance of cot¬
ton goods, the price of which, notwithstanding the vast
increase of demand, has been constantly on the decline
during nearly a century past, is enough to convince the
most sceptical of the extreme erroneousness of Say’s
conclusion. But, with regard to the precious metals, it
is clear that under ordinary circumstances, or when
mining is prosecuted under nearly the same conditions
as other businesses, the capital employed in their pro¬
duction must yield the common and ordinary rate
of profit; for, if it yielded more than that rate, there
would be an influx of capital to the mining business;
and, if it yielded less, it would be withdrawn, and vested
in some more lucrative employment. And hence, though
the demand for gold and silver should, from the adoption
of some other commodity as an instrument of exchange,
gradually become less, the value of the precious metals
would not on that account be reduced. A smaller supply
would, indeed, be annually brought to market, and a
portion of the capital formerly engaged in the mining,
refining, and preparing of metals, would be disengaged.
But as the whole stock thus employed yielded only the
average rate of profit, the portion which is not withdrawn
must continue to do so; or, which is the same thing,
gold and silver must continue to sell for the same price.
It is true that where mines are, as they almost always
non-existence. Had Montesquieu said that the blacks determined the values or prices, of commodities, by comparing them with the
arbitrary term macute, the statement, though erroneous, would have been at least in point. 15 t he says no. such thing.. On the con¬
trary, he states distinctly that the relative values of commodities (marchandises) are ascertained by comparing them with each other
(entre elles), and that it is merely the result of the comparison that is expressed in arbitrary terms.
So much for the weight to be attached to this statement, supposing it to be well founded. The truth is, however, that the term
macute is not really arbitrary, and employed only to mark an ascertained proportion, but that it has a reference to, and is in fact, the
name of an intrinsically valuable commodity. “ On a bien dit,” says 1’Abbe Morellet, “ que ce mot macute etoit une expression abstraite
et generate de la valeur, et cela est vrai an sens ou nous I’expliquerons plus bas ; mais on n’a pas remarque que cette abstraction a ete
consequente et posterieure a I’emploi du mot macute pour signifier une marchandise, une denree reelle a laquelle on avoit longtems
compard toutes les autres.
“ Macute en plusieurs lieux de la cote d’Afrique, est encore le nom d’une certaine etoffe: ‘ Chez les negres de la c6te d'Angola,'
dit le voyageur Angelo, 1 les macutes sont des pieces de nattes d'une aune de long;' Jobson dit aussi que les macutes sont une espece
d'etoffe.
“ Les etoffes ont toujours ete 1’objet d’un besoin tres-pressant chez des peuples aussi barbares, depourvus de toute espece d’industrie.—
Les nattes en particulier leur sont de la plus grande necessite. Elles sont divisees en morceaux peu considerables et d’une petite valeur;
elles sont tres-uniformes dans leurs parties, ef les premieres qu’on a faites auront pu etre semblables les unes aux autres, et d’une bonte
egale, sous la meme denomination ; toutes ces qualites les ont rendu propres a devenir la mesure commune des valeurs.”—Prospectus
d'un Nouveau Dictionnaire de Commerce, p. 121.
The following extract from Park’s Travels gives an example of a similar kind :—“ In the early intercourse of the Mandingoes with
the Europeans, the article that attracted most notice was iron. Its utility in forming the instruments of war and husbandry made it
preferable to all others; and iron soon became the measure (standard) by which the value of all other commodities was ascertained.
Thus a certain quantity of goods, of whatever denomination, appearing to be equal to a bar of iron, constituted, in the trader’s phraseo-
logy, a bar of that particular merchandise. Twenty leaves of tobacco, for instance, were considered as a bar of tobacco ; and a gallon of
spirits (or rather half spirits and half water) as a bar of rum ; a bar of one commodity being reckoned equal in value.to a bar of another
commodity. As, however, it must unavoidably happen that, according to the plenty or scarcity of goods at market, in proportion to the
demand, the relative value would he subject to continual fluctuation, greater precision has been found necessary .; and, at this time, the
current value of a single bar of any kind is fixed by the whites at two shillings sterling. Thus, a slave, whose price is £15, is said to be
worth 150 bars.”—Travels in the Interior of Africa, 8vo. edit., vol. i. p. 39.
Farther Considerations concerning Raising the Value of Money. Locke’s Works, ii. 94. 4to. 1777.
MONEY.
tab.
Money, are, of different degrees of productiveness, any great
fallin" off in the demand for bullion might, by ren¬
dering it unnecessary to work inferior mines, enable the
proprietors of the richer mines to continue their work,
and to obtain the ordinary rate of profit on their capitals,
by selling bullion at a reduced price. In this case the
value of bullion would be really diminished; but this
diminution would not be occasioned by a falling off in
the demand, but by a greater facility of production. On
the other hand, an increased demand for bullion, whether
it arose from the suppression of paper money, or from a
treater consumption of gold and silver in the arts, or
from any other cause, would not be accompanied by any
rise of price, unless, in order to procure the increased
supply, it were necessary to have recourse to less pro¬
ductive mines. If the mines from which the additional
supplies were drawn were poorer than those already
wrought, more labour would be necessary to procure the
same quantity of bullion, and, of course, its price would
rise. But if no such increase of labour were needed, its
price would remain stationary, though ten times the
quantity formerly required should be demanded.
Production But though true under the circumstances supposed,
of the pro- these conclusions are often much modified in practice,
cious me- Frequently, indeed, the production of the precious metals
partakes very largely of the nature of a gambling specu¬
lation. When gold or silver is found in any particular
locality, its abundance, and the chances which it affords
to adventurers of enriching themselves, are uniformly
exaggerated, and an excess of hands is attracted to the
pursuit of the metal. In such cases, it commonly happens
that, while a few individuals engaged in the business
make fortunes, the great mass make little or nothing.
But most people being sanguine enough to think that
they will be found in the fortunate class, the supply of
bullion may be largely increased, and its value reduced,
even though the majority of those engaged in its produc¬
tion should be really carrying on a losing employment.
When the gold and silver mines of America first began
to be wrought, the most extravagant ideas were enter¬
tained of their productiveness; so much so, that they
were supposed to be able to bear a duty of half the
produce. But it was soon found that the exaction of
such a duty would occasion their total abandonment.
It was consequently lowered, by successive reductions,
to a tenth; and even this was felt to be oppressive, so
that, in the end, the duty was fixed at a twentieth
part, or five per cent. And, despite this reduction, the
trade of mining was generally unprofitable. Ulloa
says, that in Peru an individual who embarked in a
mining speculation used to be considered as a ruined
man, or as having adventured in a lottery, in which,
though there were many great prizes, the blanks had a
decided preponderance and, according to Humboldt,
nearly the same thing was experienced in Mexico; the
search after mines, and the working of them, being B*®16
looked upon as a sort of gambling adventure, in which
many were ruined, while a few only attained to great
wealth.2
It remains to be seen whether the result of the extia-
ordinary discoveries in California and Australia will be
different. We suspect, however, that it will not; and
that in the lottery of these countries, as in that of Mexico
and Peru, the blanks will greatly exceed the prizes. It
is understood that last year (1856), there were in Cali¬
fornia above 100,000 persons engaged in the raising of
gold, or in the employments subordinate to and imme¬
diately connected therewith. And if we estimate the
value of the labour of these parties at £100 a-year each,
at an average, ive shall not probably be beyond, but
within the mark; and, on this hypothesis, it would
require a sum of £10,000,000 to defray their mere wages.
Now, it would appear from the accounts most worthy of
credit, that the produce of the gold diggings, &c. of
California in 1856, amounted to from £13,000,000 to
£14,000,000 ; and, taking it at the latter amount, which
perhaps exaggerated, still it would only yield
421
Money.
£4,000,000 of surplus, which, were it equally divided
among the parties employed in raising it, would give
£40 to each. But instead of being equally, it is most
unequally divided; and, while a few have perhaps
realised from £1000 to £2000, or upwards, it is plain
that very many can have made little or nothing, not
even ordinary wages. And this has also been the case
in Australia. But the brilliant prizes, and the stories
of cobblers and ditchers whom a fortunate chance has
suddenly raised to opulence, have not failed to attract
crowds of competitors. And the probability is, that the
business of gold-raising will be zealously prosecuted,
even though it should make a most inadequate return to
the aggregate hands engaged in it. Under such circum¬
stances, the supply of bullion may become, to a consider¬
able extent, independent of the cost of its production;
and the value of gold in the market may, for lengthened
periods, depend chiefly on its quantity compared with
the demand.
Although, therefore, it be true that, under ordinary
circumstances, commodities are but seldom brought to
market unless they sell at a price sufficient to repay the
cost of their production, including therein a reasonable
profit to the producers, yet many things occur to disturb
the equilibrium between cost and price. And though,
in the great majority of instances, such disturbances,
when they do occur, are rarely of any very considerable
permanency, such may not be the case with gold and
silver. The circumstances connected with their produc¬
tion are so very peculiar, that they may be furnished for
indefinite periods, and in large quantities, even when
they do not really indemnify the great body of their
producers.
After gold and silver have been brought to market,
their conversion into coin, or manufactured articles,
depends on a comparison of the profits which may be
derived from each operation. Bullion would not be taken
to the mint were it more profitable to send it to a silver¬
smith ; and the latter would not work up bullion into
plate, if he could turn it to better account by converting
it into coin. Hence the values of bullion and coin in
countries where the mint is open to all, and the expenses
of coinage are defrayed by. the state, must very nearly
correspond. 'When there is any unusual demand foi
bullion in the arts, coin is melted down ; and when, on
the contrary, there is any unusual demand for coin, plate
is sent to the mint, and the equilibrium of value main¬
tained by its fusion.
So long, therefore, as competition is allowed to operate
without restraint on the production of gold and silver,
their value will vary, as above stated. And, while gold
or silver coins constitute the currency, the prices of com¬
modities, or their values rated in such coins will vary, not
only according to the variations in the values of the
commodities themselves, but also according to the varia¬
tions in the value of the metal of which the coins are
made.
H. Happily it is not possible to monopolise or limit the
1 Ulloa, Voyage de VAmerigue, i. 379, Amsterdam, 1752.
2 Nouvelle Espagne, liv. ii. cap. 7, edit. 1825.
422
Money.
MONEY.
money
when the
power to
supply it is
supply of the precious metals; hut if such a thing were
possible, or if none but government could use the mint, or
Value of issue coins, the value of the latter would no longer depend
on their cost. Suppose, to illustrate the principle, that gold
is used as money, that government issues a certain amount
of coins and then shuts the mint; and that, after such
restricted, limitation, the population of the country, and the pro¬
ducts to be circulated, are largely increased. In such
case it is plain that the exchanges which the limited
amount of money would have to perform would be pro¬
portionally augmented. A smaller sum would, therefore,
have to be appropriated to each transaction, or, which is
the same thing, money prices would be diminished. This
conclusion is so self-evident as to admit neither of doubt
nor cavil. And, therefore, it appears that when the supply
of money is limited, the amount of it given in exchange
for commodities varies inversely as the demand, and is
affected by nothing else.
That we might simplify the subject, we have assumed,
in this statement, that the substitutes which may be used
for money, and the methods by which it may be econo¬
mised, were the same throughout the period, when the
other changes referred to took place. It is easy, how¬
ever, to allow for any variation in the one or the other.
And, supposing this allowance to be made, it follows, if
double the usual supply of commodities were brought to
market in a country with a limited currency, that their
money price would be reduced a half; and that, if only
half the usual supply were brought to market, it would
be doubled ; and this, whether the cost of their produc¬
tion had increased or diminished. Products are not then
exchanged for money, because it is a commodity which
may be advantageously used in the arts, and has cost a
certain quantity of labour, but because it is the universal
equivalent, or legal tender, adopted by the society, and
will, as such, be willingly received by every one. The
remark of Anacharsis, the Scythian, that gold and silver
coins seemed to be of no use but to assist in numeration
and arithmetic,1 would, if confined to a limited currency,
be as just as it is ingenious. Sovereigns, livres, dollars,
etc., would then really constitute mere tickets or counters
for computing the value of property, and transferring it
from one individual to another. And as small tickets or
counters would serve for this purpose quite as well as
large ones, and those of brass, tin, or paper, quite as well
as those of gold, there can be no doubt that by sufficiently
limiting its quantity, a currency, though destitute of
intrinsic worth, may be made to circulate on a level with
gold or silver, or higher, if it be desired.
When a currency is mixed, or consists partly of coin
and partly of paper-notes immediately convertible into
specified amounts of coin, the value of the notes is neces¬
sarily measured by, and is in fact identical with the value
of the coins which may be obtained for them, and which
they are truly said to represent. But when, as has often
been the case, notes which are not convertible into coin are
notwithstanding legal tender, then it is plain that their
value cannot be in any wise dependent on the value of coins.
Such notes are not representatives of money, but are
themselves a variety of money. They circulate because
their issuers have power to make them legal tender, and
because money of one kind or other is indispensable.
Notes of this description have little or no intrinsic worth,
so that their marketable or exchangeable value depends
entirely on the extent to which they are issued, compared
«■.6- ^usiness they have to perform. If their supply
e su ciently restricted, their value may be maintained
°n a eve with that of gold, or even raised above it.
In their case everything depends on the discretion of the Money,
issuers. If they abuse their power, as they almost in-
variably do, by throwing too great quantities of notes on
the market, their value is proportionally reduced; and
if the issuers do not pull up in time, the notes will even¬
tually become, like the assignats in France, wholly
worthless.
Speaking generally, the value in exchange of a cur¬
rency consisting of the precious metals is coincident with
the cost of their production. If a sovereign commonly
exchange for two or three bushels of wheat, or a hat, it
is because the same labour is commonly required for its
production as for that of either of these commodities;
while, if with an inconvertible naner money, they ex¬
change for a one-pound note, it is because such is the
proportion which, as a part of the mass of commodities
offered for sale, they bear to the supply of paper in the
market. This proportion would, it is evident, be not
only immediately, but permanently affected by an increase
or diminution either of paper or commodities. But the
relation which the latter bear to a freely supplied
metallic currency is not permanently changed, except by
a change in their cost, or in that of the metals.
We have already seen in how far these conclusions are
liable to be affected by the peculiar circumstances under
which gold and silver are frequently produced. But
however much their value in exchange may diverge for
a while from the cost of their production, its uniform ten¬
dency is to coincide with that cost; and though the value
of bullion, as compared with other articles, may differ
very widely at different periods, these differences are
usually manifested by slow degrees. The vast extent of
the surface over which the precious metals are spread, and
the many purposes to which they may be applied, pre¬
vents even the largest additional supplies from suddenly
reducing their value; while, on the other hand, their
great durability prevents any sudden diminution of their
quantity, and the influence of a falling off in the supply,
from being speedily visible.
It may, therefore, be laid down generally, that the General
value of money depends on the quantity of it in circula- conclusion
tion compared with the exchanges to be effected by its as1to tIle
means, or with the business it has to perform. When, money°f
however, money consists of coins, their value is most ° ey
commonly limited by, and proportioned to, the cost of
their production ; whereas, when it consists of paper,
not convertible into coin, its value is exclusively deter¬
mined by the magnitude of its issues, and has nothing to
do with the cost of its production. That cost may,
indeed, in its case, be regarded as zero.
Such seem to be the circumstances which regulate the
value of money, both when the power to supply it is
unfettered by any restraints, and when it is restrained
and limited. In the former case, its value depends, like
that of the greater number of commodities, on the cost
of its production ; while, in the latter case, its value is
wholly unaffected by that circumstance, and depends on
the extent to which it has been issued, compared with
the demand.
The conclusions deducible from these principles are
most important. A metallic currency, on the coinage of
which a high seignorage or duty was charged, and a
paper currency not convertible into the precious metals,
have been occasionally seen to circulate at the same value
with a metallic currency of full weight, and which had
been coined at the expense of the state. No rational or
consistent explanation of these apparently anomalous
results could be given until the effects produced by limiting
1 Hume’s Essay on Money.
MONEY.
423
Money.
the supply of money had been appreciated. Now, how¬
ever, that this has been done, these difficulties have
disappeared. The theory of money has been perfected,
and we may estimate, a priori, what, under any given
circumstances, would be the effect of imposing a seignor¬
age, or of issuing inconvertible paper.
Sect. III.—A
advantageous.
amount.^
Moderate Seignorage on Coined Money
Principles which should regulate its
Reasons
why a
The governments of most countries have retained the
power of coining exclusively in their own hands. In
seignorage antiquity this privilege was reserved to prevent the
• U d on confusion which would result from the circulation of
coins. coins of different denominations were individuals per¬
mitted to issue them at pleasure, and to give the public
greater security that the stamp should truly indicate
the weight and fineness of the metal.1 2 And in more
modern times it has been reserved for the same reasons,
would be sent abroad in preference to them, in the event Money,
of the exchange becoming unfavourable, or of gold be-
coming a suitable article of export. And if, as Adam
Smith has observed, it became necessary on any emergency
to export coins, they would, most likely, be re-imported.
Abroad they are worth only so much bullion, while at
home they are worth this much, plus the expense of
coinage. There would, therefore, be an obvious induce¬
ment to bring them back; and the supply of currency
would be maintained at its proper level, without its being
necessary for the mint to issue fresh coins.
Besides relieving the country from the useless expense
of coining money sent abroad as an article of commerce,
a moderate seignorage would either prevent or materially
lessen that fusion of the heavier coins, which always
takes place whenever a currency becomes degraded or
deficient in weight. Previously to the recoinage of 1774,
the weight of bullion contained in the greater number of
the gold coins in circulation was reduced nearly two per
cent below the mint standard; and, of course, the price
and also, as a means of increasing the national revenue, of gold bullion, estimated in this degraded currency, rose
Much difference of opinion has, however, existed in two per cent., or from £3:17:10^d, its mint price, to
regard to the policy of imposing a tax on coins. It has £4 per ounce. This, however, was too minute a difference
been contended that they ought in no circumstances to to be taken into account in the ordinary business of
be charged with any duty; but that the expenses of the buying and selling. And the possessors of coins fresh
mint should always be defrayed by the public. In this from the mint, or of full weight, not obtaining more pro¬
opinion we cannot concur. The reasoning of Adam duce in exchange for them than for the lighter coins,
Smith, in favour of a moderate seignorage, appears to be sent the former to the melting-pot, and sold them as
quite unanswerable. A sovereign is more serviceable bullion. But it is easy to see that this fusion would
than a piece of pure unfashioned gold bullion of the same have been prevented had the coins been laden with a
weight; for, while it is equally well fitted for being used seignorage of two per cent. The heavy coins could not
in the arts, it is, which bullion is not, money or legal then have been melted without losing, the value given
tender. In imposing a duty or seignorage on coins to them by the seignorage; and this being equal to the
defray the expense of coinage, government merely gets excess of the market price of bullion above the mint
back the equivalent of the additional value conferred by price, nothing would have been gained by the melters.
the process on the bullion. And the truth is that those Had the seignorage been less than two per cent., the
who carry gold to the mint would have no better reason average degradation of the coin, had it, for example, been
for complaint were they charged with the expense of its only one per cent., all those coins whose value was not
coinage, than they would have, had they sent it to a more than one per cent, degraded below their mint stan-
ieweller’s, that they were charged with expense of its dard, might have been melted; but if the seignorage la
manufacture into plate. exceeded two per cent., no coins would have been melted
But there are other reasons why a seignorage ought until the degradation had increased to the same or a
to be exacted. Wherever the expense of coinage is greater extent. . , .
defrayed by the state, gold or silver coins, and gold This reasoning is.bottomed on the supposition that the
or silver bullion, are very nearly of the same value, coins on which a seignorage is charged are not issued in
And hence, whenever it becomes profitable to export the excess. If they were, the above-mentioned consequences
precious metals, coins, in the manufacture of which a would not follow. Their too great multiplication might
considerable expense has been incurred, are sent abroad sink their value below that of bullion, and occasion their
indifferently with bullion. It has sometimes been at- immediate fusion or exportation. So long, however, as
tempted, by prohibiting the exportation of coins, to the state only coins the bullion brought to the mint by
prevent the loss that may thus be occasioned ; but these individuals, there is little risk of this happening.
efforts having proved singularly ineffectual, have, been
abandoned in this and most other countries. Admitting,
however, that it were possible, which it certainly is not,
to prevent or materially limit the clandestine exportation
of coins, it is conceded on all hands to be quite nugatory
to attempt to prevent their conversion into bullion. In
this there is almost no risk. And the security with
which their fusion may be effected, and the trifling
expenses attending it, will always enable them to be
melted down and sent abroad whenever there is any
unusual foreign demand for the precious metals. This
exportation would, however, be either prevented or
materially diminished by the imposition of a seignorage
or duty, equal to the expense of coinage. Coins being,
by this means, rendered more valuable than bullion, it
No one,
we may be pretty well assured, would carry, bullion to
that establishment, and pay the expenses of its coinage,
unless the coins were thereby rendered so much more
valuable than the unfashioned metal.
Were government to buy bullion, and coin money on
its own account, it might, by proper attention, avoid all
over-issue. Suppose the seignorage were two per cent.,
then any given weight of coins of the mint standard
ought, provided the currency be not redundant, to pur¬
chase two per cent, more than the same weight of bullion.
So long therefore, as this proportion is preserved between
money and bullion, it shows that the proper supply of
currency has been issued. If the value of the coins de¬
clines below this limit, too many of them must have got
into circulation; and if, on the contrary, their value
1 SpiVnonfrp ctrictlv speaking, means only the clear revenue derived by the state from the coinage. But it is now commonly used to
express every deduction made from the bullion brought to the mint to he coined, whether on account of duty to the state, or of the expense
of coinage (properly brassage). We always use the phrase in its more enlarged sense.
2 Le Blanc, Traite Historigue des Monnoyes de France, p. 90, ed. Amst. 1692.
M O N E Y.
424
Money, rises above it, the supply is too limited, and an addi-
tional quantity may be advantageously issued.
It must not, however, be concealed, that if it were
attempted to charge a high seignorage, it would be ex¬
tremely difficult, or rather quite impracticable, to limit
the supply of coins. The inducement to counterfeit
money would, under such circumstances, be very greatly
increased, while the chances of detection would be very
much diminished. It would not then be necessary, to
make the counterfeiting of coins profitable, that they
should be manufactured of base metal. The saving, of a
heavy charge on account of seignorage might of itself
afford a sufficient profit; and this would be derived,
though the metal contained in the forged coins were of
the standard purity. But though it might, for this reason,
be impossible, or very difficult, to limit the supply of
currency, and consequently to sustain its value, were
any thing like an exorbitant seignorage charged, the same
difficulty would not stand in the way of a moderate
seignorage. To be carried on the business of counter¬
feiting must yield a premium sufficient to indemnify the
forgers for the risks and odium to which they are
exposed. A seignorage insufficient to do this would not
encourage the issue of counterfeit coins. And though it
might be difficult to form any very precise estimate of
the amount of the premium referred to, it would not
probably be under two or three per cent.t
In his evidence before the Lords’ Committee in 1819,
Mr Mushet stated that, with the improved machinery in
use in the mint, gold coin could be manufactured for
about 10s. per cent.1 2 And the manufacture of the silver
coin might then, we believe, be taken at about three
times as much, or at one and a-half per cent. It appears
from an account given in the report published in 1849
(p. 86), of the commissioners appointed to inquire into
the constitution, &c., of the mint, that the expense of
coinage, at an average of the eleven years ending with
1848, amounted, exclusive of law expenses, to £1: 5s.
3|d. per cent. The total amount coined during this period
was £38,275,486, of which £34,877,664 was gold,
£3,329,716 silver, and £68,103 copper. It is said to be
very difficult to distinguish exactly the separate cost of
coining the different metals. There can, however, be
little doubt that the changes lately introduced into the
mint will effect a very considerable saving in the expense
of coining; and the probability is, that in future it will
be under one per cent, on the average value of the total
coins issued. In France the procedure at the mint has
been so much perfected that the expense of coining gold
has been reduced to six fr. on 3,100 fr. or to *0193 per
cent., and that of silver to 75 cent, per 100 fr., or f per
cent.3 4 In Russia the gold costs 0’85, and the silver 2-95
per cent.4
Notices of The precise period when a seignorage began to be
seignorage charged upon English silver coins has not been ascer-
lan!ing" tained. It must, however, have been very early. Ruding
mentions, that in a mint account of the 6th Henry III.,
one of the earliest he had met with, the profit on £3898,
0s. 4d. of silver coined at Canterbury, is stated to be
£97: 9s., being exactly 6d. a-pound, of which the king
had £60 :18 : 3^-d., and the bishop the residue.5 In the
28th Edward I., the seignorage amounted to Is. 2|d. per
pound, 5|d. being allowed to the master of the mint, to Money,
indemnify him for the expenses of coinage, and 9d. to
the crown as its profit. Henry VI. increased the master’s
allowance to lOd. and Is. 2d., and the king’s to Is. and
2s. In the reign of Edward IV., the seignorage varied
from 4s. 6d. to Is. 6d. Itwasreducedto Is. in the reign
of Henry VII.; but was prodigiously augmented in the
reigns of his successors, Henry VIII. and Edward VI.,
whose wild and arbitrary measures produced, as will be
afterwards shown, the greatest disturbance of the currency.
During the lengthened reign of Elizabeth, the seignorage
varied from Is. 6d. to 2s. per pound; at which sum it
continued, with very little variation, until the 18th of
Charles II. (1666), when it was remitted.
From this period down to 1817, no seignorage was
charged on the silver coin ; but a new system was then
adopted. Silver having been underrated in relation to
gold in the mint proportion of the two metals fixed in
1718, heavy silver coins were withdrawn from circula¬
tion, and gold only being used in all the larger pay¬
ments, it became, in effect, what silver had formerly
been, the standard of the currency. The Act 56th Geo.
III. cap. 68, regulating the present silver coinage, was
framed not to interfere with this arrangement, but so as
to render silver entirely subsidiary to gold. For this
purpose it was made legal tender to the extent of 40s.
only ; and 66s. instead of 62s. are coined out of a pound
troy, the 4s. being retained as a seignorage, which, there¬
fore, amounts to 6^ per cent. The power to issue
silver is exclusively in the hands of government; who
may, by not throwing too much of it into circulation, pre¬
vent its fusion, until the market price of silver rise above
5s. 6d. an ounce.
This arrangement was censured in the debates on the
resumption of cash-payments in 1819. It was contended
that the over-valuation of silver with respect to gold
would make debtors use it in preference in discharging
their debts, and that the gold coins would be melted or
exported. The result has shown that this opinion was
erroneous. Debtors cannot discharge their debts by
silver payments ; for, as seen above, it is legal tender for
40s. only; and no creditor can be compelled, or would
be disposed to take it in payment of a larger debt,
except at its real value.6
In the 18th of Edward III., the period when we begin
to have authentic accounts of the gold coinage, a pound
troy of gold bullion was coined into florins, of the value
of £15. Of this sum, only £13:16 : 6 was given to the
party who brought the bullion to be coined, £1 : 3:6
being retained as seignorage, of which 3s. 6d. went to
the master, and £1 to the king. But it appears, from
the mint indentures, that the seignorage on the coinage
of nobles for the same year, amounted to only 8s. 4d.
And, from this remote period to the accession of the
Stuarts, with the exception of the coins issued in the 4th
and 5th Edward IV., and the 34th, 36th, and 37th
Henry VIII., the total charge of coining a pound weight
of gold bullion seldom exceeded 7s. or 8s. money of
the time. In the 2d James I., a pound weight of gold
bullion was coined into £40:10s.; a seignorage of
£1 :10s. being deducted ; 6s. 5d. of which went to the
master, and £1 :3 : 7 to the crown. The seignorage on
gold was remitted at the same time (18th Charles II.)
1 Mr Tooke read a very able paper on seignorage before the Lords’ Committee of 1819, on the resumption of cash-payments. It is
printed in the appendix to their report.
2 Minutes of Evidence, p. 207.
3 Chevalier Be la Monnaie (p. 110). This work forms the third volume of Chevalier’s Cours d'Economie Politique.
4 Storch, tom. vi. p. 74.
5 Annals of the British Coinage, vol. i. p. 179, 4to edition. _ _ r r n , >
6 Those who wish for a farther elucidation of this subject, may refer to Mr Mushet’s evidence in the Appendix to the Lords lieport
“ on the Expediency of the Banks resuming Cash-payments f where it is discussed at great length, and in a very able manner.
MONEY. 425
Money, with the seignorage on silver, and has not since been
revived.1
It appears from the official accounts, that during the
ten years ending with 1855, the sum of £53,871,063
was coined at the mint into gold coins. If we estimate
the cost of this coinage, including the loss on the old
worn coins brought to the mint to be recoined, at 12s. per
cent., it will amount to about £323,226. But two-thirds,
probably, of this expense would have been rendered un¬
necessary, had a low seignorage of 2 per cent, been
charged during this period; at the same time that it
would have yielded a revenue of nearly 1^ per cent, on
the sums that were coined.
It is needless, after what has been previously stated,
to dwell at any greater length on the futility of the prac¬
tice of issuing coins free of expense to be exported or
melted, as the case may be. It is the sieve of the Danaids
over again. We might, on the same principle, supply
natives and foreigners with plate ad libitum at the price
of the bullion, making them a present of the workman¬
ship. Whatever may be thought of the policy of making
coins yield a revenue, there can be no reasonable doubt
that they should, at all events, be charged with the
expense of coinage.
As the regulation of the seignorage, when it did exist,
depended entirely on the will of the sovereign, we need
not be surprised at the variations in its amount, or that
it should have fluctuated according to the necessities and
caprices of succeeding princes. It was, indeed, hardly
possible that it should have been otherwise. Our an¬
cestors were ignorant of the principle, by a strict adhe¬
rence to which the imposition of a considerable seignorage
can alone be rendered advantageous. They considered
it as a tax which might be increased and diminished at
pleasure. And, far from taking any steps to limit the
quantity of coin in circulation, so as to maintain its
value, they frequently granted to corporate bodies, and
even to individuals,2 the privilege of issuing coins, not
subject to a seignorage. No wonder, therefore, that it
should have been considered as a most unjust and oppres¬
sive tax, and that its abolition should have been highly
popular.
Remedy or Besides the revenue arising from the seignorage, our
there. kings formerly derived a small revenue from the remedy or
shere. It being found all but impossible to coin money
corresponding in every particular of weight and purity
with a given standard, a small allowance is made to the
master of the mint, whose coins are held to be properly
executed, provided their imperfections, whether on the
one side or the other, do not exceed this allowance, or
remedy. Its amount, from the reign of Edward III.
down to 1816, was generally about one-eighth part of a
carat, or 30 grains of pure gold per pound of gold bullion,
and two pennyweight of pure silver per pound of standard
silver bullion. In 1816, the remedy for gold coins was
fixed at 12 grains per pound in the weight, and 15 grains
per do. in the fineness; that for silver being, at the same
time, reduced a half.
It does not appear that our princes derived any con¬
siderable advantage from the remedy previously to the Money,
reign of Elizabeth. But she, by reducing the master’s
allowance for the expense of coinage from Is. 2d. to 8d.,
obliged him to come as near as possible to the lowest
limit allowed by the remedy. Had the coins been deli¬
vered to those who brought bullion to the mint by weight,
the queen, it is plain, would have gained nothing by this
device. But, in the latter part of her reign, and the first
seventeen years of that of her successor, James I., they
were delivered by tale, so that the crown saved, in this
way, whatever additional sum it might otherwise have
been necessary to pay the master for the expenses of
coinage. In the great recoinage in the reign of "William
III., the profit arising from the remedy amounted to only
8s. on every hundred pounds weight of bullion ; and the
coinage is now conducted with so much precision, and
the coins issued so near their just weight, that no revenue
is derived from this source.
The continental princes have, we believe without any
exception, charged a seignorage on the coinage of money.
In France, this duty was levied at a very early period.
By an ordonnance of Pepin, dated in 755, a pound of
silver bullion is ordered to be coined into twenty-two
pieces, of which the master of the mint was to retain one,
and the remaining twenty-one were to be delivered to
the merchant bringing the bullion to the mint.3 There
are no means of ascertaining the amount of the seignorage
taken by the successors of Pepin, until the reign of Saint
Louis (1226-1270), who coined the marc of silver into
58 sols, while he only delivered 54 sols 7 deniers to
the merchant: at this period, therefore, the seignorage
amounted to a sixteenth part of the marc, or to 6-jL per
cent. It was subsequently increased or diminished
without regard to any fixed principle. In the great
recoinage in 1726, it amounted, on the gold coin, to
7T5^ per cent., and to 5f per cent, on silver. In 1729,
the mint prices, both of gold and silver, were augmented,
and the seignorage on the former reduced to 5^ per
cent., and on the latter to 4|- per cent. A farther reduc¬
tion took place in 1755 and 1771, when the seignorage
on gold was fixed at 1T4^ per cent., and on silver at 1^
per cent.4 At the Revolution the seignorage was con¬
verted into a brassage, being reduced nearly to the
expense of coinage.
Sect. IV.—Expense of a Currency consisting of the
Precious Metals.
A moderate seignorage has but an inconsiderable effect Estimates
in reducing the expense of a metallic currency. This, of the ex-
Avhich is much greater than is generally imagined, is not Pense of a
occasioned by the coinage, which is comparatively trifling, metalllc
but by the value of the gold and silver vested in coins.
If, for example, the currency of the United Kingdom
consisted wholly of gold, it would amount to at least
eighty millions of sovereigns; and if the customary
rate of profit were 6 per cent., it would cost £4,800,000
a-year; for, were this eighty millions not employed as
money, it would be employed in branches of industry, in
which, besides affording wages to numerous individuals,
1 In the tables annexed to this article, the reader will find a detailed account of the amount of the seignorage and its fluctuations in
different periods.
2 Ending’s Annals of the Coinage, vol. i. p. 185. When the right of seignorage was abolished, there was a pension, payable out of
the profits derived from it, granted under the great seal, for twenty one years, to Dame Barbara Yilliers, which the legislature ordered to
be made good out of the coinage duties imposed by that act. (See Euding, in loco citato, and Leake’s Historical Account of English
Money, 24 edit., p. 356.)
3 Le Blanc, p. 87.
4 Necker, Administration des Finances, (tom. iii. p. 8).—Dr. Smith has stated {Wealth of Nations, p. 21), on the authority of
the Dictionnaire des Monnoies, of Abot de Bazinghen, that the seignorage on French silver coins, in 1775, amounted to about eight
per cent. The error of Bazinghen has been pointed out by Gamier, in his translation of the Wealth of Nations.
VOL. XV. 3 H
426
HONE Y.
Money, it would yield 6 per cent., or £4,800,000 a-year, nett
profit to its possessors. And this is not the only loss.
The eighty millions would not merely be withheld from
the great work of production, and the country deprived
of the revenue derived from its employment, but it would
be perpetually diminished. The wear and tear of coins
is by no means inconsiderable; and supposing the ex¬
penses of the coinage were defrayed by a moderate seig¬
norage, the deficiency in the weight of the old worn
coins, on their being called in to be recoined, falls on the
public. There is, besides, a constant loss fiom ship¬
wreck, fire, and other accidents. When due allowance
is made for these causes of waste, it may not, perhaps,
be too much to suppose that a country which had eighty
millions of gold coins in circulation, would have annually
to import and coin the hundredth part of this sum, or
£800,000, to maintain its currency at its proper level.
Thus it appears probable that, were the customary
rate of profit in the United Kingdom 6 per cent., it would
cost £5,600,000 a-year to maintain eighty millions of
gold coins in circulation. A reduction of the rate of
profit would, no doubt, proportionally reduce the amount
of this expense; but the reduced expense might still bear
the same proportion to the total income of the country
that the higher expense did, and if so, the cost of the
currency would not be at all diminished. The case of
France furnishes a striking example of the heavy charges
attending the general use of a metallic currency. The
gold and silver currency of that kingdom has been esti¬
mated by M. Fould at 2200 millions fr., and by others
at 2500 millions.1 Now, supposing the lowest estimate
to be the more correct, and taking the rate of profit at
6 per cent., this currency must cost France a hundred
and thirty-two millions fr. a-year, exclusive of the wear
and tear and loss of the coins, which being taken, as
before, at the hundredth part of the entire mass, will
make the whole annual expense amount to a hundred
and fifty-four millions fr., or to about six millions sterling.
This heavy expense forms a very material deduction
from the advantages resulting from the use of a currency
consisting entirely of the precious metals, and has doubt¬
less been a chief cause why all civilized countries have
endeavoured to fabricate a portion of their money of less
valuable materials. It has not, however, been the only
cause. It is obvious, were there nothing but coins in
circulation, that the conveyance of large sums from place
to place would be a very laborious process; and that
even small sums could not be conveyed without consider¬
able difficulty. Of the substitutes, calculated alike to
save expense and to lessen the cost of carriage, paper is
in every respect the most eligible, and has been by far
the most generally adopted. By using it instead of gold,
we substitute the cheapestfor the most expensive currency,
and enable the public to exchange whatever coins the
employment of paper may render superfluous, for raw
materials or manufactured goods, by the use of which
its wealth and enjoyments are increased. It is also
transferred with the utmost facility. Hence, since the
introduction of bills of exchange, most great commercial
transactions have been adjusted by means of paper only,
and it also is very extensively used in the everyday
business of society.
Sect. Y.—How Paper is substituted for Coins, and its value
maintained.
In all advanced societies, pecuniary engagements are
usually reduced to writing. This secures alike the
debtors and creditors; and obviates most part of the Money,
differences which are so very apt to arise when the terms v^V^'
of contracts are not distinctly specified. But it is an Origin of
obvious resource for such individuals as happen to pos- Paper
sess the written obligations or bonds of others, to transfer ™™G^’3an^
them when occasion requires to their debtors. And it va]ue is)
is probable that no very lengthened period would elapse main-
after they had been employed in this way till persons in tained.
whose wealth and discretion the public had confidence,
would begin to issue their notes to pay certain sums in
such a form that they might readily pass from hand to
hand in ordinary pecuniary dealings. But as these notes
or promises, though they cost the issuers next to nothing,
must be paid when presented, or at some specified date,
they would not be issued, or given away, except to those
who engaged to repay them with a premium or interest,
the amount of which would, of course, belong to and be
a source of profit to the issuers.
Suppose, for example, that a capitalist issues a pro¬
missory note for £1000. This he does by advancing it
to an individual in whose solvency he has confidence, or
who has given him security for its repayment with
interest. In point of fact, therefore, the issuer has
exchanged his promissory note to pay £1000 for an obli¬
gation of equal amount, bearing the current rate of
interest; and so long as the note, the intrinsic worth of
which cannot well exceed a sixpence, remains in circula¬
tion, he will, supposing interest to be 5 per cent., receive
from it a revenue of £50 a year. The business of bankers
who issue notes is conducted on this principle. They
could make no profit were they obliged to keep dead
stock or bullion in their coffers equal to the amount of
their notes in circulation. But if they be in good credit,
a fourth or a fifth part of this sum will perhaps be suffi¬
cient. And their profits, after the expenses of their esta¬
blishments, including the manufacture of their notes, are
deducted, will be measured by the excess of the profit
derived from their notes in circulation, over what they
might derive from the employment of the stock kept in
their coffeis to meet the demands of the public.
All descriptions of notes, whether they are issued by
individuals, or corporations, that are made payable in
coin on demand, or at fixed periods, cease to circulate as
soon as a suspicion begins to be generally entertained of
the solvency of the issuers, or of their ability to make
good their engagements. But paper-money, meaning
thereby notes not payable on demand, but wThich are,
notwithstanding, legal tender, is not affected by a want of
credit. It may be depreciated through excess, but by
nothing else. It has no intrinsic worth, and is not the
representative of anything in particular. Its value, as
already shown, is entirely dependent on the extent to
which it is issued. From 1797- down to 1821, Bank of
England notes, though not payable in gold, were de facto
legal tender, and their value was determined by the prin¬
ciple now stated, and by it only.
It has, however, been contended, that there is a material Allegation
difference between the inconvertible paper issued by that bank-
governments in payment of their debts, and that which is ^ on
issued by a company like the Bank of England, in dis- g00(j yiig
count of approved bills. In regard to the former,, it is at short
admitted on all hands that its value may be depreciated dates, eta-
from excess. But in regard to the latter,it has.becn argued, ™ cjate(i
that this is impracticable ; that its supply is limited by from
the legitimate wants of the public ; and that being issued excess,
only in proportion to the demand in exchange for good
and convertible securities, payable at specific and not very
distant dates, it can neither be in excess nor depreciated.
1 Chevalier De la Monnaie, p. 326.
MONEY.
427
Money. The apologists of the Restriction Act of 1797 endeavoured
■'’'V'—'' to show, by reasonings founded on assertions like these,
that Bank of England notes were not depreciated during
the suspension of cash payments. But though their fallacy,
which is sufficiently obvious, was demonstrated over and
over again by the authors of the Bullion Report, by Messrs.
Ricardo, Blake, Huskisson, and others, and has been
acknowledged by the legislature and the public, such is
the vitality of error, or the inveteracy of prejudice, that we
have these assertions repeated in 1857 as if their accuracy
(neither had been nor could be questioned. And such
being the case, it maybe right shortly to re-state principles
which have been frequently stated before, and which we
had supposed might have been safely taken for granted.
It may be premised on entering on this discussion,
tsallega- that the demand for money is not like the demand for
m. other things. A man may have enough of beef, of beer,
of cloth, and of a great many articles ; but of money he
never can have what he would consider enough. An
increase of money means an increase of riches, that is, of
power and consideration, and the desire for these is alto¬
gether illimitable. Whether money consist of paper, or
gold, or both, the demand for it will be alike great; and
will wholly depend on the price or interest charged for
loans, and not on the value of the money lent,
cmand These statements are so obviously well-founded as
r money hardly to require illustration. If an individual can bor-
^pendson row £1000, £10,000, or any greater sum, at 3, 4, or 5
nbe*™" Per cen^ interestj and if he can invest it so as to yield 4,
?een 5, or 6 per cent, it is plainly for his advantage, and for
terest that of every other person who may be similarly situ-
liid profit, ated to borrow to an unlimited extent. And a company
that issued inconvertible paper, and was consequently
relieved from the necessity of keeping any unproductive
stock or bullion in its coffers, might issue notes at a very
low rate of interest, and if so, the demand for them would
be proportionally great.
During the period from 1809 to 1815, both inclusive,
the issues of Bank of England and the provincial banks
were much greater than they had ever previously been, and
their paper was at a heavy discount as compared with bul¬
lion. But owing to the interest charged by the banks (5
per cent.) being less than the market rate at the time, the
parties applying for fresh discounts were constantly on
the increase. It is in truth quite immaterial to such
parties whether the issuers have, by issuing notes in ex¬
cess, depressed their value as compared with gold, or have
limited their supply, so as to keep them on a level with
that metal. These circumstances are of primary impor¬
tance to those whose incomes do not vary with variations
in the value of money ; but as prices rise and fall with
its increase or diminution, they have little or no influence
over merchants and tradesmen, who are the principal
applicants for discounts. A, who presents a bill for £500
or £1000 to a bank for discount, has received it, if it have
grown out of a real mercantile transaction, in payment
of goods which were worth £500 or £1000 money of
the day; and it is this sum which he wishes to obtain
by discounting the bill. Had the value of money been
different, the price of the goods, and consequently, the sum
in the bill, would have differed proportionally. Its
market value at the moment is the only thing attended
to in these transactions. And it is quite the same when
the bills are for accommodation purposes. It matters not
whether the notes given for them are worth 10s. or
20s. In the one case the bills would be nominally twice
as great as in the other, but there would be no real differ¬
ence between them. So long as the rate of interest charged
for discounts or loans is under the market rate, the
demands for money can never be supplied. In such case
million after million may be issued. The value of the
currency, if it consist of inconvertible paper, may be so
reduced as to require £1 or £5 to purchase a quartern
loaf; but the circumstance of its value being diminished
in proportion to the increase of its quantity would render
the demand for additional supplies as great as ever.
It is plainly, therefore, the merest drivelling to talk
about the demands for money being limited by the wants
of the public. These wants, like the avarice of the miser,
or the thirst of the dropsical patient, are altogether
boundless. They have no possible limit, and Avould be
as great after 100 or 1000 millions of notes or sovereigns
had been issued as after an issue of 10 or 20 millions.
Money.
But when a currency consists of gold, or partly of gold Limit of
and partly of paper immediately convertible into gold, it deprecia-
contains within itself a principle by which its over-issue tl01n,m a
is corrected. In that case, the issue of 100,000 or mixed
1,000,000 sovereigns, and of 100,000 and 1,000,000 currency.
£1 notes, has precisely the same effect. Paper is not depre¬
ciated as compared with gold, for the latter may at plea¬
sure be obtained for the former; but the whole currency,
gold as well as paper, becomes redundant, or is depre¬
ciated, as compared with that of other countries in which
there has been no over-issue. And as gold is every-
Avhere in demand, and the expense of its conveyance
from one state to another seldom exceeds one or tAvo per
cent., it follows, that if the currency be depreciated by
over-issue to any greater extent than this, the exchange
will become unfavourable, and gold will begin to be
exported. And if, in such circumstances, the issuers of
paper do not, by withdrawing a portion of their notes
from circulation, raise the value of the currency and
restore the exchange to par, the drain for bullion will
undoubtedly continue till they have been deprived of
their last sovereign, and are compelled to stop payments.
The currency may become redundant from various
causes exclusive of the over-issue of paper, such as the
greater economy of its issue by means of improved bank¬
ing, the occurrence of bad harvests, the prevalence of
discredit or the scarcity of money in countries with
which we are commercially connected, and so forth. But
however it may originate, the fact of the exchange being
unfavourable, and an efflux of gold taking place, shows
that the currency is in excess, and should be diminished.
We are aware that this conclusion has been denied in
the case of an unfavourable exchange occasioned by a
bad harvest. But, there is no room or ground for any
such denial. The fact that a harvest is bad, that is, that
the produce to be circulated by the intervention of
money is diminished by rendering the latter redundant
and reducing its value, makes it be exported to countries
where its value is greater. And its exportation, by raising
its value here, and reducing that of other articles, is the
surest means of increasing their exportation and reducing
the foreign demand for bullion to a minimum.
Though consistent with the soundest theory, this is
not mere theoretical reasoning. The issues of the Bank
of England were for about a century previously to 1797,
limited in the way now explained; and though, during
that lengthened period, the occasional efflux of gold
showed that the currency was in excess, there was no
discrepancy between the value of gold and paper.1 Since
1 Previously to the recoinage of gold in 1774, the market price of gold exceeded its mint price by about 2J per cent. But this was
not a consequence of gold or paper being in excess, but of the gold coins being worn to that extent. On the new coins being issued, the
discrepancy between the mint and market price of gold disappeared.
428
Money.
M 0 N E Y.
1821, the issues of the hank have been limited on the
same principle. And it will be afterwards seen, that by
neglecting to attend in 1825, and other occasions, to the
unerring evidence afforded by the fall of the exchange
of the currency being in excess, and requiring to be
reduced, the bank was brought into the most serious
difficulties.
No limit fn But there is no such check over the issues of incon-
the depre- vertible paper. It is legal tender only in the country in
ciation of -which it is issued. Abroad it has no such privilege, and
inconvor- • consequently, worth nothing. Hence, if it be issued
i e paper. excesSj tjie surpius cannot, as in the case of gold, be
removed or lessened by exportation.^ It is confined
to the country of its birth; and there is nothing to sus¬
tain its value but the discretion of the issuers. And
all experience shows that no dependence can be placed
on a restraint of this sort. Even in England, where
all matters connected with money are supposed to be
comparatively well understood, the inconvertible paper
of the bank was over-issued, so as to be, in 1814, at a
discount as compared with gold, of no less than 25 per
cent.1 And it is probable that, but for the destruction
of country bank paper, caused by the political events of
the period, the over-issue and depreciation of bank-notes
would have been carried still further. The fact is, that
the power to issue inconvertible paper has never been
conceded to any man, or set of men, without being
abused, that is, without its being issued in excess. The
re-enactment of the restriction Act of 1797, and making
it perpetual, would have no influence over the value of
paper, provided its quantity were not at the same time
increased. But who can doubt that it would be in¬
creased? Such a measure would enable the Bank of
England to exchange bits of engraved paper, not worth,
perhaps, 5s. a quire, for as many, or the value of as many,
hundreds of thousands of pounds. And is it to be sup¬
posed that the directors and proprietors should not avail
themselves of such an opportunity to amass wealth and
riches. If government enable a private gentleman to
exchange a scrap of paper for an estate, will he be de¬
terred from doing so by any considerations about its
effect on the value of the currency ? In Utopia we
might, perhaps, meet with an individual influenced by
such scruples; but if we expect to find him in England,
we shall most likely be disappointed.
It thus appears to be essential that all notes, how much
soever they may differ in other respects, should be payable
in specie on demand. But it is not enough to enact
a law of this sort. It is indispensable that effective
measures should, at the same time, be adopted to ensure
its being carried out; that is, to make certain that its pro¬
visions shall not be defeated by fraud, mismanagement,
or any sort of contingency ; but that coins shall always be
obtainable at the pleasure of the holders of the notes
which circulate in their stead.
Sect. YI.—Whether Gold or Silver should he adopted as
the Standard of the Currency> or whether it should con¬
sist of both.
The rela- As the values of gold and silver perpetually vary, not
^on.^' gold only relatively to other things, but also to each other, it
subject to is impossible arbitrarily to fix them by mint regulations,
constant Gold may now, or at any given period, be to silver as
variation.
13, or 14, or 15 to 1 ; but were sovereigns and shillings
made exchangeable in that proportion, the discovery of
a gold or silver mine of more than the ordinary degree
of productiveness, or the discovery of any abridged pro¬
cess by which labour might be saved in the production
of one of the metals, would disturb this proportion. And
as soon as the mint valuation of the two metals ceases
to correspond with that which they bear in the market,
it becomes the interest of debtors to satisfy all claims
upon them in the over-valued metal, which, consequently,
is alone used in all considerable transactions.
The regulations under which gold and silver coins cir¬
culated in England previously to 1663, differed at diffe¬
rent periods. In that year the guinea was first coined;
and its value (though fixed by the mint regulations at
the low rate of 20s. in silver), and the values of the other
gold coins then in circulation, varied according to the
fluctuations in the market values of gold and silver, the
latter being then in effect the only legal tender. But,
from a variety of causes—the principal being, perhaps,
the very unsatisfactory state of the silver coin, gold began,
under the Commonwealth, and in the reign of Charles
II., to be used in preference to silver in large payments.
Previously to the great recoinage of silver in the reign
of William III. (1696-1699), the silver coins were so
much wrorn and degraded, that the guinea passed current
at from 28s. to 30s. After the recoinage, its value was
very generally estimated, without any interference on the
part of government, at 21s. 6d.; a valuation which was
equivalent to a premium of lOd. in its favour, it being
really worth only about 20s. 8d. of the new silver
coins.
In consequence of this marked, though unintentional,
preference of gold, the new silver coins immediately
began to be exported ; and, to stop their exportation, the
value of the guinea was reduced, by proclamation in
1717, from 21s. 6d., at which it had been fixed by cus¬
tom, to 21s., both metals being made legal tenders in
that proportion, or in the ratio of 1 lb. gold to ISy2/^ lbs.
silver. But notwithstanding this reduction, which was
made pursuant to the advice of Sir Isaac Newton, the
guinea was still over-valued as compared with silver.
This excess wras estimated at the time at about 4d. in
the guinea, or l^f- per cent. ;2 and as the value of silver
compared with gold continued to increase for the greater
part of last century, it afterwards became considerably
greater; and this circumstance rendered it, as already
stated, more and more the interest of all parties to pay
in gold rather than in silver. Henc^e gold became in
practice the only legal tender. And during the lengthened
period, from 1717 down to 1816, no silver coins of the
legal weight and purity would remain in circulation, but
were either melted down, or exported to other countries,
where they passed at their full value. In consequence,
the silver currency consisted entirely of light, worn coins.
But as it existed only in a limited quantity, it did not,
according to the principle already explained, sink in its
current value. Though degraded, it was still the interest
of debtors to pay in gold. If, indeed, the quantity of
debased silver had been very great, or if the mint had
issued debased pieces, it might have been the interest of
debtors to pay in such debased money; but its quantity
being limited, it sustained its value, and gold was really
the standard of the currency.
The mint regulations issued in 1717, continued in full
force down to 1774, when it was enacted by the 14 Geo.
Money.
Over-valu¬
ation of
gold made
it be adopt¬
ed as the
standard
in this
country.
1 Rather an indigestible fact for those who contend that bank notes, being issued in proportion to the demand, have not been depre¬
ciated from excess.
2 Liverpool On Coins, pp. 68-85.
Money.
Over-valu¬
ation of sil-
ver made it
bo adopted
as the stan¬
dard in
France;
hut a
change in
the oppo¬
site direc¬
tion is now
taking
place.
A double
standard
absurd.
M ONE Y.
429
III., cap. 42, that silver coins should not be legal tender
by tale for more than £25 in any one payment, but that
standard silver should be legal tender to any amount in
weight at the mint price of 5s. 2d. an ounce.1 2 This act
had not, however, as some have supposed, any effect in
causing the general employment of gold as money in pre¬
ference to silver. For, to use the words of Mr Ricardo,
“ it did not prevent any debtor from paying any debt,
however large its amount, in silver currency fresh from
the mint. That the debtor did not pay in this metal was
not a matter of chance, nor a matter of compulsion, but
wholly the effect of choice. It did not suit him to take
silver to the mint, but it did suit him to take gold hither.
It is probable that, if the quantity of this debased silver
in circulation had been enormously great, and also a
legal tender, that a guinea would have been, as in the
reign of William III., worth thirty shillings; but it would
have been the debased shilling that had fallen in value,
and not the guinea that had risen.”3
In France, a different valuation of the precious metals
produced a different effect. The louis d’or, which, pre¬
viously to the recoinage of 1785, was rated in the mint
valuation at 24 livres, was really worth 25 livres 10 sols.
Those, therefore, who chose to discharge the obligations
they had contracted, by payments of gold rather than of
silver, plainly lost 1 liv. 10 sols on every sum of 24
livres. In consequence, very few such payments were
made, gold was nearly banished from circulation, and
the currency of France became almost entirely silver.3
In 1785, a sixteenth part was deducted from the weight
of the louis d’or, and after that period the value of the
precious metals, as fixed in the French mint, more nearly
corresponded with the proportion which they bore to
each other in the market. Indeed, it was stated, before
a committee of the House of Commons in 1819, that the
difference between the mint and market proportions of
gold and silver at Paris in 1817 and 1818, had not ex¬
ceeded from one-tenth to one-fourth per cent. There
was, however, no reason to presume that this coinci¬
dence, which must have been in a great degree accidental,
could long be maintained under any arbitrary system,
and it has recently been wholly set aside. The great
increase in the supplies of gold from California and
Australia, coupled with the extraordinary demand for
silver in India and China, having raised the value of the
latter, as compared with that of the former, gold has
come into very extensive use as money in France. There
seems, indeed, to be little doubt that it will very speedily
be as generally used there as in England. Large amounts
of French silver currency have been exported; and it
will, most likely, become subsidiary to gold, and be em¬
ployed only in making small payments.
To ensure the indifferent use of gold and silver coins
in countries where they are both legal tender, their mint
values would require to be every now and then adjusted,
so as to correspond with their real values. But as this
would obviously be productive of much trouble and in¬
convenience, the preferable plan undoubtedly is to make
only one metal legal tender, and to allow the worth of
the other to be adjusted by the competition of the sellers
and buyers.
The absurdity of employing two metals as legal tender,
or as a standard of value, was unanswerably demon- Money,
strated by Locke and Harris, and has been noticed by
every subsequent writer. But so slow is the progress of
improvement, that it was not till 1816 that it was enacted
that gold should be in law, what it had long been in fact,
the only legal tender for sums of 40s. and upwards.
And a seignorage being then also charged upon silver,
it has become entirely subordinate to gold, and is little
used except in payments of fractional parts of a pound,
or rather of 10s.
Whether, however, gold should have been adopted as
the standard of exchangeable value in preference to silver,
is a question not so easy of solution, and on which there
has been a great diversity of opinion. Locke, Harris,
and Ricardo are of opinion that silver is better fitted
than gold for a standard ; whilst Smith, though he has
not explicitly expressed himself, appears to think that
gold should be preferred. This latter opinion has been
supported by Lord Liverpool, in his very able work
“ On the Coins of the Realm.” And his reasonings Gold the
having received the approbation of Parliament, and gold preferable
having been for a lengthened period the only legal stari4ard.
tender, all attempts to alter this arrangement ought to
be opposed.
The late extraordinary increase in the supply of gold
has led many persons to anticipate great inconvenience
from the fall which may be expected to take place in its
value. But, supposing that this fall should, as appears
most probable, take place in the end, there is no ground
for concluding that it will be brought about otherwise
than by slow degrees ; and if so, it will not occasion any
injurious disturbance. About 140 or 150 years elapsed
from the discovery of America before the influx of bullion
from the new into the old world produced its full effect.
And it is doubtful, considering the vastly increased field
for the employment of gold and silver, whether the sup¬
plies from California and Australia will speedily exercise
any very material influence. We shall elsewhere endea¬
vour to show that a gradual fall in the value of gold
would, in a public point of view, be advantageous I'ather
than otherwise.4 ’
Whether gold or silver be adopted as the standard of
the currency, does not affect its total cost or value ; for
the quantity of metal employed as money, or the quantity
of metal for which paper is the substitute, is always
inversely as the value or cost of such metal. When
silver is the standard, fourteen or fifteen times more of it
than of gold is required; or, which is the same thing,
if the denomination of a pound be given to any specific
weight of gold or silver, fourteen or fifteen times more of
such silver pounds will be required to serve as currency,
fourteen or fifteen to one being about the proportion
which gold bears in value to silver. Hence the expense
of a gold or silver currency is identical. Gold being too
valuable, in proportion to its bulk, to be coined into
pieces of the value of a shilling or a sixpence, the subor¬
dinate currency necessary in small payments should be
over-valued, and issued only in limited quantities, as is
the case with the existing silver coins.
Were a seignorage charged on the gold coins, paper,
it is obvious, might be depreciated to its extent before
it would be the interest of the holders to demand coin
1 Being intended as an experiment, this act was limited to the 1st May 1776. But not being found to be productive of any inconve¬
nience, it was prolonged by other temporary acts. It was, however, suffered accidentally to expire in 1783, and was not renewed till fifteen
years after, in 1798. ^ And yet, despite the extremely degraded state of the silver coin, very few instances occurred during this lengthened
period of its being offered in payment of any considerable sum.
2 Principles of Political Pconomy, p. 520.
, 8 Say, i. p. 393.
4 See Art. Precious Metals in this work.
430 MONEY.
Money, for the purpose of exportation, and consequently before
the check of specie payments would begin to operate.
But, even with a seignorage, all risk of paper being
depreciated, might be obviated by making it obligatory
on the bank to pay her notes, either in bullion, at the
mint price of £3:17:10^d. an ounce, or coin, at the
pleasure of the holder. A regulation of this kind could
not be justly considered as imposing any hardship on
the bank; for no bullion would be demanded from her,
except when, by the issue of too much paper, its value
had been sunk below the standard.
Standard Sect. VII.—Standard of Money. Duodecimal and Decimcd
of money. systems of dividing Coins. Degradation of Coins in Borne,
France, Great Britain, and other countries. Effects of
this degradation.
By the standard of money is meant the degree of the
purity or fineness of the metal of which coins are made,
and the quantity or weight of such metal in them. A
pound troy, or twelve ounces of the metal in English
silver coins, contains 11 ounces 2 dwts. fine silver, and
18 dwts. alloy. And this standard pound, or pound
sterling, is coined into 66 shillings ; which, consequently,
contain parts of of a pound troy, or Idll'Sdfi
grains fine silver. From the 43 of Elizabeth down to
1816, when the 56th Geo. III. cap. 68, imposing a
seignorage of about six per cent, on the silver coin, was
passed, the pound weight of standard silver bullion was
coined into 62 shillings. All English silver coins have
been coined out of silver of 11 oz. 2 dwts., fine, from the
Conquest to this moment, excepting for a period of
sixteen years, from 34th Henry VIII. to the 2d Eliza¬
beth.
Purity of The purity of gold is not estimated either in Great
English Britain, or in most other European countries, by the
weights commonly in use, but by an Abyssinian weight
called a carat.1 2. The carats are subdived into four parts,
called grains, and these again into quarters; so that a
carat grain, with respect to the common divisions of a
pound troy, is equivalent to 2^ penny-weights. Gold
of the highest degree of fineness, or pure, is said to be
24 carats fine. When gold coins were first struck at the
English mint, the standard of the gold in them was 23
carats 3^ grains fine, and one-half grain alloy; and so it
continued, without any variation, till the 18th Henry
VIII., when a new gold standard of 22 carats fine,
and two carats alloy was introduced. The first of these
was called the old standard; the second, the new standard
or crown gold, because crowns, or pieces of the value of
five shillings, were first coined of this new standard.
Henry VIII. made his gold coins of both standards;
and this practice was continued by his successors till
1633. But from the latter period to the present, gold
coins have been invariably of the new standard, or crown
gold. Some coins of the old standard continued to cir¬
culate till 1732, when they were forbidden to be any
longer current.8
The standard of our present gold coins is, therefore,
eleven parts of fine gold, and one part of alloy. The
pound troy of such gold is divided into 46j829-g sove¬
reigns, each of which ought, consequently, when fresh
from the mint, to weigh twelve ounces, or five
dwts. 3^!^ grains standard gold, or four dwts. 17TX128T?
grains pure gold.
The alloy in coins is reckoned of no value. It is
allowed, to save the trouble and expense that would be
incurred in refining the metals so as to bring them to the
highest degree of purity ; and because, when its quantity
is small, it renders the coins harder, and less liable to be
worn or rubbed. If the quantity of alloy were con¬
siderable, it would lessen the splendour and ductility of
the metals, and would add too much to the weight of the
coins.
The pound sterling, represented by the sovereign, is Duodeci-
the integer or unit of currency in England; it being mal an4
subdivided into twenty shillings, each shilling into twelve of
pence, and each penny into four farthings. Latterly, the pound
however, this system, notwithstanding its many recom- sterling,
mendations, has been a good deal objected to; and Sypy-
various proposals have been made for substituting in its [h^fomer
stead a coinage on the decimal plan. Most part of these
proceed on the assumption that the pound is to be
maintained as the integer, it being subdivided into
tenths, hundredths, and so on, as in the French coinage.
But there would be no little difficulty in carrying out a
project of this sort. Shillings (two to be called a florin)
might be continued in the new coinage ; but pence and
farthings would have to be discarded. This is evident
from the following comparison :—
At present £1 = 20 shillings = 240 pence= 960 farthings.
Proposed plan £1 == 10 fl. (each — 2 sh.) =*= 100 cents = 1000 mills.
Now, as cents and mills are neither equivalent to,
nor whole multiples of pence and farthings, it would
be impracticable accurately to adjust to the new scale
the prices of such articles, duties, or services as are
wholly or partly rated in pence and farthings. It is
evident, for example, inasmuch as mills would be four
per cent, less valuable than farthings, that those re¬
tailers, of whom there are many, who supply the poor
with small quantities of the various articles priced in
farthings, could not accept mills in their stead without
incurring a heavy loss. And if, as is most likely, they
attempted to right themselves by charging two mills
for a farthing, and three cents for a penny, serious in¬
jury would be inflicted on those who dealt with them.
But, suppose that this difficulty is got over, and that
prices are one way or other adjusted to the new scale,
the question remains, Would the change be advantageous?
And, despite all that has been alleged in its favour, we
are satisfied that it would not.
The object of coins is twofold, viz., 1st., to serve as
standards of value, and, 2d, to facilitate exchanges. With
respect to the first of these functions, it is of no conse¬
quence how coins are subdivided, the grand requisite
being that their weight and purity should be preserved
inviolable, and that the substitutes used in their stead
should be immediately convertible into them. In their
second function, or as instruments for facilitating ex¬
changes, coins are very little used in transactions of £5
and upwards, these being mostly settled by the inter¬
vention of notes and cheques. But coins, especially
shillings, pence, and farthings, are of universal use in
1 .The carat is a bean, the fruit of an Abyssinian tree, called Kuara. This bean, from the time of its being gathered, varies very
little in its weight, and seems to have been, in the earliest ages, a weight for gold in Africa. In India it is used as a weight for
diamonds, &c. (Bruce’s Travels, vol. v. p. 66.)
2 Liverpool On Coins, p. 27.
MONEY.
431
Money, retail dealings ; and these form the vast majority, nine-
teen twentieths or more of the ordinary business of so¬
ciety. Hence, if a system of coinage be well fitted for
such dealings, it matters little whether it be equally well
suited to those large transactions in Avhich coins are sel¬
dom or never employed. It is easy, however, to see that
shillings, or coins of twelve parts, are much better adapted
to the retail trade than florins or coins of ten parts.
The former are divisible without fractions by six, four,
three, and two, whereas the latter are divisible only by
five and two. We are constantly buying or dealing in
the thirds, the quarters, and so on of different articles ;
but with a decimal division of the integer, this would
sometimes be impracticable and sometimes difficult; for
we could not pay the price of a third, two thirds, or a
sixth of anything, nor could we pay for a fourth, an
eighth, &c., without introducing inconvenient fractions.
In so far, therefore, as retail transactions are concerned,
a duodecimal is at once seen to be decidedly preferable
to a decimal scale. The superiority of the latter con¬
sists, if at all, in its affording greater facilities for the
keeping of books and accounts. And this advantage,
supposing it to be real, is of trivial importance compared
with the other. Few individuals keep books or accounts,
whereas everybody, the rich as well as the poor, but
especially the latter, have innumerable, daily, and almost
hourly transactions, which being adjusted viva voce, are
concluded by the delivery of small coins. Our readers
may not, perhaps, be generally aware of the fact that a
considerable portion of the tea and sugar sold in London
and other great towns is retailed in ounces, in the payment
of which farthings are frequently required. Tobacco
and snuff are, also, almost wholly disposed of in this
way, and it is partially or wholly the case with other
important articles.
Unless, therefore, the interests of the many be sacri¬
ficed, without scruple or equivalent, to the interests
of the few, the existing coinage regulations must be
upheld. The advantages on their side are quite prepon¬
derating. Nothing can be better suited than the duo¬
decimal scale to the exigencies of the great bulk of
society, whereas the decimal scale is, at best, suited only
to what is a comparatively small body of clerks and ac¬
countants.
And, even in the case of the latter, it is the easiest
thing imaginable for those who prefer keeping books and
accounts on the decimal plan to do so at present. The
keepers of such books would soon come to recollect
the decimals for all the principal subdivisions of a pound.
And, were a table of such equivalents affixed to their
desks, they might, when they happened to be at fault,
by looking into it, find the desired figures at a glance.
Besides being best fitted to secure the principal advan¬
tages to be derived from the use of coins, our present
system has the further and most important recommenda¬
tion that it is in operation, and that all classes, even those
who can neither read nor write, are familiar with its di¬
visions, and employ it with the greatest ease and expe¬
dition. It would be extremely difficult to subvert an
established system of this sort to make room for one of
less easy application, abounding in outlandish terms, and
to which every body would be a stranger. Even in
France, where the most sweeping of revolutions paved
the way for the decimal system, it has had to be ma¬
terially modified, and is not yet fully introduced.
But the change, how inconvenient soever, might be
submitted to, were it certain to be in the end advanta¬
geous. When, however, the reverse is the case, when
the change would be alike undesirable and inconvenient,
it would be worse than foolish to disturb the existing
arrangements.1
Having thus ascertained what the standard of money
really is, and how coins may be best divided, we proceed
briefly to inquire into the effects produced by the depre¬
ciation of the latter. This is a very important inquiry,
both in a practical and historical point of view.
Money.
Directly to alter the terms of the contracts between Variations
individuals, wnuld be too barefaced and tyrannical an
interference with the rights of property, to be tolerated. j>uinous'
Those, therefore, who endeavour to enrich one part of consequen-
society at the expense of another, find it necessary to act ces thereof,
with caution and reserve. Instead of changing the
stipulations in contracts, they have resorted to the in¬
genious device of changing the standard by which these
stipulations are adjusted. They have not said, in so
many words, that ten or twenty per cent, should be
added to, or deducted from, the debts and obligations of
society, but they have, nevertheless, effected this by
making a proportional change in the value of money.
Men, in their bargains, do not, as has been already seen,
stipulate for signs or measures of value, but for real
equivalents. Money is not merely the standard by a
comparison with which the values of commodities are
ascertained; it is also the equivalent, by the delivery of
a specified amount of which the stipulations in most
contracts and engagements may be discharged. It is
plain, therefore, that it cannot vary without affecting
these stipulations. Every addition to its value makes a
corresponding addition to the debts of the state and of
individuals ; whereas every diminution of its value makes
a corresponding diminution of these debts. Suppose
that, owing to an increase in the cost of gold and silver,
or in the quantity of bullion contained in coins of the
same denomination, the value of money is raised ten per
cent.: it is plain that this will add ten per cent, to the
various sums which one part of society owes to an.other.
Though the nominal rent of the farmer, for example,
continues stationary, his real rent is increased. He pays
the same number of pounds, or livres, or dollars, as for¬
merly; but these have become more valuable, and
require, to obtain them, the sacrifice of a tenth part more
corn, labour, or other things, the value of which has
remained stationary. On the other hand, had the value
of money fallen ten per cent., the advantage would have
been wholly on the side of the farmer, who would have
been entitled to a discharge from his landlord, when he
had paid him only nine-tenths of the rent really bar¬
gained for.
But, though it be thus obviously necessary, to prevent
a pernicious subversion of private fortunes, and the fal¬
sifying of all precedent contracts, that the standard of
money, when once fixed, should be maintained inviolate,
there is nothing which has been so frequently changed.
We do not now allude to variations in the value of bul¬
lion itself, against which it is impossible to guard, but to
variations in the quantity of bullion contained in the
same nominal sums of money. In almost every country,
debtors have been enriched at the expense of their
creditors. The necessities, or the extravagance of
1 For a further and complete exposition of this question, see Lord Overstone’s Queries annexed to the Report of the Commissioners on
Decimal Coinage.
432
M 0 N E Y.
Money, governments, have forced them to borrow. And to
relieve themselves of their encumbrances, they have
almost universally had recourse to the disgraceful expe¬
dient of degrading or enfeebling the coin ; that is,, of
cheating those who had lent them money, and of enabling
every private debtor in their dominions to do the same
by his creditors.
The ignorance of the public in remote ages facilitated
this variety of fraud. Had the names of the coins been
changed when the quantity of metal contained in them
was reduced, there would have been no room for misap¬
prehension. But, though the weight of the coins was
undergoing perpetual, and their purity occasional, reduc¬
tions, their ancient denominations were almost unifoiinly
preserved. And those who saw coins of a certain weight
and fineness circulate under the names of florins, livres,
and pounds, and who saw them continue to circulate as
such, after both their weight and their fineness had been
lessened, began to think that they derived their value
more from the stamp affixed to them by authority of
government, than from the quantity of the precious
metals which they contained. This was long a very
prevalent opinion. But the rise of prices which invari¬
ably followed every reduction of the standard, and the
disturbance which it occasioned in every pecuniary
transaction, undeceived the public, and taught them,
though it may not yet have taught their rulers, the
expediency of preserving the standard of money invio¬
late.
Before proceeding to notice the changes made in the
currency of this and other countries, it may be proper to
observe that the standard is generally debased in one or
other of the undermentioned ways.
How the First, by altering the denominations of the coins,
standard is without making any alteration in their weight or purity,
reduced, suppose sixpence, or as much silver as there is in
a sixpence, were called a shilling, then a shilling would
be two shillings, and twenty of these shillings, or ten
of our present shillings, would make a pound sterling.
This would be a reduction of fifty per cent, in the
standard.
Secondly, the standard may be reduced, by continuing
to issue coins of the same weight, but making them baser,
or with less pure metal and more alloy.
Thirdly, it may be reduced by making the coins of the
same degree of purity, but of diminished weight, or with
less pure metal; or it may be reduced partly by one of
these methods, and partly by another.
The first of these methods of degrading the standard
was recommended by Mr. Lowndes in 1695 ; and if in¬
justice is to be done, it is, on the whole, the least mis¬
chievous mode in which it can be perpetrated. It saves
all the trouble and expense of a recoinage; though, as it
renders the fraud too obvious, it has been but seldom
resorted to. But in inquiries of this kind, it is rarely
necessary to investigate the manner in which the stan¬
dard has been degraded. And by its reduction or
degradation, is usually meant a diminution of the quantity
of pure metal contained in coins of the same denomina¬
tion without regard to the mode in which it may have Money,
been effected.
Conformably to what has been observed in the first
section of this treatise, relative to the universality of the
ancient practice of weighing the precious metals in every
exchange, it is found that the earliest coins of most
countries had the same names and were of the same
ponderosity as the weights commonly used in them.
Thus, the talent was a weight used in the earliest periods
by the Greeks, the as or libra by the Romans, the livre
by the French, and the pound by the English, Scotch,
&c.; and the coins originally in use in Greece, Italy,
France, and England, received the same denominations,
and weighed a talent, a libra or pondo, a livre, and a
pound. The standard has not, however, been preserved
inviolate, either in ancient or modern times. But to
attempt to trace these changes with any degree of minute¬
ness, would lead us into too many details; and we shall
content ourselves with referring to those only which
seem to be of most importance, i
Roman Money.—"VVe learn from Pliny, that the first History of
Roman coinage took place in the reign of Servius Tullius; fi°man
that is, according to the common chronology, about 550 mone>-
years before Christ. The as, or libra, of this early period,
contained a Roman pound of copper, the metal then
exclusively used in the Roman coinage, and was divided
into twelve parts or uncice. If we may rely on Pliny,
this simple and natural system was maintained until 250
years before our aera, or until the first Punic war, when the
revenues of the state being insufficient, it was attempted
to supply the deficiency, by reducing the weight of the as
from twelve to two ounces. But it is extremely impro¬
bable that a government, which had maintained its stan¬
dard inviolate for 300 years, should have commenced the
work of degradation, by at once reducing it to a sixth part
of its former amount; and it is equally improbable that
so sudden and excessive a reduction should have been
made in the value of the currrent money of the state, and,
consequently, in the debts of individuals, without occa¬
sioning the most violent commotions. Nothing, however,
is said in any ancient writer to entitle us to infer
that such really took place; and we, therefore, concur
with those who think that the weight of the as had been
previously reduced, and that its diminution, which, it is
most probable, would be gradual and progressive, had
merely been carried to the extent mentioned by Pliny
during the first Punic war. In the second Punic war, or
215 years b. c., a further degradation took place, and the
weight of the as was reduced from two ounces to one
ounce. And by the Papyrian law, supposed to have
passed when Papyrius Turdus was tribune of the
people, 175 years b. c., the weight of the as was
reduced to half an ounce, or to l-24th part of its ancient
weight, at which it continued till Pliny’s time, and long
afterwards.1 2 3 * * * * *
The denarius, the principal silver coin in use amongst Denarius,
the Romans for a period of 600 years, was coined five value oi.
years before the first Punic war, and was, as its name
1 For an account of the money of the Greeks, and of the ancients generally, the reader is referred to Raper s Inquiry
the Ancient Greek and Roman Money, in the volume of Select Tracts on Money, reprinted for the Political Economy Uub in 1856,
Pinkerton On Medals; Hussey On Ancient Weights and Money; and to the various articles on the same subject in bmitti s Dictionary
of Greek and Roman Antiquities. „ „™Qiio+o
2 “ Servius rex primus signavit mes. Antea nidi uses Romse Remeus tradit. Signatum est nota pecudum unde et pecuma appellata
• • . . Argentum signatum est anno urbis DLXXXY. Q. Fabio Cos. quinque annos ante pnmum helium umeu . P
denarius prox. libris asris, quinarius pro quinque, sertertium pro dipondio ac semisse. Librai autem pondus sens unminu u 10
primo cum impensis resp. non sufficeret, constitutumque ut asses sextentario pondere ferirentur. Ita quinque par es ac se ucn,. isso u-
tumque ses alienum Postea, Annibale urgente, Q. Fabio Maximo Dictatore, asses unciales facti: placuitque demurium xvi.
assibus permutari, quinarium octonis, sestertium quaternis. Ita resp. dimidium lucrata est. Mox lege Papyna semunciales asses
facti.” Plinii, Hist. Nat., lib. xxxiij. cap. 3. Lugd. Bat. 1669.
MONEY.
433
Money, imports, rated in the mint valuation at ten asses. Mr
Greaves, whose dissertation has been deservedly eulo¬
gised by Gibbon,1 shows that the denarius weighed at
first only one-seventh part of a Roman ounce,2 which, if
Pliny’s account of the period when the weight of the as
was first reduced be correct, would give the value of
silver to copper in the Roman mint as 840 to 1, which
Greaves very truly calls a “ most unadvised proportion.”
But if we suppose with Pinkerton,3 that, when the dena¬
rius was first issued, the as only weighed three ounces,
the proportion of silver to copper would be as 252 to 1
 a proportion which, when the as was soon afterwards
reduced to two ounces, would be as 168 to 1, or about a
third more than in the British mint. When, in the se¬
cond Punic war, the as was reduced from two ounces to
one, the denarius was rated at sixteen asses.
During his stay in Italy, Greaves weighed many con¬
sular denarii; that is, as he explains himself, denarii
which were struck after the second Punic war and pre¬
viously to the government of the Caesars; and he found,
by frequent and exact trials, that the best and most per¬
fect of them weighed 62 grains English troy weight.4
Now, as the English shilling (new coinage) contains very
nearly 87£ grains standard silver, this would give 8^d.
for the value of the consular denarius. We should,
however, fall into the greatest mistakes, if we indiscri¬
minately converted the sums mentioned in the Latin
authors by this or any other fixed proportion. It is not
enough to determine the real value of a coin, to know
its weight: the degree of its purity, or the fineness of
the metal of which it is made, must also be known. But
Greaves assayed none of the denarii which he weighed.
And though it were true, as most probably it is, that,
from the first coinage of silver in the 485th year of the
city to the reign of Augustus, the weight of the denarius
remained constant at yth part of a Roman ounce, or
about 62 grains; and that, from the reign of Augustus
to that of Vespasian, it only declined in weight.from |th
to £th of an ounce ;5 still it is abundantly certain that its
real value was reduced to a much greater extent. The
authority of Pliny, in this respect, is decisive; for he
states that Livius Drusus, who was tribune of the people
in the 662nd year of the city, or 177 years after the first
coinage of silver, debased its purity, by alloying it with
^th part of copper.6 And, in a subsequent chapter (the
ninth) of the same book, he informs us that Antony the
triumvir mixed iron with the silver of the denarius ; and
that, to counteract these abuses, a law was afterwards
made, providing for the assay of the denarii. Some idea
of the extent to which the purity of the coins had been
debased, and of the disorder which had in consequence Money,
been occasioned, may be formed from the circumstance,
also mentioned by Pliny, of statues being everywhere
erected in honour of Marius Gratidianus, by whom the
law for the assay had been proposed. But this law was
not long respected ; and many imperial denarii are now
in existence, consisting of mere plated copper.7
Gold was first coined at Rome sixty-two years after Aureus,
silver, in the 547th year of the city, and 204 years b.c. value °^
The aureus originally weighed th part of the pondo, or
Roman pound; but, by successive reductions, its weight
was reduced, in the reign of Constantine, to only ^nd
part of a pound. The purity, however, as well as the
weight of the aui’eus, was diminished. Under Alexander
Severus it was alloyed with ilh part of silver. We learn
from Dion Cassius, a contemporary of Severus, that the
aureus was rated at twenty-five denarii, a proportion
which Pinkerton thinks was always maintained under
the emperors.8
The want of attention to this progressive degradation, Sestertius,
has led the translators of ancient writers and their com- value of.
mentators to the most erroneous conclusions. The ses¬
tertius, or money unit of the Romans, was precisely the
fourth part of a denarius.9 When, therefore, the latter
was worth 8^d., the former must have been w’orth 2 Jd.
But the sestertius being thus plainly a multiple of, and
bearing a fixed and determined proportion to the dena¬
rius, and consequently to the as, the aureus, and the other
coins generally in use, it would partake of their fluctua¬
tions. When they were reduced, it would be likewise
reduced; for had it not, or had the number of degraded
denarii and aurei contained in a given sum of sestertii
been increased in proportion to their degradation, no¬
thing, it is obvious, would have been gained by falsifying
the standard. Inasmuch, however, as we know that on
one occasion the republic got rid of half of its debts,
dimidium lucrata est, by simply reducing the standard of
the as, the value of the sestertius must have fallen in
the same proportion, just as in England we should reduce
the pound sterling by reducing the shillings of which it
is made up.10
Arbuthnot’s “ Tables of Ancient Coins,” which, for a Errors of
lengthened period, were considered of high authority, are
constructed on the hypothesis that the consular denarii an 0 eia‘
weighed by Greaves were of the same purity as English
standard silver, and that no subsequent diminution was
made either in their weight or fineness. The conclusions
derived from such data, though differing in degree, are
of the same character as those which we should arrive
at, if, in estimating the value of the pound sterling during
1 Decline and Fall, vol. iii. p. 89. . „ , „ , .... . ,n , »
* This is, indeed, decisively proved by a passage in Celsus: “ Sed et antea scin voloin uncia pondus denanorum esse septem. -
Pels lib XV can 17 Essay on Medals, vol. i. p. 162, edit. 1808.
4 Greaves’ Works, i. 262. The weight of the denarius, as given by other authorities, may be seen in p. 135 of Hussey s excellent
Treatise on Ancient Weights and Money. _ _
5 Greaves, voL i* p* 331. Gibbon’s Miscellaneous vVorks, vol, v. p. 71.
6 Pliny Hist. Nat., lib. xxxiii. cap. 3, previously quoted.
7 Bazinghen, Dictionnaire des Monnies, tom. ii. p. 64. . ...
8 Essay on Medals, vol. i. p. 183. . . 9 Vitrumus, lib. in. cap. 1.
10 Writers on ancient coins; with the exception of Pinkerton, agree in supposing the sestertius to have been originally, and to have
always continued to be, a silver coin. Pinkerton, however, has denied this opinion ; and, on the authority of the following passage of
Pliny contends that the sestertius was, at the time when Pliny wrote, whatever it might have been before, a brass com _ bumma gloria
seris nunc in Marianum conversa, quod et Cordubense dicitur. Hoc a Liyiano cadmiam maxime sorbet etonchalci bomtatem imitatur
in sestertus, dupondiariisque, Cyprio suo AssiBus contentis.”-(Lib. xxxiv. cap. 2) That is, hterally, “ The greatest glory of brass is
now due to the Marian also called that of Cordova. This, after the Livian, absorbs the greatest quantity of lapis calammaris, and imi¬
tates the goodness of orichalcum {yellow brass) in our sestertii and dupondiarii, the asses being contented with the Cyprian (brass).”
[Pliny had previously observed that the Cyprian was the least valuable brass.] This passage is, we think, decisive in favour of Pinker¬
ton’s hypothesis But in the absence of positive testimony, the small value of the sestertius might be relied on as a pretty sufficient
proof that it could not be silver. When the denarius weighed 62 grains, the sestertius must have weighed 15£, and been worth 2|d.; but
a coin of so small a size as to be scarcely equal to one-third part of one of our sixpences, would have been extremely apt to be lost, and
could not have been struck by the rude methods used in the Roman mint with anything approaching to even tolerable precision. It is,
therefore, more reasonable to suppose that it was of brass.
VOL. XV. 3 I
434
M O N E Y.
Money.
the last hundred years, we took for granted that it con¬
tained a pound weight of standard silver, as in the period
from the Conquest to the reign of Edward I. And, in
addition to this source of error, the sums in ancient
writers were, probably, at first set down with little regard
to accuracy; and they have been peculiarly obnoxious
to error from the carelessness of copyists and transcribers.
But, however explained, many of the statements in the
classics, as rendered by Arbuthnot and others, are quite
incredible. Thus, we are told that Julius Caesar, when
he set out for Spain, after his proetorship, was ^2,018,229
sterling worse than nothing; t-iat Augustus received, in
legacies from his friends, £32,291,666; that the estate
of Pallas, a freedman of Crassus, was worth £2,421,875,
and, which is still better, that he received £121,093 as a
reward for his virtues and frugality; that iEsop, the tra¬
gedian, had a dish served up at his table which cost
£4843 ; that Yitellius spent £7,265,625 in twelve months,
in eating and drinking; and that Vespasian, at his acces¬
sion to the empire, declared that an annual revenue of
£322,916,666 would be necessary to keep the state
machine in motion. It is astonishing that but few of
our scholars or commentators seem to have been struck
with the palpable extravagance of these and similar
statements ; though, to use the words of Gamier, they
have brought “ I’Histoire Ancienne, sous le rapport des
valeurs, au meme degre de vraisemblance que les contes
de Milk et un Nuits.'’' It should be remembered that,
from the greater poverty of the mines of the old world,
and the comparatively small progress made in the art ot
mining, the value of gold and silver was much—probably
four times—greater in antiquity than at present. But,
without taking this circumstance into account, the com¬
putations referred to are too obviously absurd to deserve
any attention. Vespasian would have been very well sa¬
tisfied with a revenue of twenty millions ; and there are
good grounds for supposing that the Roman revenue,
when at the highest, never amounted to so large a
sum.1
Notice of French Money.—From about the year 800, in the reign
French of Charlemagne, to the year 1103, in that of Philip I., the
money. French livre, or money unit, contained exactly a pound
weight or twelve ounces (poids de marc) of pure silver.
It was divided into twenty sols, each, of course, weighing
one-twentieth part of a pound. This ancient standard was
first violated by Philip I., who diminished considerably
the quantity of pure silver contained in the sols. The
example, once set, was so well followed up, that in 1180
the livre was reduced to less than a fourth part of its
original weight of pure silver. In almost every succeeding
reign there was a fresh diminution. “La monnoye,”
says Le Blanc, “ qui est la plus precieuse et la plus impor-
tante de mesures, a change en France presque aussi
souvent que nos habits ont change de mode.” And to
Degrada- suc^ an ex-tent had the process of degradation been carried,
tion ofthe tliab at the Revolution, the livre did not contain a seventy-
livre. eighth part of the silver contained in the livre of Charle¬
magne. It would then have required 7885 livres really
to extinguish a debt of 100 livres contracted in the ninth
or tenth centuries; and an individual who, in that remote
period, had an annual income of 1000 livres, was as rich,
in respect to money, as those who, at the Revolution,
enjoyed a revenue of 78,850 livres.2
We subjoin an abridged table calculated by M. Denis,
exhibiting the avei'age value of the French livre in
different periods, from the year 800 to the Revolu¬
tion :—
Reigns.
From the 32d year of Charlemagne )
to the 43d of Philip I., or from j
Part of the reign of Philip I., )
Louis VI., and VII., j‘
Philip II. and Louis VIII.,
Louis IX. and Philip IV.,
Louis X. and Philip V.,
Charles IV. and Philip VI.,
John,
Charles V.,
Charles VI., .
Charles VII.,
Louis XL,
Charles VIII.,
Louis XII. .
Francis I.,
Henry II. and Francis II
Charles IX., .
Henry III.,
Henry IV.
Louis XIII., .
Louis XIV., .
Louis XV.,
Louis XV. and XVI.,
Years.
800 to 1103
1103 ... 1180
1180 ,
1226 ,
1314
1322
1350
1364
1380
1422
1461
1483
1498
1515
1547
1560
1574
1589
1610
1643
1715
1729
1226
1314
1322
1350
1364
1380
1422
1461
1483
1498
1515
1547
1560
1574
1589
1610
1643
1715
1720
1780
Value of the
livre in the
Current
Money
of 1789.
78 17 0
18 13 8
19 18 4g
18 3 5
17 3 5
14 11 10
9 19 2-j
9 9
7 2
5 13
4 19
4 10
3 19
3 11
3 6
2 18
2 12 11
2 8 0
1 15 3
1 4 11
0 8 0
10 0
Those who wish for a detailed account of the various
changes in the weight and purity of French coins, may,
besides the excellent work of Le Blanc, consult the ela¬
borate and very complete tables at page 905 of the
“Traite des Mesures” offPaucton, and at page 197
of the “ Essai sur les Monnoies” of Dupre de St.
Maur.
It was not to be expected that degradations originating
in the necessities, the ignorance, and the rapacity of a
long series of arbitrary princes, should be made according
to any fixed principle. They were sometimes the result
of an increase in the denomination of the coins, but more
frequently of a diminution of the purity of the metal of
which they were struck. A degradation of this kind was
not so easily detected; and, to render its discovery still
more difficult, Philip of Valois, John, and some other
kings, obliged the officers of the mint to swear to conceal
the fraud, and to endeavour to make the merchants
believe that the coins were of full value ! 3 Sometimes
one species of money was reduced without any alteration
being made in the others. No sooner, however, had the
people, in their dealings, manifested a preference, as they
uniformly did, for the money which had not been re¬
duced, than its circulation was forbidden, or its value
brought down to the same level with the rest.4 To ren¬
der the subject more obscure, and the better to conceal
their incessant frauds, individuals were at one time com¬
pelled to reckon exclusively by livres and sols, at other
times by crowns or ecus ; and not unfrequently they were
obliged to refer, in computing, to coins which were
neither livres, sols, nor crowns, but some multiple or
fractional part thereof. The injurious effects of these
constant fluctuations in the value of money are forcibly
depicted by the French historians ; and so insupportable
did they become, that in the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries, several cities and provinces were glad to pur¬
chase the precarious and little respected privilege of
1 Gibbon, vol. i. p. 209, edit. 1838.
3 Le Blanc, p. 212.
* Paucton, Traits des Mesures, Poids, etc., p. 693.
4 Ibid. Introduction, p. 20.
i
MONEY.
435
Money, having coins of a fixed standard, by submitting to the
imposition of heavy taxes.1
In Normandy, when it was governed by the English
monarchs, there was a tax upon hearths, paid every
three years, called monetagium, in return for which the
sovereign engaged not to debase his coins. This tax was
introduced into England by our early kings of the Nor¬
man race; but Henry L, in the first year of his reign, was
induced to abandon it, and it has not since been revived.2
According to the present regulations of the French
mint, the coins contain T9nths pure metal, and l-10th
alloy. The franc, which is equal to 1 livre 0 sols 3 de-
niers, weighs exactly 5 grammes, or 77'2205 English
Troy grains. The gold piece of 20 francs weighs 102-96
English grains.3
English Money.—In England at the epoch of the Nor-
English man conquest, the silver, or money pound, weighed ex-
moncy, actly twelve ounces Tower weight (11 oz. 5 dwt. Troy.)
tion of. I* 'was divided into twenty shillings, and each shilling
into twelve pence, or sterlings. This system of coinage,
which is in every respect the same with that established
in France by Charlemagne, had been introduced into
England previously to the invasion of William the Con¬
queror, and was continued, without any alteration, till
the year 1300, in the 28th Edward L, when it was for the
first time violated, and the value of the pound sterling
degraded to the extent of per cent. But the really
pernicious effect of this degradation did not consist so
much in the trifling extent to which it was carried by Ed¬
ward, as in the example which it afforded to his less
scrupulous successors, by whom the standard was gradu¬
ally debased, until, in 1601, in the reign of Queen Eliza¬
beth, 58s. instead of 20s. were coined out of the Tower
pound weight of silver.
It may, perhaps, be right to mention, that in the 18th
of Henry VIII. (1527), the pound Troy was substituted
in mint valuations for the Tower pound, and has con¬
tinued to be used in them down to the present time.
This circumstance must always be kept in view in es¬
timating the extent to which the standard has been de¬
graded. When, for example, all tampering with it fi¬
nally ceased in 1601, 62s. were coined out of a pound
Troy. Hence, if we suppose, as is very often done, that
the same pound had been used at the mint from the Con¬
quest, it would follow that the degradation since the
28th Edward I. had been in the ratio of 20 to 62, or of
1 to 3 1 th; whereas, in point of fact, it had really
been in the ratio of 20 to 58, or of 1 to 2T%ths.4
Practicably, it may be said that the standard of money
was reduced two-thirds between 1300 (28th Edward I.)
and 1601, and hence, it is obvious that the stipulations
in all contracts, entered into in the reigns immediately
subsequent to the Conquest, might, in 1601, and since,
be legally discharged by the payment of about a third
part of the sums really bargained for. And yet the
standard has been less degraded in England than in any
other country.
The tables annexed to this article give an ample ac¬
count of these degradations, and also give the weight of
the gold coins, and the proportional value of gold to
silver, estimated both by the mint regulations, and by the
quantity of fine gold and fine silver contained in the dif¬
ferent coins.
Scotch Money.—The English derived their system of Money,
coinage from the French, and the Scotch theirs from the
English. From 1296 to 1355, the coins of both divi- Scotch
sions of the island were of the same weight and purity, money,
But at the last mentioned period, it was attempted to fill ^Yof3'
up the void in the currency of Scotland, occasioned by
the remittance of the ransom of David II. to England,
by degrading the coins. Down to this period, the money
of the two kingdoms had been current in both on the
same footing; and the preservation of this equality is
assigned by Edward III. as a reason for his degrading
the English coin. The English princes did not, how¬
ever, keep pace with the Scotch in the career of degrada¬
tion. Such was the mischievous energy of the latter, that
in 1390 Scotch coin passed only for half its nominal value
in England; and, in 1393, it was ordered that its cur¬
rency as money in the latter should cease, and that its
value should henceforth depend on the weight of the
genuine metal contained in it. “ To close this point at
once,” says Pinkerton, “ the Scottish money, equal in
value to the English till 1355, sunk by degrees, reign
after reign, owing to succeeding public calamities, and
the consequent impoverishment of the kingdom, till, in
1600, it was only a twelfth part of the value of English
money of the same denomination, and remained at that
point till the union of the kingdoms cancelled the Scot¬
tish coinage.”5
The annexed tables exhibit the successive degradations
of the Scotch silver and gold coins.
At the Union, in 1707, it was ordered that all the
silver coins current in Scotland, foreign as well as
domestic, except English coins of full weight, should be
brought to the Bank of Scotland, to be taken to the mint
to be x-ecoined. In compliance with this order, there
were bi*ou"ht in :—
Of foreign silver money (sterling),
Milled Scottish coins
Coins struck by hammer .
English milled coin .
£132,080 17 9
96,856 13 0
142,180 0 0
40,000 0 0
Total . £411,117 10 9
Ruddiman conjectures, apparently with considerable
probability, that the value of the gold and silver coins
not brought in amounted to about as much more. Much
suspicion was entertained of the recoinage. And that
large proportion of the people who were hostile to the
Union, and did not believe in its permanence, brought
vei’y little money to the Bank. A few only of the
hoarded coins have been preserved, the far greater part
having either been melted by the goldsmiths, or exported
to other countries.6
Irish Money.—The gold and silver coins of Ireland are
identical with those of Great Bi’itain. The rate, however, money,
at which they used to circulate in the former, or their
nominal value as money of account, was 8^- per cent,
higher than in the latter. This difference of valuation,
though attended with considerable inconvenience, sub¬
sisted from 1689 till 1825, when it was put an end to.
For an account of the various species of metallic money
which have at different times been current in Ireland,
we beg to refer our readers to Simon’s “ Essay on Irish
1 The President Henault says, speaking of the reign of John, the successor of Philip of Valois (1350-1364)—“La variation des mon-
noies sous ce prince, est la preuvo la plus forte des malheurs de son regne ; variation si subite que a grand peine etoit homme, qui en juste
pavement des monnoyes, de jour en jour se put connoitre [Bee. Des Ord.) e’etoit le genre d’impot de ce,terns la, et sans doute le plus fatal au
commerce; aussi le peuple obtint-il, comme une grace que il fut remplace par les tallies et les aides.”—Ab. Chron.. i. 310, ed. 1761.
2 Ducange voce Monetagium Glossarium, iv. 1009.—Liverpool On Coins, p. 107.
* Peuchet, Statistique Elementaire de la France, p. 538. 4 Snelling On Gold Coins, p. 34. Do. On Silver Coins, p. 31.
8 Essay on Medals, vol. ii. p. 124. Preface to Anderson’s Diplomata, p. 176.
436
Money.
MONEY.
Coins;”1 a work pronounced by Ending to be “the
most valuable of all tbe publications on the coinage of
any part of the united empire.”2
Money of Money of Germany, Spain, etc.— “In many parts of
Germany, Q.errnany} the florin, which is still the integer or money
of account of those countries, was originally a gold coin,
of the value of about 10s. of our present money (old
coinage). It is now become a silver coin, of the value
of only 20d.; and its present value, therefore, is^ only
equal to a sixth part of what it was formerly. In Spain,
the maravedi, which was in its origin a Moorish coin,
and is still the money of account of that kingdom, was
in ancient times most frequently made of gold. Le
Blanc observes, that in 1220 the maravedi weighed 84
grains of gold, equal in value to about 14s. (old coinage)
of our present money. But this maravedi, though its
value is not quite the same in all the provinces of Spain,
is now become a small copper coin, equal in general to
only 43-272 of an English penny! In Portugal, the re,
or reis, is become of no greater value than 27-401ths of
an English penny; it is so small, that in estimating its
value in other coins, it is reckoned by hundreds and
thousands. The moeda, or moidore, is equal to 4800
reis; and this little coin has now, in fact, no existence
but in name. Such has been the fate of all these coins,
and such is the present state of their depreciation.”3
Raising The principle of degradation has not, however, been
the value uniformly acted upon. The bullion contained in
Rome13 in coins tlie same denornination> has sometimes, though
0m ’ rarely, been increased, and creditors enriched at the
expense of their debtors. This method of swindling is
said to have been first practised in the worst times of the
Eoman empire. The citizens being bound to pay into
the imperial treasury a certain number of pieces of gold,
or aurei, Heliogabalus, whose cunning appears to have
been nowise inferior to his proverbial profligacy, increased
the weight of gold in the aureus; and thus obtained, by
an underhand trick, an addition to his means of dissi¬
pation, which he might not have been able to obtain by
In France, a fair and open proceeding.4 * In France, the value of the
coins has been frequently raised. During the early part
of the reign of Phillip le Bel, who ascended the throne
in 1285, the value of the coin had been reduced to such
an extent as to occasion the most violent complaints on
the part of the clergy and landholders, and generally of
all that portion of the public whose incomes were not
increased proportionally to the reduction in the value of
money. To appease this discontent, and in compliance
with an injunction of the pope, the king consented to
issue new coins of the same denomination with those
previously current, but which contained about three times
the quantity of silver. This, however, was merely
shifting an oppressive burden from the shoulders of one
class to those of another less able to bear it. The
degraded money having been in circulation for about
sixteen years, by far the largest proportion of the existing
contracts must have been adjusted with reference to it.
No wonder, therefore, that debtors should have felt
indignant at the injustice done them by this enhance¬
ment of the value of money, and that they refused to make Money,
good their engagements otherwise than in money of the
value of that Avhich had been current when they were
entered into. The labouring class, to whom every change
in the value of money is injurious, having joined the
debtors in their opposition, they broke out into open
rebellion. “ The people,” says Le Blanc, “ being reduced
to despair, and having no longer anything to care for,
lost the respect due to the edict of his majesty ; they
pillaged the house of the master of the mint, who was
believed to have been the chief adviser of the measure,
besieged the Temple, in which the king lodged, and did all
that an infuriated populace is capable of doing.”6 The
sedition was ultimately suppressed. It is not mentioned
whether any abatement were made, by authority, from
the claims of the creditors, in the contracts entered into
when the light money was in circulation. It seems
probable, however, from what is elsewhere mentioned
by Le Blanc,6 that such was really the case.
The history of the French coinage affords several
instances similar to that now brought under the notice of
the reader. But, in England, the new coinage in the In Eng-
last year of Edward YI. is the only instance in which land-
the value of money has been augmented by the direct
interference of government. Previously to the accession
of Henry VIII., the pound of standard silver bullion,
containing 11 oz. 2 dwts. of pure silver, and 13 dwts. of
alloy, was coined into thirty-seven shillings and sixpence.
Henry, however, not only increased the number of
shillings coined out of a pound weight of silver, but also
debased its purity. The degradation was increased under
his son and successor, Edward VI., in the fifth year ot
whose reign seventy-two shillings were coined out of a
pound weight of bullion; and as this bullion contained
only three ounces of pure silver to nine ounces alloy
twenty of these shillings were only equal to 4s. 7fd of
our present money, including the seignorage.7 It appears
from the proclamations issued at the time, and from other
authentic documents, that this excessive reduction of the
value of silver money occasioned the greatest confusion.
A maximum was set on the prices of corn and other
necessaries, and letters were sent to the gentlemen of the
different counties, desiring them to punish those who
refused to carry their grain to market. But it was soon
found to be quite impossible to remedy these disorders
otherwise than by withdrawing the base money from
circulation. This was accordingly resolved upon; and
in 1552 new coins were issued of the old standard in
respect of purity ; and Avhich, though less valuable than
those in circulation during the early part of the reign of
Henry VIII., were above four times the value of a large
proportion of the coins of the same denomination that
had been in circulation for some years before.
It is, however, all but certain that such a rise in the
value of money could not have taken place without
occasioning the most violent commotions, had all the
coins previously in circulation been debased. Equal
injustice, it must be remembered, is always done to the
poorest and not least numerous class of society, by in¬
creasing the value of money, that is done to the wealthier
classes by its depression. And, though government had
1 Originally printed at Dublin in 1749, in 4to, and reprinted with some additions in 1810. . ,
2 Annals of the Coinage, Preface, vol. i. 11. The work of Mr Lindsay On Irish Coins (4to, Cork, 1839), may also be advantageously
consulted.
3 Liverpool On Coins. , , „ T .. ^ ,, •
4 Lamp. “ Vita Alex. Severi," cap. 39. Perhaps Heliogabalus took the hint from Licimus, a freedman of Julius Csesar, who, in his
government of the Gauls under Augustus, divided the year into fourteen months instead of twelve, because the Gauls paid a certain
monthly tribute.—Dion Cassius, lib. 72.
6 Traite Historique des Monnoyes de France, p. 190. * Introduction, p. 30.
1 Folkes’s Table of English Coins, p. 34.
MONEY.
Money, been disposed to sanction so enormous an invasion of the
rjo-ht of property, it is altogether impossible that the
country could have submitted to have had 400 or 450
per cent, added to its taxes and other public burdens by
a legerdemain trick of this kind, or that individuals
would have consented to pay so much more than they
had originally bargained for. Instead of deserving praise
for accomplishing such a measure, Edward VI., who
be^an the reformation of the coins, and Elizabeth, by
whom it was completed, would have justly forfeited the
esteem of their subjects, and lost their popularity. In
truth, however, little or no change had been made during
all this period in the value of the gold coins; and there
is, besides, abundance of evidence to show that many of
the old silver coins had remained in circulation. And
as there is no mention made of the issue of the new coins
having been attended with any inconvenience, it is nearly
certain, as Mr Harris has remarked, that, during the
period of the debasement of the standard, individuals had
regulated their contracts chiefly with reference to the
gold or old silver coins; or, which is the same thing, that
“ they had endeavoured, as well as they could, to keep
by the standard, as it had been fixed in the preceeding
times.”1
We have been thus particular in examining this
measure, because it has been much referred to. It is
plain, however, that it gives no support to the arguments
of those who appeal to it as affording a striking proof of
the benefits which they affirm must always result from
restoring a debased or degraded currency to its original
purity or weight. Invariability of value is the great
desideratum in a currency. To elevate the standard,
after it has been for a considerable period2 depressed, is
not a measure of justice, but of new injustice. It vitiates
and falsifies the provisions in one set of contracts, that
those in another set may be properly adjusted.
This, however, as already remarked, is the only in¬
stance in which the government of England has interfered
directly to enhance the value of money. In every other
case, where they have tampered with the standard, it has
been to lower its value, or, which comes to the same thing
to reduce their own debts and those of their subjects.
It is unnecessary to enumerate in detail the various
Pernicious consequences of these successive changes in the
effects of standard of value. But it deserves to be remarked, that its
changes of reduction does not afford any real relief to the governments
the stan- i - whom so miserable a fraud is perpetrated. Their
debts are, it is true, reduced, but so are their revenues.
A coin that has been degraded will not exchange for, or
buy, the same quantity of commodities that it previously
did. If the degradation be 10 per cent., government,
and every one else, will very soon be compelled to pay
£110 for commodities or services which were previously
obtainable for £100. Hence, to bring the same real
value into the coffers of the treasury, it is necessary that
taxation should be increased whenever the standard is
diminished ; a measure always odious, and sometimes
impracticable.
A corresponding reduction of revenue is not, however,
the only bad effect resulting to such governments as aie
dishonest enough to reduce the standard of money. Ihey
must not expect to borrow on the same favourable teims
as those who act with good faith. The lenders of money
to knaves always stipulate for a proportionally high late o
interest. They not only bargain for as much as may be got
from secure investments, but also for an additional rate,
or premium, to cover the risk of dealing with those who
have given proofs of bad faith, and on whose promises
no reliance can be placed. A degradation of the stan¬
dard is, therefore, about the most wretched device to
which a bankrupt government can have recourse. It
will never, indeed, be resorted to except by those who
are as ignorant as they are unprincipled. “It occasions,”
says Dr. Smith, “ a general and most pernicious subver¬
sion of the fortunes of private people ; enriching, in most
cases, the idle and profuse debtor at the expense of the
frugal and industrious creditor, and transporting a great
part of the national capital from the hands which were
likely to increase and improve it, to those who are likely
to dissipate and destroy it. When it becomes necessary
for a state to declare itself bankrupt, in the same manner
as when it becomes necessary for an individual to do so,
a fair, open, and avowed bankruptcy is always the
measure which is both least dishonourable to the debtor
and least hurtful to the creditor. The honour of a state
is surely very poorly provided for, when, in order to
cover the disgrace of a real bankruptcy, it has recourse
to a juggling trick of this kind, so easily seen through,
and at the same time so extremely pernicious.”
Some of the bad consequences resulting from changes
in the value of money might be obviated, by enacting
that the stipulations in preceding contracts should be
made good, not according to the present value of money,
but according to its value at the time when they were
entered into. This principle, which is conformable to
the just maxim of the civil law (Vcdor monetae consider-
andus atque inspiciendus est, a tempot'e contractus, non autem
a tempore solutionis'), was acted upon, to a certain extent,
at least, by tbe kings of France during the middle ages.
Ordinances of Philip le Bel, Philip of Valois, and
Charles VI., issued subsequently to their having increased
the value of money, or, as the French historians term it,
returned from the “foible” to the “forte monnoie,” are
still extant, in which it is ordered that all preceding
debts and contracts should be settled by reference to the
previous standard. But, though the same reason existed,
it does not appear that any such ordinances were ever
issued when the value of money was degraded. It is
obvious, indeed, that a government would derive no
advantage from reducing the value of money, were it to
order, as it is in justice bound to do, that all preceding
contracts should be adjusted by the old standard. Such
a measure would reduce the revenue without reducing
the national incumbrances; while, by establishing a new
standard of value, and unsettling the notions of the pub¬
lic, it would open a door for many abuses, and be pro¬
ductive of infinite confusion and disorder in the dealings
of individuals.
The odium, and positive disadvantage attending the
degradation of metallic money, have at length induced
most governments to abstain from it. But they have
only renounced one mode of playing at fast and loose
with the property of their subjects, to adopt another and
a still more pernicious one. The injustice which was
formerly done by diminishing the bullion contained
in coins, is now perpetrated with greater ease, and to a
still more ruinous extent, by the depreciation of paper
currency.
437
Money.
I TtYs^of bourse Impossible ^to^define such periods, in as much as that depends on the peculiar circumstances affecting the country at
the time Probably, however, were the standard reduced for some ten or twelve years, as great injustice would be done by raising it
to its old level as by’continuing to use it as reduced, or perhaps greater.
* Wealth of Nations, p. 423.
438
Tables.
M O N E Y.
Tables.
TABLES RELATIVE TO THE MONEY OF GREAT BRITAIN AND OTHER COUNTRIES.
No. I.
English Money.—Account of the English silver and gold coins ; shewing their value ; the seignorage or profit upon
the coinage, and the price paid to the public by the mint, for the pound troy of standard gold and silver, from the Con¬
quest to the year 1816. (This and the next table, No. II., are taken from Part II. of Essays on Money, Exchanges
and Political Economy, by Henry James.) ’ ° ’
A. D.
1066
1280
1300
1344
1349
1356
1394
1401
1421
1425
1464
1465
1470
1482
1483
1485
1509
11527
1543
1545
1546
1547
1549
1551
1552
1553
1560
Anno Kegni.
Conquest....
8 EdwardI...
28 
18 Edward III
23  
30  
18 Richard II..
3 Henry IV,
9 Henry V....
4 Henry VI,
4 Edward IV.
5  
49 Henry VI..
22 Edward IV.
1 Rich. III...
1 Henry VII.
1 Henry VIII.
18  
34  
36  
37  
1 Edward VI,
3  
5 
1 Mary 
2 Elizabeth.
1600
1604
1626
21666
1717
1816
43
2 James L.
2 Charles I...
18 Charles II
3 George I...
56 George III
SILVER.
1.
Fine¬
ness of
the sil¬
ver in
the
coins.
dts.
2
10 0
6 0
4 0
11 0
11 1
i ...
11 0
11 2
GOLD.
2.
Pound
weight of
such sil¬
ver coined
into
2 8
2 8
2 8
2 8
3 12
3 12
3 0
3 0
3 0
3.
Profit or
seignorage
on the
coinage.
1 10
1 10
1 17
1 17
1 17
1 17
1 17
1 17
1 17
2 0
2 5
0 1
0 1
0 1
0 1
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 1
0 1
0 4
4
2
0 1
0 1
0 1
0 1
0 1
0 1
3 0 0
3 2 0
£ s.
0 8
2 0
4 4
4 4
4 0
0 1
0 1
0
2|
3
3
10
10
10
0
0
6
6
0
6
6
6
0
Of
0
0 1 0
0 2 0
0 2
0 2
0 0
0 0
0 4
4.
Prices paid
to the pub¬
lic for the
pound-wt.
of silver.
£ s. n.
19
19
19
1
4
4
4
9
9 0
13 0
13 0
15 6
16 0
16 0
Equal to the
mint-price
for standard
silver of
I loz. 2 dts.
fine troy-
weight.
6.
Fineness
of the
gold in
the coins
16
16
1 18 1U
2 4 0
2 4 0
8
2 16
0 0
0 0
3 4 0
2 19 0
2 19 0
2 18 6
3 0 0
2 19
3 0
£ S. D.
1 0 3i
10 111
10 111
15 2i
15 2i
17 lOf
18 4f
18 41
18 4f
18 114-
18 111
crts. gns.
23 31
4#
11 9f
15 6
15 6
19 2f
2 19 3i
2 19 6f
2 18 6
3 0 0
2 19 6
3 0 0
3 2 0
3 2 0
22 0 (
23 0
22 0
20 0
20 0
22 0
n
o;{
°2
7.
Pound-
weight of
such gold
coined into
13
14
15
15
15
16 13
16 13
20 16
22 10
22 10
22 10
22 10
22 10
22 10
24 0
27 0
25 2
28 16
30 0
30 0
30 0
34 0
36
33
36
33
36
36
33
36 10
33 10
37 4
41 0
44 10
46 14
46 14
0 8
0 11
0
8.
Profit or
seignor¬
age on
the coin¬
age.
9.
Price paid
to the pub¬
lic for the
pound-
weight of
gold.
£ a. b. £ s. D,
4
0
0
0
0
4
4
8
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
6
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
o;o 2
00 3
6
5
5
5
5
2 10
0
0 13
0 7
7
7
2
2
2
3
4
2 10
5 0
1 10
1 0
00
0,0
00
3
5
4
00 10
00 10
0|l 10
01 1
00 0
60 0
60 0
12 15
13 8
14 13
14 15
16 15
16 8
16 7
18 6
21 9
21 17
22 2
22 2
22 2
22 7
23 17
26 17
24 19
27 12
27 10
27 10
28 10
33 0
10.
Equal to
the mint-
price for
standard
gold of 22
carats fine
troy-wt,
12 10
13 3
35 17
32 17
35 17
35 15
32 16
36 0
33 0
35 14
39 18
44 10
46 14
46 14
14
14
14
16
16
18
21
21 9
21 15
21 15
21 15
22 0
22 0
8
9 11
9 11
2 9
1 11
0 5
1 10
7
0
0
0
0
24 19
26 8
27 10
27 10
31 7
33 0
33 0
35 14
39 18
44 10
46 14
46 14
32 17 0
33 0 8
32 16 0
stead VUI.] The Saxon or Tower-pound was used at the mint up to this time, when the pound troy was substituted in its
exactly a pound in^veight WaS ^ oz’ ^ dwts. troy; so that, from the Conquest to the 28th of Edward I., twenty shillings in tale were
since been r^ se'Snora£e on the coinage was at this time given up, and the gold bullion brought to the mint has ever
free of expence. A seignorage of fiif per cent, was imposed on the coinage of silver by 56th Geo. III.
M O N E Y
Tables.
No. II.
439
Tables.
English Money—Account of the quantity of fine silver coined into 20s. or the pound sterling ; the quantity of standard
silver, o/ll oz. 2 dmts. fine, and 18 dmts. alloxj, contained in 20,v. or the pound sterling, and the quantity of standard
silver which mas delivered to the mint, by the public, for 20s. of silver money, in the different reigns, from the time of
Edward I. to the reign of George III. A similar account with respect to gold. And an account of the proportionate
value offine gold to fine silver, according to the number of grains contained in the coins; and the proportionate value
of fine gold to fine silver, according to the price paid by the mint to the public. Calculated in grains and 1000 parts
troy-weight.
A- D.
SILVER.
Anno Regni.
£ fcc'o
^.5 a
<U-I CA •
O 03
Jh c/l t-
ai bo 3
O .5 c
£ ^ CL>
P Ol TS
^ C " c
T) a> - E
c c tc 3
§'s
P-i a>
-v o
s s "
3
)
: '5
PH
i s-i
: *5 3
Qh ^
? 03 ^
GOLD.
^ 32
o.y
3=
*
g O)
3 >
’«
« s
t>o ^
.5 3
'Eg
•- 3 ^
2 toE
O C 3
3 "I
‘S32-”
C/1
p G
° s
P P.
b- q;
^ a> -P
°
s ^ ^
^ O
£ i c
5.
O
.5 ^
S^- “-S
3 r-J CD Q
6.
1
-P S*
« r ^
K cB
v
o v
01 u
.3 P 'E -3
° m ^32
bcO g S
, <N 3=
o -g o -G
a; be o
^ ^ .5 ^
£ rc5 ,r5
p *- .£
^ Sj 2 £
7.
'T3 0J J,
1> £ 3
^ S 2
03 U w
> « o 05
<U „ C3 c
ts ^ ^
o U
■B-S
Q QJ -G •*-»
3. g _ j;
i-s
Ph £
I O T3
;a g §
0 3
£
3
: .£ 3
s^.s s
Pi £ g g
1066
1280
1344
1349
1356
1401
1421
1464
1465
1470
1482
1509
1527
1543
1545
1546
1547
1549
l\55l
1552
1553
1560
1600
1604
1626
1666
1717
218l6
Conquest 
8 Edward I...
18 Edward III.
23  
30  
3 Henry IV..
9 Henry V...
4 Edward IV.
5  
49 Henry VI..
22 Edward IV.
1 Henry VIII.
18  
34  
36  
37  
1 Edward VI.
3  .
5 
1 Mary 
2 Elizabeth...
43  
2 James I 
2 Charles I...
18 Charles II..
3 George I...
56 George HI
Grains.
4995-000
4995-000
4933-333
4440-000
3996-000
3996-000
3330-000
2664-000
2664-000
2664-000
2664-000
2664-000
2368-000
2000-000
1200-000
800-000
800-000
800-000
400-000
1760-000
1768-000
1760-000
1776-000
1718-709
1718-709
1718-709
1718-709
1718-709
1614-545
Grains.
5400-000
5400-000
5333-333
4800-000
4320-000
4320-000
3600-000
2880-000
2880-000
2880-000
2880-000
2880-000
2560-000
2162-162
1297-297
864-864
864-864
864-864
1902-702
1911-351
1902-702
1920-000
1858-064
1858-064
1858-064
1858-064
1858-064
1745-454
Grains.
5684-210
5684-210
5082-352
4468-965
4468-965
3724-137
3272-727
3272-727
3042-253
3000-000
2958-904
2618-181
2594-594
2223-938
2075-675
2075-675
1945-945
1943-757
1935- 050
1969-230
1920-000
1936- 134
1920-000
1858-064
1858-064
Grains.
Grains.
407-990
383-705
358-125
358-125
322-312
257-850
238-750
238-750
238-750
238-750
210-149
191*666
176-000
160-000
160000
155-294
160-000
160-000
159-166
160000
157-612
141-935
128-780
118-651
113-001
113-001
445-080
418-588
390-682
390-682
351-613
281-291
260-454
260-454
260-454
260-454
229-253
209-090
192-000
174-545
174-545
169-412
174-545
174-545
173- 636
174- 545
171-940
154-838
140-487
129-438
123-274
123-274
Grains.
459-625
436-777
399-561
397-303
356-963
319-648
273-109
268-202
264-869
261-909
230-630
218-181
209-454
209-454
183-732
174-545
175-342
174- 369
175- 609
174-545
161-344
144-255
129-438
123-274
123-274
Gold to silver.
Gold to silver.
1 to
1 —
1 _
1 —
1 —
1 _
1 —
1 _
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 _
1 _
1 —
1 —
1 —
12-091
11-571
11-558
11-158
10-331
10- 331
11- 158
11-158
11-158
11-158
11-268
10-434
6-818
5-000
5-000
5-151
1 to
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1-:
1 _
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 _
1 _
12-479
11-741
11-286
11-350
10-527
10- 331
11- 983
11-446
11-429
11-400
11- 455
12- 000
10-714
1 _ 10-000
1 _ 11-400
1 — 11-250
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 —
11-000
11-050
11- 057
11-100
10-904
12- 109
13- 346
14- 485
15- 209
14-287
1 —
1 —
1 —
1 _
1 _
1 —
1 —
1 _
11-186
11-198
11- 315
11-100
12- 109
13- 431
14- 485
15- 209
1 1551, 5 Edward VI-] The coinage of debased silver money in the 5th year of Edward VI. of 3 oz. fine, ought more properly to be
considered as tokens. The sum of £120,000 only was so coined. (See James’s Essays, chap- iv.)
2 1816, 56 George III,] The government having taken the coinage of silver into its own hands, there is at present no fixed price paid
to the public, by the mint for standard silver. And supposing the government to continue the present mint regulations, and to keep gold
at 77s. 10‘d. an ounce, as the price of silver varies, the relative value of gold to silver will vary in like proportion.
440 MONEY.
Tables. No. III. Scots Money Account of the Number of Pounds, Shillings, and Pennies Scots, ivhich have been coined out
of One Pound Weight of Silver, at different times; with the degree of Purity of such Silver, or its Fineness, from
the year 1107 to the year 1601. (From Cardonnell’s Numismata Scotice, p. 24.)
A. D.
From
1107
to
1296
From
1306
to
1329
1366
1377
From
1371
to
1390
1393
1424
Anno Regni.
Alexander I...
David I 
William 
Alexander II..
Alexander III.
John Baliol.....
Robert I.
David II 38
39
1
Robert II.
Robert III 4
James 1 19
Purity.
11 2
11 2
11 2
11 2
11 2
11 2
11 2
Alloy.
0 18
0 18
0 18
0 18
0 18
0 18
0 18
Value of
money coined
out of a lb.
of silver.
1 0 0
1 1 0
1 5 0
1 9 4
1 9 4
1 12 0
1 17 6
A. D.
1451
1456
1475
1484
1488
1489
1529
1544
1556
1565
1567
1571
1576
1579
1581
1597
1601
Anno Rtgni.
James II...
James III..
James IV..
James V..
Mary 
James VI.
 15
20
....16
24
m
....16
 3
14
23
 1
5
10
13
15
31
35
Purity.
Oz. Pw.
11 2
11
11
11
11 2
11 0
11 0
11 0
11 0
11 0
9 0
8 0
11 0
11 0
11 0
11 0
Alloy.
Value of
money coined
out of a lb.
of silver.
Oz. Pw.
0 18
0 18
0 18
0 18
0 18
1 0
1 0
1 0
3 0
4 0
1 0
1 0
1 0
1 0
3 4 0
4 16 0
7 4 0
7 0 0
7 0 0
9 12 0
9 12 0
13 0 0
18 0 0
18 0 0
16 14 0
16 14 0
22 0 0
24 0 0
30 0 0
36 0 0
No. IV.—Scots Money.—Account of the Number of Pounds, Shillings, and Pennies Scots, which have been coined out
of One Pound Weight of Gold ; with the degree of their Purity, and theproportion that the Goldbore to the Silver. (Ib.p.25.)
A. D.
1371, &c.
1390, &c.
1424
1451
1456
1475
1484
1488
1529
1556
1577
1579
1597
1601
1633
Anno Regni.
Robert II 
Robert III...
James I....19
James II... 15
20
James III. 16
24
James IV... 1
James V...16
Mary 14
James VI..10
13
31
35
Charles I.... 9
Fineness.
oz. pw. gr.
11 18 18
11 18 18
11 18 18
18 18
18 18
18 18
18 18
18 18
18 18
0
0
11
11
11
11
11
11
11
11
10 10
11 0
11
11
Alloy.
0 1 6
0 1 6
0 1 6
0 1 6
0 1
0 -1
0 1
0 1
0 1
1 0 0
1 0 0
1 10 0
1 0 0
1 0 0
1 0 0
Value of the coin
coined out of one
pound of gold.
L. S. D.
17 12 0
19 4 0
22 10 0
33 6 0
50 0 0
78 15 0
78 15 0
78 15 0
108 0 0
144 0 0
240 0 0
240 0 0
360 0 0
432 0 0
492 0 0
Pound of pure gold
weighed of pure
silver.
11
11
11
9
9
10
10
10
10
10
10
11
pw. gr.
17 22
17 22
17 22
4 14
4 14
0 20
7 9
7 9
12 0
12 0
13 2
2 20
0 0
0 0
7 11
js'o, v English Paper Money Account of the Average Market Price of Bullion in every year, from 1800 to 1821,
(taken from papers laid before the House of Commons), of the average value per cent, of the Paper Currency, estimated
from the market price of Cold for the same period, and of the average depreciation of the Paper Currency.
Years.
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
Average price
of Gold per
ounce.
L. S. D.
3 17 lOi
4 5 0
4 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
5 0
4 10 0
Average per
cent, of the
value of the
currency.
L.
100
91 12
92 14
97 6
S. H.
0 0
97
97
97
97
97 6 10
91 12 4
86 10 6
Average de¬
preciation per
cent.
L. S. D.
Nil.
8 7 8
7 5 10
2 13
2 13
2 13
2 13
2 13
2 13
8
13
Years.
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
Average price
of Gold per
ounce.
L. S.
4 4
4 15
5 1
5 4
4 13
4 13
4 0 0
4 0 0
4 1 6
3 19 11
3 17 101
Average per
cent, of the
value of the
currency.
L. S. D.
92 3 2
79 5
77 2
74 17
83 5
83 5
97 6 10
97 6 10
95 11 0
97 8 0
100 0 0
Average de¬
preciation per
cent.
L. S. D.
7 16 10
20 14 9
22 18
25 2
16 14
16 14
2 13
2 13
4 9
2 12
Nil.
Tables.
M 0 N E Y.
TaLIes.
No. VI.
Table specifying tbe Value of the Monies of Account of the principal Places with which this Country has
Exchange Transactions, taking Silver at 5s. an oz., and specifying also the Pm' of Exchange with such
Places on this Hypothesis.—(Abstracted from Tate's Modern Cambist, to which the reader is referred
for further explanations.)
Par of Exchange.
Petersburg - - 100 copecks = 1 rouble = 3s. l£d. giving 6 roub. 40 cop. = 11.
Berlin - - 30 sil. groschen == 1 Pruss. doll. = 2s. 10j[d. — 6 doll. 27 s. g. = 11.
Copenhagen - 96 skillings = 1 Eig. doll. = 2s. 2jd. — 9 doll. 10 sk. == 11.
Hamburg - - 16 schillings = 1 mark = Is. dpi. — 13 mks. 10£ sch. = 11.
Amsterdam- - 100 centimes = 1 florin = Is. 8d. — 11 fl. 97 cents =11.
Antwerp - - 100 centimes = 1 florin = Is. 8d. — 11 fl. 97 cents = U.
Paris - - 100 centimes == 1 franc = 9$d. — 25 fr. 57 cents = 11.
Frankfort - - 24£ guld. or flor. = 1 mark = Is. 7£d. — 12/^ guldens = 11.
Vienna - - 60 kreusers = 1 florin _ 2s. 0TVf- — 9 fl. 50 kr. = 1Z.
Venice - - 100 centisimi = 1 lira Austriaca ^ 8-13cZ. — 29 li. 52 cent. =- 1Z.
Genoa - - 100 centisimi = 1 lira Nuova 9$d. — 25 li. 57 cent. = 1Z.
Leghorn - - 100 centisimi == 1 lira Toscana ^ 7-82d. — 30 li. 69 cent. = 1Z.
Madrid - - 8 reals = 1 dollar of Plate = 3s. 1|(Z. — 6 doll. 2f reals = 1Z.
Lisbon - - 1000 reis == 1 milreis == 4s. 8cZ. — 4 mil. 285 reis = 1Z.
New York - - 100 cents = 1 dollar == 4s. 2d. — 4 doll. 80 cents" = 1Z.
Rio Janeiro- - 1000 reis = 1 milreis = 2s. 7cZ. — 7 mil. 777 reis = 1Z.
Havannah - - 100 cents = 1 dollar = 4s. 6^\\d. — 4 doll. 44 cents. = 1Z.
It is easy from this table to calculate the value of any of the above coins, taking silver at 5s. 2d., 5s. 6d. an oz.,
or at any other price, and thence to deduce the par of exchange at such rates. The values of the coins in the Table
of Coins are estimated on the hypothesis that silver is worth 5s. 2d. an ounce.
No. VII. Gold Coins of Different Countries.—A Table containing the Assays, Weights, and Values of the
principal Gold Coins of all Countries, computed according to the Mint Price of Gold in England, and
from Assays made both at London and Paris, which have been found to verify each other.i
Assay.
Car. gr.
W. 0 0£
2^
3
2
9J.
^4
2i
If
B. 1
B. 1
W.3
W.3
B. 1
B. 1
W.O 1|
W.O 1|
B. 1 0£
W. 0 3f
B. 1 2
W.O 1
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
W.O 2
W.O 2
W. 0 1|
W. 0 li
W. 0 If
W.O If
B. 1 2i
W.O 2
W.O 0j
B. 1 3i
B. 1
Weight.
Z>wL gr.
3 14
12
5f
H
4
5}
1 23
4 21
Sli
5f
0
5f
7
9i
16f
19
11
54
9 20
22
7
34
5f
7{
15f
5f
5f
Standard
Weight.
Diet. gr. m.
3 13 15
4 20 5
2 10 3
5 5 10
3 14 0
2 19 11
2 2 1
0
5
2 8 9
1 21 19
2 9 8
5 16
9 10
4 19
4 19
4
5
2 16 15
1 19 0
5 3 5
0 5 6
5 2 12
9 15 19
4 19 19
8 3 0
4 1 10
2 9 14
4 4 18
4
6
9 14
3 15
2 10
Contents in
Pure Gold.
Grains.
78,6
106-4
53-3
115-
77-
52-8
45-9
105-5
105- 7
51- 8
42-2
52- 6
93-3
118-7
59-3
39-6
113-1
224-9
112-4
212-6
106- 3
179-
89-7
52- 9
92-5
80-
53- 4
52-9
Value in
Sterling.
s. d.
13 10-92
18 9-97
9 5-91
20 4-23
13 7-44
9 4T2
8 1-48
18 7-86
18 8-48
9 2-
7 5-62
9 3-70
16 6-14
21 0-
10 6-
7 0-
20 0-
39 9-64
10 10-71
37 7-53
18 9-75
31 8-36
15 10-5
9 4-34
16 4-45
14 1-9
9 5-41
9 4-35
COINS.
Austrian Dominions, Souverain - - -
Double Ducat - - -
Ducat Kremnitz, or Hungarian
Bavaria - Carolin - - - -
Max d’or, or Maximilian
Ducat - - - -
Bern - Ducat (double, &c. in proportion) -
Pistole
Brunswick Pistole (double in proportion)
Ducat - - - -
Denmark - Ducat current
Ducat specie
Christian d’or - - -
England - Guinea - - - -
Half-guinea - - -
Seven shilling piece
Sovereign - - - -
France - Double Louis (coined before 1786) -
Louis - - - -
Double Louis (coined since 1786) -
Louis -
Double Napoleon, or piece of 40 francs
Napoleon, or piece of 20 francs
Franckfort on the Maine, Ducat
Geneva - Pistole, old *
Pistole, new
Genoa - Sequin - - , *
Hamburgh Ducat (double in proportion)
1 The London Assays in this Table were made by Robert Binglev, Esq., F.R.S., tbe King’s Assay Master of tbe Mint, and those at
Paris by Pierre Frederic Bonneville, Essayer du Commerce, as published in bis elaborate work on tbe coins of all nations.
Specimens of all tbe foreign coins brought to London for commercial purposes have been supplied for this Table from tbe Bullion-
office, Bank of England, by order of tbe Bank Directors, and have been selected by John Humble, Esq., tbe chief clerk of that office, who
also examined tbe Tables in their progress. It may likewise be added, that the Mint Reports of these commercial coins are chiefly from
average assays ; and that all tbe computations have been carefully verified by different calculators.—(Note by Dr. Kelly, to second edition
of tbe Cambist published in 1821.)
VOL. XV. • 3 k
MONEY.
COINS.
Hanover
Holland
Milan
Naples
Piedmont -
Poland
Portugal -
Prussia
Rome
Russia
Sardinia
Saxony
Sicily1
Spain
George d’or - - ' "
Ducat - - • '
Gold florin (double in proportion) -
Double ryder
Ryder -
Ducat
Sequin
Doppia or pistole
Forty lire piece of 1808
Six ducat piece of 1783 _ - ‘
Two ducat piece, or sequin, ot 1762
Three ducat piece, or oncetta, of 1818
Netherlands, Gold lion, or 14 florin piece
Ten florin piece (1820) - '
Pistole coined since 1785 (J, &c. in proportion)
Sequin (4 in proportion)
Carlino, coined since 1785 (|, &c. in propor¬
tion) - - - '
Piece of 20 francs - - - -
X)UCclb “
Dobraon of 24,000 rees - - -
Dobra of 12,800 rees - - ■
Moidore or Lisbonnine Q, &c. in proportion)
Piece of 16 testoons, or 1600 rees -
Old crusado of 400 rees - - -
New crusado of 480 rees - * -
Milree (coined for the African colonies 1755)
Frederick (double) of 1800 -
Frederick (single) of 1800 - - -
Sequin (coined since 1760) - - -
Scudo of the Republic
Ducat of 1796 - - *
Ducat of 1763 -
Gold poltin of 1777 - * ’
Imperial of 1801 ---
Half Imperial of 1801 -
Ditto of 1818 - - •
Carlino Q in proportion) -
Ducat of 1784 -
Ducat of 1797
Augustus of 1754 •
Augustus of 1784 -
Ounce of 1751
Double ounce of 1758 - ■ ■
Doubloon of 1772 (double and single in propor¬
tion -
Quadruple pistole of 1801 -
Pistole of 1801 - - * '
Coronilla, gold dollar, or fintem of 1801 -
Sweden - Ducat - ^
Switzerland Pistole of the Helvetic Republic, 1800
Treves - Ducat - - ; "
Turkey - Sequin fonducli of Constantinople, 1773
Sequin fonducli of 1789
Half missier (1818)
Sequin fonducli - - - "
Yermeebeshlek -
Tuscany - Zecchino or sequin - - -
Ruspone of the kingdom of Etruria -
United States2 Eagle (J and ^ in proportion) - -
Venice - Zecchino or sequin (J and ^ in proportion) -
Wirtemberg Ducat - - ; " . "
Ducat (double and ^ ducat in proportion) -
EAST INDIES.
Mohur of 1770
Mohur, Half (1787), (i in proportion)
Mohur Sicca of Bengal
Mohur of the Dutch East India Company
(1783) - - - -
Mohur, Half Ditto (1801) -
Rupee, Bombay (1818)
Rupee of Madras (1818)
Pagoda, star - - -
Car. jr.
W.O li
B. 1 34-
W. 3 04
Stand.
Stand.
B. 1 24
B. 1 3
W.O 1
W. 0 If
w. 0 24
W. 1 2f
B. 1 34
Stand.
W.O If
W.O 14
B. 1 24
w. 0 14
W. 2 0
B. 1 24
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
W.O 0
W.O 04
W. 0 Of
Stand.
W.O 2
W.O 2
B. 1 34
W. 0 If
B. 1 24
B. 1 2
Stand.
B. 1 24
B. 1 24
B. 0 04
W.O 2f
B. 1 2
B. 1 24
W.O 2f
W.O If
w. 1 24
W. 1 2
w. 0 24
W. 1 1
W. 1 1
w. 124
B. 1 2
w. 0 14
B. 1 2
W. 2 24
W. 2 34
W. 5 34
W. 2 3
B. 0 34
B. 1 3f
B. 1 3§
w. 0 04
B. 1 34
B. 1 2
B. 1 2
W. 3 34
W. 3 14
B. 0 04
Stand.
W. 3 0
Tables.
1 Much variation is found in the fineness of the Sicilian gold coins.
This value of the American eagle is taken from average assays of the coins of twelve years.
MONEY.
443
Tables.
No. vni.
Silver Coins of Different Countries.—A Table containing the Assays, Weights, and Values of Tables,
the principal Silver Coins of all Countries, computed at the rate of 5s. 2d. per Ounce Standard, from
Assays made both at the London and Paris Mints.
COINS.
Austria
Baden
Bavaria
Bern
Bremen
Brunswick
Denmark •
England
France
Frankfort
Genoa
Hamburg -
Hanover
Half rixdollar, or florin, Convention -
Copftsuck, or 20 creutzer piece
17 Creutzer piece - - - -
Halbe copf, or 10 creutzer piece
Rixdollar - - - . .
Eixdollar of 1800 (J in proportion) -
Copftsuck
Patagon or crown (£ in proportion) -
Piece of 10 batzen - - - -
Piece of 48 grotes - - -
Rixdollar, Convention - - -
Half rixdollar - . . .
Ryksdaler, specie of 1798 - - -
New piece of 4 marks . _ .
Half ryksdaler - - -
Mark, specie, or a ryksdaler
Rixdollar, specie of Sleswig and Holstein (pieces
of § and a in proportion)
Piece of 24 skillings -
Crown {old) - . . .
Half-crown - - - - -
Shilling - - - - -
Sixpence -
Crown {new) -
Half-crown - - - -
Shilling -----
Sixpence - - - -
Piece of 5 francs - - - -
Piece of 2 francs - - - -
Franc - - -
Demi franc - - -
Scudo, of 8 lire, of 1796 Q-, L &c. in propor¬
tion) . - - - -
Scudo of the Ligurian Republic
Rixdollar specie - - - -
Double mark, or 32 schilling piece (single in
proportion) - - - -
Piece of 8 schillings - - -
Piece of 4 schillings - - -
Rixdollar, Constitution -
Florin, or piece of f, fine - - -
Half florin, or piece of ditto
Assay.
Oz. dwt.
W.l 3
W. 4 3
W. 4 8
W. 5
W. 1
W. 1
W. 4
W.O
W. 1
W. 2
W. 1
W. 1
W.O 13
W. 0 12
W.O 13
W. 3 1
W.O 12
W. 4 7
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
Stand.
W.O 7
W.O 7
W.O 7
W.O 8i
W.O 8
W.O 9A
W.O 10
W. 2 3
W.3 12
W.4 6
W.O 9
B. 0 16
B. 0 16
Weight.
Dwt. gr.
9 0£
4 6£
4 0
2 11
18 2
17 12
4 6|
18 22
5 3
11 0
18 1
9 0i
18 14
12 9
9 7
4 0
18 13
5 2|
19 8i
16*
21
22*
4*
2
15*
19f
1
6 11
3 5*
1 15"
21 9
21 9
18 18
11 18
3 8i
2 2
18 19
8 10
4 4
Standard
Weight.
2
2
1
16
Dwt. gr. mi.
8 2 1
16 3
9 18
7 1
3 1
15 13 13
2 16 3
18 7 14
4 14 17
8 22 1
16 4 4
8 2 2
17 11 17
11 16 14
8 17 8
2 21 12
6
10
17 12
3 2
19 8 10
9 16 5
3 21 0
1 22 10
18 4 7
9 2 4
3 15 6
1 19 14
15 12 4
6 6 2
3 3 1
4 13 6
20 14 10
20 11 2
17 21 12
9
2
1
18
9
4
11 8
6 4
6 12
0 14
0 10
11 4
Contents
in Pure
Silver.
Value in
Sterling.
Grains.
179-6
59-4
53-5
28-8
358- 1
345-6
59-4
406-7
102-5
198-
359- 2
179-6
388- 4
259-8
194-2
64-4
389- 4
68- 9
429-7
214-8
85-9
42-9
403-6
201-8
80-7
40-3
344-9
138-8
69- 4
34-7
457-4
454-3
397-5
210-3
50-1
28-3
400-3
200-3
99-2
d.
1- 07
8-29
7- 47
4-01
2-
0-25
8- 29
8-79
2- 31
3- 64
2- 15
1-07
6- 23
0-27
3- 11
7- 59
6-37
3- 62
0-
6-
0-
6-
8-36
4- 18
0 11-27
0 5-63
4 0-16
1 7-38
0 9-69
0 4-84
5 3-87
5 3-43
4 7-49
5- 36
6- 99
3-95
7- 89
3-96
1-85
1 “ By one of the articles of the Zollverein, or Customs-union of Germany, it was stipulated that the settlements for the duties should
he made either in Prussian dollars or in florins, at the rate of seven florins for four Prussian dollars. There were, however, no florins in
existence exactly of this value; but as the nearest approach to it was a valuation called the 24 guldenfuss, or florin-foot, these Zollverein
florins were nominally reckoned to be in this rate, though the difference amounts to more than 2 per cent.
“ The term 24 guldenfuss implies that the mark weight of fine silver is rated at 24 gulden or florins. It was formed by giving to the
coins minted or valued in 20 guldenfuss an increased value of one-fifth, as rating the 20 kreutzer piece at 24 kreutzers. At 60d. per
ounce standard, the value of this mark of fine silver is worth 40s. 7*d. sterling, from which the value of the different German monetary
integers is readily obtained; as reckoning 27| marks banco or 34 marks current of Hamburg, 14 dollars of Prussia, 24* florins of South
Germany, 20 florins of Austria, and also 60 lire Austriache of Lombardy, to be of this amount.
“ In order, therefore, to prevent the loss or inconvenience which would attend their adhering to this mode of valuation, a money con¬
vention was entered into on the 25th of August 1837, among the states forming the union, by which it was agreed upon that a new
basis of valuation should he adopted for their coins, under the term of Siiddeutscher Wahrung, or South German valuation, at the rate of
24* gulden or florins from the mark’s weight of fine silver.
“ Bavaria, Wirtemberg, Baden, and Saxony have since issued their coins at this rate, and the other states of the confederation are
doing or preparing to do the same. Among them Frankfort, in 1840, began the mintage of coins of this value ; and by a regulation of
the Chamber of Commerce of this free city, all the rates of exchange, as well as the values of bullion and foreign coins, were ordered to
be expressed in this Siiddeutscher Wahrung from the beginning of this present year (1843). One of these new and very exactly minted
florins was assayed by Messrs. Johnson and Cock, of Hatton Garden, who reported it to be, full weight, 6 dwts. 19* grains, worse 6 dwts.,
gold under 2 trains • from which the value, at 60d. per ounce standard, is very exactly 19*d. sterling, making the par of exchange with
London 120f florins in S. D. W. for £10 sterling.
“ I have been thus particular in these explanations, partly because several persons imagine that the late alteration in the rate of
exchange with Frankfort was made in compliance with the wishes, or to suit the convenience, of one or more of our leading houses in
exchange negotiations, but more particularly because it is maintained by many that the valuation of this rate is not merely nominally,
but really, in 24 guldenfuss. This is a point of no small importance to the commercial world, for had it been so, the par of exchange
with London would have been only 118 florins for £10 sterling, and the difference between this and the present price of sight bills on
Frankfort would have exceeded 2f per cent.; a variation which every practical cambist well knows could not exist, except under very
extraordinary circumstances, and with nearly corresponding differences in the other rates of exchange : neither of which causes is now in
operation— (Letter of William Tate, Esq., cambist to the Times.)
444
MONEY.
Tables.
COINS.
Assay.
Hesse Cassel Rixdollar, Convention - -
Florin, or piece of f in proportion)
Ecu, Convention (1815)
Bon gros - - - "
Holland - Florin, or guilder in proportion) -
12 Stiver piece - - ~
Accounts used to be kept in Holland by the pound
Flemish = 6 florins = 20 schillings = 120 stivers =
240 groats =1020 pennings. But in 1820 the decimal
system was introduced. In order, however, to cause as
little inconvenience as possible, the florin = Is. 8fd
sterling, was made the unit of the new system. The
florin is supposed to be divided into 100 equal parts
or cents; and the other silver coins are equal multi¬
ples or sub-multiples of it. The new gold coin is
called the florin piece, and is worth 16s. 6.Jd. very
nearly. But accounts are still sometimes kept in the
old way, or by the pound Flemish. Par of exchange
between Amsterdam and London is 11 flor. 58 cents
per pound sterling.
Lubec - Rixdollar, specie - - - -
Double mark - - - -
Mark -
Milan - Lira, new - - - - -
Lira, old -
Naples - Ducat, new Q in proportion)
Piece of 12 Carlini of 1791 - - -
Ditto of 1796 -
Ditto of 1805 (£ in proportion)
Ditto of 10 Carlini (1818) - - -
Netheelands Crown (|, &c. in proportion)
5 Stiver piece - - - -
Florin of 1816 - - - -
Half florin (with divisions in proportion)
Piedmont -
Since 1827 the coins of Piedmont and Sardinia have
been identical with those of France, their names, lire,
centesimi, Ac., only being different.
Poland - Rixdollar, old - - - -
Rixdollar, new (1794) - - -
Florin, or gulden - -
Poktugal - New crusado (1690) - - -
Ditto (1718)
Ditto (1795)
Doze vintems, or piece of 240 rees -
New crusado (1809) - - -
Seis vintems, or piece of 120 rees -
Testoon (1802) - - - -
Tres vintems, or piece of 60 rees (1802)
Half testoon (1802) - - -
Portuguese Colonies Piece of 8 macutes, of Portuguese
Africa - - - - -
Ditto of 6 ditto - - - -
Ditto of 4 ditto - - - -
Prussia - 1 Rixdollar, Prussian currency, (£ in propor¬
tion) . - - - -
Rixdollar, Convention - - -
Florin, or piece of §
Florin of Silesia - - - -
Drittel or piece of 8 good groschen -
Piece of 6 groschen - - -
Rome - Scudo, or crown (coined since 1753)
Mezzo scudo, or half-crown
Testone (1785) - - - -
Paolo (1785) . - - -
Grosso or half paolo (1785) -
Scudo of the Roman Republic (1799)
Russia - Rouble of Catherine IT. (1780)
Ditto of Alexander - - - -
N.B.—It was ordered by a ukase, dated the 1st of
July 1839, that this coin should be the standard of
value in Russia. It is divided into 100 copecks; and
the other silver coins are of the value of 75, 50, 25,
and 10 copecks each. This same ukase enacts, that 1
silver rouble shall henceforth be equal to 34 old paper
roubles.
Oz. diet.
W. 1 6
W.l 6
W.l 6
W. 6 14
W.O 4£
W.O 16|
3
10
3
0
0
2
2
2
W.O 13
W.2 3
W.2
W.4
W.O
W.l
W.l
W.l
W. 1
W.l
W.O 14
W. 6 3
W.O 7£
W.4 5£
W.l 2
W.2 17
W.4 2
W.O
W.O
W.O
W.O
W.O
W.O
W.O
W. 0
W.O
Weight.
W.O 9
W.O 9
W.O 9
W.2
W. 1
W.2
W.2
W. 3
W.2
W.O
W. 0
W.O
W.O
W.O
W.O
W.2
W. 0 16
Or.
1
Dwt.
18
9 0J
17 23|
1 4
6 18
4 12
18 8
11 18
5 21
4 0
2 10
14 15
17 15
17 16f
17 18i
14 18
19 0
3 4
6 22
5 11
18 1
15 10i
6 0
11 0
9 8
9 9
4 16
9 3
2 4£
2 0
1 2i
0 23
7 12
5 13
3 16
H
1
2
11
8f
14
1
8 12£
5 2
1 17
0 20£
17 1
15 12
13 12
Standard
Weight.
Dwt. gr. mi.
15 22 6
7 23 3
15 21 2
0 11 5
6 14 14
4 3 18
Contents
in True
Silver.
17 15 12
9 11 8
17 14
9 0
9 4
7 8
0 18
15 22 12
15 23 18
4
2
2
13
16
13 7
17 19
0
4
18
6
2
16 6 0
11 11 6
3 18 16
10 19 0
9 10
8 1 18
4 12 10
8 23 0
2 2 8
1 22 0
1 1 4
0 22 0
7 4 14
5 7 12
3 12 8
11 9
16 4
8 22
7 16
3 20
2 19
16 17 13
8 8 16
4 23 4
1 16 4
0 20 0
16 13 18
12 10 6
12 12 12
Grains.
353-
176-8
349-3
10-3
146-8
92-4
391-9
210-3
105-1
52-8
52-9
295-4
356-
353-9
355-2
295-1
395-2
31-3
148-4
75-
360-8
254-3
84-
239-2
200-2
201-6
100-4
198-2
46-6
42-5
23-3
20-4
159-8
118*
78-1
252-6
359-
198-4
170-3
85- 3
62-3
371-5
185-7
110-3
37-2
18-5
368-1
275-9
278-1
Value in
Sterling.
d.
1-39
0-68
0-77
1-43
8.49
0-90
6- 72
5-36
2-67
7- 37
7-38
5-24
1-71
1-41
1-60
5-20
7- 18
4-37
8- 72
0 10-46
4 2-38
2 11-51
0 11-72
9-40
3- 95
4- 15
2-01
4- 67
6-50
5- 93
3-25
2-84
1 10-31
0 4-47
1 10-90
2 11-27
4 2-13
2 3-70
1 11-78
0 11-91
0 8-69
3-87
1- 93
3-40
5-19
2- 58
3- 40
2-52
2-83
Tables.
1 The Prussian coins, having been debased at different periods, vary in their reports.
.MONET,
445
Tables.
COINS.
Sardinia - See Piedmont.
Saxony - Rixdollar, Convention (i and | in proportion)
Piece of 16 groschen of Leipsic
Rixdollar current of Saxe Gotha
£ Thaler of 1804 - - - -
Ditto of 1808 - - - -
Ditto of Jerome Bonaparte of 1809
Sicily - - Scudo in proportion) - - -
Piece of 40 grains -
Spain - - dollar, of late coinage - - -
Half Dollar, ditto - - - -
Mexican peceta (1774) - - -
Real of Mexican plate (1775)
Peceta provincial of 2 reals of new plate (1775)
Real of new plate (1795) - - -
Sweden - Rixdollar (1762) - - - -
Rixdollar of late coinage - - -
Switzerland Ecu of 40 batzen of Lucerne (1796)
Half ditto -----
Florin, or piece of 40 schillings of Lucerne
(1793) - - _ -
Ecu of 40 batzen of the Helvetic Republic,
1798 (J in proportion)
Ecu of 4 franken - - - -
Turkey - Piastre of Selim of 1801 - - -
Piastre of Grim Tartary (1778)
Piastre of Tunis (1787) - »• -
Piastre (1818) -
Tuscany - Piece of 10 Paoli - - - -
Piece of 10 lire - - - -
Lira - - - - -
Un. States Dollar, at an average - - -
Dime, or one-tenth dollar - - -
Half dime - - -
Venice - Piece of 2 lire, or 24 creutzers (1800)
Ditto of 2 lire, called moneta provinciale (1808)
Ditto of 2 lire, 1802 (^ and £ in proportion)
Wirtemberg Rixdollar, specie - - - -
Copfstuck -
EAST INDIES.
Rupee Sicca, coined by the East India Com¬
pany at Calcutta - - -
Company’s or Standard
Calcutta (1818) - - -
Bombay, new, or Surat (1818)
Fanam, Cananore - - - -
Bombay, old -
Pondicherry - - -
Ditto, double - - -
Gulden of the Dutch E. I. Co. (1820)
Assay.
Weight.
Oz. dv;t.
W. 1 3
W.2 2
W.4 44
W. 4 11
W. 4 114
W.5
W. 1
W. 1
W.O
W.O
W.O
W.O
W. 1
W. 1
W. 0 12“
W. 0 14£
W.O 5
W. 1 2
W. 1 5
4
4
2
8
8
8
8
W.O
W.O
W.5
W. 6
W. 6
W. 5 14
W.O 4
B. 0
B. 0
W.O
W.O
W.O
W. 8
W. 8
W. 8
W. 1
W. 4
6
7
6
13
H
B. 0 13
Stand.
Stand.
W.O 0|
W.O li
B. 0 13
B. 0 5}
W.O 3
W.O 7£
Dici. gr.
0
n
i
ii
Si-
17
17 14
5 21
17 8
8 16
4 7£
2 3|
3 18
1 21
18 20
18 17
19 0
9 20
4 22
18 23
18 23
8 6
10 5
10 0
6 6£
17 134
25 6
2 8
17 8
1 19£
0 21f
5 m
5
5
18
4
13£
1
16£
7 11J
0
11
Hf
0*
18J
22
Standard
Weight.
Dwt. gr. mi.
3 4
14 16
4 2
0 19
21 8
23
15 16
5 7
16 17
8
4
2
3
1
6
6
2
0
8 10
3 16
1 20
6 0
0
15
17 19 10
17 12 0
18 13 14
8 20 12
4 8 14
18 10 14
18 8 12
7 8
2
8
1
5
1
4
6
4
18
12
4
4
4
3
17
26
2 9 16
16 16 0
1 18 14
0 21 0
1 12 2
1 11 8
1 8 19
16 14 2
2 16 12
7 22 0
11 10
13 16
1 2
18 2
16 6
Contents
in Pure
Silver.
Grains.
358- 2
169-1
248-1
45- 3
42- 1
43- 7
348-2
117-5
370-9
185-4
92-3
46- 1
72-2
36-1
395-5
388-5
412-3
196-7
96-8
409-5
407-6
95- 7
90-9
96- 5
67-7
382-9
578-7
53-4
370-1
39-5
19-5
33-4
32-8
30-5
359- 1
59-8
175-8
165-
175-9
164-7
32-9
35-
22-8
39-
148-4
Value in
Sterling.
s. d.
4 2-01
1 11-61
2 10-64
0 6-32
0 5-87
0 6-10
4 0-62
1 4-40
4 3-79
2 1-88
1 0-88
0 6-43
0 10-08
0 5-04
4 7-22
4 6-28
4 9-57
2 3-46
1 1-51
4 9-18
4 9-18
1 1-36
1 0-69
1 1-47
0 9-45
4 5-46
6 8-80
0 7-45
4 3-68
0 5-71
0 2-72
0 4-66
0 4-58
0 4-25
4 2-14
0 8-35
2 0-54
1 11-11
2 0-56
1 11-01
0 4-5
0 4-88
0 3-18
0 5-44
1 8-72
Tables.
The sterling value of the foreign coins in the foregoing tables has been computed from the assays as follows Let it be required to
assign the value, in sterling, of a French double Louis d’or coined since 1786, the assay master’s report being as follows: “ Weight,
9 dwts. 20 grs.; assay W. 1J grs.,” that is, 0 car. 1| grs. worse than the English standard. We proceed as under;—
From 22 car. 0 gr. the fineness of English standard gold, )Tjiere remains 21 car. 2,
Take 0 car. U gr. j 26
>igr'
Then, as 22 car.: 21 car. 24 grs. :: 9 dwts. 20 grs. : 9 dwts. 16 grs., the standard gold contained in the Louis d’or; and hence, as
1 oz.: £3,17s. 10Jd. :: 9 dwts. 16 grs.: £1, 17s. 1^., the value of the Louis in sterling money, and so for any of the other coins.
1 This is the coin which is universally circulated under the name of the Spanish dollar.
MONEY.
446
Money.
PAET IL—PAPER-MONEY.
Sect. I.—General Principles in regard to Paper-Money.
Paper-
money
We have endeavoured to explain, in the first part
of this article, the reasons why paper has been substi¬
tuted for coins in the ordinary transactions of society,
and the principle on which its value is maintained.
Besides being a source of profit to the issuers, the employ¬
ment of paper, provided it be properly secured, is a great
public accommodation. The weight of 1000 sovereigns
exceeds twenty-one pounds troy, so that to pay or receive
a large sum in metal would be exceedingly inconvenient;
while a great risk from loss, as well as a heavy expense,
would be incurred in the conveyance of specie from place
to place. But with paper this may be effected with
extreme facility, and payments of the largest sums, and
at the greatest distances, may be made with almost no
inconvenience or expense. And while the interest of
individuals is thus consulted by the introduction and use
of paper, it is of the greatest service to the public. Its
employment, and the various devices for the economising
of currency to which it has led, enable the business of a
commercial country like England to be carried on with
a fourth part, perhaps, of the gold and silver currency
that would otherwise be necessary. The cheapest
instruments by which exchanges can be effected are
substituted for the dearest; and, besides doing their
work better, this substitution enables the various sums
which must otherwise have been in use as money, to be
employed as capital in industrial undertakings. Of the
various means, whether by the introduction of machinery
or otherwise, that have been devised for promoting the
progress of wealth and civilization, it would not be easy
to point out one better calculated to attain its end than
the introduction of a properly organised paper-money.
To prevent misconception, it may be necessary to pre¬
mise that by u paper-money” we do not mean notes which
are legal tender, though not payable in coin on demand.
These, no doubt, are the only description of notes which
can, strictly speaking, be called paper money. But as
the circumstances which determine their value have been
already stated, and as they happily have no existence
amongst us, it is needless farther to allude to them.
Hence, in the sequel of this article, when we employ the
term paper-money, it will, unless the contrary be stated,
apply exclusively to the notes issued by individuals or
associations for certain sums, and made payable on
demand, or on being presented. Though only the repre¬
sentatives of money, these notes possess so many of its
qualities, and are so easily converted into coin, that they
may, with little impropriety, be held to be money. Being
most commonly issued by bankers, they are usually
called bank-notes.
Distinction This statement shows that, under the phrase paper-
between money or paper-currency, we do not include bills of ex¬
bills of ex- change, or bills issued by bankers, merchants, and others,
change and anq payable sometime after date. Such bills perform, in
PaPei some respects, the same functions as money; and have,
in consequence, been frequently regarded in the same
light as bank-notes. But this is quite improper; for
though there are many points in which a bill of exchange
and a bank-note closely resemble each other, there are
others in which there is a distinct and material difference
between them. A note bears to be payable on demand ;
money.
it is not indorsed by a holder on his paying it away;
the party receiving has no claim on the party from
whom he received it, in the event of the failure of the
issuers;1 2 and every one is thus encouraged, reckoning
on the facility of passing it to another, to accept bank
paper, “ even though he should doubt the ultimate solvency of
the issuers.’^ Bills, on the contrary, are almost all drawn
payable at some distant period; and those into whose
hands they come, if they be not in want of money, prefer
retaining them in their possession, in order to get the
interest that accrues upon them. But the principal
distinction between notes and bills is, that every indi¬
vidual in passing a bill to another, has to indorse it, and
by doing so makes himself responsible for its payment.
“ A bill circulates,” says Mr. Thornton, u in consequence
chiefly of the confidence placed by each receiver of it in
the last indorser, his own correspondent in trade;
whereas the circulation of a bank-note is owing rather to
the circumstance of the name of the issuer being so well
known as to give it an universal credit.”3 Nothing, then,
can be more inaccurate than to represent bills and notes
in the same point of view. If A pay to B £100 in
satisfaction of a debt, there is an end of the transaction ;
but if A pay to B a bill of exchange for £100, the
transaction is not completed; and, in the event of the bill
not being paid by the person on whom it is drawn, B
will have recourse upon A for its value. It is clear,
therefore, that a great deal more consideration is always
required, and may be fairly presumed to be given, before
any one accepts a bill of exchange in payment, than
before he accepts a bank-note. The note is payable on
the instant, without deduction—the bill not until some
future period; the note may be passed to another without
incurring any risk or responsibility, whereas every fresh
issuer of the bill makes himself responsible for its
value. Notes form the currency of all classes, not
only of those who are, but also of those who are not
engaged in business, as women, children, labourers, &c.
who in most instances are without the power to refuse
them, and without the means of forming any correct
conclusion as to the solvency of the issuers. Bills, on
the other hand, pass only, with very few exceptions,
among persons engaged in business, who are fully
aware of the risk they run in taking them. There is
plainly, therefore, a wide and obvious distinction between
the two species of currency; and it cannot be fairly
argued, that because government interferes to regulate
the issue of the one, it should also regulate the issue of
the other. To use the words of Lord Mansfield, ‘‘Bank¬
notes are not like bills of exchange, mere securities or
documents for debts, nor are so esteemed, but are treated
as money in the ordinary course and transactions of busi¬
ness, by the general consent of mankind ; and on payment
of them, whenever a receipt is required, the receipts
are always given as for money, not as for securities
or notes.” (Chitty on Bills, 8th edition, p. 555.)
To obviate the endless inconveniences that would arise Eegula-
from the circulation of coins of every weight and degree |10^^nto
of purity, were there no restrictions on their issue, all [heksueof
governments have forbidden the circulation of coins not notes,
of a certain specified or standard weight and fineness.
And the recurrence of similar inconveniences from the
1 Practically speaking, this is the fact; but a person paying away a bank note is liable to be called upon for repayment,^ should the
bank fail before it was in the power of the party to whom it was paid, using ordinary diligence to present it. The responsibility seldom
exceeds a couple of hours, and can hardly in any case exceed a couple of days. In practice it is never adverted to.
2 Thornton on Paper Credit, p. 172. 3 Ibid, p. 40.
*
MONEY.
' Money, issue of notes for varying sums, and payable under vary-
ing conditions, have led, in most countries in which paper-
money is made use of, to the enacting of regulations for¬
bidding the issue of notes below a certain amount, and
laying down rules for their payment. In England at
this moment no note payable to bearer on demand can be
issued for less than five pounds, and they must all be
paid the moment they are presented. In Scotland and
Ireland the minimum value of bank-notes is fixed at one
pound, the regulations as to payment being the same as
in England. In order to preserve the monopoly of the
London circulation to the Bank of England, no notes
payable to bearer on demand are allowed to be issued by
individuals or associations, other than the Bank of
England, within sixty-five miles of St. Paul’s. But
beyond these limits they may be issued by certain banks,
under the provisions of the Act 7 and 8 Yic. c. 32, &c.
Necessity The propriety of taking measures to insure the con-
;of insuring vertibility 0f bank-notes into coin has been previously
theconvcr- expiajne(jb ^bis is a matter which cannot safely be left
bank notes to the discretion or judgment of individuals, but which
into coin, must be settled by government. No bank-notes should
be permitted to circulate, about the equivalency of which
to the coins they profess to represent there can be the
smallest room for doubt. It is alleged, indeed, that in
this, as in most other things, we may safely trust to the
prudence and sagacity of those who deal with banks ;
and that, if left to themselves, the public will very rarely
be deceived. But the widest experience shows that but
little, if any, dependence can be placed on this doctrine.
The public is very apt to be misled, in the first instance,
in giving confidence to or taking the paper of individuals
or associations, and though that were not the case, the
condition of an individual or company may change from
bad or expensive management, improvident speculation,
unavoidable losses, and fifty other things of which the
public know nothing, or nothing certain. The fact that
any particular banker who issues paper enjoys the public
confidence, is, at best, a presumption merely, and no
proof that he really deserves it. The public may believe
him to be rich and discreet; but this is mere hypothesis;
the circumstances which excite confidence at the outset,
and which preserve it, are often very deceptive ; and in
the vast majority of instances the public has no certain
knowledge, nor the means of obtaining any, as to the
real state of the case. But it is unnecessary to argue
this point speculatively. There have, unfortunately, been
innumerable instances in which it has turned out that
bankers who had long been in the highest credit, and whose
notes had been unhesitatingly accepted by the public,
have been found to be, on the occurrence of anything to
excite suspicion, quite unable to meet their engagements.
The issue of notes is of all businesses that which seems
to hold out the greatest prospect of success to the
schemes of those who attempt to get rich by preying on
the public. The cost of engraving and issuing is nothing
compared with the sums for which they are issued: and
provided they be got into any thing like extensive cir¬
culation, they become at once considerably productive.
They are not issued, except, as previously explained, on
the deposit of bills or other securities, yielding a con¬
siderable rate of interest; so that if an individual, or set of
individuals, with little or no capital, should contrive by
fair appearances, promises, and similar devices, to in¬
sinuate himself or themselves into the public confidence,
and succeed in getting £20,000, £50,000, or £100,000
into circulation, he or they would secure a good income
447
in the meantime; and on the bubble bursting, and the Money,
imposture being detected, they would be no worse off
than when they set up their bank. On the contrary, the
presumption is, that they would be a great deal better
off; and that they would take care to provide, at the cost
of the credulous and deceived public, a reserve stock for
their future maintenance. Hence, seeing that the facilities
for committing fraud are so very great, the propriety or
rather necessity of providing against them.
It is sometimes, no doubt, contended that the grand
principle of the freedom of industry should be universally
respected; that it can in no case be departed from with
impunity; and that it is not only injurious but unjust to
lay any restrictions upon the business of banking. But
we are not to be led astray by a cuckoo-cry of this de¬
scription. The business of banking—that is, of keeping
and dealing in money—is one thing, while the manu¬
facture and issue of notes intended to be substituted for
and to serve as money, is another and a totally different
thing. And though everybody may perhaps be allowed
to undertake the former, it by no means follows that the
same license is to be extended to those who make and
issue notes. It is to be recollected that in matters of
this sort, neither freedom nor restriction is, abstractly
considered, just or unjust, good or bad, expedient or
inexpedient. It is by their respective influence upon
society that they are to be judged ; and though a free
and liberal course of policy be in general most for the
public advantage, there are very many cases in which it
is necessary to impose restrictions. It is admitted on
all hands that governments are bound to suppress or
regulate every business or pursuit which is likely other¬
wise to become publicly injurious. And does any one
doubt that the issue of notes payable on demand is in the
foremost class of these businesses ? The experience of
all ages and nations is conclusive as to this point. It has
been everywhere regulated, in the most democratical as
well as in the most despotical states, in England and Rus¬
sia, Holland and France, the United States and Austria.
The reasonableness of the practice accords with its uni¬
formity.—Le droit d’emetre des billets est tres avantageuse;
mais aussi il est si dangereuse, que VEtat doit ou s’en reservir
Vexercice, ou le regler de maniere a en prevenir les abus.1
It may perhaps be said that bank-notes are essentially
private paper ; that the accepting of them in payment is
optional; and that as they may be rejected by every one
who either suspects or dislikes them, there is no room or
ground for interfering with their issue ! But vague gene¬
ralities of this sort are entitled to very little attention.
Every body knows that, whatever notes may be in law,
they are, in most parts of the country, practically and in
fact legal tender. The bulk of the people are without
power to refuse them. The currency of many extensive
districts consists in great part of country notes, and such
small farmers or tradesmen as should decline taking them
would be exposed to the greatest inconveniences. Every
one makes use of, or is a dealer in, money. It is not
employed by men of business only, but by persons living
on fixed incomes, women, labourers, minors, and in short
by every class of individuals ; very many of whom being
necessarily, from their situation in life, quite unable to
form any estimate of the solidity of the different banks
whose paper may be in circulation, are uniformly severe
sufferers by their failure. And as the notes which come
into their hands make a part of the currency or money of
the country, it is evidently quite as much the duty of
government, in the view of preventing these losses and
the ruin they occasion, to take such steps as may be
1 Report on the Extension of the Privilege of the Bank of France in 1840.
448 MONEY.
Money, required to make bank notes truly and substantially what
they profess to be, as that it should take measures to pre¬
vent the issue of spurious coins, or the use of false or
deficient weights and measures.
It would be easy to extend these remarks, but those
now stated are sufficient to show that wherever notes
payable on demand are allowed to circulate, their equi¬
valency to, and immediate conversion into coin should be
insured. Much diversity of opinion may exist in regard
to the description of measures that should be adopted in
that view; but that, whether of one sort or other, they
should be made effectual to their object is indispensable
to hinder the power to issue notes from being perverted
to the worst purposes.
Among the schemes devised to secure the converti¬
bility of notes into coin, the following are, perhaps, the
most prominent, viz.—
Measures I. To confine the issue of notes to joint-stock banks,
suggested or associations with large numbers of partners, each of
the conver which should be indefinitely liable for the debts of the
sioiioT C association. At the time when this description of banks
notes into was established by the 7 Geo. IV., c. 46, it was supposed
coin. In- ^]iat they would prove to be of the greatest advantage,
of these5" an(^ a^or(i that complete security to the holders of their
measures, notes, and those who entrusted them with money,
that is so desirable. But everybody knows that
these anticipations have been entirely disappointed, and
that the history of the joint-stock banks founded under
the above statute discloses some of the most flagrant
instances to be met with of recklessness, imposture, and
fraud. And this, after all, is only what might have been
expected. The shares in many joint-stock banks are
small, few being above £100, the greater number not
exceeding £50, whilst many are only £25, and some not
more than £10, if so much. Generally, too, it is under¬
stood, or rather it is distinctly set forth in the conditions
of partnership, that not more than ten, twenty, or fifty per
cent, of these shares is to be called for; so that an indi¬
vidual with a few pounds to spare may become a share¬
holder in a bank. And owing to a practice, or rather a
flagrant abuse, introduced into the management of various
banks, of making large advances or discounts on the
credit of the stock held by shareholders, not a few
individuals in doubtful or even desperate circumstances
take shares in them, in the view of obtaining loans, and
bolstering up their credit! The great danger arising from
such banks is obvious, and when one of them stops
payment, the claims on it, if ultimately made good, can
be so only at the cost, and perhaps ruin, of such of its
proprietors as have abstained from the abusive practices
resorted to by others.
At the same time, however, it is quite plain that a
joint-stock bank, provided it possess adequate capital,
and is discreetly managed, may afford ample security to
its shareholders and the public. And it is farther plain,
in the event of its shareholders being a numerous body,
comprising, as is sometimes the case, hundreds of indi¬
viduals, many of whom have large fortunes, that its
creditors, though exposed to immediate injury, may in
the end have little or nothing to fear, even from gross
mismanagement. But it is very difficult to discriminate
between one variety of joint-stock banks and another.
A bank may have a considerable body of proprietors;
but, though the contrary opinion may prevail, few of them
may be wealthy, and many mere men of straw, so that the
security afforded by such a bank may be worth little or
nothing. Neither is there any foundation for the notion,
that because a bank has fifty or a hundred partners, it
will be either richer or better managed than if it had only
five or ten. In truth, the presumption seems to be quite
the other way. The petty subscriptions of many may Money,
amount in the aggregate to a considerable sum, which,
however, may be greatly inferior to the fortunes of a few
wealthy individuals. And when the latter engage in
banking, or any other sort of business, they must, if they
would protect themselves from ruin, pay unremitting
attention to their concerns, and act in a discreet and cautious
manner. But the partners and managers of a great joint-
stock company act under no such direct and pressing
responsibility. “ I think,” said the highest authority on
such subjects, “ that joint-stock banks are deficient in
every thing requisite for the conduct of banking business,
except extended responsibility; the banking business
requires peculiarly persons attentive to all its details,
constantly, daily, and hourly watchful of every transac¬
tion, much more than mercantile or trading businesses.
It also requires immediate, prompt decisions, upon
circumstances when they arise—in many cases a decision
that does not admit of delay for consultation ; it also
requires a discretion to be exercised with reference to
the special circumstances of each case. Joint-stock banks
being, of course, obliged to act through agents, and not
by a principal, and therefore under the restraint of
general rules, cannot be guided by so nice a reference to
degrees of difference in the character or responsibility of
parties; nor can they undertake to regulate the assistance .
to be granted to concerns under temporary embarrass¬
ment by so accurate a reference to the circumstances,
favourable or unfavourable, of each case.”—[Evidence
of Lord Overstone, before Committee on Bank Charter in
1840.)
In fact, more than nine-tenths of the partners in joint-
stock banks are wholly ignorant of banking business,
and have nothing better to trust to than the supposed
honesty and intelligence of the directors; and, even if
they were acquainted with the business, the result would
be nearly the same, as it would not be possible for any one,
by a cursory inspection of the books of a bank (if such
were permitted), to form an accurate estimate of its condi¬
tion, or of the mode in which it transacted business. And
hence the directors in these establishments are practically
all but absolute. If they be carefully selected, and be
worthy of the confidence placed in them, all goes on
smoothly ; and this also is the case when they are most
unworthy, till they have involved the concern in inextri¬
cable difficulties! The history of the Norwich Bank, of
the Northern and Central Bank, the Marylebone Bank,
the Manchester Bank, the London and Eastern Bank, the
Royal British Bank, the Borough Bank of Liverpool,
the Western Bank of Glasgow, and a host of others,
sufficiently attests the truth of what has now been
stated. The responsibility of the directors to the share¬
holders has not been found, in any of these instances,
to have been any check whatever over their frauds
and improvidence. The whole paid-up capital of the
Manchester Bank, amounting to about £750,000, had been
wasted in the most improvident speculations ; while that
of the Royal British Bank and of the London and
Eastern Bank had been seized upon by the directors or
their dependents, and additional debts incurred, before the
great body of the shareholders had the least suspicion
that the companies were otherwise than prosperous !
We may observe, by the way, that the mischie
occasioned by an establishment of this sort, when per¬
verted from its proper objects and mismanaged, is not to
be estimated by the ruin it entails on its partners, and
probably also on its customers. It becomes in fact, a
public nuisance, and entails privations on many who
might be supposed to be beyond the sphere of its
influence. Within the ten years ending with 1842 it
was estimated that about £1,500,000 of banking capital
MONEY. 449
Money, was wholly dissipated in Manchester and its immediate
vicinity. And as nine-tenths of this enormous loss was
occasioned by advances made to manufacturers who had
little or no capital of their own, it is not easy to imagine
what a ruinous stimulus it must have given to reckless
competition, and how very injurious it must have been to
parties trading on their own capital.
It is clear, therefore, that the institution of joint-stock
banks affords no security that their affairs will be properly
administered, and their notes uniformly paid on their
being presented.
II. To insure the convertibility of bank-notes into
coin, it has been proposed that they should not be issued
except upon security being previously given for their
payment. That, for example, an individual or company
intending to issue £100,000, £200,000, or other sum of
notes, should be obliged previously to deposit in the
hands of a functionary appointed for the purpose, approved
securities over lands, houses, stocks, or other available
property for an equal amount. And it is plain that this
would be in many respects an efficient measure. Under
a system of this sort, adventurers without capital, and
sharpers anxious to become indebted to the public, would
find that the issue of notes was not a business by which
they could expect to profit, and that it must be exclusively
reserved for parties possessed of adequate capital.
But though a plan of this sort would effect to a con¬
siderable extent the objects in view, it has, notwith¬
standing, two cardinal defects, viz.—
1. In the first place, though it were fitted to secure the
ultimate payment of notes, it would not secure their imme¬
diate payment, which is essential to their advantageous
employment as money. The stoppage of a bank which had
deposited securities would have to be officially ascertained
before any steps could be taken for their sale; and after
this had been done, some considerable time would have
to elapse before they could be disposed of, and their
produce made available for the liquidation of the notes.
Most securities, too, are of fluctuating and uncertain
value, and might not, even under the most favourable
circumstances, realise the sums for which they were
pledged. And in the event of the occurrence of a panic,
or disturbed state of credit, it might be impossible imme¬
diately to convert the securities into cash, or possible
only at a heavy loss. This plan is, therefore, very far
from giving that effectual security for the conversion of
notes into coin, which, on the first blush of the matter,
it appears to afford. Lattei’ly, it has been extensively
acted upon in some parts of the United States; and there,
when a bank stops payment, its notes are always sold at
a discount, which, of course, varies according to the
peculiar circumstances affecting each case.—(See post.')
2. But supposing that this plan were effectual, which
it is not, to ensure the immediate convertibility of notes
into coin, it is defective from its not preventing their
over-issue. A paper currency is not in a sound or whole¬
some state, unless—1st, Each particular note or parcel of
such currency be paid immediately on demand; and 2d,
Unless the whole currency vary in amount and value
exactly as a metallic currency would do were the paper
currency withdrawn and coins substituted in its stead.
The last condition is quite as indispensable to the ex¬
istence of a well established currency as the former 5 and
it is one that cannot be realised otherwise than by con¬
fining the supply of paper to a single source.
The issues of paper money should always be deter¬
mined by the exchange, or rather by the influx and efflux
of bullion, increasing when the latter is flowing into a
country, and decreasing when it is being exported. And
when the issue of paper is in the hands of a single body,
voi. xv.
a regard to its interests will make it regulate its amount Money,
with reference to this principle. But when the power to
issue notes is vested in different bodies, some of which
may be little, if at all, affected by variations of the ex¬
change, this is no longer the case. And instances have
repeatedly occurred, as will afterwards be seen, of the
country banks having increased their issues when the
exchange was unfavourable and the currency redundant.
Hence the plan of exacting securities is doubly defective,
inasmuch as it neither insures the immediate conversion
of notes into coin, nor prevents their over-issue.
III. The only other plan for insuring the conversion
of notes into coin, or rather for keeping them on a level
therewith, to which it is at present necessary to allude—
consists in providing for the publicity of the affairs of
the banks by which they are issued. The issues of
banks, under this system, are usually made to bear some
fixed proportion to their capital; the whole, or some
considerable share, of which is to be paid up before the
bank begins business ; and monthly, quarterly, half-
yearly, or annual returns are thereafter to be published,
exhibiting the state of the bank, and enabling, as it is
said, the public to judge whether it be safe to deal with
it. But it is almost needless to say that such regula¬
tions are no protection against fraudulent dealings; and
that, in reality, they are good for little, unless it be to
deceive and mislead the public. It is impossible, if the
managers of a bank or other association wish to make a
deceptive or unintelligible return, to hinder them. And
even, when they wish to make a really accurate return,
they must frequently make one that is false, from their
inability to estimate their bonds, bills, and other assets
at their just value. But it is useless to insist on what is
so very obvious. The “ cooking of returns,” as it has
been called, is an art that is well understood and exten¬
sively practised. Long after the capital of the British
Bank had been wholly lost, and it had been precipitated
into the abyss of bankruptcy, its directors did not hesi¬
tate to put forth statements, in which it was represented
to be in a prosperous condition, and a division of profits
recommended! And this, unhappily, is not a solitary
instance. It is only one example, and that not the
worst, of a very large class of cases. But such as it is,
it is more than sufficient to show that it would be childish
to place any confidence in the returns referred to.
It may, however, be supposed that the late Act, the Act of 1857
20 and 21 Yict. c. 54 (1857), for the punishment of^Sai^st;
frauds committed by trustees, bankers, and others, will rre^r^gc^
put an end to the practices hitherto complained of. But bankers,
though it were much to be wished that such should be
the case, and though, no doubt, it will have consider¬
able influence, it will not suffice to repress the evil.
Besides making bankers and others who embezzle, appro¬
priate, or make away with property intrusted to their
care, guilty of a misdemeanour, the statute goes on to
enact, “ That if any director, manager, or public officer
of any body corporate, or public company, shall make,
circulate, or publish, or concur in making, circulating,
or publishing, any written statement or account which he
shall know to be false in any material particular, with
intent to deceive or defraud any member, shareholder, or
creditor of such body corporate or public company, or
with intent to induce any person to become a share¬
holder or partner therein, or to intrust or advance any
money or property to such body corporate, or public
company, or to enter into any security for the benefit
thereof, he shall be guilty of a misdemeanour.” § 8.
And it is further enacted, “ That every person found
guilty of a misdemeanour under this Act shall be liable,
3 L
450
MONEY.
Money, at the discretion of the Court, to be kept in penal servi-
t;U(ie for the term of three years, or to suffer such other
punishment, by imprisonment, for not more than two
years, with or without hard labour, or by fine, as the
Court shall award.” § 10.
It is difficult to see how, under a law of this sort, such
flagrantly false statements as those put forth by the
Royal British and other banks, after they were in a
state of utter bankruptcy, should not subject their
authors to the full penalties of the statute. But villany
is fertile in resources ; and no severity of punishment
has ever been found to be effectual for the suppression
of crime. Though it may be fairly presumed that the
“cooking of returns” will be less frequent, and less
glaring in time to come than formerly, it would be idle
to expect that it should ever be wholly put down. And,
as already seen, even when the directors of a bank are so
disposed, it will frequently be out of their power to lay
before the public a really true statement of their affairs.
It is plain, then, that this so-called publicity affords
nothing approaching to that undoubted and unquestion¬
able guarantee which should be required from all parties
and associations empowered to issue notes.
But the difficulties in the way of insuring the conver¬
sion of the latter into coins, though great, are not insu¬
perable. A plan, originally suggested by Lord Over¬
stone, and adopted and carried into effect by Sir Robert
Peel, has been found to be quite effectual to secure this
grand object. And it has the additional and important
recommendation, of having done this without subjecting
the public to any sensible inconvenience.
But before entering into an exposition of the plan re¬
ferred to, it will be necessary to premise some details with
regard to the constitution and action of the existing banks.
Sect. II.—Banks of Deposit and Banks of Issue. Principles
on which they are established.
Banks of Banks are commonly divided into banks of deposit and
deposit and banks of issue; that is, banks that take care of other
issue. people’s money, and banks that issue money of their
own. But there are few banks of issue that are not at
the same time banks of deposit; and the latter are farther
divisible into two great classes, viz., those who do and
those who do not issue the money of their customers.
The banking companies established in this country belong
to the first class ; while the old Bank of Amsterdam did,
and the existing Bank of Hamburgh does, belong to the
second class.
Advan- Instead of keeping money in their own houses, where
tages of it would be exposed to various accidents, and to the
bankers, attacks of thieves and robbers, most people wisely commit
it to the care of a banker, and avail themselves of his
services in receiving and making payments on their
account. They send to their banker such sums of
money as they may happen to receive, and all bills and
drafts payable to them; and he becomes responsible for
their amount, for the regular presentation of the bills
for acceptance and payment, and for their proper noting,
if not accepted or paid. It is also the practice for parties
who have an account at a banker’s, to make all con¬
siderable payments by cheques payable by him. As s
the discharge of these functions involves considerable
risk and expense, it is usual for bankers, either to charge
a per centage for their trouble, or to stipulate that the
parties dealing with them shall keep an average balance
of cash in their hands corresponding to the amount of
business transacted in their behalf. In this way business
is carried on with safety, ease, and despatch; and at
much less expense than it would be if individuals kept
their own money, and made their own payments.
Of the sums paid into banks, some are intended to meet
the cheques and orders drawn against them in the ordi¬
nary course of business ; while others are sent rather for
safe custody, to be retained, till opportunities be found
for their investment. The former are generally placed
under what are called drawing, and the latter under
deposit accounts. But there is no difference between the
two, except that the sums in deposit accounts are usually
permitted to lie for longer periods, without being operated
upon or called up. Such portions of the one or the other
as the bankers do not retain in their coffers to meet the
usual demands of their customers, they employ in the
discount of bills, or in making advances of one sort or
other, generally at short dates, to those who require
them, and in whom they think they may confide.
This last is one of the most important functions per¬
formed by banks of deposit. They become, as it were,
receptacles or reservoirs into which the surplus or unem¬
ployed capital of the surrounding districts is collected, and
from which it is again distributed to those who want it.
And it may be proper to observe, that the bankers do not
always, nor perhaps even most commonly, confine their
advances to those who can give security for their repay¬
ment. On the contrary, they are often more influenced
in making loans by their knowledge of the conduct, the
intelligence, and the pursuits of the parties, than by any¬
thing else. And it frequently happens that industrious,
frugal, and enterprising young men, who have no gua¬
rantee to offer save their character, obtain advances that
would be denied to wealthier, but otherwise less trust¬
worthy parties.1 But without insisting on these consi¬
derations, which, however, are not a little important, it
is manifest that those who have capital to lend, and those
who wish to borrow, are equally indebted to the agency
of the bankers, who while they enable these great classes
mutually to assist each other, contribute to increase the
public wealth by facilitating the flow of capital into the
most productive channels.
Money.
But, however great, this advantage is not to be exag- Cre(1jti ^
gerated. Though banks afford valuable assistance in the finition of.
collection and distribution of capital, it must not be sup¬
posed, as is often done, that they have any direct influence
over its formation. That is the joint effect of industry and
economy—the former in producing convenient and desir¬
able articles, and the latter in saving and preserving them
for future use. Credit is neither more nor less than the
transfer of money or other valuable produce from one set of
individuals called lenders, to another set called borrowers
1 On this, as on most other points, the late evidence of Lord Overstone is highly instructive. _ _
Quest. But, generally speaking, persons who have no capital, have very little opportunity of raising money have they? Ans. Ihat
certainly is not so. The whole principle of banking is to afford capital—to transfer it from the inactive accumulator to the active and
energetic person who wants the capital. The hanker is the go-hetween, who receives deposits on the one side, and on the other applies
those deposits, intrusting them, in the form of capital, to the hands of active, energetic persons, who, he thinks, will make a good use of it.
Quest. Who have no security to give ? Ans. Who have in many instances no security to give, except their character, and skill, and
talent, of which the banker forms his judgment. .
Quest. To persons of character who have no other security to give ? Ans. To persons of character who, in some cases, have no
security to give ; hut who, in all cases, have no security to give equal to the amount advanced to them, except that best form ot security,
their character, their energy, and their prudence.—Min. of Evidence, p. 348. „
MONEY. 451
Money, —a transfer which is greatly facilitated by the establish-
ment of banks. And as there can be no reasonable doubt
that those who borrow have, in the majority of instances,
better means of employing capital with advantage
than those by whom it is lent, its transference from the
one to the other will, in so far as this presumption is
realised, be publicly advantageous. But this is the entire
extent of the beneficial influence of what is called credit;
and when it happens, as is too often the case, to divert
capital into the pockets of knaves and gamblers, it is
disadvantageous. No doubt we frequently hear of great
undertakings being carried on by means of credit; but
such statements are entirely false and misleading. They
will, indeed, be uniformly found, when analysed, to mean
only that the undertakings are carried on by means of
borrowed capital. Credit is impotent to produce any¬
thing whatever. It is in fact a mere name for the trust
reposed by a lender in a borrower. To call it capital is
as much an abuse of language as it would be to call
weight colour, or colour weight. It may transfer
money or produce from A to B, or from C to D, but
that is all that it either does or can do. When credit
is said to be high, nothing is really meant save that
those who have money or capital to lend have great con¬
fidence in the borrowers, and conversely when credit is
said to be low.
Banks Banks, when not conducted by men of probity, skill,
sometimes an(j caution, are very apt to excite and inflame a spirit
gambling6 sPecu^ati°n and gambling. They do this by furnish-
and over- ing speculators with loans and discounts, by means of
trading, which they are not enabled merely, but tempted to
engage in hazardous enterprises. And for a time, or
while the process is going on, everything wears an air
of prosperity; and those old-fashioned houses, as they
are called, that carry on a legitimate business on capital
of their own, are frequently undersold and driven from
the market by the competition of adventurers, trading
on the funds of others, ready to encounter any risk,
and living in the greatest splendour. But at length
the thing is overdone, the bubble bursts, the worth¬
less machinery of fictitious bills, rediscounts, and so
forth, is exposed, and the tragi-comedy is wound up
by the offer of a composition of some Is. or 2s. per
pound. Bankers and money dealers who employ the
money entrusted to their care in so reckless a manner,
are fitter for Newgate than for the situations they so
unworthily fill. It would be a great stretch of charity
to suppose that advances of the kind now alluded to
can be wholly the result of imprudence. Bankers have
peculiar means at their disposal by which to become
acquainted with the charactei', position, and capabilities
of those who apply to them for advances. And it is their
duty to avail themselves of these means to distinguish
between the careful and the improvident or reckless trader
—between the man who may and the man who may not
be trusted. It is difficult to believe, provided they make
the necessary inquiries, that they should be often or
greatly deceived in their judgment of individuals; and,
provided they act with due caution, they will never so far
commit themselves, even with the most respectable firms,
as to endanger their own establishment in the event of
the failure of the latter. Bankers may risk their private
fortunes, if they have any, as they please, but they
are not entitled to risk the money of their constituents
by making advances to equivocal parties, and especially
to those who are notoriously overtrading. It is im¬
possible, perhaps, to bring an abuse of this sort within
the meshes of the penal law, but it cannot be too
strongly condemned in the opinion of the public. There
is nothing about which people should be so cautious Money,
as the employment of bankers ; and high character,
experience, and reputation for prudent management,
ought always to have the preference over fair promises
and prospectuses, even when the latter are backed by
offers of high interest.
The private bankers of London have not been, until Interest on
recently, in the habit of allowing interest on deposits, deposits,
though in special cases it was sometimes done. But in
Scotland, and also in many parts of England, it has been
long the practice to pay an interest on deposits of from
one to two per cent, less than the market rate at the
time. And the joint-stock banks set on foot in the metro¬
polis since 1826, having introduced the practice of giving
interest on deposits, provided a certain notice (generally
from three to eight days) be given before they are with¬
drawn, very large sums have been, especially during
the last ten years, deposited in these establishments. Most
private banks have been compelled, in order to maintain
their position, to adopt in a greater or less degree the
same system. There can, indeed, be little doubt that
it will, in no very lengthened period, become universal,
and that the amount of deposits will be progressively and
largely augmented.
By bringing, as it were, the advantages of savings’
banks, without any of their limitations, within reach of
all classes, of the middle and upper as well as of the
lower, this system is, in many respects, highly advan¬
tageous. It may, indeed, be doubted whether any means
could be devised more likely to generate and diffuse a
spirit of economy. Unhappily, however, its advantages
are alloyed by the formidable disadvantage of its involv¬
ing a great amount of insecurity and hazard.
Banks that give interest on deposits must employ the Dangers
balance at their disposal so as to realise that interest,
plus a profit to themselves. Investment is not optional Sygte^°S1
with them, it is indispensable ; and they cannot, in seek¬
ing investments, look to security only. Profit must be
in their estimation as great, or even a greater considera¬
tion. But profit and risk are inseparable, and are
always directly proportioned to each other ; and hence
it is, that in periods of discredit, or when a revulsion
occurs, suspicions may be expected to arise in regard to
the solidity of deposit banks, especially of those that pay
high rates of interest on the sums committed to their
custody. These suspicions may frequently, no doubt,
be very ill-founded ; but if they be entertained, the result
will be nearly the same. This was exemplified by what
took place the other day in Glasgow. There a run,
partly for payment of notes, but more for deposits, com¬
pelled two great joint-stock banks to suspend payments,
of whose solvency, notwithstanding their gross mis¬
management, no reasonable doubt could be entertained;
and led to a crisis that has had the most serious con¬
sequences.
It is difficult to know how to ward off such contin¬
gencies; but it nevertheless seems to be indispensable
that something should be done in that view, otherwise
we may be said to be always exposed to the most tre¬
mendous risks. It may not be practicable to form an
accurate estimate of the amount now held as deposits
by bankers and money-dealers in Great Britain only;
but if we take the entire sum at about two hundred
millions, we shall probably be within and not beyond
the mark. And of this vast sum more than a half is
payable “ at call,” and more than three-fourths within
ten days. But everybody knows that such payments
are practically impossible. And hence it is plain, that
in the event, which may any day occur, of a bank with
452
MONEY.
Money, a large amount of deposits getting into difficulties, or of
any circumstance occurring that should occasion a dis¬
trust of the system and a general panic, the whole
fabric would fall to pieces, and we should have an
universal smash.
This appears to be as unsatisfactory a state of things as
can well be imagined. But de republica nil desperandum.
Though formidable, the evil is not insuperable ; and the
dangers referred to are so great and imminent, that
no time should be lost in adopting measures by which
they may be either obviated or mitigated. Explosions
of the credit system are, in the commercial and finan¬
cial, what explosions of gunpowder are in the physical
world. And it would seem to be quite as necessary
to endeavour to lessen the frequency and violence of
the former as of the latter. Hence we think it would
be good policy to enact, that all sums bearing interest, in
the hands of bankers, discount - brokers, and money-
dealers generally, should not be legally demandable
without a month or six weeks’ notice. A regulation
of this sort would not interfere with anything that is
valuable in the existing system, while it would confer
on it some portion of that solidity of which it is at
present so miserably deficient. It would protect all
classes against the effects of sudden and unreasonable
fears and panics. It would give time to the borrowers
to collect their resources; and to the depositors calmly
to inquire into the character and situation of those to
whom they had entrusted their money. This may not be
enough; but some such measure as this appeal's to be in¬
dispensable for the security and protection of the public.
Notes do- It has sometimes been contended that the notes and
posited in monies deposited in banks by private parties continue to
the t>r(>0t their property, and are as really a portion of their
perty of the money as the notes or sovereigns which they retain in
depositors, their tills or their pockets. The place where it is
kept is different; but, except in this respect, the
money which they have lodged in and that which
they have out of banks, is said to be, to all intents
and purposes, identical. But though specious, this
statement is entirely fallacious. The money which
depositors lodge in banks forms a part of the money of
the country; but after its lodgment in them it ceases to
belong to, or to make a part of the property or money
of the depositors. They have consigned it to banking
establishments, and acquired credits in its stead ; that is,
they have acquired the right to draw upon and receive
equal sums of money from these establishments. But
everybody knows that the right to a thing is not the thing
itself, but something altogether different. A banker who
owes a million or other sum to depositors, might regard
himself as being in a sufficiently secure state, if, accord¬
ing to circumstances, he had a third, a fourth, or a fifth
part of that sum in notes and gold in his till to answer
the demands of the depositors, while he employed the re¬
serve in advances to others. Hence it is plain that bank
credit and money have nothing in common. Those
who confound things that are so very different can have
no clear apprehension either of the one or the other.
It is on the distinction between money and deposits
or credits, that the business of banking really depends. It
is a business by which a small amount of money is made
to supply a large amount of credit, the profits of the
bankers arising from the use of the money so econo¬
mised. The Bank of England, for example, often holds
more than twenty millions of public and private deposits,
while she is considered to be in a perfectly safe and
sound position if she have in the till of her banking
department five millions, or even less, in notes and coins.
It is hardly necessary, after these statements, to observe Money,
that the profit made by bankers in employing part of the
money committed to their custody is extrinsic to, and in¬
dependent of, any profits which they may realise on
capital of their own. “ Such banks,” to use the words of
Mr Ricardo, “ would never be established if they ob¬
tained no other profits than those derived from the
employment of their own capital. Their real advantage
commences only when they begin to employ the capital
of others.”—{Economical and Secure Currency, p. 87.)
But we are not thence to conclude that it is indifferent Necessity
whether such banks have or have not independentof capital
capitals of their own. That would be the greatest ofto th(i
errors. Unless it have acommand of capital proportioned tanks ? °f
in some degree to the extent of its business, those who de- ‘
posit their money in a bank have but slender security for
its payment. For if bankers make improvident or inju¬
dicious advances, if the securities in their possession
be discredited, or difficulties of any kind arise in the
conduct of their business, those who have no capital, or
but little of their own, may be obliged to stop payment,
when more opulent firms may be but little affected by
the like circumstances. Much, no doubt, must always
depend on the character and knowledge of the parties.
But no amount of skill or caution can ever fully com¬
pensate for the want of adequate capital. It is the sheet-
anchor of security, the only real and substantial guaran¬
tee to which the ordinary creditors of a bank have to look.
When such capital has been accumulated by the bank,
it shows that its affairs have been well managed, and
raises a strong presumption in its favour; and when it
has devolved on the partners by inheritance, or been be¬
queathed to them in legacies, the fair inference would
seem to be, that they will not (unless they be mere fools,
unworthy of any kind of confidence) rashly compromise
its security by engaging in questionable proceedings.
It has been sometimes proposed to allow banks to be Limited
constituted with limited liability. But that is in every
case a vicious principle, lessening the natural responsi- tages'of."
bility under which every man ought to act, and tempting &
parties to engage in all manner of desperate adventures.
In banking, such a principle would be especially mis¬
chievous ; for it is a business that requires great caution
and prudence—the very virtues with which the prin¬
ciple of limited liability is most at variance. It may,
indeed, be said that the numerous instances of mis¬
management and embezzlement that now prevail, show
that even the principle of indefinite liability is not enough
to make joint-stock banks be conducted prudently and
honestly. But, however defective, still it is the only
principle on which any stress can be safely laid, and the
instances referred to, bear, after all, but a small propor¬
tion to those of an opposite description. The great
majority of banks are discreetly and faithfully managed.
And if knavery and folly be sometimes found to prevail
where every partner is deeply interested in their pre¬
vention, and is liable to the last farthing he possesses for
the consequences, the fair presumption is, that they would
be ten times more prevalent were the partners liable
only for the amount of their shares in the bank. To
suppose the contrary would be a contradiction ; it would
be equivalent to supposing that a man is to be as much
interested in the safety of £10 or £100, as of £1000 or
£10,000, or of his entire fortune, however great it may be.
Whatever else may be the effect of the late disclosures
of mismanagement, fraud, and robbery, on the part of the
directors and secretaries of joint-stock banks, it can hardly
fail to make the partners in those associations more alive to
the dangers of their situation, and to convince them, that
M 0 N E Y.
Money, if they would provide for their own safety, they must be
more cautious than hitherto in regard to the persons they
elect to fill these situations, and less disposed to take
their statements for granted. Such, however, is the
carelessness of most people, even in regard to those
matters which most nearly concern them, that these
anticipations, though reasonable, may not be fully
realised. But, in the case of banks with limited
liability, they must be sanguine indeed, who look for
any improvement. The partners in these associations
have no sufficient interest in their prosperity to make
them take any unusual trouble about the way in which
they are conducted, and they neither fear ruin, nor even
any considerable inconvenience, from their failure. The
chances, consequently, are ten to one that their managers
will be left without let or hindrance to pursue their own
schemes; and, when such is the case, what but abuse can
be expected to be the result?
But it is argued, that whatever may be the influence
of the present system on the partners in the existing
banks, were companies with limited liability established,
the depositors would be on their guard, and would not
trust them with their money, unless they were well assured
of their solidity. But, in truth and reality, they never
can have any assurance of the sort on which it would be
safe to rely. A bank with limited liability might have,
or pretend to have, a large capital. And supposing it
really had such a capital in the current year, that may not
be the case in the next, or in any subsequent year. And
yet as the public can know nothing certain of the bank’s
losses, its credit may not be impaired, and deposits may
be pressed upon it after it is really insolvent. In such
cases the public is helpless ; and if the indefinite responsi¬
bility of the partners in banks be not enough to make
them look to their proper management, it would be worse
than idle to depend in any degree on the fears or interests
of the depositors. This is not a matter about which
there needs be any speculation. The experience of the
United States is decisive of the question. In the Union,
the banks are all, or nearly all, established under a
system of limited liability, and, notwithstanding their
insecurity, and their perpetually recurring insolvency,
they always hold large sums in deposit. Promises, pro¬
fessions, the bait of high interest,1 and the confidence
placed by every one in his superior sagacity and good
fortune, fill the coffers even of the establishments least
worthy of credit. And such, no doubt, would be the case
in England, were a like system established amongst us.
But what, under such circumstances, would be the situa¬
tion even of a well managed bank, were any suspicions
to be entertained of its credit? The rush would be
tremendous ; for every body would reasonably conclude,
that if he did not succeed by pressing forward with “ hot
haste ” in getting payment of his deposit, the chances
were ten to one he would get little or nothing. He has
no proprietary body to which to look for payment of his
claims ; and if the doors were once shut against hiiO) he
could hardly expect more than some miserable dividend
at some distant term.
Proposal to Among the many proposals submitted to the con-
onforcedis- sideration of the Bank Committee of 1857, perhaps the
counts-- most extraordinary was that which assumed that some-
2frdity thing was wrong with the currency whenever any diffi-
  tn +T10 rlisonnnfiner of bills nricrin-
453
Money.
culty was experienced in the discounting of bills origin¬
ating in real transactions, and that means should be
found, in some way or other, to compel the discount of
such bills. It may excite surprise that such a proposal
should have been seriously made, and still more, that it
should have been listened to and published. Luckily
it cannot be called “perilous nonsense,” its folly being
so very obvious, that it can impose on none. The
discount of bills is an advance or loan of capital equiva¬
lent to their value till they become due. That advance
is now usually made in paper; but as that paper is
really equivalent to gold, it might, were it not for the
greater convenience of the present practice, be as well
made in coin or in commodities. The amount of the
currency has, in truth, nothing whatever to do with the
greater or less facility of discounting. I hat depends
entirely on the amount of capital applicable to such
purpose, compared with the amount of bills offered for
discount. The settlement of such transactions is, if any¬
thing can be, a matter to be left to the free and uncon¬
trolled arbitrament of the parties. Whether a bill be
discounted at five or ten per cent, or not discounted
• at all, is, in a public point of view, of no import¬
ance. When a capitalist declines to make an advance,
whether on a bill or anything else, the presumption is
that he has good reasons for his refusal. But, whether
good or bad, the public has no right to interfere in the
matter; and any attempt it might make to interfere
would be attended with ruinous results. Those who
suppose that the facility of discounting depends on
the magnitude of the issues of paper, would do well to
recollect that in Holland, which for a lengthened period
had a very extensive commerce, and where paper was
unknown, the rate of discount was always very low.
And while such was the case in Holland, every body
knows that in the United States, which have some 1300
banks for the issue of notes, the rate of discount is
usually very high, and sometimes exorbitantly so.
' The business of banking was not introduced into Lon- Introduc-
don till the seventeenth century. It was at first conducted |ion, ^
by the goldsmiths, who lent the money lodged in their
hands for security to government and individuals. In ij0ndon.
the course of time the business came to be conducted
by houses who confined themselves to it only, and nearly
in the mode in which we now find it. From 1708, as
already stated, down to 1826, with the exception of the
Bank of England, no company with more than six part¬
ners could be established, either in London or anywhere
else in England and Wales, for conducting banking busi¬
ness ; and a very large portion of that business is still
conducted in the metropolis by firms with a small
number of partners, or by what are called private
banks.
In 1775, the London, or rather the “city” bankers, Clearing-
established the “ clearing-house.” _ This is a house to House,
which each banker who deals with it is in the habit of
daily sending a clerk, who carries with him the various
bills and cheques in the possession of his house that are
drawn upon other bankers; the practice formerly being to
exchange them for the bills and cheques in the possession
of those others that were drawn upon his constituents,
and to pay the balance on the one side or the other in
cash or Bank of England notes. By this means the
bankers connected with the clearing-house were enabled
to settle transactions to the extent of several millions a
day, by the employment of not more, at an average, than
from J200,000 to £500,000 in cash or Bank of England
notes.
Latterly, however, the arrangements connected with
the clearing-house have been so much simplified and
improved, that neither notes nor coins are any longer
1 “ Vulgus ad magnitudimm bencjicioruvi aderat; stultissimus quisque pecaniis mercabaturTacit. Hist., lib. iii. cap. 55.
454
MONEY.
Money, required in settling the largest transactions. The clearing-
house itself and the various banking firms connected
with it, have accounts at the Bank of England ; and the
balances that were formerly settled by a money payment
are at present settled by transfers from one account to
another. The saving of money in the adjustment of large
transactions occasioned by this and other contrivances,
accounts for the fact, that the proportion of notes of £20
and upwards issued by the bank has considerably declined
of late years, while that of £5 and £10 notes, which are
used in ordinary dealings, has been materially increased.
Security The security afforded by a bank of deposit is a matter
afforded by as to which there must always be more or less of doubt,
banks oi indeed, a banking company confines itself to its
1 ’ proper business, and does not embark in speculations of
unusual hazard, or from which its funds cannot be easily
withdrawn, it can seldom fail, except in periods of panic or
general distrust, of being in a situation to meet its engage¬
ments; whilst the large private fortunes that frequently
belong to the partners afford those who deal with it an addi¬
tional guarantee. Much, however, depends on the charac¬
ter of the parties, on their living within or beyond their
incomes, and on a variety of circumstances with respect to
which the public can never be correctly informed; so that
though there can be no doubt that the security afforded
by many banks of deposit is of the most unexceptionable
description, this may not be the case with others.
Not neces- All joint-stock banks, or banks having more than six
saryfor the partners, whether for deposit and issue, or for deposit
^rovide° for merety’ are ordered, by the Act 3 and 4 Will. IV. cap.
the se- ^3, to send quarterly returns of the number and names
curity of of their partners to the stamp-office. But there was
depositors, no good reason why similar returns should not, and
several why they should, be required from all banks;
and this having been done by the Act 7 and 8 Viet,
c. 32, which also provides for their publication, little
if any farther interference would seem to be required
with banks not issuing notes. There is in this respect
a wide difference between them and banks of issue.
It is the duty of government to take care that the value
of the currency shall be as invariable as possible; but
it has never been pretended that it is any part of
its duty to inquire into the security given by the bor¬
rowers to the lenders of money, any more than into
the security given by the borrowers to the lenders
of any thing else. Government obliges a goldsmith
to have his goods stamped, this being a security to
the public that they shall not be imposed on in buy¬
ing articles of the quality of which they are gene¬
rally ignorant; but it does not require that the persons
to whom the goldsmith sells or lends his goods should
give him a guarantee for their payment. This is a matter
as to which individuals are fully competent to judge
for themselves; and there is no good reason why
a lender or depositor of bullion or notes should be
more protected than a lender or depositor of timber, coal,
or sugar. Gold being the standard or measure of value,
government is bound to take effectual precautions that
the currency shall truly correspond in the -whole and
in all its parts with that standard; that every pound
note shall be worth a sovereign ; and that the amount
and value of the aggregate notes in circulation shall
vary exactly as a gold currency would do were it substi¬
tuted in their stead. But if A trust a sum of money in the
hands of B, it is their affair, and concerns none else.
Provided the money afloat correspond with the standard,
it is of no importance, in a public point of view, into whose
hands it may come. The bankruptcy of a deposit bank,
like that of a private gentleman who has borrowed
largely, may be productive of much loss or inconvenience Money,
to its creditors. But if the paper in circulation be equiva-
lent to gold, such bankruptcies cannot affect either the
quantity or value of money, and are, therefore, directly
injurious only to the parties concerned.
But though such be the direct effects of the bank¬
ruptcies of deposit banks, their indirect effect, by pro¬
pagating panics and runs on other banks, may be most
disastrous. And to prevent their mischievous influence
in this respect, it would be good policy, as already seen,
to require a month’s or six weeks’ notice to make depo¬
sits bearing interest legally demandable.
The other description of banks of deposit, or those Deposit
which do not employ the funds in their hands, or engage banks
in any sort of business, are established without any view
to profit, that they may secure the money, and facilitate t^e ^e°y
the transactions of those who deal with them. The latter of tbe de-
obtain bank credits or bank money, equivalent to the sums positors.
they deposit in the bank ; and as the principal traders in
towns where such a bank is established belong to it,
each has a bank credit, and their payments are made
without the intervention of money, by writing off so
much from the credit or account of one to the credit
or account of another. It is only in the event of a per¬
son having to pay money to a stranger that he has any
motive to withdraw any portion of his deposit from the
bank. An institution of this sort is, to those who deal
with it, what the clearing-house is to the London bankers.
Its expenses are usually defrayed either by a small fee
charged on every transfer of bank credit from one indivi¬
dual to another, or by a charge on the coin or bullion
deposited, or both.
A bank of this sort can never, unless its agents act
dishonestly, be involved in debt, or in any kind of diffi¬
culty. The constitution of the Bank of Amsterdam was
in so far vicious that it was not managed by parties
interested in its welfare; that is, by agents chosen by the
depositors. On the contrary, it was managed in the
most secret manner by those who happened to be magis¬
trates of the city, whether they were or were not deposi¬
tors. And they, in violation of their oaths, privately lent
to others a large portion of the funds deposited in the
bank. But a proceeding of this sort is hardly possible
in the case of a properly constituted deposit bank, like that
established in Hamburgh. For in the latter the managers
are appointed for short periods by the depositors, who, of
course, endeavour to select the most trustworthy persons.
And though it be necessary that the strictest secrecy should
be kept in regard to the accounts of individuals in the
bank, its affairs are otherwise transacted with sufficient
publicity, while the deposits in its coffers may be with¬
drawn at any moment.
The trade or business of a banker has probably existed Notice of
in all civilised countries in all ages. The bankers of banking.
Greece (rga7rs<£/rca) and Rome [argentarii, mensarii, num-
mularii) exercised nearly the same functions as those
of the present day, except that they do not appear to
have issued notes. They received money on deposit, to
be repaid on demands made by cheques or orders, or at
some stipulated period, sometimes paying interest for it,
and sometimes not. Their profits arose from their lend¬
ing the balance at their disposal, at higher rates of inte¬
rest than they allowed the depositors. They were also
extensively employed in valuing and exchanging foreign
monies for those of Athens, Corinth, Rome, &c., and in
negociating bills of exchange. In general they were
highly esteemed, and great confidence was placed in their
integrity. The rate of interest charged by the bankers
MONEY. 455
Money, was sometimes very high, but that was not a consequence,
as has been alleged, of their rapacity, but of the defective
state of the law, which, as it gave every facility to
debtors disposed to evade payment of their debts, obliged
the bankers to guarantee themselves by charging a pro¬
portionally high rate of interest.1 In modern times jhe
business of banking and exchange was, for a while, almost
entirely engrossed by the Jews and the Lombards of
Italy.
Sect. III.—Bank of England, Account of.
Establish- The Bank of England, which has long been the prin-
mcntand^ cjpaj hank of deposit and circulation, in this country
the Bank and in Europe, was founded in 1694. Its principal
of England, projector, Mr William Paterson, an enterprising and
intelligent Scotch gentleman, was afterwards engaged
in the ill-fated colony at Darien. Government being at
the time much distressed for want of money, partly from
the defects and abuses in the system of taxation, and
partly from the difficulty of borrowing, because of the
supposed instability of the revolutionary establishment,
the bank grew out of a loan of £1,200,000 for the public
service. The subscribers, besides receiving eight per
cent, on the sum advanced as interest, and £4000 a year as
the expense of management, in all £100,000 a year, were
incorporated into a society denominated the Governor
and Company of the Bank of England. The charter is
dated the 27th of July 1694. It declares, amongst other
things, that they shall “ be capable, in law, to purchase,
enjoy, and retain to them and their successors, any
monies, lands, rents, tenements, and possessions whatso¬
ever ; and to purchase and acquire all sorts of goods and
chattels whatsoever, wherein they are not restrained by
Act of Parliament; and also to grant, demise, and dis¬
pose of the same.
“ That the management and government of the corpo¬
ration be committed to the governor and twenty-four
directors, who shall be elected between the 25th of March
and the 25th day of April each year, from among the
members of the company duly qualified.
“ That no dividend shall at any time be made by the
said governor and company, save only out of the interest,
profit, or produce arising by or out of the said capital
stock or fund, or by such dealing as is allowed by Act of
Parliament.
“They must be natural-born subjects of England, or
naturalised subjects; they shall have in their own name,
and for their own use, severally, viz. the governor at
least £4000, the deputy-governor £3000, and each direc¬
tor £2000, of the capital stock of the said corporation.
“ That thirteen or more of the said governors and
directors (of which the governor or deputy-governor must
be always one) shall constitute a court of directors, for
the management of the affairs of the company, and for
the appointment of all agents and servants which may be
necessary, paying them such salaries as they may con¬
sider reasonable.
“ Every elector must have, in his own name and for
his own use, £500 or more capital stock, and can only
give one vote. He must, if required by any member
present, take the oath of stock, or the declaration of stock
in case he may be one of the people called Quakers.
“ Four general courts to be held in every year, in the
months of September, December, April, and July. A
general court may be summoned at any time, upon the
requisition of nine proprietors duly qualified as electors.
“ The majority of electors in general courts have the Money,
power to make and constitute by-laws and ordinances for
the government of the corporation, provided that such
by-laws and ordinances be not repugnant to the laws of
the kingdom, and be confirmed and approved, according
to the statutes in such case made and provided.”
The corporation is prohibited from engaging in any
sort of commercial undertaking other than dealing in bills
of exchange, and in gold and silver. It is authorised to
advance money upon the security of goods or merchandise
pledged to it; and to sell by public auction such goods
as are not redeemed within a specified time.
It was also enacted, in the same year in which the
bank was established, by statute 6 William and Mary, c.
20, that the bank “ shall not deal in any goods, wares,
or merchandise (except bullion), or purchase any lands
or revenues belonging to the crown, or advance or lend
to their majesties, their heirs or successors, any sum or
sums of money, by way of loan or anticipation, or any
part or parts, branch or branches, fund or funds of the
revenue, now granted or belonging, or hereafter to be
granted, to their majesties, their heirs and successors,
other than such fund or funds, part or parts, branch or
branches of the said revenue only, on which a credit of
loan is or shall be granted by Parliament.” And in 1697
it was enacted, that the “ common capital or principal
stock, and also the real fund, of the governor and com¬
pany, or any profit or produce to be made thereof, or
arising thereby, shall be exempted from any rates, taxes,
assessments, or impositions whatsoever, during the con¬
tinuance of the bank; that all the profit, benefit, and
advantage from time to time arising out of the manage¬
ment of the said corporation, shall be applied to the uses
of all the members of the said association of the governor
and company of the Bank of England, rateably and in
proportion to each member’s part, share, and interest in
the common capital and principal stock of the said gover¬
nor and company hereby established.”
In 1696, during the great recoinage, the bank was in¬
volved in great difficulties, and was even compelled to
suspend payment of her notes, which were at a heavy
discount. Owing, however, to the judicious conduct of
the directors, and the assistance of the government, the
bank got over the crisis. But it was at the same time
judged expedient, in order to place her in a situation the
better to withstand any adverse circumstances that might
afterwards occur, to increase her capital from £1,200,000
to £2,201,171. In 1708, the directors undertook to pay
off and cancel one million and a half of exchequer bills
they had circulating two years before, at four and a half
per cent., with the interest upon them, amounting in all
to £1,775,028, which increased the permanent debt due
by the public to the bank, including £400,000 then ad¬
vanced in consideration of the renewal of the charter, to
£3,375,028, for which they were allowed six per cent.
The bank capital was then also doubled, or increased to
£4,402,343. But the year 1708 is chiefly memorable in
the history of the bank, for the Act previously alluded
to, which declared, that during the continuance of the
corporation of the Bank of England, “ it should not be
lawful for any body politic, erected or to be erected, other
than the said governor and company of the Bank of
England, or of any other persons whatsoever, united or
to be united in covenants or partnership, exceeding the
number of six persons, in that part of Great Britain called
England, to borrow, owe, or take up any sum or sums of
money on their bills or notes payable on demand, or in
1 Boeckh’s Political Economy of Athens, i. 168, &c.; Voyage d’Anacharse, cap. 55, passim; Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Boman
Antiquities, voce Argentarii, &c.
456 m MONEY.
Money, any less time than six months from the borrowing there-
of.” This proviso, which had a powerful operation on
banking in England, is said to have been elicited by the
Mine-Adventure Company having commenced banking
business, and begun to issue notes.
The charter of the Bank of England, when first granted,
was to continue for eleven years certain, or till a year’s
notice after the 1st of August 1705. The charter was
further prolonged in 1697. In 1708, the bank having
advanced £400,000 for the public service, without in¬
terest, the exclusive privileges of the corporation were
prolonged till 1733. And in consequence of various ad¬
vances made at different times, the exclusive privileges
of the bank have been continued by successive renewals,
till the first of August 1855, with the proviso that they
may be cancelled on a year’s notice to that effect being
given after the said 1st of August 1855.
We subjoin an account of the successive renewals of
the charter, of the conditions under which these renewals
were made, and of the variations in the amount and
interest of the permanent debt due by government to the
bank, exclusive of the deadweight.—{See following page.)
Capital of
the Bank.
Crisis of
1745.
Crisis of
1780.
The capital of the bank on which dividends are paid
has never exactly coincided with, though it has seldom
differed very materially from, the permanent advance by
the bank to the public. We have already seen that it
amounted in 1708 to £4,402,243. Between that year
and 1727 it had increased to near £9,000,000. In 1746
it amounted to £10,780,000. From this period it under¬
went no change till 1782, when it was increased eight
per cent., or to £11,642,400. It continued stationary at
this sum down to 1816, when it was raised to £14,553,000,
by an addition of twenty-five per cent, from the profits of
the bank, under the provisions of the Act 56 Geo. III.c. 96.
The Act for the renewal of the charter 3 and 4 Will. IV.
c. 98, directed that the sum of £3,671,700, being the
fourth part of the debt due by the public to the bank,
should be paid to the latter, allowing her, if she chose, to
deduct it from her capital. But that has not been done;
and after sundry changes, the capital of the bank amounts,
as formerly, to £14,553,000.
The Bank of England has been frequently affected by
panics amongst the holders of her notes. In 1745 the
alarm occasioned by the advance of the Highlanders,
under the Pretender, as far as Derby, led to a run upon
the bank; and in order to gain time to effect measures
for averting the run, the directors adopted the device of
paying in shillings and sixpences ! But they derived a
more effectual relief from the retreat of the Highlanders,
and from a resolution agreed to at a meeting of the prin¬
cipal merchants and traders of the city, and very nume¬
rously signed, declaring the willingness of the subscribers
to receive bank-notes in payment of any sum that might
be due to them, and pledging themselves to use their
utmost endeavours to make all their payments in the
same medium.
During the tremendous riots in June 1780, the bank
incurred considerable danger. Had the mob attacked
the establishment at the commencement of the riots, the
consequences might have proved fatal. But they delayed
their attack till time had been afforded for providing a force
sufficient to insure its safety. Since that period a con¬
siderable military force is nightly placed in the interior of
the bank, as a protection in any emergency that may occur.
Crisis of The year 1797 is the most important epoch in the re¬
cent history of the bank. Owing partly to events con¬
nected with the war in which we were then engaged; to
loans to the Emperor of Germany; to bills drawn on the
treasury at home by the British agents abroad; and
partly, and chiefly, perhaps, to the advances most unwill- v
ingly made by the bank to government, which prevented
the directors from having a sufficient control over their
issues, the exchanges became unfavourable in 1795, and
in that and the following year large sums of specie were
drawn from the bank. In the latter end of 1796 and
beginning of 1797, considerable apprehensions were
entertained of invasion, and rumours were propagated of
descents having been actually made on the coast. In
consequence of the fears that were thus excited, runs
were made on the provincial banks in different parts of
the country; and some of them having failed, the panic
became general, and extended itself to London. Demands
for cash poured in upon the bank from all quarters; and,
on Saturday the 25th of February 1797, she had only
£1,272,000 of cash and bullion in her coffers, with every
prospect of a violent run taking place on the following
Monday. In this emergency, an order in council was
issued on Sunday the 26th, prohibiting the directors from
paying their notes in cash until the sense of Parliament
should be taken on the subject. And after Parliament
met, and the measure had been much discussed, it was
agreed to continue the restriction till six months after the
signature of a definitive treaty of peace.
As soon as the order in council prohibiting payments
in cash appeared, a meeting of the principal bankers,
merchants, traders, &c. of the metropolis, was held at the
Mansion-house, when a resolution wTas agreed to, and very
numerously signed, pledging, as had been done in 1745,
those present to accept, and to use every means in their
power to make bank-notes be accepted, as cash in all
transactions. This resolution tended to allay the appre¬
hensions that the restriction had excited.
Parliament being sitting at the time, a committee was
immediately appointed to examine into the affairs of the
bank; and their report put to rest whatever doubts might
have been entertained with respect to the solvency of the
establishment, by showing, that at the moment when the
order in council appeared, the bank was possessed of
property to the amount of £15,513,690, after all claims
upon her had been deducted.
Much difference of opinion has existed with respect to
the policy of the restriction in 1797 ; but, considering
the peculiar circumstances under which it took place, its
expediency seems abundantly obvious. The run did not
originate in any over-issue of bank paper, but grew
entirely out of political causes. So long as the alarms
of invasion continued, it was clear that no bank paper
immediately convertible into gold would remain in circu¬
lation. And as the bank, though possessed of ample
funds, was without the means of instantly retiring her
notes, she might, but for the interference of government,
have been obliged to stop payments; an event which, had
it occurred, might have produced consequences fatal to
the public interests.
The error of the government did not consist in their
coming to the assistance of the bank, but in continuing
the restriction after the alarm of invasion had ceased, and
there was nothing to hinder the bank from safely revert¬
ing to specie payments.
Money.
It hadbeengenerallysupposed, previously to the passing Notices of
of the Restriction Act, that bank-notes would not circu- the Bank
late unless they were immediately convertible into cash, h-0™ 1800
But the event showed, conformably to the principles 0
already stated, that this was not really the case. Though
the notes of the Bank of England were not, at the passing
of the Restriction Act, declared by law to be legal tender,
they were rendered such in practice, by being received
MONEY
Date of
Renewal.
1694
1697
1708
1713
1742
Conditions under which Renewals were
made, and Permanent Debt contracted.
Charter granted under the act 5
and 6 Will. III. c. 20, redeem¬
able upon the expiration of
twelve months’ notice after the
1st August 1705, upon payment
by the public to the bank, of the
demand therein specified.
Under this act the bank ad¬
vanced to the public £1,200,000
in consideration of their receiv¬
ing an annuity of £100,000 a
year, viz. eight per cent inte¬
rest, and £4000 for manage¬
ment  
Charter continued by 8 and 9 Will.
III. c. 20, till twelve months’ no¬
tice after 1st of August 1710, on
payment, &c.
Under this act the bank took
up and added to their stock
£1,001,171 exchequer bills and
tallies.
Charter continued by 7 Anne, c. 7,
till twelve months’ notice after
1st of August 1732, on payment,
&c.
Under this act the bank ad¬
vanced £400,000 to government
without interest; and delivered
up to be cancelled £1,775,027
17s. lOd. excheqtier bills, in con¬
sideration of their receiving an
annuity of £106,501: 13s., being
at the rate of 6 per cent 
Charter continued by 12 Anne,
stat. 1, cap. 11, till twelve months’
notice after the 1st of August
1742, on payment, &c.
In 1716, by the 3d Geo. I. c. 8,
the bank advanced to govern¬
ment, at five per cent 
And by the same act the in¬
terest on the exchequer bills can¬
celled in 1780 was reduced from
six to five per cent.
In 1721, by 8 Geo. I. c. 21, the
South Sea Company were autho¬
rized to sell £200,000 government
annuities, and corporations pur¬
chasing the same at 26 years’
purchase were authorised to add
the amount to their capital stock.
The bank purchased the whole
of these annuities at 20 years’
purchase 
Five per cent, interest was
payable on this sum to mid¬
summer 1727, and thereafter four
per cent.
At different times between
1727 and 1738, both inclusive,
the hank received from the pub¬
lic, on account of permanent
debt, £3,275,027: 17: 10, and
advanced to it, on account of
ditto, £3,000,000: Difference
Debt due by the public in
1738   
Charter continued by 15 Geo. II.
c. 13, till twelve months’ notice
after the 1st of August 1764, on
payment, &c.
Under this act the bank ad¬
vanced £1,600,000 without in¬
terest, which being added to the
original advance of £1,200,000,
and the £400,000 advanced in
1710, bearing interest at six per
cent., reduced the interest on the
whole to three per cent 
In 1745, under authority of 19
Geo. II. c. 6, the Bank delivered
up to be cancelled £986,000 of
Carry forward 
Permanent Debt.
s. d.
1,200,000 0 0
2,175,027 17 10
2,000,000 0 0
4,000,000 0 0
9,375,027 17 10
275,027 17 10
9,100,000 0, Q
1,600,000 0 0
Date of
Renewal.
1764
1781
1800
1833
10,700,000 0 0
1844
Conditions under which Renewals were
made, and Permanent Debt contracted.
Brought forward 
exchequer bills, in consideration
of an annuity of £39,472, being
at the rate of three per cent 
In 1749, the 23d Geo. II. c. 6,
reduced the interest on the four
per cent, annuities, held by the
bank, to three and a half per cent,
for seven years from the 25th of
December 1750, and thereafter to
three per cent.
Charter continued by 4 Geo. III.
c. 25, till twelve months’ notice
after the 1st of August 1786,
on payment, &c.
Under this act the Bank paid
into the exchequer £110,000,
free of all charge.
Charter continued by 21 Geo. III.
c. 60, till twelve months’ notice
after the 1st of August 1812, on
payment, &c.
Under this act the Bank ad¬
vanced £30,000,000 for the pub¬
lic service for three years, at
three per cent.
Charter continued by 40 Geo. III.,
c. 28, till twelve months’ notice
after the 1 st of August 1833, on
payment, &c.
Under this act the Bank ad¬
vanced to government £3,000,000
for six years without interest; but
in pursuance of the recommen¬
dation of the committee of 1807,
the advance was continued, with¬
out interest, till six months after
the signature of a definitive
treaty of peace.
In 1816, the Bank, under un-
thority of the act 56 Geo. III. c.
96, advanced at three per cent.,
to be repaid on or before the 1st
of August 1833 
Charter continued by 3 and 4 Will.
IY. c. 98, till twelve months’
notice after the 1st of August
1855, with a proviso that it may
be dissolved on twelve months’
notice after the 1st of August
1855, on payment, &c.
This act directs that in future
the Bank shall deduct £120,000
a year from their charge on ac¬
count of the management of the
public debt; and that a fourth
f>art of the debt due by the pub¬
ic to the Bank, or £3,671,700,
be paid off. 
Permanent advance by the
bank to the public, bearing in¬
terest at three per cent., inde¬
pendent of the advances on ac¬
count of dead weight, or other
public securities held by her 
Charter continued by 7 and 8 Yict.
c. 32, till twelvemonths after the
1st of August 1855, on payment,
&c.
This act exempts the notes of
the bank from all charge on ac¬
count of stamp-duty, and directs
that in future the bank shall de¬
duct a farther sum of £180,000
a-year from the charge on account
of the management of the public
debt. It also allows notes of the
value of £14,000,000 to be issued
on securities; separates the bank¬
ing from the issuing department
of the establishment, and effects
other important changes.
Permanent Debt.
£
10,700,000
986,000 0 0
3,000,000 0 0
14,686,000 0 0
3,671,000 0 0
11,015,100 0 0
3 M
YOL. XY.
458
MONEY.
Money, as cash in all payments on account of government, and
by the vast majority of individuals. For the first three
years of the restriction, their issues were so moderate,
that they not only kept on a par with gold, but actually
bore a small premium. Butin 1801, 1802, and 1803,
they were so much increased that they fell to a discount
of from 8 to 10 per cent. In 1804 they again recovered
their value; and from that year to 1808, both inclusive,
they were at a discount of 2^ per cent. In 1809 and
1810, however, the directors appear to have embarked
on a new course, and to have entirely lost sight of the
principles by which their issues had previously been
governed ; for the average amount of bank-notes in cir¬
culation, which had not exceeded 17^- millions, nor
fallen short of 16^ millions, in any one year, from 1802
to 1808, both inclusive, was in 1809 raised to£l8,927,833,
and in 1810 to £22,541,523. The issues of country
bank paper were increased in a still greater proportion ;
and, as there was no corresponding increase of the busi¬
ness of the country, the discount on bank-notes rose from
2^-, in 1808, to from 13 to 16 per cent, in 1809 and
1810.
This depreciation in the value of bank paper being
accompanied by a corresponding fall in the exchange,
attracted the attention of the public and the legislature.
In consequence, the House of Commons appointed, in
1810, a committee to inquire into the subject; and hav¬
ing examined several witnesses, the committee in their
report, which is both an able and a celebrated paper,
justly ascribed the fall in the value of bank paper, as
compared with gold, to its over-issue ; and recommended,
in the view of coi'recting the existing evil and of prevent¬
ing its recurrence, that within two years the bank should
be obliged to resume specie payments. But this recom¬
mendation not being adopted, the over issue of paper
went on increasing. In 1812 it was at an average dis¬
count, as compared with bullion, of 20f per cent.; in
1813, of 23 per cent. ; and in 1814, when the maximum
of depreciation was attained, it was 25 per cent.
At the period when the restriction on cash payments
took place in 1797, it is supposed that there were about
280 country banks in existence; but so rapidly were
these establishments multiplied, that they amounted to
above 900 in 1813. The price of corn, influenced partly
by the depreciation of the currency, and the facility
with which discounts were obtained, but more by defi¬
cient harvests and the unprecedented difficulties which
the war threw in the way of importation, rose to an
extraordinary height during the five years ending with
1813. But the harvest of that year being unusually
productive, and the intercourse with the continent being
then also renewed, prices, influenced by both circum¬
stances, sustained a very heavy fall in the latter part of
1813, and the beginning of 1814. And this fall having
ruined a considerable number of farmers, and produced
a general want of confidence, such a destruction of
provincial paper took place as has rarely been par¬
alleled. In 1814, 1815, and 1816, no fewer than 240
country banks stopped payment; and eighty-nine com¬
missions of bankruptcy were issued against these esta¬
blishments, being at the rate of one commission against
every ten and a half of the total number of banks existing
in 1813.
. ^ie great reduction that was thus suddenly and
violently brought about in the quantity of country bank
extending the field for the circulation of Bank
of England paper, raised its value in 1817 nearly to a
par with gold. The return to cash payments being thus
facilitated, it was fixed, in 1819, by the Act 59 Geo. III.,
c. 78, commonly called Sir Robert Peel’s Act, that they
should take place in 1823. But to prevent any future
over-issue, and at the same time to render the resump¬
tion as little burdensome as possible, it was enacted, in
pursuance of a plan suggested by Mr. Ricardo, that
the bank should be obliged, during the interval from the
passing of the Act till the return to specie payments, to
pay her notes, if required, in bars of standard bullion of
not less than sixty ounces weight. This plan was not,
however, acted upon during the period allowed by law ;
for, a large amount of gold having been accumulated at
the bank, the directors preferred recommencing specie
payments on the 1st of May 1821.
The fluctuations, referred to above, in the value of
paper were exceedingly injurious. From 1809 to 1815,
the creditors of every antece'dent contract, land-holders
whose estates had been let on lease, stockholders and
annuitants of every description—all, in short, who could
not raise the nominal amount of their claims or incomes
proportionally to the fall in the value of money, were to
that extent losers. The injustice that would have been
done to the creditors of the state and of individuals, who
had made their loans in gold, or paper equivalent to gold,
by raising the denomination of the coin twenty-five per
cent., however gross and palpable, would not have been
greater than was actually done them in 1814, by com¬
pelling them to receive payment of their just debts in
paper depreciated to that extent.
It is true, that after a currency has been for a consider¬
able period depreciated, as much injustice is done
by raising, as was previously done by depressing, its
value. But there is good reason to doubt whether the
depreciation from 1809 to 1815 (for the depreciation of
2^ per cent, during the six preceding years is too incon¬
siderable to be taken into account) extended over a
sufficiently lengthened period to warrant the legisla¬
ture in departing from the old standard. It is needless,
however, to offer any opinion on this rather difficult
point, for we have seen that the value of paper was raised
in 1816 and 1817 almost to par by accidental cii’cum-
stances without any interference on the part of government
or of the bank. Sir Robert Peel’s Act, to which this
rise has been ascribed, not being past till 1819, could
have nothing to do with what occurred two or three
years previously. Its object was twofold, to redeem the
pledge given by Parliament to restore the old standard
on the return of peace, and to shut the door against any
fresh depreciation of paper.
It has sometimes, indeed, been alleged, that the rise in
the value of the currency, by reverting to specie payments
in 1821, was in reality much greater than was indicated
by the previous difference between the values of paper
and gold : for, it is maintained that the value of gold was
itself raised by that measure. But we doubt whether
this opinion have any good foundation. The supplj of
gold in the commercial world is too vast to allow of its
value being sensibly affected by the drain occasioned by
the resumption of cash payments in this country. It
was probably, in fact, more than compensated by the
cessation of hostilities, and the greater use of bills and
other substitutes for coin, after the restoration of tran¬
quillity. We are not aware that there is any article that
fell in price after the peace of 1815, of which the fall has
not been, or may not be, satisfactorily accounted for by
changes in the channels of its supply, or in the cost of
production, or both. And the rise that has of late years
taken place in the price of some articles, is mostly, we
believe, to be accounted for in the same way. The de¬
cline in the value of gold, in consequence of the increased
MONEY. 459
Money, supplies furnished by California and Australia, has
hitherto been very trifling indeed. (See Article Pre¬
cious Metals.)
fdECT. IV.—Private and Joint-Stool Panics.
Notices of After the statements already made in regard to the
the issues constitution and purposes of these hanks, it is unne-
and joint- cessar7 to enter ™to further details with respect to them,
stock unless as respects their history and proceedings as issuers
hanks. of money.
Except during the suspension of cash payments, the
issues of the Bank of England have generally been, as
they always ought to be, determined by the state of the
exchange. But though the greatest, the Bank of Eng¬
land has not been the only issuer of paper in this country.
Large amounts have been issued by the provincial banks,
and their issues have been but little influenced by the
influx or efflux of bullion, but have almost wholly de¬
pended on the state of credit and prices in the districts
in which they happened to be situated. If their mana-
. gers supposed that these were good or improving, they
rarely hesitated, previously to the new system introduced
in 1844, about making additional issues. Hence, when
the state of the exchange, and the demand on the Bank
of England for bullion, showed that the currency was
redundant and ought to be contracted, the efforts of the
bank to effect its diminution have been often impeded,
and met by a contrary action on the part of the country
banks. This was not owing to the ignorance of the lat¬
ter. Under the supposed circumstances, the country
bankers saw, speaking generally, that they ought also to
contract; but being a very numerous body, comprising
several hundred establishments scattered over all parts
of the country, each was impressed with the well-founded
conviction, that all that he could do in the way of con¬
traction, would be next to imperceptible; and few thought
of attempting anything of the sort, so long as they felt
satisfied of the stability of those with whom they dealt.
On the contrary, most bankers knew, that had they with¬
drawn a portion of their notes, some of their competitors
would have been eager to embrace the opportunity of
filling up the vacuum ; and that they would only have lost
a portion of their business, without in any degree lessen¬
ing the amount of paper afloat. Hence, in nineteen out of
twenty instances, the country banks went on increasing
their issues long after the exchange had been notori¬
ously against the country, and the Bank of England had
been striving to pull up.
And not only did they almost universally increase
their issues when they ought to have been diminished,
but the moment they were compelled to set about their
reduction, they ran headlong into the opposite extreme,
and unreasonable suspicion took the place of blind un¬
thinking confidence. It is seldom, indeed, that a recoil
takes place without its destroying more or fewer of the
provincial banks; and provided the others succeed in
securing themselves, little attention is usually paid to
the interests of those they may have taught to look to
them for help. In exemplification of these statements,
we shall shortly notice some of the circumstances con¬
nected with the destruction of country bank paper in
1792-93, 1813-15, 1825-26, and in 1836-39.
1. Previously to 1759, the Bank of England did not
issue any notes for less than £20 ; but having then com¬
menced the issue of £10 notes, her paper was gradually
introduced into a wider circle, and the public became
more habituated to its employment in their ordinary
transactions. The country banks had not, however, been
so very scrupulous in regard to the magnitude of their Money,
notes, which they endeavoured to get into circulation by
making them for very small sums. But this being
a practice productive of much abuse, was checked in
1775, by Parliament enacting that notes should not be
issued for less than £1. In 1777, this minimum limit
was further raised to £5, at which point it continued till
1797, when an issue of £1 notes was again authorised.
The distress and embarrassment that grew out of the
American war proved exceedingly unfavourable to the Qrjg;g of
formation of country banks, or of any establishments 1792-93
requiring unusual credit or confidence. No sooner, how¬
ever, had peace been concluded, than everything assumed
a new face. Agriculture, commerce, and still more,
manufactures, into which Watt and Arkwright’s inven¬
tions had been lately introduced, immediately began to
advance with a rapidity unknown at any former period.
In consequence, that confidence which had either been
destroyed, or very much weakened by the disastrous
events of the war, was fully re-established. The ex¬
tended transactions of the country required fresh facilities
for carrying them on, and these were supplied in the
utmost profusion. The number of banks, which in 1784
was certainly under 150, increased so rapidly, that in
1792 they amounted to about 350 ! In consequence, a
banking office was opened in every market-town and in
most considerable villages. And such being the case, it
is needless, perhaps, to add, that the prudence, capital,
and connections of those who set up these establishments
were but little attended to. The great object of a large
class of traders was to obtain discounts ; and the bankers
of an inferior description were equally anxious to accom¬
modate them. All sorts of paper were thus forced into
circulation, and enjoyed nearly the same degree of esteem.
The bankers, and those with whom they dealt, had the
fullest confidence in each other. No one seemed to sus¬
pect that there was anything hollow or unsound in the
system. Credit of every kind was strained to the utmost;
and the available funds at the disposal of the bankers
were reduced far below the level which the magnitude
of their transactions required to render them secure.
The catastrophewhichfollowed, was suchasmighteasily
have been foreseen. The currency having become redun¬
dant, the exchanges took an unfavourable turn in the early
part of 1792. A difficulty of obtaining pecuniary accom¬
modation in London was not long after experienced ; and
notwithstanding the efforts of the Bank of England to
mitigate the pressure, a violent revulsion took place in
the latter part of 1792 and the beginning of 1793. The
failure of one or two great houses excited a panic which
proved fatal to many more. Out of the three hundred
and fifty country banks in England and Wales, when this
revulsion began, about a hundred were compelled to stop
payments, and upwards of fifty were totally destroyed,
producing by their fall an extent of misery and bank-'
ruptcy till then unknown in the country.
“ In the general distress and dismay, every one looked
upon his neighbour with caution, if not with suspicion.
It was impossible to raise money upon the security of
machinery, or shares of canals ; for the value of such
property seemed to be annihilated in the gloomy appre¬
hension of the sinking state of the country, its commerce
and manufactures; and those who had any money, not
knowing where they could place it with safety, kept it
unemployed and locked up in their coffers. Amid the
general calamity, the country banks, which had multi¬
plied^ greatly beyond the demand of the country for cir¬
culating paper currency, and whose eagerness to push their
notes into circulation had laid the foundation of their own
misfortunes, were among the greatest sufferers, and, con-
460 M O N E Y.
Money, sequently, among the greatest spreaders of ruin and dis-
tress among those connected with them ; and they were
also the chief cause of the drain of cash from the Bank
of England, exceeding any demand of the kind for about
ten years back. Of these banks above a hundred failed,
whereof there were twelve in Yorkshire, seven in Nor¬
thumberland, seven in Lincolnshire, six in Sussex, five
in Lancashire, four in Northamptonshire, four in Somer¬
setshire, &c.” 1
Attempts have sometimes been made to show that this
crisis was not occasioned by an excess of paper-money
having been forced into circulation, but by the agitation
caused by the war then on the eve of breaking out.. But
there do not seem to be any good grounds for this opi¬
nion. The unerring symptoms of an overflow of paper—
a fall of the exchange, and an efflux of bullion—took
place early in 1792, or about twelve months before the
breaking out of hostilities. Mr Chalmers states that
none of the great houses that failed during this crisis had
sustained any damage from the war. The efforts of the
country bankers to force their paper into circulation
occasioned the redundancy of the currency, and it was
on them, and on the country dealers and farmers depen¬
dent on them, that the storm principally fell.2 It has
been already seen, and it is of importance to remark,
that the Bank of England had no notes for less than
iMO, and the country banks for less than £5 in circula¬
tion when the crisis of 1792-93 took place.
Crisis of 2. During the period from 1800 to 1813, the number
1814,1815, 0f country banks increased from about 400 to 922;
and 1816. an(j jn consequence partly of this rapid increase, and
partly of the suspension of cash payments at the Bank
of England in 1797, and the issue of one-pound notes
by that establishment and the country banks, the amount
of paper afloat was vastly increased, particularly after
1808, when it sunk to a heavy discount as compared
with bullion. Mr Wakefield, whose extensive employ¬
ment in the management of estates in all parts of
the country gave him the most favourable opportunities
for acquiring correct information, stated to the agricul¬
tural committee of 1821, that “ down to the year 1813,
there were banks in almost all parts of England, forcing
their paper into circulation at an enormous expense to
themselves, and in most instances to their own ruin.
There were bankers who gave commission, and who sent
persons to the markets to take up the notes of other
banks: these people were called money-changers, and
commission was paid them.” (Report, p. 213). And
among the various answers to the queries sent by the
Board of Agriculture in 1816, to the most intelligent per¬
sons in different parts of the country, there is hardly one
in which the excessive issue of country-bank paper is not
particularly specified as one of the main causes of the un¬
precedented rise of rents and prices previously to 1814.
We have already seen what was the result of this con¬
duct, and that the extensive destruction of country bank
paper at the end of the war, by raising the value of the
currency nearly to par, paved the way for the resump¬
tion of cash payments at the old standard in 1821.
But notwithstanding the ample experience that had
jo?8/'3 ^een supplied by the occurrences of 1792-93 and 1814-16,
'2®- of the mischievous consequences of the issue of paper
by the country banks, and of their want of solidity,
nothing whatever was done, when provision was made
for returning to specie payments, to restrain their issues,
or to place them on a better footing. The consequences
of such improvidence were not long in manifesting them¬
selves. The prices of corn and other agricultural pro¬
ducts, which had been greatly depressed in consequenc e Money.'
of abundant harvests, in 1820, 1821, and 1822, rallied —
in 1823; and the country bankers, true to their inva¬
riable practice on similar occasions, immediately began
to enlarge their issues. It is unnecessary to inquire into
the circumstances which conspired, along with the rise
of prices, to promote the extraordinary rage for specula¬
tion exhibited in 1824 and 1825. It is sufficient to
observe, that in consequence of their operation, confidence
was very soon carried to the greatest height. It did not
seem to be supposed that any scheme could be hazardous,
much less wild or extravagant. The infatuation was
such, that even the most considerate persons did not scru¬
ple to embark in visionary and absurd projects; while
the extreme facility with which discounts were procured
upon bills at very long dates, afforded the means of carry¬
ing on every sort of undertaking. The most worthless
paper was readily negociated. Many of the country
bankers seemed, indeed, to have no object other than to
get themselves indebted to the public. And such was the
vigour and success of their efforts to force their paper into
circulation, that the amount of it afloat in 1825 is estimated
to have been nearly fifty per cent, greater than in 1823.
The consequences of this extravagant and unprincipled
conduct are well known. The currency having become
redundant, the exchanges began to decline in the summer
of 1824. The directors of the Bank of England having
unwarily entered, in the early part of that year, into an
engagement with the government to pay off such holders
of four per cent, stock as might dissent from its conver¬
sion into a three and a half per cent, stock, were obliged
to advance a considerable sum on this account after the
depression of the exchange. But despite this circum¬
stance, they might and ought to have taken measures in
the latter part of 1824 and the earlier part of 1825, by
lessening their issues, to stop the efflux of bullion. But
not being sufficiently alive to the urgency of the crisis,
the London currency was not materially diminished till
September 1825. The recoil, which would have been
less severe had the efforts of the bank to prevent the
exhaustion of her coffers taken place at an earlier period,
was most apalling. The country banks began to give
way the moment they experienced a considerably increased
difficulty of obtaining accommodation in London, and
confidence and credit were immediately at an end. Sus¬
picion having awakened from her trance, distrust had no
limits. All classes of depositors made haste to call up
the sums they had entrusted to the care of the banks.
There was, also, a run upon them for payment of their
notes, not in the view of sending the gold as a mercantile
adventure to the Continent, but to escape the loss which
it became obvious the holders of country paper would
have to sustain. Sauve qui pent was the universal cry ;
and the destruction was so sudden and extensive, that in
less than six weeks, above seventy banking establish¬
ments were swept off, and a vacuum was created in the
currency which absorbed from eight ton ten millions of
additional issues by the Bank of England; at the same
time that myriads of those private bills that had previ¬
ously swelled the amount of the currency, and added to
the machinery of speculation, were wholly destroyed.
3. It maybe worth while, perhaps, to observe that it has Crisis of
been alleged, in opposition to what is now stated, that 1)82^sj”°te(j
the difficulties of the bank in 1825 were not caused by ^
any excess either of her issues or of those of the country lending too
banks, but by the too great amount of the capital she much capi-
had lent; and in proof of this allegation, we are referred tal-
to the increase of nearly eight millions in the amount of
1 Macpherson’s Annals of Commerce, vol. iv. p. 266.
8 Comparative Estimate, p. 226, ed. 1812.
MONEY.
461
Money, securities which the bank held in August 1825 over their
amount in August 1822, and to the simultaneous decrease
of nearly six and a half millions in the amount of bullion
in her coffers.1 But a little consideration will suffice to
show the futility of this statement. It is impossible,
indeed, that any mere advance of capital, however great,
whether by the bank or any other great association,
should affect the state of the currency or the exchanges.
It was not the magnitude of the advances, but the mode
in which they were made, that brought on the crisis.
The bank took no steps, or none of sufficient energy, to
reduce the amount of her notes in circulation till long
after the exchange had become unfavourable, and bullion
was demanded of her for exportation. The accumulation
of securities was the necessary result of this radical error.
Had the bank made her advances in the shape of pro¬
duce—in corn, cotton, cloth, or iron—they might have
been ten times as great without having the smallest in¬
fluence over the exchange. But the currency having
become redundant in 1824, the notes of the bank were
returned upon her for gold, so that her securities were
augmented at the same time that her means of dealing
with the unfavourable exchange were impaired. It is to
be remembered, that the efflux of bullion showed conclu¬
sively that, however issued, and whether greater or less
than at former periods, the paper afloat was in excess,
and that its contraction had become indispensable. And
such being the case, it was the bounden duty of the
bank, as soon as she felt the drain for gold setting steadily
against her, to adopt every means in her power, by rais¬
ing the rate of interest, selling securities, and otherwise,
to reduce her issues, and restore the exchange to par.
And had she done this at a sufficiently early period, it
is all but certain she would not have lost more than two
or three millions of bullion; whereas, by following a
different line of conduct, and deferring the adoption of
vigorous repressive measures till too late a period, she was
drained of about seven millions of bullion, and her safety
seriously compromised before she could stop the drain.
It is, therefore, the merest delusion to ascribe the crisis
of 1825, or any similar crisis, to the bank advancing too
much capital. She did no such thing. What she did
was to issue and keep out an excess of notes in the teeth
of an unfavourable exchange. It was this that drained
her of her bullion ; and it would have had precisely the
same result had the bank capital been ten times greater
than it actually was.2
Measures
or estab-
ishing
iint-stock
anksin
826. In-
Adequacy
'f these
aeasures.
4. Notwithstanding nations are proverbially slow and
reluctant learners, the events of 1825-26, taken in con¬
nection with those of the same sort that had previously
occurred, produced a conviction of the necessity of taking
some steps to improve the system of country banking in
England. But we regret to have to add, that the mea¬
sures adopted in this view were very far indeed from
being effectual to their object. The law of 1708, limit¬
ing the number of partners in banking establishments to
six, was repealed ; and it was enacted, that banks with
any number of partners, might be established for the
issue of notes anywhere beyond sixty-five miles from
London; and that banks not issuing notes might be esta- Money,
blished in London itself with any number of partners.
The circulation of notes for less than five pounds in Eng¬
land and Wales was at the same time forbidden.
Much benefit was expected, but without much reason,
to resultfrom these measures. The suppression of £\notes
Avas in so far advantageous, that it shut up one of the
principal channels by which the inferior class of country
bankers got their paper into circulation, and tended, con¬
sequently, to secure the labouring classes against loss in
the event of their bankruptcy. But the other measure,
or that for the establishment of joint-stock banks, proved
to be a complete failure. And we have seen in the pre¬
vious inquiry into the constitution of such banks, that
nothing but mischief could be expected to arise from
giving them power to issue notes.
Those who supposed that joint-stock banks would be Progress of
immediately set on foot in all parts of England, were a hie joint-
«/ i. o / stock svs-
good deal disappointed with the slowness with which tem_
they spread for some years after the Act permitting their
establishment was passed. The heavy losses occasioned
by the downfall of most of the joint-stock projects set
on foot in 1824 and 1825, made all projects of the same
kind be looked upon for a considerable period with sus¬
picion, and deterred most persons from embarking in
them. But this caution gradually woi'e off; and the
increasing prosperity of the country, and the difficulty
of vesting money so as to obtain from it a reasonable
return, generated of new a disposition to adventure in
hazardous projects. A mania for embarking in specu¬
lative schemes acquired considerable strength in 1834,
and during 1835 and part of 1836, it raged with a vio¬
lence but little inferior to that of 1825. It was at first
principally directed to railroad projects ; but it soon
began to embrace all sorts of schemes, and, among
others, joint-stock banks, of which an unprecedented
number were projected in the course of 1835. The pro¬
gress of the system was as follows :—
-Banks. Banks.
In 1826 there were regis- In 1832 there were regis¬
tered  6 tered  10
In 1827  1 In 1833  13
In 1828  5 In 1834  8
In 1829  4 In 1835  45
In 1830  3 In 1836  11
In 1831 8  
Total 114
In point of fact, however, the number of banks created
in 1835 and 1836 was vastly greater than appears from
this statement. We believe that, at an average, each of
the fifty-six banks established in those years, like those
previously established, had from four to five branches;
and as these branches transacted all sorts of banking bush
ness, and enjoyed the same credit as the parent establish¬
ment, from which they were frequently at a great distance,
they were, to all intents and purposes, so many new banks ;
so that, instead of fifty-six, it may safely be affirmed that
from about 220 to 280 new joint-stock banks were opened
in England and Wales in 1835 and 1836, but mostly in
the former!
In January, February, and March 1836, when the rage
1 Securities of all sorts, 81st August 1822,
 31st August 1825,
£17,290,510
25,106,030
£7,815,520
£10,097,960
3,634,320
£6,463,640
Excess of Securities, 31st August 1825, over those held on 31st August 1822,
Bullion in Bank, 31st August 1822, ......
Do. 31st August 1825, . . . , . .
Diminution of bullion,
On the 28th February 1826, the bullion in the hank amounted to only £2,459,510.
2 Perhaps we may be allowed to observe, that we endeavoured to point out, in an article jn the Scotsman, published in 1825, what
would be the inevitable result of the bank allowing the drain of bullion to run its course, viz., that she would be drained of her last
sovereign and obliged to stop payments ; and that she could not avert this result otherwise than by narrowing her issues, and raising the
value of the currency. She die! this at last, but she ought to have done it nearly twelve months sooner.
462
Money.
Over-issue
by the
joint-stock
banks in
1836-37.
There
should be
only one
issuer of
paper-
money.
MONEY.
with which they had previously been supplied. This Money,
was especially the case in 1836, when the Bank of Eng-
land, by bolstering up the Northern and Central Bank,
averted, though hut for a while, the bankruptcy of that
establishment, which had no fewer than forty branches,
and, by doing so, is said to have prevented the occur¬
rence of a panic that might have proved fatal to many
other joint-stock and private hanks. Still, however, the
shock given to industrial undertakings, by the revulsion
in the latter part of that year, and in 1837, although
unaccompanied by any panic, was very severe. All
sorts of commercial speculations were for a while com¬
pletely paralysed, and there were but few districts in
which great numbers of individuals were not thrown
out of employment. In Paisley, Birmingham, and most
other towns, the distress occasioned by the revulsion
was very general and long-continued. And owing to the
Bank of England having delayed, in 1838 and the earlier
part of 1839, to take efficient measures for the reduction
of her issues, despite the unmistakeable evidence of their
being redundant, the bullion in her coffers was reduced
in September 1839 to £2,406,000; and, but for the effi¬
cient assistance obtained from the Bank of France, her
stoppage could hardly have been averted.
for establishing joint-stock hanks was at its height, the
exchange was either at par, or slightly in our favour,
showing that the currency was already up to its level,
and that if any considerable additions were made to it,
the exchange would be depressed, and a drain for bullion
he experienced. But these circumstances, if ever they
occurred to the managers of the joint-stock hanks, do not
seem to have had, and could not in truth he expected to
have, any material influence over their proceedings.
Their issues, which amounted on the 26th of December
1835 to £2,799,551, amounted on the 25th of June next
to £3,588,064, exclusive of the vast mass of additional
hills, cheques, and other substitutes for money they had
put into circulation. The consequences were such as
every man of sense might have foreseen. In April 1836
the exchange became unfavourable, and bullion began
to be demanded from the Bank of England. The latter,
that she might the better meet the drain, raised the rate
of interest in June from four to four and a-half per cent.,
and this not being enough sufficiently to lessen the pres¬
sure on her for discounts, she raised it in August from
four and a-half to five per cent. But during the whole
of this period the country banks went on increasing their
issues. We have seen that, on the 25th of June 1836,
their issues were £788,513 greater than they had been
on the preceding 26th of December; and notwithstanding
the continued drain for bullion, and the increased rate of
interest charged by the Bank of England, and the reduc¬
tion of her issues, the issues of the joint-stock banks in¬
creased from £3,588,064 in June, to no less than
£4,258,197 on the 31st of December, being an increase
of nearly twenty per cent, after the exchange was noto-
riously against the country; and the most serious con¬
sequences were apprehended from the continued drain
for bullion.
It may perhaps he supposed that the increased issue
of the joint-stock hanks would he balanced by a corre¬
sponding diminution of the issues of the private banks,
and that on the whole the amonnt of their joint issues
might not be increased. This, however, was not the
case. Some private banks Avere abandoned in 1836, and
others incorporated with joint-stock banks; and it is
farther true, that those Avhich went on managed their
affairs with more discretion than their associated compe¬
titors. But, from the 26th of September 1835 to the
31st of December 1836, the issues of the private banks
were diminished only £159,087, Avhilst those of the joint
stocks were increased during the same period £1,750,160,
or more than ten times the falling off in the others!
These statements show the inexpediency of having
more than one issuer of paper. Its issue ought in all
cases to be governed by the state of the exchange, or
rather, as already stated, by the influx and efflux of
bullion. But previously to 1844, the provincial banks
might go on over-issuing for a lengthened period without
being affected by a demand for bullion, or even for Bank
of England paper.
In the end, no doubt, an efflux of the former was sure,
by rendering money and all sorts of pecuniary accommo¬
dation scarce in the metropolis, to affect the country banks
as well as the Bank of England; and then the injury
to industry, occasioned by the withdrawal of their accus¬
tomed accommodations from a great number of indivi¬
duals, was severe in proportion to the too great liberality
Sect. Y.—Act of 1844. Objections to and Defence of
that Act. Suspensions of in 1847 and 1857.
This perilous experience having again forcibly attracted Act of
the public attention to the state of the banking system, 1844.
Sir Robert Peel was induced to attempt its improvement.
The clause in the Act 3 and 4 Will. IY. c. 98, which
renewed the Bank Charter in 1833, gave Parliament
power to revise or cancel it in 1845, and thus afforded a
legitimate opportunity for the introduction of the new
system. It was indispensable, in attempting to obviate
the defects inherent in our currency, to proceed cau¬
tiously, to respect, in as far as possible, existing interests,
and to avoid taking any step that might excite the fears
or suspicions of the public ; the grand difficulty being to
reconcile such a course with the adoption of any plan
that would obviate in any considerable degree the defects
complained of. Happily this difficult problem was
satisfactorily solved. The measures which Sir Robert
Peel introduced and carried through Parliament in 1844
and 1845, for the improvement of our banking system,
were so skilfully contrived as to provoke little opposition,
at the same time that they effected most important and
highly beneficial changes.
The measures in question consisted of the Act 7 and
8 Viet. c. 32, which refers to the Bank of England, and
the English country banks; and the Acts 8 and 9 Viet,
c. 38, 37, referring to the banks of Scotland and Ireland.
These statutes wrere intended to obviate the chances of
over-issue, and of sudden fluctuations ,in the quantity
and value of money, by limiting the power to issue notes
payable on demand, and by making the amount of such
notes in circulation vary with the amount of bullion in
the possession of the issuers. In dealing with the Bank
of England, Sir Robert Peel adopted the proposal pre¬
viously made by Lord Overstone,1 for effecting a complete
separation between the issuing and banking departments
of that establishment, and giving the directors full
liberty to manage the latter at discretion, Avhile they
should have no power whatever o\Ter the other.2
^ In tracts published in 1837 and 1840, and in his evidence before a committee of the House of Commons in the latter year^
It is right to state, that except in so far as he no doubt profited by the suggestion referred to, the measures adopted b Sir Robert
^*1 were entirely his own. And they will continue to be enduring monuments of the depth and clearness of his views,
and ot Ins administrative ability. This is a point in regard to which the evidence of Lord Overstone is quite decisive ; and it is difficult
^ ’ w‘leffier that evidence redounds more to his lordship’s credit, or to that of the illustrious statesman whose claims to the gratitude
ot the country as the founder of a sound system of currency, he has so generously and successfully vindicated. “ I,” said Lord Overstone
MONEY.
463
Money. The notes of the Bank of England in circulation for
some years previously to 1844 rarely amounted to twenty
Principle or sur'k 80 l°w as sixteen millions. And such being the
n which case, Sir Robert Peel was justified in assuming that
vet of the circulation of the bank could not, in any ordi-
ouifdeif8 na1T condition of society, or under any mere commercial
vicissitudes, be reduced below fourteen millions. And
the Act of 1844 allows the bank to issue this amount
upon securities, of which the £11,015,100 she has lent
to the public is the most important item. Inasmuch,
however, as the issues of the provincial banks were at
the same time limited in their amount, and confined
to certain existing banks, it was further provided, in
the event of any of these banks ceasing to issue notes,
that the Bank of England might be empowered, by order
in council, to issue, upon securities, two-thirds, and no
more, of the notes which such banks had been authorised
to issue. Under this condition, the total secured issue of
the bank has (1857) been increased from £14,000,000 to
£14,475,000. But for every other note which the issue
department may at any time issue over and above the maximum
amount (£14,475,000) issued on securities, an equal amount
of coin or bulUon must be paid into its coffers. And hence,
under this system, the notes of the Bank of England are
rendered really and truly equivalent to gold, while their
immediate conversion into that metal no longer depends,
as it previously did, on the good faith, the skill, or the
prudence of the directors. And these important results
have been attained without imposing any burden of
which any one has any right to complain. Our currency
rests on the fundamental principle, that all debts above
forty shillings shall be paid in gold. But individuals
and associations, including the banking or commercial
department of the bank, have the option, if they prefer
it, to exchange gold for bank notes, and to make use
of the latter in their dealings with the public. Hence,
if A or B goes to the issuers of paper, and gets 100
or 500 notes from them in exchange for an equivalent
amount of gold, it is his own convenience he has
exclusively in view. He was at full liberty to use
gold, but he preferred exchanging it for notes because he
could employ the latter more advantageously. This is
the way in which paper is issued under the Act of 1844 ;
and such being the case, it is contradictory to say that it
is productive either of hardship or inconvenience.
It has sometimes been pi-oposed to increase the issue
upon securities from fourteen to fifteen or sixteen millions.
But though a measure of this sort would in nowise affect
the amount of the currency, it would in some degree,
perhaps, diminish the security for its conversion in
periods of difficulty; and the advantage that would result
from setting free one or two millions of bullion is too
trifling to be gained by exposure to such a contingency,
’roposal We may, perhaps, be allowed, in connection with this
o issue in-part of our subject, shortly to observe, that it was sug-
°“^®rt^egested to the late Committee on Banks (1857), that the
es' currency might be improved by issuing some fourteen or
twenty millions of inconvertible notes. (Min. of Evi¬
dence, pp. 441-449). The deserts of this proposal may
be easily appreciated ; and it would not have been worth
notice had it not been one of the few practical measures
recommended by the opponents of the Act of 1844. It
is plain that inconvertible notes, supposing them to be
issued in moderate quantities, or to the extent of fourteen
millions or thereby, would not serve all the purposes, nor
be of the same value as those that are convertible ; and if
they circulated, it would only be at a fluctuating rate of
discount, as compared with other notes and coins. And
while the greatest confusion and disorder would thus una¬
voidably result from their issue, nothing whatever would
be gained by it beyond what is gained by the present sys¬
tem. All notes are now payable in gold on demand ; but
as it is abundantly certain that fourteen millions of notes
will be at all times retained in the pockets of the public,
that amount is allowed to be issued on securities. It is
obvious, therefore, that while we avoid its endless incon¬
veniences, we should realise nothing by the issue of four¬
teen millions of inconvertible notes, beyond what is
realised under the Act of 1844. These, however, though
sufficiently conclusive, are inferior considerations. If
once we begin to issue such notes, it is impossible to say
where we shall be allowed to stop. The principles, if
so we may call the crude and contradictory assertions of
the proposers of this notable scheme, would justify an
issue not merely of fourteen or twenty, but of forty or
fifty millions, or any greater sum. But it is not conceiv¬
able that it should meet with any countenance from any
portion of the public, much less that it should be adopted.
If it were, it requires little prescience to foresee that its
results would be alike speedy and disastrous. What has
repeatedly happened under the like circumstances would
no doubt happen again. Gold would be driven from the
country; all contracts would be upset, and we should be
fortunate indeed if we escaped a national bankruptcy and
revolution. If we take to dealing in assignats, we need
not hope to escape its inevitable results.
Money.
But, dismissing such crotchets, it is alleged that the new Act of
system is injurious by shackling the bank in the use of her 1844 does
credit. But it must be clear on the least reflection that it ^ ^a^.16
does nothing of the sort. It merely prevents the bank using her
from issuing substitutes for money which do not represent credit,
money. It does not absorb or lock up a single sixpence
worth of her capital; nor does it interfere in any manner
of way with her employment either of it, or of her credit.
The gold in the issue-department of the bank was not
purchased by her, and does not belong to her. She is its
keeper, but not its owner. It belongs to the public, or to
the holders of bank notes, who deposited it in the bank in
exchange for notes, with and under the express stipula¬
tion, that on paying the latter into the bank, they
should receive back their gold. Any interference with
these deposits would be an interference with property
held in pledge for others, that is, it would be an act
precisely of the same kind with that which deservedly
subjected Strahan, Paul, and Co. to transportation
for fourteen years. The authority of Mr. Sheffield
Neave, the present governor of the bank, may be quoted
in corroboration of this statement: —“ The issue de¬
partment is put out of our hands altogether. We are
“had no connection, political or social, with Sir Eohert Peel. I never exchanged one word upon the subject of this Act with Sir
Robert Peel in my life, neither directly nor indirectly. I knew nothing whatever of the provisions of this Act until they were laid
before the public, and I am happy to state that, because I believe that what little weight may attach to my unbiassed conviction of the
high merits of this Act, and the service which it has rendered to the public, may be diminished by the impression that I have some¬
thing of personal vanity in this matter. I have no feeling whatever of the kind. The Act is entirely, so far as I know, the act of Sir
Robert Peel, and the immortal gratitude of the country is due to him for the service rendered to it by the passing of that Act. He
has never been properly appreciated, but year by year the character of that statesman upon this subject will be appreciated. By the
Act of 1819, Sir Robert Peel placed the monetary system of the country upon an honest foundation, and he was exposed to great
obloquy for having so done. By the Act of 1844, he has obtained ample and sufficient security that that honest foundation of our mone¬
tary system shall be effectually and permanently maintained. And no description can be written on his statue so honourable as that
he restored our money to its just value in 1819, and secured for us the means of maintaining that just value in 1844. Honour be to his
name.”—(Min. of Evidence, p. 178, Committee of 1857.)
464 MON
Money, mere trustees under the Act of Parliament, to see that
those securities are placed there and kept up to that
amount; and in no case can any creditor of the bank touch
that which is reserved for a note-holder. We are in that
respect merely ministrative ; we are trustees to hold that
amount in the issue-department, and our banking depart¬
ment has a totally separate function, which has no rela¬
tion whatever to the issue-department.”—{Min. of Evi¬
dence, 1857, p. 99.)
But though she may not lay violent hands on the pro¬
perty of the public, the bank, it is ’bbvious, has at this
moment the same absolute command over her entire
capital and credit, that she would have were the Act of
1844 non-existent. In her banking capacity she is free
from all restraint, and is in precisely the same situation
as other banking or mex-cantile establishments. She may
lend or not lend as she pleases, and may lay down such
conditions as she pleases in regard to the interest and the
terms of her loans and discounts. In short, she may do
whatever she likes with her own. But farther she is not
permitted to go. She may not substitute shadows for
realities. She cannot, whether to assist others, or to
relieve herself from embarrassment, issue a single note
except upon a deposit of bullion. But this rule does
operate on herself only. It applies to all individuals and
associations. And to relax it in any degree would be—
disguise it as you will—to authorise an issue of fictitious
or spurious paper, and consequently to vitiate the cur¬
rency and to abuse credit in the way that is sure to be in
the end the most disastrous.
This statement shows the groundless nature of the
charge which is often made against the Act of 1844,
that under its operation the bank runs the risk of being
brought to a stop, though she may have some five, six,
or even eight millions bullion in her coffers. For it is
plain that two things are confounded in this charge,
which are quite distinct, and have no necessary connec¬
tion with each other, viz., the proceedings of the bank
in her capacity of issuer of notes, and her proceedings in
her capacity of a banking company. In her former
capacity it is all but impossible that she should be
brought to a stop ; and if such a thing should happen,
there would not then be an ounce of bullion in her coffers.
It is not, however, impossible, nor even very improb¬
able, that the bank should be brought, in her mex*-
cantile capacity, into difficulties, while there may be a
large amount of bullion in the issue-department. But,
though such should be the case, is that any reason
why she should be permitted to draw on funds that do
belong to her, and over which she has no control?
Strahan, Paul, and Co. were in difficulties when they sold
the bonds and other securities intrusted to their care.
And supposing the bank were in difficulties, is she to be
allowed to right herself by setting aside the principle of
meum and tuum, and seizing on what belongs to others ?
Her dii*ectors would be the first to repudiate such a doc¬
trine. It may be popular among the founders and
managers of the Royal British Bank, and their associates
and admirers here and elsewhere, but it will be contemp¬
tuously rejected by all men who have any sense of
honour, or regard for character.
184411 as We have already seen that the facility with which
not in- fictitious paper might be issued previously to 1844 was,
creased on many occasions, greatly abused, and that by giving a
fluctua- powerful stimulus to speculation and over-trading, it
interest Promote<I in no ordinary degree, even when it did not
originate, those periods of artificial prosperity that never
fail to terminate in banknxptcy and ruin. But though
such stimulus can no longer be applied, it is alleged that
E Y.
the Act of 1844 has increased industrial vicissitudes by Money,
increasing the number and intensity of fluctuations in the
i-ate of interest. But this charge is no better founded than
the others. Previously to the modification of the usury
laws in 1839, the bank could not charge more for loans
than 5 per cent.; and for some considerable period after
the restriction had been removed, the directors, influenced
in part at least by their accustomed habit, permitted on
several occasions the bank to be involved in difficulties
which might have been averted by their sooner raising
the x’ate of discount. But everybody who knows any¬
thing of the matter, must know that the measures of the
bank do not determine the genei’al rate of interest. She
of course fixes the rate at which she will lend ; but her
x’ate is one thing, and the market rate another. Gene¬
rally, she regulates her proceedings by the fluctuations
in the latter. If, on the one hand, the rate of interest
fixed by the bank were above the mai’ket rate, none
but fools, or persons in desperate cii'cumstances, would
resort to her for discounts; while, on the othei’, if it
were below that rate, the demands upon her would be
so very great that her means would be speedily exhausted.
Whether, therefore, there have been more or fewer fluc¬
tuations in the rate of interest since 1844, than in any
previous pei’iod of equal duration, it is difficult to say,
and the fact, were it ascertained, would be wholly imma-
teidal to this question. Fluctuations in the market rate
of interest seldom depend, in any degree, and never to
any considerable extent, on the proceedings of those
whose paper, like that of the bank, is equivalent to, and
may be immediately converted into, gold. They are
bi'ought about by widely different means ; by fluctuations
in the rate of profit depending on the negociation of
loans; the greater or less demand for capital caused by
the opening of new and the shutting up of old commercial
channels ; the inci’eased efficiency of industry ; the under¬
taking of new projects; and so forth. Fluctuations ori¬
ginating in such widely different causes, must necessarily
be of frequent though uncertain occurrence. There can,
however, be no manner of doubt, as has been already seen,
that their fx-equency and violence are uniformly and greatly
increased by the revulsions consequent on over-issues of
paper. At this very time (November 1857) in the
United States, which are sufferers from a recoil of
this sort, the rate of discount on first class bills varies
from 20 to 30 and 40 per cent., while inferior paper
cannot be negociated on any terms. The Act of 1844 has
made such ruinous fluctuations, or anything approaching
to them, impossible in this counti'y, and on tlxat ground
alone, were there none else, it is entitled to the support
of all save the merest gamblers.
While, however, the commercial vicissitudes which
take place in this country are trifling compared with
those that take place in the United States, they are
also much less severe than those which occui’red prior
to the Act of 1844. But no one ever said or supposed
that that Act, or that any other possible Act, would
free us entix-ely from such vicissitudes. Its object
was to insure at all times the equality of gold and
paper, and to redress an adverse exchange. But though
these great ends be completely effected, we are still
necessarily left to contend with such evils as may
result from the revulsions and contingencies inseparable
from our enonnously extended credit and commercial
systems. Speculation, and the miscalculation insepar¬
able therefrom, will continue; credit will be given to
those from whom it should be withheld; bad harvests
will no doubt x’ecur; American and other extensive im¬
porters of our pi'oduce, will sometimes fail to make good
their engagements; great corporations will sometimes
be mismanaged; and mistaken views will sometimes
MONEY. 465
Money, prevail amongst the public. And the distress occa-
sioned by the occurrence of these and other contingencies,
may be severe, long continued, and widely diffused. But
while, on the one hand, the bubble of unnatural pro¬
sperity is no longer inflated, as was formerly the case
to a vast extent, by issues of spurious paper, so, on the
other, the suffering and distress caused by the subse¬
quent revulsion, are no longer inflamed and aggravated
by their withdrawal or destruction.
The truth is. that no commercial crisis has been, or can
be, averted by making issues of fictitious paper. On the
contrary, by improperly bolstering up parties not entitled
to credit, and by preventing that timely contraction of
the currency which is necessary to correct an adverse
exchange, they invariably tend to increase the mischief
they are meant to alleviate. To tamper with the cur¬
rency, except under the exigency of internal discredit or
of a panic, is a totally inexcusable proceeding. Having
adopted gold for the standard of our money, it is our
bounden duty to keep such paper as is substituted for
gold, on a par with it. Indeed it would be quite as cor¬
rect to say that a commercial crisis may be mitigated by
a change in our measures of length, capacity, or weight,
as by a change in our measure of value.
urrency It is further objected to the Act of 1844, that it “ limits
ot limited the currency; ” that it makes no provision for the in-
7 Act of creasing demands of the public ; and confines us, in 1857,
when the exports will probably exceed 120 millions, to the
same amount of money as in 1844, when the exports did
not exceed 58^ millions. But though this statement has
been made by parties who ought to have known better,
the reader can hardly require to be told that it is com¬
pletely destitute of foundation. The £14,000,000 issued
on securities, is the only thing that is limited in the Act;
every thing else varies with the varying condition and
circumstances of the country, including the means by
which the use of money may be economised. In the
week ended the 29th of August 1857, the issue department
of the bank had issued notes to the amount of £25,323,965,
being no fewer than £11,323,965 over and above the
amount authorised to be issued on securities. And if the
country had really required a larger supply of money, that
is, if more coins, or paper equivalent to coins, could have
been absorbed into the circulation without rendering the
currency redundant, and depressing the exchange, the
additional quantity would have been forthwith supplied.
For, under such circumstances, merchants, bankers, and
money-dealers, would have realised a certain and imme¬
diate profit by carrying bullion to the mint or the bank,
that they might obtain coins, or notes, or both, with
which to increase the currency. It is one of the chief
merits of the Act of 1844, that, under its agency, the
supply of money is not to any extent or in any degree
regulated or influenced by the proceedings of the bank,
or the government. They have nothing to do in the
matter, unless it be to coin the bullion which individuals
or firms carry to the mint for that purpose, and to ex¬
change, when called upon, notes for coins, and coins for
notes. The supply of money, like that of all non-
monopolised articles, is wholly dependent upon, and is
determined by the free action of the public. It would,
indeed, be quite as true to say, that the Act of 1844
limits the amount of corn, of cloth, or of iron produced
in the country, as that it limits the amount of money.
It maintains the value of the notes issued by the bank
on a level with the coins for which they are substitutes ;
but beyond that its effect is nil. It has nothing what¬
ever to do with the greater or less amount of the cur¬
rency. That depends entirely on the estimate formed
by the public of its excess or deficiency, an estimate
VOL. xv.
which, when wrong, is sure to be corrected by the Money,
exchange.
We may add, that no inference can ever be safely
drawn from the number of notes or coins, or both, afloat
in a country, as to whether its currency be, or be not, in
excess. That is to be learned by the state of the ex¬
change, or by the influx and efflux of bullion. If the
imports of bullion exceed the exports, it shows that
the currency is in some degree deficient; while, if the
exports exceed the imports, it shows that the currency is
in excess, and that no additions can be made to it without
farther depressing the exchange and increasing the drain
of bullion. When the imports and exports of bullion are
about equal, then of course the currency is at about its
proper level. These are the only criteria by which any¬
thing can ever be correctly inferred, in regard to the
deficiency or excess of currency. Its absolute amount
affords hardly even a basis for conjecture. When there
is little speculation or excitement, an issue of 25 or 27 mil¬
lions bank notes may be in excess; while, at another
time, and with a different state of trade and speculation, an
issue of 35 or 37 millions of notes may not be enough.
Except in periods of internal commotion, or when we are
disturbed by alarms of invasion, the state of the exchange
is the only, as it is the infallible, test of the sufficiency
and insufficiency of the currency.
We may farther state, that those who are in the habit
of complaining of the limitation of the currency by the
Act of 1844, almost uniformly underrate its amount.
We have already seen that, in the week ending the 29th
August 1857, the notes issued by the issue department
of the bank amounted to £25,323,965, of which
£5,999,790 were in the banking department of the
bank, leaving a balance of £19,324,175 in the hands
of the general public; and this latter sum is, we are
told, the real amount of the issues. But this is falling
into the rather serious blunder of mistaking a part for
the whole. The notes in the banking department of the Notes in
bank make not only a part, but a most important and the hank-
active part, of the currency of the country. They con- depart-
stitute the means, along with the bullion in the same ^ e
department, with which the bank carries on her banking important
business, and are as evidently a portion of the currency part of the
as the notes in the tills of private bankers and the currency,
pockets of individuals. The notes in the banking de¬
partment of the bank must therefore never be omitted
in estimating the amount of notes in circulation. The
latter, and the notes out of the issue department, are
identical; and, in a general point of view, it matters not
a straw whether they are in the hands of the banking
department of the bank or of individuals.
We have seen that bills of exchange, about which so Mercantile
much is said, though they serve some of the purposes of pressure
money, are not money. But whether the amount of^*e^ora'
them in circulation be great or small, and whether they ^ct of }
be drawn at long or short dates, though highly important 1844.
in other respects, has no reference to, or bearing upon,
this question. When from any cause, whether from an
excess in the amount of bills, or notes afloat, the currency
becomes redundant, the exchange is depressed, and notes
are sent to the issue department of the bank to be ex¬
changed for gold, which is forthwith exported. And it
is by the immediate action of the adverse exchange upon
notes, and the consequent influence of the contraction of
the latter upon bills, that the amount of the currency is
lessened, its value raised, and the exchange brought to
par. At such periods there is usually more or less of
mercantile pressure, and a greater demand for discounts
and pecuniary accommodation. This leads to a rise in
the rate of interest; but no change in this rate has any
3 N
466
MONEY.
Money, influence over the currency, except in so far as its rise
may diminish, and its fall may increase, the demands
upon the bank for loans. A system of this sort effec¬
tually prevents any great excess of bills from ever getting
into the market; and thus checks, in limine, what would
otherwise be the most copious source of wild speculation,
overtrading and bankruptcy.
The operation of the present system during the late
war with Russia, was in all respects eminently satisfac¬
tory. It stood in the way of no legitimate transaction,
of no fair exercise of the credit, either of the state, or of
individuals. But as it was a powerful obstacle to the
creation of artificial credit, it was eminently unpopular
with those who supposed they would profit by such
abuse. It is doubtful, indeed, had the war continued for
two or three years longer, whether government might
not have been compelled to resort to an inconvertible
paper, and consequently to place the property of the pub¬
lic, and of every individual, at the mercy of its issuers !
It is, therefore, wholly untrue to say that the Act of
1844 aggravates the severity of any mercantile pres¬
sure that may occur. Its practical effect is to do
what other Acts professed but failed to do, that is, to
make paper and gold precisely of the same value, and to
insure the immediate conversion of the former into the
latter. This is what the Act of 1844 really does. And
to say that this aggravates either pressure or distress, is
equivalent to saying that it would be aggravated by
employing a purely metallic currency, or by maintain¬
ing a practically invariable measure of value, which is
absurd. A gold currency interposes no obstacle to
the free transfer of capital from one party to another,
and has in truth no influence of any sort over its distri¬
bution, its employment, or the rate of profit. How, then,
can it either occasion distress, or add to its pressure 1 It
is not difficult to discover, in the stimulus given to emi¬
gration and industry by the discovery of the Californian
and Australian gold fields, in the destruction of capital
occasioned by the late war, in the hoarding now going on
in India, China, and other countries, in the improvement
of industry and the extension of commerce, and in the
various schemes afloat, the causes of the present high rate
of interest. But whatever they may be, the equality of
gold and paper in England cannot be one of them.
Neither can it be said to be occasioned by a scarcity of
gold, for we have exported it to all parts of the continent;
and interest is more than three times as high in Cali¬
fornia, and more than twice as high in Australia, in both
of which gold is comparatively cheap, as in the United
Kingdom.1
It is quite true, that if the check on the issue of paper
were less cogent than at present (1857), parties might,
perhaps, be tempted to lend it at less than 6 or 5, or even
4 per cent. But, down to a very late period, the currency,
as shown by the exportation of gold, was really redun¬
dant ; and hence it is obvious, that the issues now referred
to, supposing they had been made, would, by making it
still more redundant, have depressed the exchange to
a still greater extent, and proportionally increased the
drain for gold. Every device of this sort, that is, every
attempt to obviate a foreign drain by encroaching
on the integrity of the currency, is sure to lead to mis¬
chief. It may, like drams administered to a person with
a broken-down constitution, have a momentary effect, but
the collapse is inevitable, and is sure to be ruinous in
proportion to the previous abuse of the stimulant.
It may be said, perhaps—for there is no end of apolo- Proposal
gies for whatever is vicious—that if the issue of notes £°r 7est^?
were in the hands of government, the entire profit accru- notes™of
ing thereon would belong to the public. But supposing the hands
such to be the case, the difference between that profit, of govem-
and that which is or may be realized under the present m?ntcom.
system, would either be nothing at all, or so inconsider- miS810ner8-
able as to be wholly unworthy of attention. It will be
afterwards seen that at this moment the public receives
by far the greater part of the profit made by the bank on
the fixed issue of £14,000,000, and if it be deemed expe¬
dient, that part may be still further increased, or turned
into the lion’s share. Assuming, therefore, for a mo¬
ment, that the power to issue notes is vested in govern¬
ment commissioners, it is not pretended that these notes
are to be legal tender. Nothing so monstrous as that
could be thought of, or at all events, durst be proposed.
The notes issued by the commissioners, like those issued
by the bank, must be paid on demand. But to do this,
a stock of bullion must be provided ; and unless the plan
now followed were adopted, and all issues above the
amount of £14,000,000, or thereby, were made upon
deposits of bullion, the public would not have that per¬
fect security which is given them by the present system,
and which is worth more than ten times all the profits
arising out of the fixed issue. Even under the old sys¬
tem, or that which existed previously to 1844, the rule
of the bank was to keep a stock of bullion on hand equal
to a third part of her issues. But this rule was not, and
in truth could not, be acted upon. It is plain, however,
had it been bona fide carried out, that the profits on the
issue of notes would not have been materially, if at all
different, from what they are at this moment. Nothing,
therefore, can be more completely futile than the talk
about the large profits that would accrue to the public
by vesting the power to issue notes in commissioners
appointed by government. With the same security as
at present for the conversion of the notes into coin,
nothing would be gained by such appointment; and if,
as would most likely be the case, it lessened the security
referred to, and added to the chances of over-issue and
mismanagement, the injury to the public hence resulting
might be enormous. We, therefore, are disposed to
believe, that of the various proposals in regard to the
currency, that which proposes to vest the issue of notes in
the hands of government commissioners, is one of the
most objectionable. The chances are ten to one that
they would act as directed by the government of the day ;
and this, at all events, would be popularly assumed to be
the case. Supposing, however, that they did nothing
of the sort, but were perfectly independent, still it is
obvious, that whatever they did more or less than is done
at present, would be mischievous. And such being the
case, it is not easy to see what advantage would be gained
by their appointment; while it would have the serious
disadvantage of making government directly responsible,
in the public estimation, for whatever inconvenience
might at any time be supposed to result from the limita¬
tion of the currency.
Another class of opponents to the Act of 1844, though
1 Among the many charges which have been made against the Act of 1844, one of the most extraordinary, if not the most absurd is, that
it doubles the intensity of all demands for bullion on the hank, or converts a demand for one million into a demand for two! A million of
notes are got, it is said, from the banking reserve of the hank, and these being sent to the issue department, are exchanged for gold, so
that the bank has sustained a loss of two millions. It is singular that so obvious a fallacy should have been put forward. The gold
in the issue department does not belong to the bank, but to the note-holders, so that she sustains neither loss nor injury by its being
withdrawn. In this case, and in all cases of the sort, the notes in circulation are reduced a million, and their equivalent in gold is
exported.
1
MONEY.
467
Money, but a small minority, take a different ground from most
of those already noticed, and contend not that the Act is
’roposal to too strict, but that it is not strict enough. According
,ave notes t0 their view of the matter, no notes should be issued on
ssuedby gecurities. And they propose, conformably to their
rf deposits theory, that the issue of notes should be transferred from
,f gold. the bank to the mint, and that none should be issued
except upon the deposit of a corresponding amount of
bullion. This project, however, were it adopted, would
not be productive of any advantage of any kind what¬
ever, while it would abstract more than fourteen millions
of capital from useful purposes. There is not, as already
seen, the smallest chance that, under ordinary circum¬
stances, or in the absence of internal commotion or
panic, the issue of bank-notes will ever be reduced so
low as .£14,000,000; and it is therefore quite enough
for every purpose of security, that the notes above that
limit should be issued on deposits of bullion. How
invaluable soever, it would be absurd to make greater
sacrifices in favour of security than what are sufficient
to obtain it in its most perfect state; and these are fully
realized by the Act as it now stands.
It is argued, indeed, by those who have brought for¬
ward this scheme, that it would greatly improve the
conduct of the bank, and that there would henceforth be
fewer fluctuations in the rate of interest, and so forth.
But every one must see that those who make such state¬
ments confound the proceedings of the bank as issuer of
notes, with her proceedings as a great banking associa¬
tion. In truth and reality, however, the former have no
connection with the latter; and are conducted precisely
as they would be were the suggestion now under consi¬
deration to be adopted. In her proceedings as a great
banking company, the bank is necessarily affected by all
those circumstances which affect the trade and industry
of the empire and the world, the state of the exchange, the
demand for discounts and loans, and so forth. She must
act accordingly, and adapt her measures to the varying
wants and exigencies of society. But it is indifferent
to the banking department of the bank, whether the
notes which are used by it are obtained by carrying
an equivalent amount of gold to the issue department, or
to any other place. And such being the case, it is clear
that the proposed plan, were it adopted, would obviate
none of the inconveniences, if such there be, that attach to
the present system, while it would introduce others which
at present have no existence. For it would occasion a
waste of the national resources by unnecessarily locking
up fourteen millions of gold; and it would place the issue
of paper, where it never ought to be placed, in the hands
of government otficers. But it is needless to enlarge
further on a scheme which is sure to be repudiated by
all parties.
Act of The objections to the Act of 1844 are so various and so
1844 re- opposite that they are not easily recollected. Sometimes
strains we arg ^old that it is inconsistent with itself and incom-
issues plete, and that it deals stringently with the Bank of
England, while it hardly interferes with the country
banks. But this is an unfair representation. In deal¬
ing with the country banks the Act may not have gone
quite so far as it was desirable it should have gone, or as
Sir Robert Peel wished it to go ; but it notwithstanding
effected, even in that respect, a very great improvement,
and really left but little to be wished for.
To prevent future over-issues of country paper, it was
enacted, that from and after the passing of the Act, no
new bank for the issue of notes should be established in
any part of the United Kingdom. And it was farther
enacted, that the maximum issue of notes by the existing Money,
country banks should, in future, be limited to the average
amount which they had respectively in circulation during
the twelve weeks preceding the 27th April 1844 j1 and
various penalties are imposed on those whose issues
exceed that fixed amount. It was then, also, ordered
that the names of the partners, in joint-stock and other
banks, should be periodically published.
These are most important regulations. No doubt it
would have been better had provincial issues been entirely
suppressed, and Bank of England notes been made the
only legal substitute for coins. But in matters of legis¬
lation what is practicable is of quite as much importance
as what is absolutely just and proper. Sir Robert Peel
knew what he could carry through Parliament. Had he
attempted more he would not only have failed of his
object, but would, most likely, have endangered the
success of the other and far more important portion
of his measure which related to the Bank of England.
Under the operation of the Act of 1844 the extinc¬
tion of the country issues is being gradually effected,
partly by some of the issuing banks finding it to be for
their advantage to use notes of the Bank of England
instead of their own, and partly by the winding up of
some concerns and the bankruptcy of others. But, owing
to the limitation of the issues, comparatively little incon¬
venience has resulted to the public from the latter cir¬
cumstance.
On the whole, therefore, there does not appear to be
much ground on which to object to the existing ar¬
rangements in regard to the country banks. Though
not theoretically perfect, their practical deficiences are
unimportant. To attempt to obviate them might imperil
other and more important arrangements. And we
incline to think that the notion that such would be the
case has had not a little to do in making them be pressed
on the attention of the public.
But it is said, “ that even the best system cannot Suspen-
always be carried to an extreme. The Act of 1844 has
had to be suspended in 1847, and again in 1857; and i857 an
machinery for its relaxation in periods of difficulty should
be introduced into it!”
We beg, however, to express our dissent from this
doctrine. It would be easy to show that the embarrass¬
ment of the banking department of the bank in 1847
was mainly a consequence of the injudicious proceed¬
ings of the directors; and it is to be hoped that the
experience they acquired on that occasion may not be
forgotten. But in whatever way the crisis may have
originated, there can be no question that the suspen¬
sion of the Act in 1847 was a measure of doubtful
policy. The exchanges had already become favourable,
and it was the prevalent opinion in very well-informed
quarters, that the panic which had begun to show itself
would speedily have disappeared without the interven¬
tion of government. It should never be forgotten that,
apart from internal panics, the time when the Act is
said to be working harshly and oppressively, is the very
time when it is most for the public advantage that it
should be honestly carried out.
That such is the case is admitted by the highest
authorities, and among others by Mr Hubbard, late
governor of the bank. “ As limitation of credit paper
is,” says he, “of the very essence of the Act of 1844,
and as limitation operates sensibly only under circum¬
stances of pressure, it is obvious that to evade its strin¬
gency because a pressure is felt, is simply to stultify the
Act; while again, to admit a provision for extending the
1 This condition applies only to banks in England and Wales. The issues of those in Scotland and Ireland are limited to the average
amount of those in circulation during the twelve months ending the 1st of May 1845. See post.
MONEY.
468
Money, credit issue in the event of difficulties arising from any
possible or prospective contingency, would be to encour¬
age overtrading, and foster in the banking community
an unwarrantable dependence upon the Bank of England,
while they make immoderate engagements, and neglect to
maintain an adequate reserve for their own protection.”
In regard to the late suspension of the Act, we are,
perhaps, too near the occurrence to be able to judge
dispassionately of its policy. Owing, in no inconsider¬
able degree, to the prudence with which the business
of the bank has been conducted of late years, there has
not been, until very recently, any material amount of
mercantile distress. Credit, indeed, is apt at all times
to be incautiously and improperly given, and there is
uniformly a good deal of overtrading and unwarranted
expenditure. But except when a revulsion, or something
else occurs to deprive parties who are overtrading of
their accustomed accommodations, a system that is rotten
at the heart may wear an imposing appearance, and
seem to be possessed of that solidity of which it is wholly
destitute. When, however, the hollowness of such a
state of things is laid bare, it would be a gross abuse to
attempt by forced measures to bolster up a parcel of
mismanaged, bankrupt or ricketty concerns. Such a
proceeding is unjust to all those parties who have
conducted their businesses soberly and cautiously; and
it tempts others to engage in reckless courses, from
believing that government will, in the event of their
speculations breaking down and being on a sufficiently
large scale, volunteer to keep them on their legs.
This last is a most important consideration. In busi¬
ness matters, as in every thing else, individuals should be
taught to rely exclusively on themselves. Those who
rely on others are necessarily less industrious, cautious,
and provident, than if they had no such dependence.
They believe that, when the evil days come, they will
be helped out of their difficulties; and they therefore
make no provision against them, or none that is adequate.
It is not easy to estimate the pernicious influence of the
statements that are so frequently put forth, of this, that,
and the other house, being in difficulties, and of their
having obtained large advances from the bank, or other
great associations. In nine cases out of ten these diffi¬
culties might have been avoided; and had the parties
not been pretty well assured that assistance would be
granted, they would not have needed it. They would
have confined their engagements, and still more their
expenditure, within reasonable limits; and their sol¬
vency or bankruptcy would not have depended on the
judgment or caprice of any set of men. All applica¬
tions for relief should be rigorously scrutinised; and
those best qualified to form a just opinion on such sub¬
jects, are of opinion, that there are but few cases in
which it is for the public advantage that they should
be complied with. “ An avowed system,” said the
most distinguished merchant of his day, “ of leaving
things to take their own course, and of not listening to
the interested solicitations of one class or another for
relief, whenever the imprudence of speculation has occa¬
sioned losses, will, sooner than any artificial remedy,
reproduce that equilibrium of demand and supply which
the ardour of gain will frequently derange, but which
the same cause will, when let alone, as infallibly restore.”1 2
But, however important, even these principles are not ^Money.
to be carried out at all hazards. The salus pubhca
is the first consideration, and to it all others must give
way. And if, at any time, it can be shown that that
grand principle would be compromised by abiding by
the Act of 1844, or by any other Act, then undoubtedly it
ought to be suspended. But the necessity for interference
must be clearly made out.
Nec deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus
Incident.
The late revulsion, which grew out of the stoppage
of the American banks, is said to be an instance of the
kind now referred to. The real value of the exports
from this country to the United States amounted in
1856 to £21,476,000, of which a large portion was un¬
paid when the banks stopped payments; and a further
and very large sum was due to us on account of dividends
on state, railway and canal stocks, and so forth, held by
parties in England. The sudden cessation of so large
an amount of payments could not fail to occasion a good
deal of distress among the merchants and others dealing
with America. And it was among this class, or those
intimately connected with it, that the greatest overtrad¬
ing and abuse of credit had taken place. Some firms
in Glasgow, which had been notoriously overtrading for
a number of years, were the first to give way. And
their failure being on a very large scale, the banks3 by
which they had been principally supported became the
objects of suspicion. And from suspicion to distrust
there is but a step. Notwithstanding the numbers and
wealth of the shareholders responsible for the banks in
question, they were subjected to a run on the part of the
inferior class of note-holders and depositors, and their
resources being either anticipated or locked up, they
were obliged to suspend payments. And had they only
failed, none could have regretted the result. On the
contrary, it would have been nothing more than they
deserved, for they had for a lengthened period grossly
abused the ample resources at their command, and re¬
sorted to the most questionable means to bolster up the
speculators with whom they had become identified. But
the mischief is, that the disastrous effects of such pro¬
ceedings cannot be confined to the guilty parties. A
fire originating in a pig-stye may destroy a palace. The
suspension of the offending banks, by generating uneasy
feelings and suspicions in the public mind, led to a run
on some of the other banks. And to provide for their
own safety these establishments immediately began to
sell securities, and to adopt other means, by which to
obtain supplies of gold. Large amounts of it were in
consequence carried to Scotland. And, in addition to
the demand for gold, that for discounts, notwithstanding
the high rate of ten per cent, charged by the bank, con¬
tinued undiminished, so that the reserve in her possession
was reduced on the 11th of November to £1,462,153;
and it was the general belief, that this inadequate
reserve would be forthwith either much reduced or wholly
swallowed up. To avert the possibility of such an event
occurring, the directors were authorised, on the 12th of
November, to issue notes without being bound by the con¬
ditions of the Act of 1844.4
This, though a brief, is, we believe, a sufficiently
1 Letter of Mr. Hubbard to the governor of the bank, October 1856.
2 Tract by the late Alexander Baring, Esq. (afterwards Lord Ashburton), on the Orders in Council, 1808.
3 The Western Bank, and the City of Glasgow Bank, but especially the former.
4 We subjoin a letter by the governor and deputy-governor of the bank, illustrative of the circumstances referred to :
“ Bank of England, December 2,1857.
“ My Lord and Sir,—We have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 27th inst., requesting such an explanation
with respect to the course which the directors of the Bank of England have pursued in regulating their issues of notes since the 12th
inst. as they may be able to furnish for the information of Her Majesty’s Government.’
MONEY.
469
Money, accurate account of the circumstances that led to the
suspension of the Act in 1857. The weight to be
attached to them will be differently estimated by dif¬
ferent individuals. The suspension is believed by some
to have been, at least, premature, and others think that
probably it might have been avoided. It is alleged that
the panic in Scotland had begun to subside previously to
the measure being adopted; and it was all but certain that
when it had subsided, a considerable portion of the gold
[that had been sent to Scotland would speedily find its way
back to London, and some considerable risk and inconveni¬
ence should have been encountered rather than that mea¬
sures should have been adopted, the effect of which will
be to protect speculators and money dealers without
capital, and wanting alike in character and conduct, from
the consequences of their unjustifiable proceedings. But,
at the same time, we admit that the immediate exposure
and punishment of these parties, however desirable, was
not to be purchased at the risk of a general revulsion.
And as the information laid before ministers made them
believe that such a calamity was imminent unless the
[statute of 1844 was suspended, they were bound to act
upon that conviction, and to provide ne quid detrimenti
respublica capiat.
But whatever may be thought of these conclusions, it
is at all events certain that the Act of 1844 had nothing
whatever to do with the late revulsion. It did not occa¬
sion the American stoppage, and under its operation
the foreign drain for gold had been entirely stopped;
I and though, it could not prevent the abuses in banking,
and the system of rediscounting and overtrading in
which so many banks and firms have been engaged, it
contributed in no ordinary degree, by preventing the
issue of spurious paper, to confine them within com¬
paratively narrow limits, and to lessen the violence of
the crisis.
The Act of 1844 is a rule to be enforced in all but Money,
extraordinary and unforseen emergencies, the urgency
of which cannot be appreciated beforehand, but must
be determined at the moment. But when these occur,
it may, like the Habeas Corpus Act,, be properly sus¬
pended. It is mainly calculated to regulate our currency
by the exchanges, or through our commercial intercourse
with other countries ; but it is not applicable, nor is
any system of which the convertibility of paper into
coin makes a part applicable to a state of internal dis¬
credit or panic. Had it existed in 1797, it must have
been suspended; and its suspensions in 1847 and 1857
are only to be justified by the state of our domestic
affairs making an adherence to principle inexpedient and
impracticable. But, whenever the circumstances referred
to, that is, when the panic and distrust that occasion the
suspension of the Act subside, then it should be revived
in its pristine vigour. The Habeas Corpus Act is not
the less efficient at this moment that it has been repeatedly
suspended in periods of danger and difficulty.
Inasmuch, however, as the Act of 1844 has been
suspended in cases of emergency, and as there can he no
doubt that it will be suspended, if occasion require, in
time to come, it may be supposed, perhaps, to be indif¬
ferent whether such suspension should be effected as
hitherto by the pro re nata interference of ministers, or
whether a suspensive power should be embodied in the
Act. We believe, however, that the present plan is much
the best of the two. When government interferes to
suspend the Act, the necessity under which they are now
placed of applying to Parliament for an indemnity, and
the discussions thence arising, are the best securities that
can be obtained for the measure not being resorted to
rashly, or without a reasonably good cause. But it
would be quite another thing did the Act contain a
clause authorising suspensions. This would show that
“ In complying with this wish it may he well to allude to the position of the Bank of England accounts anterior to the receipt of the
letter of the 12th..
“ On the 24th of October the bullion in the issue department was £8,777,000 ; the reserve £4,079,000 ; the notes in the hands of
the public, £19,766,000 ; the discount and advances, £10,262,000; and the deposits, £16,126,000 ; the rate of discount at the bank being
eight per cent, for hills having not more than 95 days to ran.
“ In the following week a great shock of credit and a consequent demand on the Bank of England for discounts arose from the
failure of the Liverpool Borough Bank, whose rediscounted bills were largely held by the bill-brokers and others in London. The effects
of this and other failures, however, up to this time, had not occasioned any alarming pressure on the resources of the bank, or great
disquietude in commercial affairs in London. .
“ On the 5th of November the reserve was £2,944,000, the bullion in the issue department £7,919,000, and the deposits £17,265,000.
The rate of discount was advanced to 9 per cent., and on the 10th of November to 10 per cent.
“ The Continental drain for gold had ceased, the American demand had become unimportant, and there was at that time little
apprehension that the hank issues would be inadequate to meet the necessities of commerce within the legalized sphere of their circulation.
“ Upon this state of things, however, supervened the failure of the Western Bank of Scotland and the City of Glasgow Bank, and
a renewed discredit in Ireland, causing an increased action upon the English circulation by the abstraction in four weeks of upwards of
two millions of gold to supply the wants of Scotland and Ireland ; of which amounts more than one million was sent to Scotland and
£280,000 to Ireland between the 5th and 12th of November. ....... „ ... ^
“ This drain was in its nature sudden and irresistible, and acted necessarily in diminution of the reserve, which, on the 11th had
decreased to £1,462,000, and the bullion to £6,666,000. , , . . , , ,
“ The public became alarmed, large deposits accumulated in the Bank of England, money dealers having vast sums lent to them upon
call were themselves obliged to resort to the Bank of England for increased supplies, and for some days nearly the whole of the require¬
ments of commerce were thrown on the bank. Thus, on the 12th, it discounted and advanced to the amount of £2,373,000, which still
left a reserve at night of £581,000. , , , , „ , ^ P .. i ,, ? .t m m.
“ Such was the state of the Bank of England accounts on the 12th, the day of the publication of the letter from the Treasury. The
demand for discounts and advances continued to increase till the 21st, when they reached their maximum of £21,616,000.
“ The public have also required a much larger quantity of notes than usual at this season, the amount in their hands having risen on
tte ‘2Ilie^ffmk^ave^’ince the 12th, under the authority of the letter from, the Treasury, issued £2,000,000 of notes in excess of the
limits of the circulation prescribed by the Act of 1844, and have passed securities to the issne department to that amount.
“ That, however, is not the measure of the amount actually parted with by the Bank, which has not exceeded £928,000, the remainder
of the £2,000,000 having been retained as a reserve of notes in the banking department, which, at the same time, also held £407,020 in
t0m“ We subjoin a statement of accounts from the 11th of November to the 28th inclusive, from which it will he apparent that the Bank
continued tomeet all the demands for discounts and advances, on approved securities, to remedy the commercial discredit and distress
mentioned in your letter of the 12th inst., ‘ as occasioned by the recent failure of certain joint-stock banks in England and Scotland, as
well as of certain large mercantile firms chiefly connected with the American trade,’ and aggravated by the subsequent embarrassment
of large joint-stock banks. , , . . . , „ , , , . ,
“In discounts and advances the sum supplied to the public between the 12th of November and 1st of December amounted m the
aggregatetto £12 W^OOG-the ^ of the Treasury and the SHEFFIELD NEAVE, Governor.
“Bight Hon. the Chancellor of the Exchequer. BONAMY DOB BEE, Deputy-Governor.”
470
MONEY.
Money, they were expected, and, indeed, almost invited. Under
such circumstances, they would soon come to he regarded
as matters of course, and to be resorted to whenever
a complaint or cry of monetary pressure was got up.
And were such the case, it would be idle to suppose, that
either the Act or the convertibility of notes should, be
maintained for any considerable period. The millennium
of the paper-mongers would be at hand. When the
checks which with difficulty restrain over-issue, deprecia¬
tion, and fraud, are repealed or rendered inefficient,
what are we to expect but that they should extend their
baleful influence on all sides ?
If we are right in these statements, it follows that the
Act of 1844 should be indefinitely continued with little
or no alteration. We are well convinced that all the
most important interests of the country will be best
secured by such a proceeding.1
Sect. VI. Management of the Bank of England.
Bank¬
notes
made legal
tender
every¬
where
except
at the
bank.
Account of
branch
banks.
When the charter was renewed in 1833, the notes of
the Bank of England were made legal tender everywhere
in England except at the bank. Of the wisdom of this
regulation no doubt can be entertained. Bank-notes are
necessarily always equivalent to bullion; and by making
them substitutes for coin at country banks, the demand for
the latter during periods of alarm or runs is materially
diminished, and the stability of the bank and of the
pecuniary system of the country proportionally increased.
Since 1826 the bank has established branches in some
of the great commercial towns. The mode and terms of
conducting business at which have been described as
follows:—
“ The branch bank at Swansea (and the same is true
of those established in other places) is to be a secure
place of deposit for persons having occasion to make
use of a bank for that purpose; such persons are said to
have drawing accounts: to facilitate to the mercantile and
trading classes the obtaining discounts of good and un¬
exceptionable bills, founded upon real transactions, two
approved names being required upon every bill or note
discounted; these are called discount accounts. The ap¬
plications of parties who desire to open discount accunts
at the branch are forwarded to the parent establishment
for approval, and an answer is generally received in
about ten days. When approved, good bills may be
discounted at the branch without reference to London.
Bills payable at Swansea, London, or any other place
where a branch is established, are discounted under this
regulation. The dividends on any of the public funds,
which are payable at the Bank of England, may be re¬
ceived at the branch, by persons who have opened
‘ drawing accounts,’ after signing powers of attorney for
that purpose, which the branch will procure from Lon¬
don. No charge is made in this case, except the expense
of the power of attorney and the postages incurred in
transmitting it. Purchases and sales of every description
of government securities are effected by the branch at a
charge corresponding to that made by the local bankers
where the branch is situated. A commission, including
brokerage in London, and all expenses of postage, is
charged on paying at the Bank of England bills accepted
by persons having drawing accounts at Swansea, such Money,
bills to be advised by the branch; also for granting
letters of credit on London, or on the other branches.
The branch grants bills on London, payable at seven
days’ date, without acceptance, for sums of £10 and up¬
wards. Persons having drawing accounts at Swansea
may order money to be paid at the bank in London to
their credit at Swansea, and vice versa, at a charge of 6d.
in lieu of postage. The branch may be called upon to
change any notes issued and dated at Swansea; but they
do not change the notes of the bank in London, nor
receive them in payment, unless as a matter of courtesy
where the parties are known. Bank post bills, which
are accepted and due, are received at the branch from
parties having drawing accounts, and taken to account
without any charge for postage ; but unexcepted bank
post bills, which must be sent to London, are subject to
the charge of postage, and taken to account when due.
No interest is allowed on deposits. No advance is made
by the branch upon any description of landed or other
property, nor is any account allowed to be overdrawn.
The notes are the same as those issued by the parent
establishment, except being dated Swansea, and made
payable there and in London. No note issued exceeds the
sum of £500, and none are for a less amount than £5.”
But though it might have been advisable to estab¬
lish offices in Manchester, Birmingham, and one or two
more great towns, for the interchange of bank-notes and
gold, we much doubt whether the establishment of the
branch banks has been advantageous. Speaking gene¬
rally, it may be laid down that local affairs are best con¬
ducted by local agencies ; and this is believed to be espe¬
cially the case in banking. It is a business which is
most likely to flourish when those by whom banks are
established in country districts belong to those districts,
and are well acquainted with the character and pursuits
of those with whom they deal.
The Bank of England transacts the whole business of Bank of
government. “ She acts not only,” says Adam Smith, England in
‘‘as an ordinary bank, but as a great engine of state. She
receives and pays the greater part of the annuities which g0vern.
are due to the creditors of the public; she circulates ex- ment.
chequer bills ; and she advances to the government the
annual amount of the land and malt taxes, which are
frequently not paid till some years thereafter.”
The greater part of the paper of the bank has generally Assistance
been issued in the way of advances or loans to govern- rendered
ment, upon security of certain branches of the revenue, J^e mer-t0
and in the purchase of Exchequer bills and bullion ; but Cantile
her issue through the medium of discounts and advances interest,
to individuals has also been at all times considerable,
while during war, and in periods of distress, it is occa¬
sionally very great. Generally, however, the directors do
not appear to have thought it advisable to enter into any
very keen competition with private bankers in the discount¬
ing of mercantile paper. And hence it is that the rate of
interest charged by the bank for loans being usually equal
to, and sometimes rather above the market rate, compara¬
tively few applications are made to her, in ordinary periods,
for discounts. But, at the same time, every one who has
any reasonable security to offer, knows where they may
always be had; while the rate of interest charged by the
1 We earnestly recommend those who may have any doubts in regard to this conclusion, to read and study the evidence of Lord
Overstone before the Bank Acts Committee of 1857. It cannot fail to carry conviction to every one in the least familiar with such subjects,
and is a most masterly and indeed triumphant vindication of the Act of 1844, and of sound monetary principles. It embraces, discusses,
and exhausts the fundamental principles of paper money and banking. It were much to be wished that it were published separately.
Of the opponents of the Act of 1844, the writers in the Economist are at once the most reasonable, ingenious, and able. Those,
however, on whom their lucubrations may have made an impression, will probably be restored to the sound faith if they read over the
pamphlet of Mr. Arbuthnot of the Treasury. He has shown the fallacy of many of the statements and conclusions of the writers referred
to, as well as of others, and has set the practical working of the Act of 1844 in a clear light.
MONEY.
loney.
bank necessarily forms a maximum rate which no other
establishment can exceed. When, however, any circum¬
stances occur to occasion a pressure in the money market,
or a difficulty of obtaining accommodations in the usual
channels, the market rate of interest generally rises to
the rate fixed by the bank, how high soever that may be,
and on such occasions the private bankers, and the public
generally, resort to the bank for aid. She then becomes,
as it were, a bank of support; and has, as such, on various
occasions, rendered good service to public credit, and to
the commercial interests of the country.
But, at the same time, it must be admitted that the
interference of the bank in assisting the commercial
interest is a matter that requires the greatest considera¬
tion, and that it can only be safely undertaken in rare
instances and under very peculiar circumstances. We
repeat again, that however a drain for gold may originate,
the fact of its existence shows conclusively that gold
is more valuable abroad than here, and consequently
that the currency is redundant and ought to be diminished.
Under such circumstances, it is the imperative duty of the
directors, if they would prevent the total exhaustion of
their banking reserve, not to fill up the vacuum caused
by the exchange of notes for bullion, by the issue of fresh
notes. It is at such periods, no doubt, that the applica¬
tions for assistance are the most urgent; but it is impos¬
sible to yield to them, and at the same time to enforce
that systematical and continuous reduction of the issues
which is indispensable for the safety of the banking
department of the bank. She can no longer assist her¬
self as on former occasions, by making fresh issues of
paper. And in truth that resource was of no real advan¬
tage to her, but the reverse. It tempted her to disregard
those great principles and warnings which never can
be neglected with impunity. The great commercial
crises that took place in 1793, in 1815-16, in 1825, and
in 1836-39, were all increased in violence and destruc¬
tiveness by the bank declining to narrow her issues
immediately on the exchange becoming unfavourable,
and deferring her repressive action till too late a
period.
When the bank sets about reducing her issues, she may
effect her object in various ways, viz., by rejecting a
ke bank p0rtion of the bills sent to her for discount, by raising
hwissues.6 tk® rate °f interest at which she discounts or makes
advances, by shortening the dates or echeance of the bills
which she negociates, and<by selling bullion and securities.
Of these means, some may be more or less expedient at
one time, and some at another. On the whole, however,
the first mode, or the rejection of bills, seems to be, in all
respects, the most objectionable. The bank will not, of
course, discount any bill in regard to the payment of
which there can be any reasonable doubt. And when
the solidity of the bills offered for discount cannot be
objected to, it becomes an invidious, if not an unjust
proceeding, to discount some and reject others. Under
such circumstances, the true plan is to raise the rate
of interest, for while such rise operates equally and
universally, it makes rich parties, or those who can avail
themselves of other means of accommodation, withhold
their demands, and thus effects its object in the fairest
and easiest way, and without sacrificing individuals.
Inasmuch, however, as any sudden rise in the rate of
discount, especially if it be considerable, is always pioduc-
tive of more or less inconvenience to the mercantile world,
it may be proper, whofi the exchange becomes unfavor¬
able, to endeavour to restore it to par by shortening the
dates of bills, and if circumstances will permit, by selling
bullion and securities. But, at all events, the redundancy
of the currency must be got rid of, and the exchange
redressed; and if the other means at the disposal of the
bank be inadequate to effect this object, arise in the rate ^
of interest should be at once resorted to, and carried to
the necessary extent.
It may be observed, with respect to the sale of securi¬
ties, that they may be wholly or partly paid by drafts
against deposits held by the bank. But, if so, it is clear
that, at all events, her debts, or the obligation under
which she lies to pay notes or gold to depositors when
demanded, will be in so far reduced.
The fact that the applications for discounts at the bank
are usually most numerous, when the rate of discount is
highest, has made some doubts be entertained in regard
to the efficacy of a rise in that rate to raise the value of the
currency, and restore an unfavourable exchange to par.
But the additional demand for discounts, on the occa¬
sions referred to, is most commonly a consequence of the
increased difficulty of obtaining them in other quarters 5
and when the rate of discount becomes unusually high,
apprehensions of a revulsion begin to be entertained, and
bankers and others carry bills to the bank, not that they
may get gold to send abroad, but that they may provide
for their own security, by getting a supply of notes or
gold, or both, to keep in reserve. And it is further to
be observed, that the rise in the rate of interest, whether
it be, as it usually is, the result of capital becoming scarcer
or more productive, or of a temporary increase in the de¬
mand for money, uniformly operates to hinder the expor¬
tation of the latter. That such is the case is evinced by
what took place in 1825, and in 1836-37. And on the
recent occasion, notwithstanding the large sums lent by
the bank on bills and advances of one sort or other, the ten
per cent, rate of interest charged by her was sufficient to
stop the efflux of bullion to the Continent and the United
States; and, but for the abuse of credit by some private
establishments, the restoration of the exchange to par
would have been effected without any internal revul¬
sion.
471
Money.
Methods
>y which
he bank
The Bank of England rarely discounts bills that have
more than two, or at most three, months to run, and it
were well were this rule generally observed by other
establishments. The discounting of bills at long dates is a
powerful stimulus to unsafe speculation. When indivi¬
duals obtain loans which they are not to be called upon
to pay for six, twelve, or, perhaps, eighteen months, they
are tempted to adventure in speculations which aie not
expected to be wound up till some proportionally distant
period, and as these not unfrequently fail, the conse¬
quence is that, when the bills become due, there is com¬
monly little or no provision made for their payment.
In such cases the discounters, to avert an imminent loss,
sometimes consent to renew the bills. But, while a pro¬
ceeding of this sort is rarely productive of ultimate
advantage to either party, the fact of its having taken
place makes other adventurers reckon that, in the event
of their speculations proving to be less successful than
they anticipated, their bills will be treated in the same
manner, and thus aggravates and extends the evil.
In other respects, too, the discount of bills at long
dates, or their renewal, or the making of permanent loans,
is altogether inconsistent with sound banking principles,
for it prevents the bankers from having that com¬
mand over their resources which is advantageous at all
times, and indispensable in periods of difficulty or dis¬
tress.
In the discounting of bills, a great deal of stress, is
usually laid, or pretended to be laid, on the distinction
between those that arise out of real transactions and
those that are fictitious, or that are intended for accom¬
modation purposes. The former are said to be legiti¬
mate, while the latter are stigmatised as illegitimate.
Mischie¬
vous effects
of discount¬
ing hills at
long dates.
Distinction
between
real and
accommo¬
dation
hills.
472
MONEY.
Money. But Mr Thornton1 has shown that the difference between
these two classes of bills is neither so well marked nor
so wide as most persons suppose. A notion seems to be
generally entertained that all real bills are drawn against
produce of one sort or other, which, or its value, is sup¬
posed to form a fund for their payment. Such, however, is
not always, nor even most commonly the case. A, for
example, sells to B certain produce, for which he draws
a bill at sixty days’ date. But prices are rising, trade
is brisk, or a spirit of speculation is afloat, and in a week
or two (sometimes much less), B sells the produce at an
advance to G, who thereafter sells it to D, and so on.
Hence it may, and in fact frequently does happen, that
bills amounting to four, five, or even ten times the value
of a quantity of merchandise, have grown out of its suc¬
cessive sales, before the first bill of the series has become
due. And not only this, but bills are themselves very
frequently rediscounted; and in this case the credit of
the last indorser is generally the only thing looked to;
and there is not, perhaps, one case in ten in which any
inquiries are made in regard to the origin and history of
the bills, though they are often of the most questionable
description.
On the whole, therefore, it would seem that the real
or presumed solidity of the parties signing a bill, and
responsible for its payment, is the only safe criterion by
which to judge whether it should or should not be dis¬
counted. But the fact of a merchant or other trader
offering accommodation bills for discount ought unques¬
tionably to excite a suspicion that he is trading beyond
his capital. Inquiries of the most searching description
should forthwith be instituted; and unless satisfactory
explanations are given, his paper should be rejected. On
the same principle, the offering of bills for rediscount
ought to awaken suspicions of the bankers and others
who resort to so questionable a mode of carrying on
business. But, except in so far as a feeling of dis¬
trust may be thus very properly excited, there does not
appear to be anything in an accommodation bill^er se to
hinder it from coming within the pale of negociability.
It is a mode of obtaining a loan from a bank; and when
the character of the bill is known to the banker, or is
openly declared, it does not appear to be an objection¬
able mode.
Besides bills avowedly intended for accommodation
purposes, another and a different variety of such bills is
drawn by parties at a distance from each other, often
men of straw, and made to appear as if they were bot¬
tomed on real transactions. And we are sorry to say,
that bills of this sort are always current, and often
to a large extent. Of course no person of respecta¬
bility can be knowingly connected with such bills, which
are almost always put in motion either to bolster up
some bankrupt concern, or to cheat and defraud the
public. But despite the mischief of which they are pro¬
ductive, it appears to be pretty generally supposed that
the currency of these bills is an evil which cannot be pre¬
vented. There can, however, be no real doubt that it
may, at all events, be very greatly diminished; and this
desirable result would be effected were it enacted that all
bills shall henceforth bear upon their face what they really
are. That those that are intended for accommodation pur¬
poses shall have at their head the words “ Accommodation
Bill;" and that those only shall bear to be for “value
received ” that have grown out of bond fide transfers of
property. An enactment of this sort could not be felt as
a grievance by any one unless he had a fraudulent pur¬
pose in view. And were the impressing of a false
character on a bill made a criminal offence punishable by
three years’ imprisonment, or some such penalty, there
is every probability that a formidable check would be
given to the issue of spurious bills, and to the manifold
abuses to which the practice gives rise.
Bill-discounters who have got fictitious paper on their
hands, and attempt, as has been done, to get rid of it by
concealing its character, or representing it in a favourable
light, make themselves parties to the fraud. Such con¬
duct is so very flagitious, that when it can be fairly
brought home to the parties, it should subject them to the
severest penalties.
The rates of discount charged by the bank, since its Rates of
establishment in 1694, down to the present time <"1857), discount
have been as follows:— ' charged by
bank.
o, loy-i to
JL J.UIU AUg.
... Aug. so; 1694
... Oct. 24, 1694
... Jan. 16, 1695
... Jan. 16, 1695
... Jan. 16,1695
... May 19, 1695
Do. on
... Feb. 28, 1704
... June 22, 1710
... July 26, 1716
... April 30, 1719
... Oct. 27, 1720
... Aug. 23, 1722
Do.
... Oct. 18,1742
... Dec. 12, 1744
Do.
;... May 1, 1746
... May 1,1746
... June 20,1822
... Dec. 13,1825
... July 5, 1827
... Julv 21,1836
... Sept 1, 1836
... Feb. 13, 1838
... May 16,1839
... June 20, 1839
... Aug. 1, 1839
... Jan. 23, 1840
... Oct 15,1840
... June 3,1841
... April 7,1842
... Sept. 5, 1844
Do.
... Mar. 13, 1845
... Oct. 16, 1845
... Nov. 6, 1845
... Aug. 17, 1846
... Jan. 14, 1847
... Jan. 21,1847
... April 8, 1847
... Aug. 5,1847
... Sept. 23, 1847
... Oct. 25, 1847
... Nov. 22, 1847
... Dec. 2,1847
... Dec. 23, 1847
... Jan. 27, 1848
... June 15, 1848
... Nov. 2, 1848
... Nov. 22,1849
... Dec. 26, 1850
... Jan. 1, 1852
... April 22,1852
... Jan. 6,1853
... Jan. 20, 1853
... June 2, 1853
... Sept. 1,1853
... Sept. 15, 1853
... Sept. 29, 1853
... May 11, 1854
... Aug. 3,1854
... April 5,1855
... May 3, 1855
... June 14,1855
... Sept. 6,1855
... Sept. 13,1855
... Sept. 27, 1855
... Oct. 4, 1855
... Oct. 18,1855
... Oct. 18, 1855
... May 22, 1856
Aug. ou, 1094 on r oreign bills . .
Jan. 16, 1695 Foreign bills . .
Jan. 16, 1695 Inland bills . .
May 19, 1695 Foreign bills . .
(to customers of the bank) do. . .
July 26,1716 Inland bills . .
Feb. 28, 1704 Foreign bills . .
Foreign bills, not payable at the bank
June 22,1710 Foreign bills .
July 26, 1716
April 30,1719
Oct. 27, 1720
Aug. 23, 1722
Oct. 18,1742
do.
Dec. 12,1744
May 1, 1746.
do.
April 5,1773
June 20, 1822
Dec.
July
July
Sept.
July
Mav
Jan.
Oct.
June
April
Sept.
Mar.
13, 1825
5,1827
21, 1836
1, 1836
15.1838
16.1839
June 20, 1839
Aug. 1,1839
23, 1840
15, 1840
3, 1841
7, 1842
5, 1844
13,1845
do.
Oct. 16,1845
Nov. 6,1845
Aug. 17,1846
Jan. 14, 1847
Jan. 21, 1847
April 8,1847
Aug. 5,1847
Sept. 23, 1847
Oct. 25, 1847
22,1847
2,1847
23, 1847
27, 1848
June 16, 1848
Nov. 2, 1848
Nov. 22, 1849
Dec. 26,1850
Jan. 2,1852
April 22, 1852
Jan. 6, 1853
20, 1853
2, 1853
1,1853
16, 1853
Sept. 29, 1553
May 11, 1854
3, 1855
5.1855
3, 1855
14,1855
6, 1855
13, 1855
27, 1855
4.1855
18, 1855
3.1856
22, 1856
29, 1856
Nov.
Dec.
Dec.
Jan.
Jan
June
Sept.
Sept.
Aug,
April
May
June
Sept.
Sept.
Sept.
Oct.
Oct.
May
May
May
For. & Inland do.
bills and notes .
bills 
bills 
Inland bills . .
Foreign bills . .
Foreign bills . .
do. (15 d. to run)
Inland bills . .
Foreign bills . .
Bills and notes .
(95 days to run).
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
65 day bills .
95 day bills .
do.
do.
bills ....
notes . . .
minimum rate
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
d.o.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
65 day bills .
95 day bills .
Minimum rate
b per cent.
4| ...
6 ...
6 ...
3 ...
...
4 ...
5 ...
5 ...
4 ...
5 ...
5 ...
4 ...
5 ...
4 ...
5 ...
4 ...
5 ...
5 ...
4 ...
5 ...
5 ...
4 ...
41 ...
5‘ ...
4 ...
51
6
5
5
. 5
4
3
2}
3
3*
3
H
4
5
6
8
7
6
5
4
3i
3
n
3
2i
2
?
3|
4
4J
5
5J
5
4|
4
3i
4
4J
5
5*
6
7
6
1 On the Paper Credit of Great Britain, cap. 2.
i
MONEY.
473
From May 29,185G
... June 26, 1856
... Oct. 1, 1856
... Oct. 6, 1856
... Nov. 13,1856
... Dec. 4, 1856
... Dec. 18,1856
... April 2,1857
... June 18, 1857
... July 16, 1857
... Oct. 8, 1857
... Oct. 12,1857
... Oct. 19, 1857
... Nov. 5, 1857
June 26, 1856 on Mi:
Oct. 1,1856
Oct. 6,1856
Nov. 13, 1856
Dec. 4,1856
Dec. 18, 1856
April 2, 1857
June 18,1857
July 16,1857
Oct. 8, 1857
Oct. 12, 1857
Oct. 19,1857
Nov. 5,1857
im rate 5 per cent,
do. 41 ...
do. 5 ...
do. 6 and 7 ...
do. 7
do. 61 ...
do. 6 ...
do. 6$ ...
do. 6
do. 51 ...
do. 6
do. 7
do. 9
do. 10
Dividends The dividends on bank stock, from the establishment
m bank of the company to the present time, have been as
itock. follows :—
Years.
1694
1697
17081
1729 j
1730
1730
1721
1728
1747
1753
Dividend.
8 per cent.
9
Varied from 9 to
5£ per cent.
6 „
H „
6
H „
4* „
Years.
1764
1767
1781
1788
1807
1823
1839
1852
1853
1856
Dividend.
5 per cent.
5J
6
7
10
8
7
74
8
94
Bank does The Bank of England does not allow, either at the
not allow iiead office in London, or at her branches, any in-
interest on terest ou deposits ; and in doing so she acts wisely.
‘P061^ Notwithstanding the non-payment of interest, she has
often very large amounts of deposits on her hands, and
were she to pay interest, the probability is that they
would be very greatly increased, and might, in periods
of difficulty, seriously compromise her safety. At pre¬
sent the bank may either retain deposits or invest
them in those securities from which they may be most
easily withdrawn. But if she allowed interest, the
case would be different, and she would be obliged to
look quite as much or more to the profits to be made by
investments as to the facility of repossessing herself of
funds. We beg, in corroboration of what has now been
stated, to draw the reader’s attention to the following
extract from the evidence of Mr Weguelin, late governor
of the bank, before the Committee of 1857 :—
“ We,” said he, “ at the Bank of England, have always con¬
sidered that the proper functions of a banker were to keepthe
spare cash of his customer, such cash as his customer required
lor his daily expenditure, for the sudden demands of his
business, and any accidental accumulation which might happen
before the customer had occasion to invest it. That is con¬
trasted with the system pursued by the joint-stock banks. The
joint-stock bank invites a large deposit^ by offering a certain
rate of interest for the deposit; in point of fact, the joint-
stock bank becomes the investor of the money instead of the
customer. The customer of a joint-stock bank does not him¬
self invest his own money, but he employs the joint-stock
bank to do it, taking the guarantee of the joint-stock bank,
and taking, possibly, a lower rate of interest. Now that system,
if applied to the Bank of England, would be, I think, very
prejudicial to the public interests. It would, in the first place,
force upon the Bank of England to invest its reserves much
more closely than it does now. If it had to. pay interest upon
its deposits, it could only do so by investing them in some
securities that would pay a higher rate of interest than that
which it pays. Its deposits also are of that particular character
which would render it still more inexpedient that they should
be closely invested. They consist, in the first place, of govern¬
ment deposits, which rise from a low rate at one period of a
quarter up to five or six millions higher at another period of a
quarter, and again collapse to a very low rate at another period.
Again, the private deposits consist, to a certain extent, of the
deposits of the bankers and the joint-stock banks of London
Those deposits are the amounts which those bankers require
to work their own business. Consequently, they are not
VOT.. XV.
deposits which should be very closely invested by the Bank Money,
of England. In times when there is a great accumulation
of deposits in the Bank of England, it is because the pub¬
lic are not able at those times to find investments to their
mind to employ those deposits ; and consequently, it is not at
all likely that the Bank of England, if that is the case with the
public generally, will be able to find investments which the
public themselves have not been able to do. All these reasons
combined would lead me to think that to force a system upon
the Bank of England by which it should be obliged to employ
its deposits very closely—much more closely than it does at
present—would be not only prejudicial and unsafe as regards
the Bank of England, but would be prejudicial to the public
interest.”—Quest. 159.
The truth is, that the whole subject of deposits is
beset with difficulties. The extent to which it has been
already carried has deeply endangered the stability of
the banking system, and we have seen that it is indis¬
pensable it should be subjected to regulation.
Previously to 1786, the bank received an allowance for Manage-
trouble in paying the dividends, superintending the trans- mcnt of
fer of the stock, &c., of the national debt of £562 :10s. “^1t°nal
a million on its amount. In 1786 this allowance was re¬
duced to £450 a million, the bank being, at the same
time, entitled to a considerable allowance for her
trouble in receiving contributions on loans, lotteries, &c.
This, though long regarded as a very improvident
arrangement on the part of the public, was acquiesced
in till 1808, when the allowance on account of manage¬
ment was reduced to £340 per million on £600,000,000
of the public debt, and to £300 per million on all that it
exceeded that sum, exclusive of some separate allowances
for annuities, &c. The impression, however, was still
entertained that the allowances for management should
be further reduced, and this has been effected in the
interim.
Exclusive of her functions as public banker, and Profit on
manager of the public debt, the Bank of England is con- ?xed
nected with government through the circulation. We 8 e'
have seen that she is entitled to issue upwards of
£14,000,000 upon securities, that is, on the credit of the
funds she has lent to government. But for these she
receives about 3 per cent, interest, and such being the
case, the public is clearly entitled to a portion, if not to
the whole amount of the profits realised by the bank on
the issue of these £14,000,000. It is difficult to say how
much this may amount to. The issue department of the
bank seldom re-issues notes, but for the most part destroys
them as soon as they are returned to it. This practice
is said to be necessary to enable the bank to obviate
fraud, by keeping a proper account of the numbers of the
notes afloat. An opinion is, however, pretty generally
entertained that this might be effected by a less expensive
process than that which isnow resorted to. And, certainly,
it seems to be a very wasteful proceeding, that a quantity
of newly manufactured notes issued by the bank in the
forenoon, and returned to her in the afternoon, should
not be reissued, but consigned to the flames. The Scotch
banks are justly censurable for keeping their notes too
long afloat, but this is running with a vengeance into
the opposite extreme.
But, as it is, the cost of maintaining an issue of
£14,000,000 is estimated by the bank at about£113,000
a year; and taking the gross profits of the issue at 3
per cent., or £420,000, the nett profits may be estimated
at £307,000 a year ; and of this sum the bank pays to
government £180,000, viz., £60,000 in lieu of the old
charge for stamp duty, abolished in 1844, and a further
sum of £120,000, leaving the bank £127,000 for her share
of the profits. And so long as the cost of the issues remains
at about its present amount, we do not know that there
3 o
474
MONEY.
Dead
weight
Money, is much, to object to in this arrangement. Probably)
however, were the allowance to government further
increased by some .£50,000 or £60,000, the bank might
find means, without injury to the public, of re-issuing
her notes, or of otherwise reducing the cost of tlieir C1£"
culation. During the year ended the 31st March 1856,
the payments made to the bank for managing the national
debt and annuities amounted to £95,875.
It should be observed that the responsibility and ex¬
pense incurred by the bank, in managing t ic pu ic e ,
are very great. The temptation to the commission of
fraud, in transferring stock from one individual to another,
and in the payment of the dividends is well known ; and
notwithstanding the skilfully devised system of checks
adopted by the bank for its prevention, she has frequently
sustained very great losses by forgery and otherwise.
In 1803 the bank lost, through a fraud committed by one
of her principal cashiers, Mr Astlett, no less than
£340,000 ; and the forgeries of Fauntleroy, the banker,
cost her a still larger sum! At an average of the ten
years ending with 1831, the bank lost, through forgeries
on the public funds, £40,204 a ^.—{Report on Bank
Charter, Appen. p. 165).
Besides the transactions alluded to, the bank entered,
on the 20th of March 1823, into an engagement with
government with respect to the public pensions and
annuities, or, as they have been more commonly termed,
the dead weight. At the end of the war, the naval
and military pensions, superannuated allowances, &c.,
amounted to above £5,000,000 a-year. They would,
of course, have been gradually lessened, and ultimately
extinguished, by the death of the parties. But it was
resolved in 1822 to attempt to spread the burden equally
over the whole period of forty-five years, during which
it was calculated the annuities would continue to decrease.
To effect this purpose, it was supposed that, upon govern¬
ment offering to pay £2,800,000 a-year, for forty-five
years, capitalists would be found who would undertake
to pay the entire annuities, according to a graduated
scale previously determined upon, making the first year
a payment of £4,900,000, and gradually decreasing the
payments until the forty-fifth and last year, when they
were to amount to only £300,000. This supposition
was not, however, realised. No capitalists were found
willing to enter into such distant engagements.. But in
1823 the bank agreed, on condition of receiving an
annuity of £585,740 hr forty-four years, commencing on
the 5th of April 1823, to pay, on account of the pensions,
&c., at different specified periods, between the years 1823
and 1828, both inclusive, the sum of £13,089,419.—
(4 Geo. IY. c. 22).
Mode of Formerly the business transacted at the bank was so
transact- much encumbered with forms and conditions, that the
ing bank- generaiity 0f merchants and ordinary people rarely
ness at the thought of employing her to keep their money or make
bank. their payments. But in this respect an entire change
has been effected. Cheques, the minimum amount of
which was formerly £10, may now be drawn of. any
amount, great or small; and all sorts of banking business
is conducted with facility and dispatch, and, we may
add, with perfect security.
The bank opens banking accounts, or, as they are
called, “ drawing accounts,” for the safe custody, and
the receipt and payment of cash, not only with merchants
and traders, but with all persons who choose to keep
their money at a banker’s, and to draw cheques against
it. The bank also takes charge of their customers’ bills
of exchange, exchequer bills, and other securities, and
does all that is needful either in the collection of bills of
exchange, the exchange of exchequer bills, or the receipt ^hmey.
of dividends, and so forth, free of any charge. Plate-
chests, and deed and security boxes, may be deposited,
free of expense, by customers, for safe custody. The
bank looks to the average balance of cash on each
account, to compensate for the trouble and expense of
keeping it, and in this respect the requirements of the
bank are certainly not greater than those of ordinary
bankers. No particular sum is required to be lodged on
opening an account; it is only necessary that the party
should be known as respectable, and in a condition to
require a banking account. But the bank receives and
holds sums of money for safe custody for parties who
have no current accounts.
The following are the regulations under which
accounts are conducted:—
1. All letters should be addressed to the chief cashier.
2. It is desirable that drafts should be drawn upon
cheques furnished by the bank.
3. Cheques upon city bankers, eastward of King Street,
Cheapside,
Paid in by 12 o’clock may be drawn for after 1.
Do. 2 o’clock „ „ afterS.
4. Cheques paid in after 2, and before. 3 o’clock, and
cheques upon all other London bankers paid in before 12
o’clock, may be drawn for on the following morning.
5. Cheques paid in after 3 o’clock are sent out at 9 the
following morning, and may be drawn for as soon as.received.
6. Dividend warrants are received at the drawing office
until 4 o’clock in the afternoon for all persons having accounts
at the bank.
7. It is requested that notice be given at the drawing
office of bills accepted payable at the bank, with the date
of their maturity. _ ,
8. Persons keeping a drawing account with the bank
(although not having a discount account) may tender bills
for discount through the drawing office. Application for
discounts, or for advances on stock, exchequer bills, &c.,
must be made before 2 o’clock.
9. Bills of exchange and notes not paid when due, will be
10. The bank will make purchases or sales of British or
foreign securities upon an order in writing addressed to the
chief cashier; and dividends on stock may be received
under powers of attorney granted to the cashiers of the bank.
11. Exchequer bills, bonds,, railway debentures, or any
other securities may be deposited, and the interest, when
payable, will be received and placed to account. .
12. Credits paid in to account are received without the
bank-book, and are afterwards entered therem without the
party claiming them. . T
13. Notes of country bankers, payable in London, are
sent out the same day for payment if paid in before 3 o clock.
14. The pass-books should be left at the drawing office,
at least once a month, to be written up. .
15. Where post-bills are required, or a payment is to be
made to any office of the bank by cheque on the Bank of
England, the cheque must be presented at the office upon
which it is drawn, and exchanged for an order , on the post¬
bill office, or on the office at which the payment is to be made.
16. Cash-boxes taken in, contents unknown, for such parties
as keep accounts at the Bank. .
17. A person having a drawing account may have a
discount account: but no person can have the latter without
at the same time having the former. When a discount
account is opened, the signatures of the parties are entered
in a book kept for that purpose, and powers of attorney are
granted empowering the persons named in them 0 ac °
their principals. Bills of exchange having more than bo
days to run are not eligible for discount. . ,
A.5.—All changes in the residence of persons keeping cash
at the bank are requested to be made known at the drawing
office ; and it is particularly requested not to ofter any
gratuities to the clerks of the banking offices, such gratuities
being strictly forbidden. ^ , ,
There are no holidays at the bank except Christmas and
Good Friday.
MONEY.
475
Tables.
TABLES EXHIBITING A VlEW OF THE ISSUES, SECURITIES, BULLION, &C., OF THE BANK OF ENGLAND,
AND OF THE JOINT-STOCK AND PRIVATE BANKS IN ENGLAND AND WALES.
Tables.
N0> i.—An ACCOUNT of the Notes, Post Bills, &c., of the Bank of England in Circulation, on the 28th of February
’ and 31st of August in each year, from 1698 to 1792 both included, as near as the same can be made up.
No. II.—ACCOUNT of the Circulation, Deposits, Securities, Bullion, and Surplus (exclusive of Capital), of the Assets
over the Liabilities of the Bank of England at (or as near thereto as the accounts can be made up) the
undermentioned Dates in each of the following \ ears.
Dates.
1793 February 28
August 31
1794 February 28
August 30
1795 February 28
August 31
1796 February 28
August 31
1797 February 28
August 31
1798 February 28
August 31
1799 February 28
August 31
1800 February 28
August 31
1801 February 28
August 31
1802 February 28
August 31
1803 February 28
August 31
1804 February 29
August 31
1805 February 28
August 31
1806 February 28
August 31
1807 February 28
August 31
1808 February 29
August 31
1809 February 28
August 31
Circulation.
£11,888,910
10,865,050
10,744,020
10,286,780
14,017,510
10,862,200
10,729,520
9,246,790
9,674,780
11.114.120
13,095,830
12,180,610
12,959,800
13,389,490
16,844,470
15,047,180
16,213,280
14,556,110
15,186,880
17,097,630
15,319,930
15,983,330
17,077,830
17,153,890
17,871,170
16,388,400
17.730.120
21,027,470
16,950,680
19,678,360
18,188,860
17,111,290
18,542,860
19,574,180
Deposits.
£5,346,450
6.442.810
7.891.810
5,935,710
5,973,020
8,154,980
5,702,360
6.656.320
4.891.530
7,765,350
6,148,900
8,300,720
8,131,820
7.642.240
7,062,680
8,335,060
10,745,840
8.133.830
6,858,210
9,739,140
8,050,240
9.817.240
8.676.830
9.715.530
12,083,620
14,048,080
9,980,790
9,636,330
11.829.320
11,789,200
11,961,960
13,012,510
9,982,950
12,257,180
£16,005,250
14.809.680
14,524,550
12.446.460
16,811,340
16,989,920
17.139.840
17,025,470
16,837,750
18,261,170
16,799,600
17,349,640
17,039,030
16,930,440
21,424,050
22,138,420
26,424,730
22,209,570
21,959,820
27,113,360
23,914,900
26.918.840
26,998,970
25.826.680
28,661,390
27,772,850
26,591,070
29,473,100
27.408.460
29,936,950
27,384,080
29,244,090
29,118,200
33,435,270
Bullion.
£4,010,680
5,322,010
6.987.110
6.770.110
6,127,720
5.136.350
2,539,630
2.122.950
1,086,170
4,089,620
5,828,940
6,546,100
7,563,900
7,000,780
6,144,250
5,150,450
4,640,120
4,335,260
4.152.950
3,891,780
3,776,750
3.592.500
3,372,140
5.879.190
5,883,800
7.624.500
5.987.190
6,215,020
6,142,840
6.484.350
7,855,470
6,015,940
4,488,700
3,652,480
Rest or Surplus of
Assets over Liabilities.
£2,780,570
2.823.830
2.875.830
2,994,080
2,948,530
3,109,090
3,247,590
3.245.310
3,357,610
3,471,320
3,383,710
3,414,410
3.511.310
2,899,490
3,661,150
3,906,630
4,105,730
3,854,890
4,067,680
4,169,370
4,321,480
4,710,770
4.616.450
4.836.450
4,590,400
4,960,870
4,867,350
5,024,320
4,771,300
4,953,740
5,088,750
5,136,230
5,081,090
5,256,390
MONEY
Dates.
1810 February 28
August 31
1811 February 28
August 31
1812 February 29
August 31
1813 February 27
August 31
1814 February 28
August 31
1815 February 28
August 31
1816 February 29
August 31.
1817 February 28
August 30
1818 February 28
August 31
1819 February 27
August 31
1820 February 29
August 31
1821 February 28
August 31
1822 February 28
August 31
1823 February 28
August 30
1824 February 28
August 31
1825 February 28
August 31
1826 February 28
August 31
1827 February 28
August 31
1828 February 29
August 30
1829 February 28
August 31
1830 February 27
August 30
1831 February 28
August 31
1832 February 29
August 28
1833 February 26
August 27
1834 February 25
August 26
1835 February 24
August 25
1836 February 23
August 30
1837 February 28
August 29
1838 February 27
August 28
1839 February 26
August 27
1840 February 25
August 25
1841 February 23
August 31
1842 February 22
August 27
1843 February 28
August 31
1844 February 29
August 31
1845 February 28
August 30
1846 February 28
August 31
1847 February 27
August 31
Circulation.
£21,019,600
24.793.990
23,360,220
23.286.850
23,408,320
23,026,880
23,210,930
24.828.120
24,801,080
28,368,290
27,261,650
27,248,670
27,013,620
26,758,720
27,397,900
29,543,780
27,770,970
26,202,150
25.126.700
25,252,690
23,484,110
24,299,340
23,884,920
20,295,300
18,665,350
17.464.790
18.392.240
19.231.240
19.736.990
20.132.120
20.753.760
19,398,840
25,467,910
21,563,560
21,890,610
22,747,600
21,980,710
21,357,510
19.870.850
19,547,380
20,050,730
21.464.700
19,600,140
18,538,630
18,051,710
18,320,000
19,372,000
19,925,000
19,050,000
19,195,000
18,510,000
18,085,000
18,181,000
18,018,000
18,165,000
18,887,000
18,975,000
19,488,000
18,098,000
17,982,000
16,504,000
17,170,000
16,399,000
17,370,000
16,920,000
20,332,000
20.284.370
19.339.790
21.148.370
21,485,260
21,201,720
22,109,220
20.968.240
21,390,420
20.151.760
18,828,070
Deposits.
£12,457,310
13,617,520
11,445,650
11,075,660
11,595,200
11,848,910
11,268,180
11,159,730
12,455,460
14,849,940
11,702,250
12,696,000
12,388,890
11,856,380
10,825,610
9,084,590
7,997,550
7,927,730
6,413,370
6.304.160
4,093,550
4,420,910
5,622,890
5,818,450
4.689.940
6,399,440
7,181,100
7,827,350
10,097,850
9,679,810
10,168,780
6,410,360
6.935.940
7,199,860
8,801,660
8,052,090
9,198,140
10,201,280
9.553.960
9,035,070
10,763,150
11,620,840
11,213,530
9,069,310
8,937,170
10,278,000
12,455,000
11,927,000
13,087,000
13,300,000
10,071,000
13,725,000
14,044,000
12,040,000
10,007,000
10,040,000
10,825,000
8,922,000
7,739,000
6,488,000
6,556,000
6,254,000
6,407,000
6,975,000
8,239,000
8,690,000
11.262.560
11,307,060
12.529.160
12,137,590
15.722.960
14.401.560
24,943,600
16,322,310
15,250,180
14,416,850
Securities.
£33,378,580
40,973,770
37,122,350
37,083,280
38,026,290
38.176.120
37,930,950
40,106,080
41,989,910
48,345,960
44,558,500
44,854,180
45,401,310
37.279.540
34.278.630
32.605.630
30.905.530
32,370,760
31,455,000
31,740,550
26.187.490
23.846.120
20.796.270
18.475.540
15,973,080
17,290,510
18,319,730
17.467.370
18,872,000
20.904.530
24,951,330
25,106,030
32,918,580
25,083,630
23.529.530
23,199,320
23.581.270
23.905.530
25,384,750
24,661,810
24,204,390
24,565,690
25,208,980
23,905,030
24.333.490
23,420,000
23,850,000
23,245,000
25,212,000
27,732,000
24,895,000
28,173,000
27,368,000
27,697,000
27,297,000
25,357,000
21,958,000
21,611,000
21,741,000
25,141,000
21,611,000
22,075,000
21,344,000
22,602,000
22,124,000
22,159,000
23.134.370
21,631,650
20,648,450
21,872,100
24,730,610
24.507.380
35,825,480
25.164.380
27,256,230
28,006,710
Bullion.
£3,501,410
3,191,850
3,350,940
3,243,300
2,983,190
3,099,270
2,884,500
2,712,270
2.204.430
2,097,680
2,036,910
3,409,040
4.640.880
7,562,780
9,680,970
11,668,260
10,055,460
6,363,160
4,184,620
3,595,360
4,911,050
8,211,080
11,869,900
11.233.590
11,057,150
10,097,960
10,384,230
12,658,240
13,810,060
11.787.430
8.779.100
3,634,320
2,459,510
6,754,230
10,159,020
10,463,770
10.347.290
10.498.880
6,835,020
6,795,530
9,171,000
11,150,480
8,217,050
6,439,760
5,293,150
7,514,000
10,205,000
10,871,000
9,225,000
7,303,000
6,289,000
6,255,000
7,787,000
5,250,000
4,077,000
6,548,000
10,471,000
9,540,000
6,773,000
2,420,000
4,311,000
4,299,000
4,335,000
4,822,000
6,119,000
9,729,000
11.149.790
12,295,000
16,213,950
15,314,540
15.767.590
15.592.290
13.775.790
16.388.100
12,044,930
9,163,840
Rest or Surplus of
Assets over Liabilities.
£5,403,080
5,754,110
5,667,420
5,964,070
6,005,960
6,399,600
6,336,340
6,830,500
6,937,800
7,225,410
7.631.510
8,318,550
8,639,680
6.227.220
5,736,090
5.645.520
5,192,270
4,604,040
4,099,550
3,779,060
3,520,880
3.336.950
3.158.360
3,595,380
3,674,940
3.524.240
3.130.620
3,067,020
2.847.220
2,880,030
2.807.890
2.930.950
3.974.240
2,074,440
2,996,280
2,863,400
2,749,710
2.845.620
2,794,960
2.874.890
2.561.510
2.630.630
2.612.360
2,736,850
2,637,760
2,336,000
2,228,000
2,264,000
2,300,000
2,540,000
2,603,000
2,618,000
2,930,000
2,889,000
3,202,000
2,978,000
2,629,000
2,741,000
2,677,000
3,091,000
2,862,000
2,950,000
2,873,000
3,079,000
3,084,000 -
2,866,000
2,737,230
3,279,800
3,184,870
3,563,790
3.573.520
3.588.890
3,689,430
3,839,750
3.899.220
3.925.630
Tables.
MONEY,
Tables.
477
Tables.
No. III.—A RETURN of the Average Aggregate Amount of Promissory-Notes, payable to Bearer on Demand, in
Circulation in the United Kingdom, distinguishing those at the undermentioned Dates circulated by the
Banks of England and Ireland, and by Private and Joint-Stock Banks in England, Scotland, and Ireland,
together with Bullion in the Bank of England, from March 1840 to March 1857.
Years and Months
ended
1840 March
1841 March
1842 Mar. 5
June 25
Sep. 17
Dec. 10
1843 Mar. 4
June 24
Sep. 16
Dec. 10
1844 Mar. 2
June 22
Sep. 14
Dec. 7
1845 Mar. 1
June 21
Sep. 13
Dec. 6
1846 Mar. 28
June 20
Sep. 12
Dec. 5
1847 Mar. 27
June 19
Sep. 11
Dec. 4
1848 Mar. 25
June 17
Sept. 9
Dec. 2
1849 Mar. 24
June 16
Sept. 8
Dec. 1
1850 Mar. 23
June 15
Sept. 7
Dec. 28
1851 Mar. 22
June 14
Sept. 6
Dec. 27
1852 Mar. 20
June 12
Sept. 4
Dec. 25
1853 Mar. 19
June 11
Sept. 3
Dec. 24
1854 Mar. 18
June 10
Sept. 2
Dec. 23
1855 Mar. 17
June 9
Sept. 1
Dec. 22
1856 Mar. 15
June 7
Sep. 27
Dec. 20
1857 Mar. 14
England.
Bank of
England.*
16,224,400
16,209,000
16,894,000
17,543,000
19,914,000
18,841,000
20,340,000
18,411,000
19,132,000
18,791,000
21,471,000
20,634,000
21,285,000
20,986,000
21,080,000
21,277,000
21,931,000
22,015,000
20,346,000
20,553,000
21,192,000
21,055,000
20,087,000
19,078,000
18,918,000
20,161,000
11,640,000
18,683,000
19,134,000
18,702,000
18,986,000
19,312,000
19,520,000
19,244,000
19,936,000
20,401,000
20,949,000
19,757,000
19,908,000
20,154,000
21,018,000
19,899,000
21,341,000
22,722,000
24,157,000
23,893,000
23,206,000
24,270,000
24,296,000
22,112,000
22,376,000
21,542,000
21,100,000
20,298,000
19,924,000
20,616,000
21,227,000
19,554,000
19,396,000
20,278,000
20,850,000
19,808,000
19,366,575
Private
Banks.
6,190,306
6,254,653
5,299,455
4,995,594
5,098,259
5,085,885
4.785.724
4,503,478
4,288,180
4,533,048
4,992,709
4,743,057
4,338,569
4.442.725
4,411,507
4,398,833
4,358,253
4,569,278
4,515,407
4,456,629
4.407.765
4,596,549
4.541.543
4,385,608
4,179,178
3,691,304
3,601,089
3,628,563
3,482,809
3.703.728
3,467,078
3,540,417
3,327,758
3.676.728
3,516,644
3,552,821
3,412,011
3,450,811
3,386,962
3.513.765
3,219,275
3,370,976
3,397,432
3,504,864
3,406,593
3.647.713
3,671,532
3,758,260
3,648,294
3,833,753
3,811,787
3,756,975
3,485,046
3,848,896
3,744,604
3.830.714
3,605,892
3,842,755
3,692,037
3,815,905
3,669,837
3.696.543
3,635,602
Joint Stock
Banks.
&
3.895.748
3,673,889
2,990,986
2,850,532
2.819.749
3,001,590
2,844,077
2,863,779
2,763,302
3,161,033
3,427,189
3,665,104
3,158,290
3,086,676
3,089,879
3,131,109
3,142,142
3,221,883
3,176,935
3,128,185
3,111,536
3,190,417
3,247,531
3,088,327
2,954,347
2,576,686
2,572,329
2,598,625
2,471,710
2,727,165
2,590,875
2,661,300
2,457,526
2,703,093
2,686,798
2,745,227
2,611,505
2,685,543
2,685,756
2,805,280
2,569,918
2,678,391
2,733,688
2,850,555
2,764,442
2,914,201
2,993,634
3,041,149
2,984,629
3,056,085
3,076,382
3,023.221
2,853,908
3,072,727
3,022,000
3,071,332
2,900,971
3,058,159
2,993,672
3,066,419
3,048,232
3,044,845
3,043,057
Ag. Mon. Circ.
of Count. Is.
10,148,430
10,093,259
8.290.441
7,846,126
7,918,008
8,087,475
7,629,801
7,367,257
7,051,482
7,694,081
8,419,998
8.408.161
7,496,859
7,529,401
7,501,386
7,529,942
7,500,395
7.791.161
7,692,342
7,584,814
7,519,301
7,786,966
7,789,074
7,473,935
7,133,525
6,267,990
6.173.418
6,227,188
5,954,519
6,430,893
6,057,953
6,201,717
5,785,284
6,379,821
6.203.442
6,298,048
6,023,516
6,136,354
6,072,718
6,319,045
5,789,193
6,049,367
6,131,120
6.355.419
6,171,035
6.561.914
6,665,166
6,799,409
6,632,923
6,889,838
6,888,169
6,780,196
6,338,954
6,921,623
6,766,604
6,902,046
6,506,863
6.900.914
6,685,709
6,882,324
6,718,069
6,741,388
6,678,659
Scotland.
Chart. Priv.
and Jt. Stock
Banks.
£
2,764,692
2,944,300
2,811,109
2,887,038
2,648,519
3,091,228
2,588,370
2,869,863
2,659,176
3,166,920
2,684,191
3,117,988
2,940,456
3,486,818
2,986,708
3,485,531
3,341,397
3,804,031
3,018,771
3,508,655
3.446.787
3,996,861
3,360,348
3,647,314
3,497,525
3,732,585
2,951,937
3,437,587
3,021,307
3,570,126
2,935,120
3,380,902
3,053,322
3,500,186
2,993,621
3,471,528
3,173,784
3,345,649
3,033,235
3,474,171
3,125,691
3,356,974
3,081,769
3,580,302
3,334,198
3,764,064
3,443,894
4,026,225
3,728,890
4.112.787
3,844,363
4,319,098
3,867,441
4,316,095
3,811,583
4,377,695
3,963,833
4,400,763
3,819,813
4,472,759
4,002,666
4,349,383
3,828,478
Bank of
Ireland.
Priv. and Jt.
Stock Banks.
Total, United
Kingdom.
Bullion in the
Bank of
[England.
2,663,925
£
3.132.500
3.164.250
3.188.750
3.901.525
2,806,025
3.138.525
3.196.125
3.105.150
3,975,950
3.502.475
3,609,000
3,488,300
3.359.150
3.900.275
3,991,050
3.882.600
3,712,725
4,404,975
4,257,200
4,119,850
3.923.575
4,375,025
3.857.800
3.327.400
3,026,550
3.175.400
2.990.875
2.863.800
2,583,825
2.851.750
2.598.650
2,481,775
2.308.575
2.656.225
2.601.500
2.530.125
2.438.700
2.647.600
2.574.275
2,460,900
2,252,350
2.470.225
2.428.700
2.510.625
2.505.875
2,857,675
2.804.800
2.771.650
2.693.250
3,095,900
3.217.425
3.127.750
2.869.125
3.260.275
3,381,375
3,180 575
2.936.875
3.424.625
3.332.425
3,250,550
3.132.475
3.529.600
3.561.575
2,314,169
2,407,625
1,769,184
1,663,012
2.104.855
2,097,225
1,734,730
1,699,946
2,376,676
2,428,498
2,080,277
2,052,262
2,945,046
3,130,508
2,736,432
2,547,130
3.311.855
3,187,760
2,852,176
2,664,600
3,464,505
2,846,936
2,137,551
2,021,760
2,147,341
2,116,520
1,797,546
1,683,307
2,117,300
1,803,100
1,564,700
1,502,870
2,017,906
1,888,824
1.711.686
1,715,279
2,209,359
2,046,637
1,808,018
1,719,907
2,256,542
2,133,794
2,018,364
2,002,826
2,827,766
2,715,744
2,594,518
2,537,137
3,357,327
3,493,353
3,052,538
2,708,286
3,462,374
3,276,196
2,841,410
2.657.687
3,619,254
3,259,088
3,113,829
3,254,236
3,777,703
3,611,634
34,933,947
34,724,978
33,591,925
32,946,873
34,949,594
35,263,083
35,851,521
33,488,000
33,518,554
35,531,152
38,612,587
37.728.726
37.133.727
38,847,540
38,689,652
38,911,505
39,032,647
41,327,022
38,502,073
38,618,495
38,746,263
40,678,357
37,941,158
35.664.200
34,597,360
35,484,316
32,872,750
33,009,121
32,376,958
33,672,069
32,380,823
32,941,094
32,170,051
33,798,138
33.623.387
34.412.387
34,300,279
34,095,962
33,634,865
34,216,134
33,905,141
34,032,108
35,116,3»3
37,186,710
38,170,934
39,90*,419
38,835,604
40,461,802
39.888.200
39,567,852
39,819,310
38,821,582
36,883,806
38,258,367
37,159,758
37,917,726
37,292,258
37,898,956
36,493,035
37,997,462
37,957,446
38,206,074
37,046,921
£
4,360,000
4,339,000
6,125,000
7,320,000
9,336,000
10,330,000
11,054,000
11,472,000
12,018,000
12,855,000
15,784,000
15,900,000
15,443,000
14,466,000
15,263,000
16,106,000
15,986,000
13,742,000
13,481,000
14,150,000
15,937,000
15,090,000
12,903,000
10,032,000
9,752,000
9,798,000
13,762,000
13,875,000
13,740,000
13,886,000
15,167,000
14,644,000
14,789,000
16,045,000
17,010,000
16,796,000
16,857,000
15,951,000
14,509,000
13,669,000
14,097,000
15,915,000
18,474,000
20,102,000
21,838,000
21,367,000
19,176,000
18,561,000
17,813,000
15,462,000
15,922,000
13,363,000
13,619,000
13,619,000
13,514,000
17,316,000
15,719,000
11,148,000
10,570,000
10,858,000
12,055,000
10,526,000
10,339,000
* This column does not (as it ought to have done) include the notes in the hanking department of the Bank of England,
are given in Table No. IY.
The latter
No. IV.—ACCOUNT of Bank of England Notes Issued in each Month of each Year from 1850 to 1856 inclusive, show¬
ing the Numbers held by the Public and by the Bank, with the Amounts of Bullion, Securities, and Deposits held
by the latter; and showing, also, the Discounts and Advances made by the Bank, and the Rate of Interest.
1850,
Jan. 5
.. 19
Feb. 2
.. 16
March 2
.. 16
April 6
.. 20
May 4
. 18
June 1
. 15
July 6
. 20
Aug. 3
. 17
Sept. 7
. 21
Oct. 5
. 19
Nov. 2
. 16
Dec. 7
... 21
1851,
Jan. 4
... 18
Feb. 1
... 15
March 1
... 15
April 5
... 19
May 3
... 17
June 7
... 21
July 5
... 19
Aug. 2
... 16
Sept. 6
... 20
Oct. 4
... 18
Nov. 1
... 15
Dec. 6
... 20
1852,
Jan. 3
... 17
Feb. 7
... 21
March 6
... 20
April 3
... 17
May 1
... 15
June 5
... 19
July 3
... 17
Aug. 7
Bank Notes Issued.
Held by
the Public.
£
18,257,000
19,333,000
19,625,000
19,187,000
19,008,000
19,009,000
19,374,000
20,335,000
20,107,000
19,469,000
19,215,000
19,460,000
19,457,000
20,568,000
20,714,000
19,827,000
19,482,000
18,862,000
19,304,000
20,140,000
19,722,000
19,102,000
18,707,000
18,496,000
19,037,000
19,947,000
19,630,000
18,910,000
19,236,000
18,756,000
19,065,000
19,847,000
19,685,000
19,126,000
19,008,000
18,915,000
19,545,000
20,634,000
20,346,000
20,132,000
19,363,000
18,952,000
19,458,000
20,676,000
20,469,000
19,585,000
18,855,000
18,676,000
19,285,000
21,038,000
20,348,000
20,188,000
20,237,000
19,980,000
20,687,000
22,056,000
21,832,000
21,670,000
21,685,000
21,437,000
22,241,000
23,748,000
23,040,000
Held in
Reserve by
the Bank.
Amount of
Bullion.
£
12,011,000
10,731,000
10,479,000
11,154,000
11,368,000
11,478,000
10,816,000
9,538,000
9,817,000
10,494,000
10,788,000
10,739,000
10,696,600
9,689,000
9,477,000
10,377,000
10,619,000
11,314,000
10,527,000
9,304,000
9,703,000
10,397,000
10,642,000
10,234,000
9,236,000
7,971,000
8,074,000
8,848,000
8,537,000
8,956,000
8,229,000
6,887,000
6,957,000
7,579,000
8,190,000
8,532,000
8,037,000
6,650,000
6,922,000
7,412,000
8,344,000
9,123,000
8,958,000
7,782,000
8,175,000
9,529,000
11,048,000
12,142,000
11,707,000
10,113,000
11,364,000
12,229,000
12,660,000
13,196,000
12,397,000
11,024,000
11,586,000
12,149,000
12,667,000
13,516,000
13,534,000
11,911,000
12,116,000
Government
Securities.
£
17,020,000
16,816,000
16,811,000
17,090,000
17,126,000
17,273,000
16,936,000
16,630,000
16,573,000
16,631,000
16,738,000
16,942,000
16,869,000
16,911,000
16,822,000
16,854,000
16,707,000
16,812,000
16,452,000
16,015,000
16,025,000
16,176,000
15,942,000
15,359,000
14,830,000
14,526,000
14,347,000
14,474,000
14,448,000
14,416,000
13,907,000
13,342,000
13,254,000
13,356,000
13,837,000
14,198,000
14,213,000
13,863,000
13,895,000
14,177,000
14,290,000
14,665,000
14,991,000
15,055,000
15,290,000
15,695,000
16,519,000
17,414,000
17,558,000
17,725,000
18,282,000
18,948,000
19,410,000
19,746,000
19,597,000
19,560,000
19,901,000
20,305,000
20,839,000
21,435,000
22,197,000
21,989,000
21,474,000
Other
Securities.
£
14,375,681
14,296,554
14,296,554
14,399,368
14,419,732
14,418,854
14,418,854
14,292,170
14,292,170
14,292,170
14,316,185
14,315,770
14,374,908
14,285,583
14,285,583
14,430,847
14,430,847
14,433,230
14,443,637
14,228,901
14,228,901
14,228,901
14,228,901
14,233,252
14,232,319
14,150,256
14,145,696
14,145,696
14,145,696
14,145,250
14,145,250
13,936,798
14,125,102
13,590,988
13,544,329
13,544,281
13,545,235
13,464,021
13,464,021
13,464,216
13,464,216
13,464,216
13,464,216
13,241,768
13,241,768
13,241,768
13,241,768
13,244,220
13,290,972
13,269,098
13,420,923
13,550,532
13,565,323
13,567,593
13,567,593
13,395,779
13,338,023
13,451,657
14,174,572
13,874,526
13,873,545
13,979,616
13,790,720
Public
Deposits.
11,691,026
9,848,040
9,828,739
9,657,067
10,425,030
11,322,296
11,981,434
9,779,210
9,778,216
9,746,392
9,760,048
11,057,149
11,943,840
10.184.360
10,139,611
10,534,408
11,700,259
12,158,839
13,389,578
10,772,545
11,038,486
11,320,567
12,722,488
13,762,797
15,181,698
12,619,768
11.946.360
11.888.361
13,174,857
12,904,218
14,147,070
11,638,650
11,441,155
11,887,695
12,558,110
13,234,757
14,251,192
11,803,076
11,800,143
12,698,000
13,193,878
13,785,274
14,624,018
13,083,883
12,688,022
11,818,439
11,547,043
11,366,148
12,214,222
11,388,726
11,181,921
10,979,880
11,602,383
11,722,150
11,720,843
11,086,331
11,022,332
10,765,581
10,697,573
10,868,650
11,773,967
10,671,902
10,756,634
Other
Deposits.
£
10,321,413
5.599.761
5.727.761
7,087,030
7,838,208
8,542,182
9,255,123
4,627,318
4,997,054
6,764,415
7,577,660
8,415,694
9,564,513
4,645,194
5,480,874
7,261,305
8,885,786
10,222,879
10,652,937
6.284.496
6,594,381
8,240,884
9,775,399
10,783,808
10,796,555
5,847,019
6,051,128
7,164,484
7,794,344
8,227,989
8,866,091
4.102.458
4.762.496
6,017,417
7,488,615
8,635,559
8,931,362
3,957,006
4.758.458
6.393.552
8,093,413
9,386,100
9,655,588
5,396,169
5.437.553
6,938,290
8,077,344
9,202,522
9,447,516
4,715,153
5,263,972
6,392,181
6,902,929
7,520,393
7,687,708
3,365,285
3,194,817
4,265,675
6,119,961
6,856,819
7,647,476
3,077,870
3,823,713
Minimum
Rate of
Interest.
Discounts
and
Advances.
£
9,735,268
11,070,694
10,591,701
9,846,781
9,881,889
10,260,861
10,024,993
10,946,342
10,649,502
9,582,999
9,215,738
9,646,380
9,273,018
11,122,418
9,976,414
9,569,322
9,106,676
8,968,161
8,899,290
9,550,613
9,932,226
9,385,599
9,511,556
9,201,634
9,480,319
10,517,783
9,787,615
9,423,679
9,521,505
9,287,826
9,572,840
10,256,573
9,563,751
8,921,477
8,726,683
8,713,685
8,695,802
9,583,816
9,002,461
8,617,141
8,121,431
8,207,807
7,556,950
10,339,401
10,337,251
9,308,899
9,539,188
9,360,449
9,371,117
11,656,776
12,128,638
11,916,013
12,124,056
12,300,704
11,191,626
13,906,918
14,365,920
13,686,289
13,030,750
13,030,979
12,968,501
14,715,088
13,885,973
Per Cent.
24
24
£
4,938,000
3,113,000
3,139,000
2,929,000
3,183,000
4,094,000
5,002,000
2,984,000
2,982,000
2,912,000
2,937,000
4,193,000
4,945,000
3,206,000
3,186,000
3,633,000
4,358,000
4,832,000
6,078,000
3,635,000
3,638,000
4,023,000
5,435,000
6,420,000
7,860,000
5,337,000
4,835,000
4,801,000
5,674,000
5,412,000
6,669,000
4,659,000
4,535,000
4,982,000
5,786,000
6,443,000
7,387,000
5,186,000
5,207,000
6,105,000
6,227,000
6,809,000
7,551,000
6,109,000
5,647,000
4,836,000
4,570,000
4,384,000
5,138,000
4,191,000
3,997,000
3,744,000
3,588,000
3,493,000
3,464,000
3,272,000
3,261,000
3,166,000
2,976,000
3,160,000
4,032,000
2,991,000
3,064,000
MONEY
479
Bibles.
1852,
Aug. 21
Sept. 4
18
Oct. 2
16
6
20
4
18
Nov.
Dec.
Bank Notes Issued.
Held by
the Public.
Held in
Reserve by
the Bank.
1853,
Jan. 1
. 15
Feb. 5
. 19
March 5
.. 19
April 2
.. 16
May 7
. 21
June 4
. 18
July 2
.. 16
Aug. 6
, 20
Sept. 3
. 17
Oct. 1
... 15
Nov. 5
... 19
Dec. 3
... 17
1854,
Jan. 7
... 21
Feb. 4
... 18
March 4
... 18
April 1
... 15
May 6
... 20
June 3
... 17
July 1
... 15
Aug. 5
... 19
Sept. 2
... 16
Oct. 7
... 21
Nov. 4
... 18
Dec. 2
... 16
1855,
Jan. 6
... 20
Feb. 3
... 17
March 3
... 17
April 7
... 21
May 5
22,760,000
22,811,000
21,953,000
22,244,000
23,660,000
23,351,000
22,671,000
22,723,000
22,236,000
23,054,000
23,662,000
22,695,000
22,081,000
22,276,000
21,465,000
22,387,000
23,613,000
23,470,000
22,639,000
23,423,000
22,696,000
22,848,000
23,888,000
23,523,000
23,003,000
22,466,000
22,422,000
22,773,000
23,667,000
22,627,000
21,591,000
21,206,000
20,606,000
21,348,000
22,272,000
22,557,000
21,655,000
21,558,000
20,784,000
21,684,000
22,490,000
21,974,000
20,679,000
20,540,000
19,700,000
20,099,000
20,683,000
20,302,000
20,123,000
19,852,000
19,583,000
19,959,000
20,871,000
20,604,000
19,828,000
19,617,000
19,039,000
19,682,000
20,046,000
19,826,000
19,246,000
19,098,000
18,984,000
19,812,000
20,283,000
20,168,000
£
12,665,000
12,543,000
13,202,000
12,746,000
11,392,000
11,242,000
12,127,000
12,524,000
12,259,000
Amount of
Bullion.
10,960,000
9,004,000
9,339,000
9,667,000
10,086,000
11,132,000
10,183,000
8,907,000
8,274,000
8,734,000
8,367,000
9.420,000
9,204,000
7,662,000
7,529,000
7,645,000
7,697,000
6,977,000
6,259,000
5,013,000
6,420,000
7,560,000
7,201,000
8,124,000
7,801,000
7,135,000
6,967,000
7,858,000
7,600,000
7,279,000
5,998,000
4,278,000
3,900,000
5,100,000
5,467,000
6,673,000
7,385,000
6,403,000
6,291,000
6,880,000
6.836,000
7,049,000
6,391,000
5,947,000
6,366,000
7,024,000
7,627,000
8,331,000
7,307,000
5,463,000
6,266,000
7,067,000
7,415,000
8,496,000
8,580,000
8,089,000
8,743,000
21,874,000
21,853,000
21,867,000
21,554,000
21,670,000
20,895,000
21,322,000
21,808,000
21,165,000
Government
Securities.
£
14,139,338
14,189,182
14,189,182
14,189,182
13,950,375
13,950,375
13,962,688
13,962,688
13,962,688
20,528,000
19,149,000
18,701,000
18,315,000
18,894,000
19,163,000
19,007,000
18,793,000
18,225,000
17,951,000
18,254,000
18,636,090
18,554,000
18,023,000
17,435,000
17,172,000
16,500,000
15,862,000
15,613,000
15,271,000
15,680,000
15,819,000
15,093,000
15,443,000
15,831,000
16,096,000
16,227,000
16,253,000
15,909,000
14,823,000
14,450,000
13,511,000
12,608,000
12,514,000
12,750,000
13,109,000
14,216,000
13,824,000
13,300,000
13,701,000
13,368,000
13,279,000
12,972,000
13,406,000
13,525,000
13,495,000
13,870,000
14,029,000
13,667,000
12,162,000
12,800,000
12,981,000
13,190,000
14,201,000
15,079,000
15,056,000
15,619,000
Other
Securities.
13,961,691
13,870,796
13,764,651
13,619,393
13,464,538
13,464,538
13,464,538
13,221,382
13.221.382
13,124,653
13,124,653
13,123,910
13,116,997
13,757,333
13,027,333
13,027,582
12,773,176
12,527,893
12,339,083
12,455,161
11,498,152
12,477,425
13,622,039
15,043,730
14,833,299
13,537,638
12,537,716
11,757,704
11,751,555
11,844,700
11,607,616
13,686,596
12,566,607
10,406,309
9,856,309
9,720,499
10,332,795
12.470.237
11.360.383
11,030,873
10,980,029
10,996,955
11,015,466
11,113,273
11,524,492
11,429,871
11,517,738
11.565.237
11,611,800
11,637,721
11,538,652
11,538,227
11,626,463
11,583,885
13,026,749
14.274.373
13.591.373
£
10,714,100
11,100,487
11,325,130
12,474,729
11,187,061
11,362,535
11,605,603
12,410,821
13,356,036
15,875,756
14,157,548
13,705,812
14,177,702
15,401,220
15,447,272
16,385,120
14,085,037
13,608,166
14,368,263
14,632,359
13,700,971
14,372,331
13,064,310
13,226,701
13,876,950
14,546,194
16,740,682
19,124,799
17,425,089
16,749,699
15,989,650
16,586,818
16,237,015
16,736,409
14,297,849
13,570,465
13,346,376
13,241,821
14,512,895
16,522,726
14,763,256
14,749,460
15,425,281
15,494,525
15,374,237
16,750,401
14,234,926
13,638,937
14,740,797
15,178,013
15,353,432
16,677,317
14,742,463
14,155,089
13,850,566
13,710,468
13,869,287
15,481,228
14,196,909
14,590,176
14,584,340
15,012,782
14,521,596
13,655,995
13,032,442
! 12,721,050
Public
Deposits.
Other
Deposits.
£
5,844,525
6,667,129
8,010,476
8,935,158
4,898,568
5,040,143
6,661,061
7,637,710
8,648,726
9,266,342
4,939,878
5,568,205
6,738,059
7,312,751
8,203,555
8,234,115
3,780,216
4,265,469
5,815,477
4,635,454
4,615,831
5,615,362
2,332,814
2,218,227
4,063,046
4,701,598
6,007,833
6,738,755
3,700,859
4,077,159
6,034,154
7,659,924
10,492,686
8,291,993
2,646,783
2,121,718
2,440,107
2,741,851
3,678,817
4,445,788
1,765,364
2,338,822
2,671,551
2,557,654
3,212,382
5,315,198
3,207,955
2.347.590
3,891,195
3,996,427
4,985,233
5,766,065
1,893,487
2,858,100
4,465,918
4,994,893
6,035,675
6,391,361
2,257,127
3,740,512
4,898,602
5,033,184
5,077,843
6,008,895
4,450,664
4.337.590
£
12,945,084
12.136.546
11,919,586
11.532.546
13,107,431
12,653,673
12,414,448
12,699,303
12,496,270
12,993,952
13,284,158
12,606,230
12,081,941
12,622,301
12,874,698
12,690,203
13,622,968
12,201,614
11,953,498
12,902,839
13,174,519
12,504,620
13,422,004
12,475,528
11,623,583
11,017,313
11,053,973
11,885,565
12,664,226
12,171,032
11.632.208
11,480,162
10,699,684
12,744,634
13,894,599
12,008,926
12.177.209
11,244,639
11,305,383
11,037,153
12,795,201
10,688,531
10,146,428
10,212,244
10,513,491
11,119,344
11,655,973
10,609,668
10,380,618
10,402,859
9,780,712
9,598,807
11,702,867
10,932,023
9,685,004
9,759,246
9,710,512
9,981,364
10,842,228
10,583,727
10,174,871
10,607,057
11,155,862
11,396,875
13,019,567
12,645,651
Minimum
Rate
of Interest.
Per Cent.
2
2£
3
3J
4
5
5}
Discounts
and
Advances.
Tables.
4*
>>
4
£
3,002,000
2,901,000
3,166,000
4,344,000
3,220,000
3,298,000
3,531,000
4,263,000
5,155,000
7,585,000
5,679,000
5,349,000
6,016,000
7,156,000
7,208,000
8,050,000
6,006,000
5,607,000
6,317,000
6,909,000
5,985,000
6,737,000
5,345,000
5,528,000
6,180,000
6,384,000
8,481,000
10,881,000
9,435,000
8,787,000
8,090,000
8,687,000
8,308,000
8,830,000
6,438,000
5,670,000
5,396,000
4,875,000
6,181,000
8,194,000
6,775,000
6,866,000
7,530,000
7,672,000
7,585,000
9,064,000
6,615,000
5,973,000
7,019,000
6,910,000
6,965,000
8,321,000
6,522,000
6,025,000
5,802,000
5,561,000
5,724,000
7,297,000
5,882,000
6,325,000
6,351,000
6,354,000
5,887,000
5,217,000
4,706,000
4,393,000
M O N E Y
480
Tables.
1855,
May 19
June 2
... 16
July 7
... 21
Aug. 4
... 18
Sept. 1
... 15
Oct. 6
... 20
Nov. 3
... 17
Dec. 1
... 15
1856,
Jan. 5
... 19
Feb. 2
... 16
March 1
... 15
April 5
... 19
May 3
... 17
June 7
... 21
July 5
... 19
Aug. 2
... 16
Sept. 6
... 20
Oct. 4
... 18
Nov. 1
... 15
Dec. 6
... 20
Bank Notes Issued.
Held by
the Public.
£
19,622,000
19,740,000
19,536,000
20,483,000
20,773,000
20,709,000
20,277,000
20,105,000
19,713,000
20,292,000
20,372,000
20,097,000
19,422,000
19,075,000
18,581,000
18,901,000
19,371,000
19,122,000
18,724,000
18,935,000
18,493,000
19,445,000
20,015,000
20,226,000
19,537,000
19,579,000
19,323,000
19,947,000
20,863,000
20,476,000
20,079,000
19,980,000
19,789,000
20,926,000
21,155,000
20,536,000
19,929,000
19,195,000
18,513,000
Held in
Reserve by
the Bank.
£
10,281,000
11,343,000
11,814,000
10,412,000
9,208,000
8,892,000
9,230,000
8,263,000
7,397,000
5,473,000
4,310,000
4,644,000
5,240,000
5,505,000
6,557,000
5,520,000
4,913,000
5,412,000
5,644,000
5,493,000
5,885,000
4,470,000
3,669,000
3,431,000
4,137,000
5,953,000
6,915,000
6,552,000
5,321,000
5,795,000
6,201,000
6,022,000
6,226,000
3,776,000
2,551,000
2,944,000
3,607,000
5,151,000
5,864,000
Amount of
Bullion.
£
16,648,000
17,789,000
18,061,000
17,584,000
16,644,000
16,232,000
16,117,000
14,939,000
13,698,000
12,279,000
11,230,000
11,300,000
11,263,000
11,227,000
11,306,000
10,537,000
10,425,000
10,706,000
10,532,000
10,600,000
10,554,000
10,057,000
9,876,000
9,807,000
9,802,000
11,688,000
12,418,000
12,611,000
12,331,000
12,433,000
12,456,000
12,179,000
12,133,000
10,784,000
9,760,000
9,596,000
9,684,000
10,486,000
10,514,000
Government
Securities.
£
10,823,132
12,677,816
12,681,068
13,757,224
13,071,978
12,851,030
12,810,164
13,031,088
12,799,368
11,413,143
10,635,359
10,201,276
10,124,848
10,275,480
9,789,376
10.827.515
13,728,246
12,092,361
11,931,006
11,451,006
11,451,006
11,871,778
13,117,833
13,755,083
12,479,416
11,682,126
11,276,155
11.308.515
14,798,464
12,483,045
12,010,078
12,114,078
11,964,953
11,464,278
11,103,896
10,737,841
10,457,869
10,640,867
10,870,431
Other
Securities.
£
12,455,155
12,419,158
12,399,704
13,328,806
12,706,108
13,592,925
14,943,006
15,661,985
17,388,784
19,791,293
18,789,512
18,355,548
17,787,150
18,868,757
18.360.761
19,871,874
16,857,056
18,216,497
17,743,632
19.490.762
19,285,028
19,711,720
15,929,363
15,446,266
16,710,812
14,333,306
14,411,854
15,527,912
13,153,664
14,186,000
15,270,195
16,126,951
18,291,557
21,582,464
19,054,088
19,053,446
19,054,017
17,389,715
17,654,460
Public
Deposits.
£
3,358,272
5,211,168
5,586,754
6,852,350
3,178,033
5,152,221
6,407,739
7,267,969
7,838,531
7,106,524
3,825,021
3,369,984
4,110,130
4,439,589
4,428,440
5,514,535
3,858,237
3,782,879
4,164,823
4,083,033
5,506,124
6,010,439
2,958,753
3,871,799
2,991,956
3,297,127
4,132,110
4,817,074
3,242,869
3,677,416
4,668,218
6,087,068
7,909,724
7,759,499
4,040,590
4,713,654
4,924,785
5,870,709
6,891,949
Other
Deposits.
£
12,230,771
13,282,876
13,307,714
12,586,891
13.604.199
11.857.328
12.250.406
11,098,018
11,146,762
10,837,643
11,764,080
11.694.200
10,886,746
12,234,788
12,322,462
12,607,840
13,512,245
13,807,258
12,964,125
13,918,279
12,650,535
11.510.329
11,907,623
10,806,090
12,351,097
10,734,513
10,602,674
10,470,957
11,902,473
10,581,413
10.560.407
9,624,407
9,958,972
10,323,552
10,481,220
9,912,776
10,113,368
9,297,193
9,493,093
Minimum
Rate
of Interest.
Per Cent.
4
)?
Q _
pH CO
c5
§ 3
C/7 rH
^ 03
Discount
and
Advances.
7
6£
6
£
4,183,000
4,006,000
3,849,000
4,856,000
4,002,000
4,796,000
6,110,000
6,464,000
8,338,000
10,706,000
9,865,000
9,409,000
8,974,000
10,072,000
9,644,000
11,295,000
8,410,000
9,929,000
9,500,000
10,830,000
10,659,000
11,108,000
7,699,000
7,268,000
8,568,000
6,197,000
6,271,000
7,111,000
4,760,000
5,790,000
6,872,000
7,262,000
9,433,000
12,746,000
10,336,000
10,341,000
10,412,000
8,791,000
9,063,000
Tables
No. V.—ACCOUNT of the Joint-Stock Banks of England and Wales, with their Partners, Branches, Capital,
and the Fixed Issues of such as issue Notes, &c.—(Abridged from the Bankers' Almanac for 1858).
Banks.
Ashton, Stalybridge, Hyde, and Glossop Bank
Bolton Bank
London Bank .
Stockport Bank .
Westmoreland Bank
Whitehaven Bank
Liverpool Bank .
Manchester Bank
Barnsley Banking Company
Bilston District Bank .....
Birmingham Town and District Banking Company
Birmingham Banking Company
Birmingham and Midland Bank
Bradford Commercial Bank
Bradford Banking Company
Bucks and Oxon Union Bank
Burton, Uttoxeter, and Ashbourne Union Bank
Bury Banking Company
Carlisle City and District Bank .
Carlisle and Cumberland Banking Company
Chesterfield and North Derbyshire Banking Company
City Bank ... o x v
Date of
Establish¬
ment.
1836
1836
1855
1836
1833
1837
1831
1828
1832
1836
1836
1829
1836
1833
1827
1853
1839
1836
1837
1836
1834
1855
Partners.
152
115
400
155
121
125
395
95
206
495
101
140
140
9
198
90
237
221
92
268
Paid-up Capital.
£25,000
64,940
300,000
60,000
21,400
50,000
625,000
106,068
34,200
30,375
75,000
200,000
150,000
47,550
154,000
55,000
97,312
53,820
58,000
51,925
25,000
225,000
Branches.
1'ixed Issues.
£12,225
32,681
9,563
9,418
20,084
49,292
60,701
19,972
25,610
10,421
MONEY.
Tables.
Banks.
Commercial Bank of London
County of Gloucester Bank
Coventry Banking Company . .
„ and Warwickshire Banking Company
Cumberland Banking Company .
Darlington District Banking Company .
Derby and Derbyshire Banking Company
Devon and Cornwall Banking Company
Dudley and West Bromwich Banking Company
East of England Bank ....
Glamorganshire Banking Company •. • .
Gloucestershire Banking Company
Halifax Commercial Banking Company
„ Joint-Stock Banking Company
„ and Huddersfield Union Banking Company
Hampshire Banking Company
Helston Banking Company
Herefordshire Banking Company •
Huddersfield Banking Company .
Hull Banking Company ....
Kingsbridge Joint-Stock Bank
Knaresborough and Claro Banking Company
Lancaster Banking Company
Leamington Priors and Warwickshire Bank
Leeds Banking Company ....
Leicestershire Banking Company
Lincoln and Lindsey Bank . . .
Liverpool Borough Bank* ....
„ Commercial Banking Company
„ Royal Bank ....
„ Union Bank . .
London and County Joint-Stock Banking Company
„ Joint-Stock Bank ....
„ and Westminster Bank .
Ludlow and Tenhury Banking Company
Manchester and Salford Bank
„ and Liverpool District Banking Company
Nottinghamshire Banking Company
National Provincial Bank of England .
Northamptonshire Banking Company .
„ Union Bank .
Northumberland and Durham District Bank
North and South Wales Bank
North Wilts Banking Company .
Nottingham and Nottinghamshire Banking Compan;
Pares’ Leicestershire Bank ....
South Hants Banking Company .
Preston Banking Company ....
Saddleworth Banking Company .
Sheffield Union Banking Company
„ and Rotherham Banking Company
„ Banking Company
„ and Hallamshire Bank .
Shropshire Banking Company
Stamford, Spalding, and Boston Bank .
Stourbridge and Kidderminster Bank .
Stuckey’s Banking Company
Swaledale and Wensleydale Banking Company
Unity Joint-Stock Banking Association
Union Bank of London .
„ of Manchester
West Riding Union Bank ....
Whitchurch and Ellesmere Banking Company
Wakefield and Barnsley Union Bank .
Warwick and Leamington Banking Company
West of England and South Wales District Bank
Western Bank of London ....
Whitehaven Bank 
Wilts and Dorset Banking Company .
Worcester City and County Bank
Wolverhampton and Staffordshire Banking Company
Yorkshire Banking Company
York City and County Bank
„ Union Banking Company .
Total Fixed Issues .
Date of
Establish¬
ment.
Partners.
1840
1836
1836
1835
1829
1831
1833
1832
1833
1835
1836
1831
1836
1829
1836
1834
1836
1836
1827
1833
1841
1831
1826
1835
1832
1829
1833
1836
1832
1836
1835
1836
1836
1834
1840
1836
1829
1836
1833
1836
1836
1836
1836
1835
1834
1836
1839
1844
1833
1843
1836
1831
1836
1836
1832
1834
1826
1836
1855
1839
1836
1832
1840
1832
1834
1834
1856
1829
1835
1840
1832
1843
1830
1833
Paid-up Capital.
346
265
114
126
153
220
145
223
142
170
132
438
102
135
260
156
10
88
229
220
104
221
44
231
162
190
329
237
200
208
850
11
151
683
182
1,067
267
629
408
215
173
245
157
60
3
101
88
215
181
282
250
About 70
136
75
204
549
930
135
460
32
92
44
732
398
220
251
60
195
260
166
300,000
181,000
56,000
76,000
60,000
62.500
100,000
91,400
100,000
125,000
200,000
61,700
75,000
170,000
100,000
45,257
140,000
Unknown.
Unknown.
Unknown.
125,000
Unknown.
110,100
142.500
77,000
1,000,000
326.400
650,000
375,000
500,000
600,000
1,000,000
Unknown.
285,000
750,000
82,224
600,000
60,000
192.500
652,891
161,587
40,000
203.500
168,750
Unknown.
100,000
Unknown.
81,600
121,231
146.400
158,650
45,000
Unknown.
100,000
53,400
150,000
600,000
192,000
Unknown.
Unknown.
40,000
32,800
498,925
200,000
42,375
100,000
30,000
100,000
144,964
100,000
99,000
Branches.
10
1
5
5
1
12
1
11
•2
9
1
6
4
2
3
7
3
3
"e
10
64
1
6
14
78
3
3
8
17
10
5
4
1
3
2
1
3
1
"3
7
3
23
3
62
3
1
2
1
1
4
15
i
23
1
13
8
4
Fixed Issues.
144,352
16,251
28,734
35,395
26,134
20,093
37,696
25,025
155,920
13,733
18,534
44,137
1,503
25,047
37,354
29,333
3,952
28,059
64,311
13,875
23,076
86,060
51,620
10
15
35,813
442,371
26,401
84,356
63,’951
63,939
29,477
59,300
8,122
52,496
35,843
23,524
47,951
55,721
56,830
356,976
54,372
34,029
7,475
14,604
37,124
83,535
31,916
76,162
6,848
35.378
122,532
94,695
71,240
£3,303,357
* This bauk has stopped payments.
VOL. XV.
d r
482
MONEY.
Tables. No. VI.—AN ACCOUNT of the Average Amount of Bank Notes, of the Several Private Banks of Issue in
England and Wales, in Circulation during the Weeks ending 8th of November 1856, and the 7th November
1857, with the Fixed Issues of said Banks.—(From the London Gazette).
Tables.
Banks.
Andover Bank . . .
Ashford Bank ....
Aylesbury Old Bank
Baldock and Biggie- \
swade Bank . . )
Barnstaple Bank . . .
Basingstoke and Oldham 1
Bank j
Bedford Bank ....
Bewdley Bank . . .
Bicester and Oxfordshire \
Bank j
Birmingham Bank . .
Birmingham and War-)
wick Bank . . , j
Blandford Bank ,
Boston Bank . ,
Boston Bank . ,
Bridgewater Bank
Bristol Bank . .
Brosely and Bridegnorth 1
Bank )
Buckingham Bank . .
Bury, Suffolk, Sudbury, l
and Stowmarket Bk. j
Banbury Bank
Banbury Old Bank
Bedfordshire Buzzard Bk
Birmingham Bank
Bradford Old Bank .
Brecon Old Bank . .
Brighton Union Bank
Burlington and Driffield )
Bank j
Bury Saint Edmunds Bk.
Cambridge Bank . .
Cambridge and Cam¬
bridgeshire Bank .
Canterbury Bank . .
Carmarthen Bank
Chertsey Bank . .
Colchester Bank . .
Colchester and Essex Bk
Cornish Bank, Truro
Coventry Bank . .
City Bank, Exeter .
Craven Bank . . .
Chepstow Old Bank .
Derby Bank . . .
Derby Bank . . ,
Derby Old Bank . .
Devizes and Wiltshire Bk
Diss Bank . .
Doncaster and Retford B1
Darlington Bank . .
Devonport Bank . .
Dorchester Old Bank
East Cornwall Bank .
East Riding Bank
Essex and Stortford Bk.
Exeter Bank .
Farringdon Bank
Farnham Bank
Faversham Bank
Godaiming Bank
Guildford Bank
Grantham Bank
Hastings Old Bank
Carry forward
Average
Amount.
Nov. 8, 1856.
£
13.627
13,277
32,829
33,631
10,514
21,443
32,511
11,546
14,983
22,943
9,998
6,094
68,657
14,892
7,546
33,823
19.628
23,033
73,254
36,235
28,226
36,194
29,799
12,123
63,011
20,097
12,594
14,948
49,772
28,604
23,859
2,545
17,905
36,410
47,146
7,618
21,342
75,253
9,383
10,002
40,828
27,201
9,735
10,330
73,087
84,999
9,315
47,966
94,863
54,090
46,158
27,552
7,637
12,479
5,805
4,603
13,260
29,743
30,919
Average
Amount,
Nov. 7, 1857
£
10,931
10,733
27,533
29.473
10,187
22,038
32,205
12,636
16,070
23,450
9,354
6,401
69,011
15,263
7,244
33.619
19,584
23.880
64,327
35,017
32,537
34,308
27,351
11,556
64,145
16,968
12.474
2,393
13.475
47,299
32,051
24,606
2,745
17,197
38,596
45,490
6,634
19.880
73,524
8,519
10,331
37,315
25,872
8,840
10,385
69,664
82,698
9,276
47,642
96,036
52,717
41,794
25,312
7,147
11,160
5,923
4,977
12.619
26,774
Authorised,
or Fixed
Issue.
1,687,865
1,597,186
£
17,751
11,849
48,461
37,223
17,182
24,730
34.218
18.597
27,090
23,695
18,132
9,723
75,069
15,161
10,028
48,277
26,717
29.657
82,362
43,457
55.153
36,829
38,816
12,676
68,271
33,794
12,745
3,201
25,744
49,916
33,671
23.597
3,436
25,082
48,704
49,869
12,045
21,527
77.154
9,387
13,332
41,304
27,237
20,674
10.657
77,400
86.218
10,664
48,807
112,280
53,392
69,637
37,894
8,977
14,202
6,681
6,322
14,524
30,372
Banks.
1,951,570
Brought forward . .
Hereford City and l
County Bank . . j
Huntingdon Town andl
County Bank . . j
Harwich Bank . . .
Hertfordshire, Hitchin Bk.
Hereford and Ross Bank
Ipswich Bank ....
Ipswich and Needham )
Bank, Suffolk and >-
Hadleigh Bank . . )
Kentish Bank ...
Kingston-uppn-Hull Bk.
Kington and Radnor Bk
Knaresborough Old Ban]
Kendal Bank . .
Kettering Bank .
Longton Staffordshire Bk
Leeds Bank . . .
Leeds Union Bank .
Leicester Bank . .
Lewes Old Bank . .
Lincoln Bank . . .
Llandovery Bank
Loughborough Bank .
Lymington Bank . .
Lynn Regis and Lincoln )
Bank ..... j
Lynn Regis and Norfolk (
Bank j
Macclesfield Bank . .
Manningtree Bank . .
Merionethshire Bank
Miners’ Bank ....
Monmouth Agric. and)
Commercial Bank . )
Monmouth Old Bank
Newark Bank . . .
Newark and Sleaford Bk
Newbury Bank . .
Newmarket Bank . .
Norwich Crown Bank
Norwich and Norfolk Bk
Nottingham and Notts Bk.
Nuneaton Bank . .
Naval Bank, Plymouth
New Sarum Bank
Nottingham Bank
Oswestry Bank . .
Oxford Old Bank . .
Old Bank, Tonbridge
Oxfordshire Witney Ban]
Pease’s Old Bank . .
Penzance Bank . .
Peterborough Bank .
Pembrokeshire Bank.
Reading Bank . . .
Reading Bank . . .
Richmond Bank . .
Rochdale Bank . .
Rochester and Strood Bk
Royston Bank . . .
Rugby Bank . . .
Rye Bank ....
Ross Old Bank, Here¬
fordshire , . . .
Saffron Walden Bank
Average
Amount,
Nov. 8,1856.
Carry forward
£
1,687,865
18.841
53.842
5,252
31,885
24,384
21,497
67,041
17,559
20,131
25,956
21,459
45,366
8,839
5.259
52,435
36,694
31,028
28,988
93,223
31,739
7,273
3,599
40,894
13,330
14,924
2,995
9,710
17,764
28,112
16,929
27.398
51,293
19,404
22,227
48,200
96,996
9,953
3,284
19,003
9,159
32,305
11,419
32,680
11,916
11,360
47,879
10,836
10,580
12.399
32,190
29,662
6,595
4,403
7,961
14,490
8,313
15,868
3.259
29,073
Average
Amount,
Nov. 7, 1857.
£
1,597,186
22,063
48,537
4,705
29,958
23,398
20,996
65,329
15,900
20,633
25,927
21,472
44,251
5.140
52,358
36,921
30,030
19.776
90,882
29,805
6,602
3,390
38,860
11.670
14,321
1,545
10,632
17,874
29,028
15,871
22,693
50.670
19,277
22,130
48.776
95,938
10,187
3,497
21,548
9.614
31,437
11,841
33,905
7,755
9.615
46,056
10,599
10,557
12,565
27,951
28,933
6,357
4,471
7.141
11,790
9,446
13,836
3,926
29,006
Authorised,
or Fixed
Issue.
£
1,951,570
23,635
56,591
5,778
38,764
27,625
21.901
80,699
19,895
19,979
26,050
21,825
44,663
5,624
53,357
37,459
32,322
44,836
100,342
32,945
7,359
5,038
42,817
13,917
15,769
7,690
10.902
18,688
29,335
16,385
28,788
51,615
36,787
23,098
49,671
99,655
10,867
5,898
27,321
15,659
31,047
18,471
34,391
13,183
11,852
48,807
11,405
12,545
12,910
37,519
43,271
6,889
5,590
10,480
16,393
17,250
29,864
4,420
47,646
3,114,918 |2,976,577 3,610,508
MONEY.
Money.
Banks.
Brought forward . .
Salop Bank 
Scarborough Old Bank .
Shrewsbury Old Bank .
Sittingbourne and Mil- \
ton Bank . . . |
Southampton Town and 1
County Bank . . j
Southwell Bank . . .
Southampton and Hamp- \
shire Bank . . . j
Stone Bank ....
Stafford Old Bank . .
Stamford and Rutland Bk.
Shrewsbury and Welsh l
Pool Bank . . . j
Taunton Bank....
Tavistock Bank . . .
Thornbury Bank . . .
Tiverton and Devonshire "I
Thrapston and Kettering 1
Bank j
Tring Bank, and Ches-
ham Bank ....
Towcester Old Bank . .
Town and County of)
Poole Bank . . . j
Carry forward . .
Average
Amount,
Nov. 8, 1856.
£
3,114,918
15,396
24,677
39,797
2,731
11,457
14,272
3,358
340
11,912
31,044
24,459
27,583
10,415
8,224
10,820
11,497
12,995
7,544
11,413
3,394,852
Average
Amount,
Nov. 7, 1857.
£
2,976,577
14,425
24,653
40,562
3,815
11,486
12,323
2,973
13,333
29,932
22,741
29,328
8,910
9,808
12,863
11,188
13,274
7,760
8,513
3,254,464
Authorised,
or Fixed
Issue.
£
3,610,508
22,338
24,813
43,191
4,789
18,589
14,744
6,770
9,154
14,166
31,858
25,336
29,799
13,421
10,026
13,470
11,559
13,531
10,801
11,856
3,940,719
Banks.
Brought forward . .
Union Bank, Cornwall .
Uxbridge Old Bank . .
Wallingford Bank . .
Warwick and Warwick-)
shire Bank . . . j
W ellington Somerset)
Bank ..... ^
West Riding Bank . .
Whitby Old Bank . .
Winchester and Alton)
Bank ..... j
Weymouth Old Bank
Wirksworth and Ash-)
bourne Bank . . j
Wisbeach and Lincoln 1
Bank {
Wiveliscombe Bank .
Wolverhampton Bank
Worcester Bank . .
Worcester Old Bank
Worcestershire Bank
Wolverhampton Bank
Yarmouth and Suffolk)
Bank j
Yarmouth, Norfolk, and )
Suffolk Bank . . )
York Bank .....
Totals . .
Average
Amount,
Nov. 8, 1856.
£
3,394,852
16,825
13,454
7,753
26,554
3,918
45,820
13,424
19,436
15,549
36,766
59,080
7,275
12,742
5,624
68.872
7,772
11,344
48,305
12,747
43.873
3,871,985
Average
Amount,
Nov. 7j 1857.
£
3,254,464
16,594
12,764
7,233
22,344
4,498
44,353
13,975
18,573
16,161
36,952
57,326
7,226
10,640
6,242
74,294
10,993
44,297
12,168
44,575
3,715,672
Authorised,
or Fixed
Issue.
£
3,940,719
17,003
25,136
17,064
30,504
6,528
46,158
14,258
25,892
16,461
37,602
59,713
7,602
14,180
15,463
87,448
11,867
53,060
13,229
46,387
4,486,274
483
Money.
The amount of notes afloat varies from time to time,
with the varying condition of the country, the state of
credit, and so forth. It may, however, in ordinary
years, be estimated as follows, viz.—
Issued by Bank of England . . £28,000,000
,, Private banks in England . 3,700,000
,, Joint-stock banks in England 3,050,000
,, Scotch banks . . . 4,000,000
,, Irish banks . . . 7,000,000
Total Issues . £45,750,000
Of this sum, from five to six millions is usually in the
till of the banking department of the bank.
Sect. VII.—BanTcs (Scotch).
The Act of 1708, preventing more than six individuals
from entering into a partnership for carrying on the
business of banking, did not extend to Scotland. In
consequence of this exemption, several banking com¬
panies, with numerous bodies of partners, have existed,
for a lengthened period, in that part of the empire.
, The Bank of Scotland was projected by Mr. John
c0 an ' Holland, merchant, of London, and was established by
Act of the Scotch Parliament (Will. III. Pari. 1, § 5)
in 1695, by the name of the Governor and Company
of the Bank of Scotland. Its original capital was
.£1,200,000 Scotch, or .£100,000 sterling, distributed
in shares of .£1000 Scotch, or £83 : 6 : 8 sterling, each.
The Act exempted the capital of the bank from all public
burdens, and gave it the exclusive privilege of banking
in Scotland for 21 years. The objects for which the
bank was instituted, and its mode of management, were
intended to be, and have been, in most respects, similar
to those of the Bank of England. The responsibility of
the shareholders is limited to the amount of their shares.
The capital of the bank was increased to £200,000 in
1744, and was enlarged by subsequent Acts of Parlia¬
ment, the last of which (44 Geo. III. c. 23) was passed
in 1804, to £1,500,000, its present amount. Of this
sum £1,000,000 has been paid up. The last-mentioned
Act directed that all sums relating to the affairs of the
bank should henceforth be rated in sterling money; that
the former mode of dividing bank stock by shares should
be discontinued; and that, for the future, it should be
transferable in sums or parcels of any amount. On the
union of the two kingdoms in 1707, the Bank of Scot¬
land undertook the recoinage, and effected the exchange
of the currency in Scotland. It was also the organ of
government in the issue of the new silver coinage in
1817.
The Bank of Scotland is the only Scotch bank con¬
stituted by Act of Parliament. It began to establish
branches in 1696, and issued notes for one pound so early
as 1704. The bank also began, at a very early period,
to receive deposits on interest, and to grant credit on
cash-accounts, a minute of the directors with respect
to the mode of keeping the latter being dated so far back
as 1729. It is, therefore, entitled to the credit of
having introduced and set on foot the distinctive prin¬
ciples of the Scotch banking system, which, whatever
may be its defects, is perhaps superior to most other
systems hitherto established. Generally speaking, the
Bank of Scotland has been cautiously and skilfully
conducted; and there can be no doubt that it has been
productive, both directly and as an example to other
banking establishments, of much public utility and ad¬
vantage.
It may be worth mentioning, that the Act of Will.
III. establishing the Bank of Scotland, declared that all
foreigners who became partners in the bank should, by
doing so, become, to all intents and purposes, naturalised
Scotchmen. After being for a long time forgotten, this
clause was taken advantage of in 1818, when several
484
M 0 N E Y.
Money, aliens acquired property in the bank in order to secure
the benefit of naturalisation. But after being suspended,
the privilege was finally cancelled in 1822.
We subjoin an official abstract of the constitution and
objects of the Bank of Scotland, printed for the use of
the proprietors ;—the terms and mode of transacting
business are, of course, sometimes altered, according to
circumstances.
I. The Bank of Scotland is a public national establishment;
erected and regulated by the legislature alone : and expressly
us a public bank in this kingdom ; for the benefit of the nation,
and for the advancement of agriculture, commerce, and manu¬
factures ; and for other objects of public policy.—(Will. Pari.
1, § 5 ; 14 Geo. III. c. 32 ; 24 Geo. III. c. 8 ; 32 Geo. Ill,
c. 25 ; 34 Geo. III. c. 19 ; 44 Geo. III. c. 23.)
II. The statutory capital is at present £1,500,000 sterling.
It is raised by voluntary subscription ; and has been subscribed
for. £1,000,000 has been called for, and paid in.—(44 Geo.
III. c. 23.)
III. Subscribers, if not under obligations to the bank, may,
at pleasure, transfer their right. If under obligation to the
bank, the obligation must be previously liquidated; or the
proceeds of the sale, at a price to the satisfaction of the direc¬
tors, must be applied towards such liquidation. Transfers are
made by a short assignment and acceptance thereof, both in a
register appointed for that purpose. The expense, beside the
government stamp, is 11s.—(Will. Pari. 1, § 5.)
IV. Bank of Scotland stock may be acquired, in any por¬
tions, by any person, community, or other lawful party what¬
soever ; without selection, exclusion, or limitation of numbers.
—(Will. Pari. 1, § 5 ; 44 Geo. III. c. 23.)
V. Bank of Scotland stock may be conveyed by will, and, if
specially mentioned, without expense of confirmation. It can¬
not be arrested: the holder’s right may be adjudged. Dividends
may be arrested.—(Will. Pari. 1, § 5.)
VI. The Bank of Scotland is a public corporation by Act of
Parliament. The bank’s transactions are distinct from those
of the stockholders : and theirs from those of the bank.—(Will.
Pari. 1, § 5.)
VII. The establishment is expressly debarred from any other
business than that of banking.—(Will. Pari. 1, § 5.)(
VIII. The management is vested, by statute, in a governor,
deputy governor, twelve ordinary, and twelve extraordinary
directors. They are chosen annually, on the last Tuesday of
March, by the stockholders having £250 of stock or upwards.
Those above £250, have a vote for every £250, to £5000, or
20 votes. No person can have more than 20 votes. The
governor must hold, at least, £2000 of stock ; the deputy
governor £1500 ; and each director £750. They swear to be
equal to all persons ; and cannot hold any inferior office in the
bank.—(Will. Pari. 1, § 5 ; 14 Geo. III. c. 32 ; 44 Geo. III.
. d. 23.)
IX. The executive part is conducted by a treasurer, secre¬
tary, and other public officers, all sworn. Those having the
official charge of cash find due security.—(Will. Pari. 1, § 5.)
X. The board of directors sits for the general administration
of the bank, at the bank’s public head office in Edinburgh.
The local business of that district is also conducted at that office.
For the local business in the other parts of the kingdom, the
bank has its regular public offices in the principal towns. At
each of these offices there is the bank agent or cashier, who
gives due security, and conducts the bank’s business for that
district in the manner after mentioned.—(Will. Pari. 1, § 5.)
XI. The bank takes in money at all its public offices, on
deposit receipts or on current deposit accounts. At the head-
office drafts on the branches, and at the branches drafts on the
other branches and on the head-office are granted. Both at
the head-office and branches drafts are granted on the London,
Dublin, and English and Irish provincial correspondents of the
bank. All receipts and drafts are on the bank’s engraved forms,
and bear to be granted “ for the Bank of Scotland” or “ for
the Governor and Company of the Bank of Scotland.” At
the head office official documents are signed by the treasurer,
and at the branches by the agents, and all are countersigned.
Remittances can be made to the principal colonial and con¬
tinental towns ; and bills, payable in the colonies, and in foreign
countnes, can be negotiated through the bank.—(Resolution
of Court, 1793, as since modified.)
N.B.—The bank has always allowed interest on deposits,
at a rate varying according to circumstances. At present
(November 1857) it is 4 per cent.
XII. Bills on London, Edinburgh, or any town in the Uni¬
ted Kingdom, are discounted at all the bank’s public office's.
The bank’s agents judge, in ordinary cases, of the bills pre¬
sented ; so that parties meet with no delay. The bank does
not re-issue the bills which it has discounted.—(Resolution of
Court, 23d Feb. 1789, and Subsequent Modifications).
XIII. Government stock and other public funds may be
purchased or sold, and dividends thereon may be received
through the Bank..
XIY. The bank gives credit on cash accounts at any of its
offices, on bond, with security. The security may be personal
co-obligants, or such other security as may be specially agreed
on. Applications for cash accounts are given in to the office
where the cash account is wanted, and must specify the credit
desired, and the security proposed; and the individual part¬
ners, where copartneries are proposed. Cash accounts are
granted by the directors only ; and are not recalled unless by
their special authority. It is understood that these credits are
not used as dead loans, to produce interest only. In the fair
course of business, the advantage of the bank is consulted by
an active circulation of its notes, and by frequent repayments
to it in a way least affecting that circulation.—(i?csoZM<mw of
Court, 6th Nov. 1729, and 23d Feb. 1789).
XY. The Bank’s dividend has been for some time 8 per
cent, per annum on its paid-up capital of £1,000,000 ster¬
ling. The dividends are paid regularly twice a year, without
expense. They maj be drawn either at the bank’s head
office, or at any of its other offices, as most agreeable to the
stockholder.
The above may suffice as a general outline of the
mode in which the business of banking is conducted in
Scotland.
The Royal Bank of Scotland was established in 1727.
Its original capital of £151,000 has been increased to >
£2,000,000.
The British Linen Company was incorporated in 1746,
for the purpose, as its name implies, of undertaking the
manufacture of linen. But the views in which it origi¬
nated were speedily abandoned; and it became a bank¬
ing company only. It? capital amounts to £1,000,000.
None of the other banking companies established in
Scotland are chartered associations with limited responsi¬
bility, the partners being liable, to the whole extent of their
fortunes, for the debts of the firms. Some of them, such
as the Edinburgh and Glasgow Bank, the National Bank,
the Western Bank, the Commercial Bank, &c., have very
numerous bodies of partners. Their affairs are uniformly
conducted by a Board of Directors, annually chosen by
the shareholders.
The Bank of Scotland began, as already stated, to
issue £1 notes so early as 1704 ; and their issue has since
been continued without interruption. “ In Scotland,” to
use the statement given in the Report of the Committee
of the House of Commons of 1826, on the Promissory
Notes of Scotland and Ireland, “ the issue of promissory
notes payable to the bearer on demand, for a sum of not
less than 20s., has been at all times permitted by law;
nor has any act been passed limiting the period for which
such issue shall continue legal in that country.”
All the Scotch banks receive deposits of so low a Deposits,
value as £10, and sometimes lower, and allow interest
upon them.
The interest allowed by the banks upon deposits varies,
from time to time, according to the variations in the
current rate of interest. At present (1857) it amounts
to 4 per cent. And it has been estimated, by the best
authorities, that the aggregate amount of the sums de¬
posited with the Scotch banks was, previously to the
late panic, little, if any thing, under £50,000,000.
The following Table exhibits an account of the different Scotch Banks, their Partners, Branches, Authorised
Circulation, Actual Circulation, Coin, &c., in 1856 (from Oliver & Boyd’s Almanac).
Banks.
Bank of Scotland *
Royal Bank*
British Linen Co.*
Commercial Bank*
National Bank of Scotland*
Union Bank of Scotland
Edinburgh & Glasgow Bank .
Aberdeen Town & County Bank
North of Scotland Banking Co.
Dundee Banking Co.
Eastern Bank of Scotland
Western Bank of Scotland!
Clydesdale Banking Co.
City of Glasgow Bankf .
Caledonian Banking Co.
Perth Banking Co.
Central Bank of Scotland
Insti.
tuteU.
Years.
1695
1727
1746
1810
1825
1829
1838
1825
1836
1763
1838
1832
1838
1839
1838
1766
1834
Partners.
645
958
630
657
1453
930
1575
495
1437
79
400
1280
1381
1306
803
200
440
Br.
35
35
48
61
49
73
23
20
30
1
4
98
13
97
10
10
8
Paid up Capital.
£
1,000,000
2,000,000
1,000,000
600,000
1,000,000
1,000,000
1,000,000
134,575
200,000
60,000
121,140
1,500,000
807,380
1,000,000
125,000
100,050
78,125
Authorised Circu¬
lation.
300,485
183,000
438,024
374,880
297,024
415,690
136,657
70,133
154,319
33,451
33,636
337,938
104,028
72,921
53,434
38,656
42,933
Arerage Circulation,
1855-56.
£
397,388
225,092
480,572
482,134
336,407
530,569
163,697
118,969
214,306
41,240
41,973
482,501
158,207
255,282
69,450
50,369
58,367
Coin, 1855-56.
177,295
88,832
186,570
183,439
87,628
175,262
54,138
58,291
89,422
14,587
16,295
265,938
78,082
208,715
32,126
26,104
26,288
A witness, connected for many yQars with different
banks in Scotland, and who had experience of their
concerns at Stirling, Edinburgh, Perth, Aberdeen, and
Glasgow, being examined by the Commons’ Committee
of 1826, stated that more than half the deposits in the
banks with which he had been connected were in sums
from ten pounds to two hundred pounds. Being asked
what class of the community it is that makes the small
deposits, he gave the following answer; from which it
appears that the mode of conducting this branch of the
< banking business in Scotland has long given to that
' country most part of the benefits derivable from the esta¬
blishment of savings banks.
“ Question. What class of the community is it that
makes the smallest deposits ?—
“Answer. They are generally the labouring classes in
towns like Glasgow : in country places like Perth and
Aberdeen, it is from servants and fishermen, and that
class of the community who save small sums from their
earnings, till they come to be a bank deposit. There is
now a facility for their placing money in the Provident
Banks, which receive money till the deposit amounts to
£10. When it comes to £10 it is equal to the minimum
of a bank deposit. The system of banking in Scotland
is an extension of the Provident Bank system. Half-
yearly or yearly those depositors come to the bank, and
add the savings of their labour, with the interest that has
accrued upon the deposits from the previous half-year or
year, to the principal; and in this way it goes on, with¬
out being at all reduced, accumulating (at compound in¬
terest) till the depositor is able either to buy or build a
house, when it comes to be £100, or £200, or £300, or till
he is able to commence business as a master in the line in
which he has hitherto been a servant. A great part of
the depositors of the bank are of that description, and a
great part of the most thriving of our farmers and manu¬
facturers have arisen from such beginnings.”
aBh- The loans or advances made by the Scotch banks are
I ( counts, either in the shape of discounts, or upon cash-credits, or,
as they are more commonly termed, cash-accounts.
A cash-credit is a credit given to an individual by a
banking company for a limited sum, seldom under £100
or £200, upon his own security, and that of two or three
individuals approved by the bank, who become sureties
for its payment. The individual who has obtained such
a credit is enabled to draw the whole sum, or any part
of it, when he pleases, replacing it, or portions of it,
according as he finds it convenient; interest being charged
upon such part only as he draws out. “ If a man bor¬
rows £5000 from a private hand, besides that it is not
always to be found when required, he pays interest for
it whether he be using it or not. His bank credit costs
him nothing, except during the moment it is of service
to him, and this circumstance is of equal advantage as if
he had borrowed money at a much lower rate of interest.”
—(Hume's Essay on the Balance of Trade.) This, then, is
plainly one of the most commodious forms in which ad¬
vances can be made. Cash-credits are not, however,
intended to be a dead loan ; a main object of the banks
in granting them is to get their notes circulated, and
they do not grant them except to persons in business, or
to those who are frequently drawing out and paying in
money.
The system of cash-credits has been very well described
in the Report of the Lords’ Committee of 1826 on Scotch
and Irish Banking. “ There is also,” say their Lord-
ships, u one part of their system which is stated by all
the witnesses (and, in the opinion of the Committee, very
justly stated) to have had the best effects upon the people
of Scotland, and particularly upon the middling and
poorer classes of society, in producing and encouraging
habits of frugality and industry. The practice referred
to is that of cash-credits. Any person who applies to a
bank for a cash-credit is called upon to produce two or
more competent sureties, who are jointly bound; and,
after a full inquiry into the character of the applicant,
the nature of his business, and the sufficiency of his
securities, he is allowed to open a credit, and to draw
upon the bank for the whole of its amount, or for such
part as his daily transactions may require. To the credit
of the account he pays in such sums as he may not have
occasion to use, and interest is charged or credited upon
the daily balance, as the case may be. From the facility
which these cash-credits give to all the small transactions
of the country, and from the opportunities which they
afford to persons who begin business with little or no
capital but their character, to employ profitably the
* The capital of the Banks marked with an asterisk is not in shares, hut in stock transferable to any amount,
f These banks stopped payments in November 1857. The latter, however, has resumed business.
486
M 0 N E Y.
Money, minutest products of their industry, it cannot be doubted
that the most important advantages are derived to the
whole community. The advantage to the banks who
give these cash-credits arises from the call which they
continually produce for the issue of their paper, and from
the opportunity which they afford for the profitable em¬
ployment of part of their deposits. The banks are indeed
so sensible that, in order to make this part of their busi¬
ness advantageous and secure, it is necessary that their
cash-credits should (as they express it) be frequently
operated upon, that they refuse to continue them unless
this implied condition be fulfilled. The total amount
of their cash-credits is stated by one witness to be
£5,000,000, of which the average amount advanced by
the banks may be one-third.”
The expense of a bond for a cash-credit of £500 is
12s. 6d. stamp duty, and a charge of from 5s. to 10s. 6d.
per cent, for preparing it.
Stability of There have been, until lately, comparatively few fail-
the Scotch ureg among the Scotch banks. In 1793 and 1825, when
banks. g0 many 0f English banks were swept off, there was
not a single establishment in Scotland that gave way.
This superior solidity appears to have been owing to
various causes, partly to the banks having, for the most
part, large bodies of partners, who, being conjointly and
individually bound for the debts of the companies to
which they belong, go far to render their ultimate secu¬
rity all but unquestionable; and partly to the facility
afforded by the law of Scotland, of attaching a debtor’s
property, whether it consist of land or movables, and
making it available for the payment of his debts. This
last-mentioned circumstance was referred to as follows,
in the report already alluded to.
“ A creditor in Scotland is empowered to attach the
real and heritable, as well as the personal estate of his
debtor, for payment of personal debts, among which may
be classed debts due by bills and promissory notes ; and
recourse may be had, for the purpose of procuring pay¬
ment, to each description of property at the same time.
Execution is not confined to the real property of a debtor
merely during his life, but proceeds with equal effect
upon that property after his decease.
“ The law relating to the establishment of records
gives ready means of procuring information with respect
to the real and heritable estate of which any person in
Scotland may be possessed. No purchase of an estate
in that country is secure until the sasine (that is, the
instrument certifying that actual delivery has been given)
is put on record, nor is any mortgage effectual until the
deed is in like manner recorded.
“ In the case of conflicting pecuniary claims upon real
property, the preference is not regulated by the date of
the transaction, but by the date of its record. These records
are accessible to all persons; and thus the public can
with ease ascertain the effective means which a banking
company possesses of discharging its obligations; and
the partners in that company are enabled to determine,
with tolerable accuracy, the degree of risk and responsi¬
bility to which the private property of each is exposed.”
But, on the whole, we are inclined to think that the
long familiarity of the inhabitants with banks and paper
money, and the less risk that has attended the business
of banking in Scotland, have been the principal causes of
the greater stability of the Scotch banks. Latterly,
however, owing to the rapid growth of Glasgow, Dun¬
dee, and other commercial towns, the risk attending Money,
banking in Scotland has materially increased. And while
hazard has been augmenting on the one hand, there
appears, on the other, to have been a still more rapid
decrease of that cautious policy that was supposed to be
a characteristic of Scotch bankers. In the recent crisis
two of the principal Scotch banks, the head-quarters of
which were in Glasgow, were compelled to stop pay¬
ments. They had very large capitals, the Western Bank Bank-
£1,500,000, and the City of Glasgow Bank £1,000,000, ruptcyof
with a great many branches, large amounts of deposits,tl]e Wes-
and very numerous and wealthy proprietary bodies.tern ^ank•
Had their management displayed anything like ordinary
skill and prudence, they might have gone triumphantly
through a far more serious trial. But it was characterised,
especially that of the Western Bank,1 by the most marvel¬
lous folly and recklessness. Having advanced immense
sums to a few firms that never were entitled to any con¬
siderable credit, the Western Bank was so crippled that,
for a lengthened period before their stoppage, they were
reduced to the miserable expedient of sending up the
bills they had discounted in Glasgow to be rediscounted
in London; and when this resource failed them, and the
other banks declined to come forward to their assistance,
they had nothing for it but to shut their doors. On the
affairs of the bank being investigated by a committee
appointed for the purpose, it was found that they were in
a much worse state than any one could have anticipated.
Their entire losses are said to amount to the enormous
sum of £2,020,584; so that, in addition to the capital
and rest of the bank, making together £1,715,892, which
have wholly disappeared, a further deficiency of £304,692
will have to be provided for ! No such gigantic failure
has ever occurred in Scotland; and it is not easy to
imagine the misery of which it cannot fail to be pro¬
ductive.
Eventually, there can be no doubt that the creditors
of the Western Bank will be fully paid, for the proprie¬
tary comprises some of the most opulent individuals in
Scotland. Unhappily, however, it also comprises hun¬
dreds belonging to the middle and lower classes, who
were tempted, by the dividend of 9 per cent., and the
assurance of prosperity, to embark in the concern. And
a loss that may be of little or no consequence to the
former may send the latter to the workhouse.
The ruin in which the bank has been involved did not
come suddenly upon it. On the contrary, it has been
accumulating for years. And yet the directors took no
steps, or none that were efficient, to arrest the progress
of the evil; nor did they apprise their confiding consti¬
tuents of the perilous condition into which the bank had
got. Concealment was practised to the very last moment,
till the concern was irretrievably sunk in the abyss of
bankruptcy. It is much to be wished that directors who
have so acted were really responsible for their conduct.
No charge of corruption is brought against them; but
their inattention to, and neglect of, the important interests
committed to their charge, has been wholly inexcusable.
They were bound, on undertaking the office of directors,
to bestow unremitting care and diligence upon the per¬
formance of the duties which it imposed on them. They
might neglect their own business ; but they could not,
without a flagrant breach of trust, neglect the duties
they had undertaken to discharge on account of others.
This, however, is precisely what they have done. They
appear to have selected the most reckless and incompe-
The management of the City of Glasgow Bank, though in many respects blameworthy, has been, as compared with that of the
theyhave receiv^dU^ent ^ ^ *ias recommenced business; and it is to be hoped that its managers will profit by the lesson
MONEY.
487
1 notes
lould
; sup-
ressed.
tent managers, and then to have given them carte blanche.
Whatever such conduct may be in law, it is, morally
and politically, in the highest degree culpable. Hundreds
have been sent to the antipodes and the treadmill for
offences that were comparatively innocuous. No doubt,
however, the grand source of mismanagement in banks
and other associations is to be found in the apathy of
the shareholders, in the blind and often undeserved con¬
fidence they place in those who are, no matter how, at
the head of their concerns. If those who may be ruined
by the proceedings of their own officers and servants
will not look after them, it were idle to attempt to throw
such a duty upon others.
In a public point of view the stoppage of the Glasgow
banks was productive of the very worst results. By
creating a panic, and occasioning a heavy internal demand
for gold, it may indeed be said to have been the main
cause of the suspension of the Act of 1844.
The recent occurrences would seem to show that the
time for the suppression of £1 notes in Scotland has
arrived. The panic, which has had such mischievous
results, principally prevailed among the smallest class of
depositors and the holders of £1 notes. Everybody in
the least degree familiar with money matters knew that,
however the Western Bank might have been perverted
and abused, its solvency could admit of no doubt. But
such considerations could not be expected to influence the
lower classes, who are the principal holders of £1 notes,
and to whom large sums are due by the savings and other
banks ; and hence the run on the Western Bank, the
City of Glasgow Bank, and on other banks whose
character stood highest. It may be fairly presumed that
if £1 notes be permitted to continue in circulation, the
like results will take place on future occasions. And
with a view to obviate their recurrence, and to strengthen
the basis of the currency, sovereigns should be introduced
instead of £1 notes. The change would occasion little,
if any, immediate loss to the banks, and the increased
security of which it would be productive would be as
advantageous to them as it would be to the other classes
of the community.
We also think that it would be good policy to make
Bank of England notes legal tender in Scotland and Ire¬
land as well as in England. This might occasionally be a
convenience to all parties, and it would tend to familiarise
the public in those parts of the empire to the use of Bank
of England notes, which ought eventually to be the only
notes in circulation.
Sect. YIII.—Banking in Ireland.
inking “In no country, perhaps,” says Sir Henry Parnell,
i Ireland. « has the issuing of paper money been carried to such an
injurious excess as in Ireland. A national bank was
established in 1783, with similar privileges to those of
the Bank of England, in respect to the restriction of more
than six partners in a bank ; and the injury that Ireland
has sustained from the repeated failure of banks may be
mainly attributed to this defective regulation. Had the
trade of banking been left as free in Ireland as in Scot¬
land, the want of paper-money that would have arisen
with the progress of trade, would in all probability have
been supplied by joint-stock companies, supported with
large capitals, and governed by wise and effectual rules.
“In 1797, when the Bank of England suspended its
payments, the same privilege was extended to Ireland ;
and after this period the issues of the Bank of Ireland
were rapidly increased. In 1797, the amount of the Money,
notes of the Bank of Ireland in circulation was £621,917;
in 1810, £2,266,471; and in 1814, £2,986,999.
“ These increased issues led to corresponding increased
issues by the private banks, of which the number was
fifty in 1804. The consequence of this increase of paper
was its great depreciation ; the price of bullion and
guineas arose to ten per cent, above the mint price ; and
the exchange with London became as high as eighteen
per cent., the par being 8^. This unfavourable exchange
was afterwards corrected, not by any reduction in the
issues of the Bank of Ireland, but by the depreciation of
the British currency in the year 1810, when the exchange
between London and Dublin settled again at about par.
(See Art. Exchange.)
“ The loss that Ireland has sustained by the failure of
banks may be described in a few words. It appears, by
the Beport of the Committee on Irish Exchanges in 1804,
that there were, at that time, in Ireland fifty registered
banks. Since that year a great many more have been
established, but the whole have failed, one after the
other, involving the country from time to time in im¬
mense distress, with the following exceptions :—First, a
few that withdrew from business ; secondly, four banks in
Dublin ; thirdly, three at Belfast; and, lastly, one at
Mallow. These eight banks, with the new Provincial
Bank and the Bank of Ireland, are the only banks now
(1827) existing in Ireland.
“In 1821, in consequence of eleven banks having
failed nearly at the same time, in the preceding year, in
the south of Ireland, government succeeded in making
an arrangement with the Bank of Ireland, by which
joint-stock companies were allowed to be established at
a distance of fifty miles (Irish) from Dublin, and the
bank was permitted to increase its capital from 2^ to 3
millions sterling. The Act 1 and 2 Geo. IY. c. 72, was
founded on this agreement. But ministers having omit¬
ted to repeal in this Act various restrictions on the trade
of banking that had been imposed by 33 Geo. II. c. 14,
no new company was formed. In 1824, a party of mer¬
chants of Belfast, wishing to establish a joint-stock com¬
pany, petitioned Parliament for the repeal of this Act of
Geo. II.; and an Act was accordingly past in that session,
repealing some of its most objectionable restrictions.
(5 Geo. IV. c. 73.)
“ In consequence of this Act, the Northern Bank of
Belfast was converted into a joint-stock company, with a
(nominal) capital of £500,000, and commenced business
on the 1st of January 1825. But the restrictions of 33
Geo. II., and certain provisions contained in the Acts 1
and 2 Geo. III., and 5 Geo. IV., obstructed its progress,
and they found it necessary to apply to government to
remove them ; and a bill was accordingly introduced,
which would have repealed all the obnoxious clauses of
the 33 Geo. II., had it not been so altered in the com¬
mittee as to leave several of them in force. In 1825 the
Provincial Bank of Ireland commenced business with a
(nominal) capital of £2,000,000 ; and the Bank of Ireland
has of late established branches in all the principal
towns.”1
Since Sir Henry Parnell published the pamphlet from
which we have taken the foregoing extract, several joint-
stock banking companies have been founded in Ireland.
The Provincial Bank, to which Sir Henry alludes, has a
paid up capital of £540,000, and has been well and
profitably managed. But others have been less fortunate.
The Agricultural and Commercial Bank of Ireland,
established in 1834, with 2170 partners, a paid-up capi-
1 Observations on Payer-Money, &c., by Sir Henry Parnell, p. 171.
488
M ONE Y.
Money, tal of £352,790, and many brandies, stopped payment
during the pressure in November 1836, and by doing so
involved many persons in great distress. It appears to
have been extremely ill-managed. The auditors ap¬
pointed to examine into its affairs, reported that “ Its
book-keeping has been found to be so faulty, that we are
convinced no accurate balance-sheet could at any time
have been constructed.” And they significantly added
“ the personal accounts at the head office require a dili¬
gent and searching revision.”
The Tipperary Joint-Stock Bank, which was estab¬
lished in 1839, and stopped payments in 1855, appears Money
to have been little, if at all, better than a mere swindling
engine. Luckily it did not issue notes ; and the sphere
of its operations was not very extensive. But, so far as
its influence went, nothing could be worse, being ruinous
alike to the majority of its partners and the public.
The existing Irish joint-stock banks, amounting to
seven, have been all established between 1824 and 1836.
We borrow principally from Thom’s Irish Almanac, the
most valuable publication of its class, the following de¬
tails with respect to the Irish banks in 1856 :—
ACCOUNT of the Banks existing in Ireland in 1856, their Branches, Capital, Fixed Issues, &c.
Hanks.
Bank of Ireland 
^Hibernian Joint-Stock Company, Dublin
Provincial Bank of Ireland .
Northern Banking Company, Belfast
Belfast Banking Company .
National Bank ....
Ulster Banking Company, Belfast
*Royal Bank, Dublin
Insti¬
tuted.
1783
1824
1825
1825
1827
1835
1836
1836
Partners.
604
945
230
246
777
398
633
No. of
Brandies.
23
3
40
12
22
47
18
Nominal
Capital.
£3,000,000
1,000,000
2,000,000
500,000
500,000
1,000,000
1,000,000
1,044,250
Capital
paid up.
£3,000,000
250,000
540,000
150,000
125,000
450,000
187,000
209,175
Reserved
Fund.
£1,040,000
68,000
196,787
59,778
66,482
46,222
67,500
Fixed Issues.
£3,738,428
927,667
243,440
281,611
852,269
311,079
* Thus marked do not issue their own notes.
ANNUAL AVERAGE of the Returns of the several Banks of Issue in Ireland under the Provisions of the
Act 8 and 9 Vic. c. 37, for the Years 1846 to 1856.
Years.
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
Certified Issue of
all the Banks.
£6,354,494
6,354,494
6,354,494
6,354,494
6,354,494
6,354,494
6,354,494
6,354,494
6,354,494
6,354,494
Notes of £5 and
upwards.
£3,121,259
2,844,049
2,439,121
2,204,474
2,197,117
2,113,077
2,215,503
2,517,570
2,872,007
3,046,460
3,338,718
Notes under £5.
£4,144,461
2,986,375
2,389,868
2,105,802
2,315,401
2,349,870
2,602,935
3,132,883
3,423,597
3,315,833
3,968,583
Total Issue of all
the Banks.
£7,265,721
5,830,425
4,823,992
4,310,283
4,512,443
4,462,909
4,818,238
5,650,455
6,295,607
6,362,303
7,307,361
Gold held.
£2,106,004
1,263,517
1,083,919
1,089,476
1,017,036
937,408
994,548
1,393,867
1,745,329
1,777,110
Silver held.
£334,258
491,953
502,975
528,783
375,322
318,574
249,028
182,729
213,711
232,078
Total Specie held
by all the Banks.
£2,440,266
1,755,475
1,586,898
1,541,094
1,315,439
1,255,985
1,243,576
1,576,600
1,959,043
2,009,496
2,622,687
Sect. IX.—Banks of Venice, Amsterdam, §c.
It would far exceed our limits to enter into any de¬
tailed statements with respect to the banks and banking
systems of foreign countries ; we shall therefore confine
ourselves to a brief notice of such banks as have been
most celebrated, or are at present of the greatest impor¬
tance.
The Bank of Venice was the most ancient bank in
Europe. Historians inform us that the republic being
hard pressed for money, was obliged, upon three different
occasions, in 1156, 1480, and 1510, to levy forced con¬
tributions upon the citizens, giving them in return
perpetual1 annuities at certain rates per cent. The
annuities due under the forced loan of 1156, were,
however, finally extinguished in the sixteenth century.
And the offices for the payment of the annuities due
under the other two loans having been consolidated,
eventually became the Bank of Venice.2 This might
be effected as follows: The interest on the loan to
government being paid punctually, every claim regis¬
tered in the books of the office would be considered as a
productive capital; and these claims, or the right of re¬
ceiving the annuity accruing thereon, must soon have
been transferred, by demise or cession, from one person
to another. This practice would naturally suggest to
holders of stock the simple and easy method of discharg¬
ing their mutual debts by transfers on the office books,
and as soon as they became sensible of the advantages
to be derived from this method of accounting, bank-
money was invented.
The Bank of Venice was essentially a deposit bank.
Though established without a capital, its bills bore at all
times an agio or premium above the current money of
the republic. The invasion of the French in 1797
occasioned the ruin of this establishment.
Bank of
The Bank of Amsterdam was founded in 1609, on Amster-
strictly commercial principles and views, and not to
afford any assistance, or to commix with the finances of
the State. Amsterdam was then the great entrepot of
the commerce of the world, and of course the coins of all
Europe passed current in it. Many of them, however,
were so worn and defaced as to reduce their general
average value to about nine per cent, less than their
mint value; and, in consequence, the new coins were
immediately melted down and exported. The currency
of the city was thus exposed to great fluctuations ; and
it was chiefly to remedy this inconvenience, and to fix
the value or par of the current money of the country,
1 The annuities on the forced loan of 1480, were to he suspended during periods of war.
2 Cleirac, Du Negoce, de la Banque, &c.—(Bordeaux, 1656), pp. 112-117, a scarce and valuable volume.
MONEY.
489
that the merchants of Amsterdam established a “ bank,”
on the model of that of Venice. Its first capital was
formed of Spanish ducats or ducatoons, a silver coin
which Spain had struck in the war with Holland, and
with which the tide of commerce had enriched the coun¬
try it was formed to overthrow. The bank afterwards
accepted the coins of all countries, worn or new, at their
intrinsic value, and made its own bank-money payable
in standard coin of the country, of full weight, deducting
a “ brassage” for the expense of coinage, and giving a
credit on its books, or “ bank-money,” for the deposits.
The Bank of Amsterdam professed not to lend out any
part of the specie enstrusted to its keeping, but to retain
in its coffers all that was inscribed on its books. In
1672, when Louis XIV. penetrated to Utrecht, almost
every one who had an account with the bank demanded
his deposit, and these were paid off so readily, that no
suspicion could exist as to the fidelity of the administra¬
tion. Many of the coins then brought forth bore marks
of the conflagration which happened at the Hotel de
Ville, soon after the establishment of the bank. This
good faith was maintained till about the middle of last
century, when the managers secretly lent part of their
bullion to the East India Company and Government.
The usual “ oaths of office” were taken by a religious
magistracy, or rather by the magistracy of a religious com¬
munity, that all was safe ; and the good people of Holland
believed, as an article of their creed, that every florin
which circulated as bank-money, had its metallic con¬
stituent in the treasury of the bank, sealed up, and
secured by oaths, honesty, and good policy. This blind
confidence was dissipated in December 1790, by a de¬
claration that the bank would retain ten per cent, of all
deposits, and would return none of a less amount than
2500 florins.
Even this was submitted to and forgiven. But, four
years afterwards, on the invasion of the French, the bank
was obliged to declare that it had advanced to the States
of Holland and West Friesland, and the East India Com¬
pany, more than 10,500,000 florins, which sum they
were, of course, unable to make up to their depositors,
to whom, however, they assigned their claims on the
States and the company. Bank-money, which previously
bore an agio of five per cent., immediately fell to sixteen
per cent, below current money.
This epoch marked the fall of an institution which
had long enjoyed an unlimited credit, and had rendered
the greatest services. The amount of treasure in the
vaults of the bank, in 1775, was estimated by Mr Hope
at 33,000,000 florins.1
Ink of The Bank of Hamburgh was established in 1619, on
1 mburgh. the model of that of Amsterdam. It is purely a deposit
bank for the transfer of sums from the account of
one individual to that of another. It receives no
deposits in coin, but only in bullion of a certain degree
of fineness. Down to 1845, it charged itself with the
bullion at the rate of 442 schillings the mark, and issued
it at the rate of 444 schillings, being a charge of four-
ninths, or nearly one-half per cent., for its retention;
but since that date, it receives and issues bullion at the
same rate, charging one per mille for its expenses. It ad¬
vances money on jewels to three-fourths of their value.
The city is answerable for all pledges deposited with the
bank : they may be sold by auction if they remain one
year and six weeks without any interest being paid. If
the value be not claimed within three years, it is for¬
feited to the poor. This bank is universally admitted to
be very well managed.
Sect. X.—The Bank of France, Money.
Which is second only in magnitude and importance to Bank of
the Bank of England, was originally founded in 1800, but France,
was not placed on a solid |and well defined basis till 1806.
Her capital, which was originally fixed at 45,000,000 fr.,
was raised in the last mentioned year to 90,000,000 fr.,
divided into 90,000 shares or actions, of 1000 fr. each. Of
these shares, 67,900 have passed into the hands of the
public, the remaining 22,100 having been purchased up by
the bank, out of her surplus profits, were subsequently
cancelled. Hence her capital amounted, down to 1848, to
67,900,000 fr. (,£2,716,000), with a reserve fund, first of
10,000,000 fr., and more recently of 12,980,750 fr.
Since 1806 the bank has enjoyed the privilege of being
the only institution in Paris entitled to issue notes pay¬
able on demand ; and, as will be afterwards seen, she is
now the only authorised issuer of such paper in France.
Her charter and exclusive privileges have been prolonged
and varied by laws passed at different periods ; accord¬
ing to existing arrangements they are not terminable till
1897.
The bank has established, at different periods, between
1817 and 1856, offices or branches (succursales) in differ¬
ent parts of the country. They are managed nearly in
the same way as the parent establishment; but their
operations have been on a comparatively small scale.
These are exclusive of the departmental banks united,
as will be immediately seen, to the bank in 1848.
Notwithstanding the skill and caution with which her
affairs have generally been conducted, the Bevolution
of 1848 brought the bank into a situation of extreme
danger. She had to make large advances to the pro¬
visional government and the city of Paris. And these
circumstances, combined with the distrust that was uni¬
versally prevalent, occasioned so severe a drain upon her
for gold, that to prevent the total exhaustion of her cof¬
fers, she was authorised, by a decree of the 16th March
1848, to suspend cash payments, her notes being at the
same time made legal tender. But to prevent the abuse
that might otherwise have taken place under the sus¬
pension, the maximum amount of her issues was fixed at
350 millions. She was then also authorised to reduce
the value of her notes from 500 fr. to 200 and 100 fr.
Previously to 1848, joint-stock banks, on the model
of that of Paris, and issuing notes, had been established
in Lyons, Marseilles, Bordeaux, Rouen, and other large
cities. And it was then determined that these banks
should be incorporated with the Bank of France, and
made branches of the latter. This was effected by de¬
crees issued on the 27th April and 2d May 1848, by
which the shareholders of the banks referred to (nine in
number) were allowed, for every 1000 fr. nominal value
of their shares, a share of 1000 fr. nominal value of the
stock of the Bank of France. And, in consequence of
this measure, 23,351 new shares, representing a capital
of 23,351,000 fr., were added to the stock of the Bank of
France, making the latter consist of 91,250,000 fr., di¬
vided into 91,250 shares. In 1851, the bank resumed,
and has since continued specie payments.
The suppression of the local issues of the departmental
banks was, no doubt, a judicious measure, and was indis¬
pensable, indeed, to secure the equal value of the paper
circulating in different parts of the country. This, how¬
ever, might have been effected by the mere stoppage of
the issues of the departmental banks, without consolidat¬
ing them with the Bank of France. The latter measure
is one of which the policy is very questionable; and
3Q
VOL. XV.
1 Storch, Cours d’Economic Politique, tom. iv. p. 102.
490
MONEY.
Money, there are, as already seen, good grounds for thinking
that the banking business of the departments would have
been more likely to be well conducted by local associa¬
tions, than by branches of the Bank of France.
Owing to the peculiar circumstances of the last few
years, occasioned partly by the war with Russia, but
more by the rage for speculation and the drain for silver
to the east, the Bank of France has been exposed to con¬
siderable difficulties. And in the view of strengthening
her position, and also, it may be presumed, of providing
a loan for government, a law has been recently passed
(9th June 1857), by which the capital of the bank has
been doubled. Previously to this law, her capital
amounted, as already seen, to 91,250 shares of 1000 fr.
each ; whereas it now consists of 182,500 shares of
1000 fr. each. The new shares were assigned to the
existing proprietors at the rate of 1100 fr. per share, pro¬
ducing a total sum of 100,370,000 fr., of which 100 mil¬
lions have been lent to government at 3 per cent. Hence
the measure, though it has added to the credit and secu
rity of the bank, has not made any addition to the means
directly at her disposal.
Down to the passing of this law, the bank could not
raise the rate of interest on loans and discounts above six
per cent. But this impolitic restriction is now removed,
and the bank may charge any rate of interest which she
reckons expedient, except upon advances to govern¬
ment, the maximum interest on which is limited to 3 per
cent. The bank has been farther authorised to issue
notes of the value of 50 fr., to make advances on rail¬
way shares, &c., and the charter has been extended to
1897.
The bank is obliged to open a compte courant for any
one who requires it, and performs services, for those
who have such accounts, similar to those performed for
their customers by the banks in London. She does not
charge any commission on current accounts, so that her
only remuneration arises from the use of the money placed
in her hands by the individuals whose payments she
makes. It is probable, therefore, as has been alleged,
that this part of her business is but little profitable. The
bank also discounts bills with three signatures, at varia¬
ble dates; but not having more than three months or
ninety days to run. In 1855, the aggregate amount of
these discounts in Paris and the departments, amounted
to the very large sum of 3,262,000,000 frs., the interest
being five per cent, till the 18th of October, and after¬
wards 6 per cent. Besides discounting bills, the bank
makes advances on stocks and pledges of various kinds,
and undertakes the care of valuable articles, such as
plate, jewels, title-deeds, &c., at a charge of per cent,
on the value of the deposit, for every period of six months
and under. Nothing can show more clearly the petty
retail character of the trade of Paris, and generally of
France, than the smallness of the value of the bills dis¬
counted by the bank. Thus, of 963,000 bills disounted
in 1847, the average amount was only £55 : 4s., and of
these no fewer than 126,000 were for less than 200 frs.
(£8), and 470,000 for less than 1000 frs. (£20), each!
(Tooke and Newmarch On Prices, vi. 51.)
The administration of the bank is vested in a council
of twenty-one members, viz., a governor and two sub¬
governors, nominated by the Emperor; and fifteen direc¬
tors and three censors, nominated by the shareholders.
The bank has a large surplus capital or rest. In 1855
and 1856 she divided no less than 200 and 272 fr.
profits on each share; but these have much exceeded the
dividends in any previous year. In 1848 the dividends
only amounted to 75 frs. per share. In July 1856, the
1000 fr. share of bank-stock was worth 4075 frs.; in July
1857, it had sunk to 2880 frs. Her intimate connection
with the government is decidedly the most objectionable
feature in the constitution of the Bank of France.
Particulars in the Condition of the Bank of France, including its Branches and the Departmental Banks, from
1846 to 1856, both inclusive, viz.:—
Years.
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
Notes in Circulation.
262,190,000 fr.
241,140,000 „
409,120,000 „
431,022,000 „
481,552,000 „
583,040,000 „
689,910,000 „
644,280,000 „
636,970,000 „
612,237,000 „
612,332,000 „
Amount of Discounts.
1,618,957,841 fr.
1.808.246.438 „
1,643,728,634 „
1,025,666,213 „
1,176,423,896 „
1,241,412,880 „
1.824.469.438 „
2,842,930,205 „
2,944,643,591 „
3,762,000,000 „
4,674,000,000 „
Bullion in Coffers of Bank.
Gold.
6,800,000 fr.
440,000 „
4,700,000 „
4,600,000 „
11,980,000 „
82,260,000 „
68,936,000 „
103,598,000 „
193,937,000 „
99,000,000 „
81,000,000 „
Silver.
94,282,000 fr.
169,060,000
248,600,000 ,
429,270,000 ,
446,840,000 ,
486,460,000 ,
434,974,000 ,
219,482,000 ,
198,723,000 ,
100,000,000 ,
109,900,000 ,
101,082,000 fr.
169,500,000 „
253,300,000 „
433,370,000 „
458,820,000 „
568,720,000 „
503,910,000 „
323,080,000 „
392,660,000 „
199,000,000 „
190,000,000 „
Dividend
per Share.
159 fr.
177 „
75 „
106 „
101 „
105 „
118 „
154 „
194 „
200 „
272 „
Highest Price of
Share.
3,505 fr.
3,600 „
3,230 „
2,500 „
2,425 „
2,650 „
3,108 „
2,950 „
3,000 „
3,300 „
4,075 „July.
The Notes of the Bank of France in Circulation from 1848 to 1856, both inclusive, have been as follows, viz.:—
Years.
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
Notes of
5000 francs.
1,120,000
1,145,000
530,000
120,000
490,000
290,000
90,000
120,000
50,000
Notes of
1000 francs.
210,000,000
270,050,000
287,868,000
372,051,000
428,012,000
419,232,000
403,649,000
381,991,000
371,505,000
Notes of
500 francs.
72,000,000
68,330,000
89,174,000
90,198,000
96,053,000
87,003,000
76,707,000
72,744,000
69,954,000
Notes of
200 francs.
55,000,000
49,075,000
57,318,000
53,890,000
84,663,000
74,767,000
79,221,000
74,747,000
72,704,000
Notes of
100 francs.1
71,000,000
42,422,000
46,632,000
66,781,000
78,167,000
62,988,000
75,303,000
80,416,000
95,927,000
Total of Circulation.
409,120,000 francs.
431,022,000 „
481,552,000 „
583,040,000 „
689,910,000 „
644,280,000 „
636,970,000 „
2612,237,000 „
3612,332,000 „
1 Notes for 50 fr. were not issued till this year, 1857. 2 Comprises 2.219,000 fr. old notes.
Comprises 2,102,000 fr. old notes.
Sect. XI.—Banking in the United States.
tloney.
Jmking
j United
{atefl.
It has been the uniform practice of the different States
of the Union to allow banks to be established for the
issue of notes, payable in specie on demand. In cases
where the liability of shareholders in banks was to be
limited to the amount of their shares, they had, previously
to 1838, to be established by Acts of the local legisla¬
tures. But, in general, these were easily obtained ; and
down to a comparatively late period, it may be said that
banking was quite free ; and that, practically, all indivi¬
duals or associations might issue notes, provided they
abided by the rules laid down for their guidance, and
engaged to pay them when presented.
Under this system, the changes in the amount and
value of the paper currency of the United States have
been greater than in any other country ; and it has pro¬
duced an unprecedented amount of bankruptcy and
ruin*
Between 1811 and 1820, about 195 banks, in different
parts of the Union, became bankrupt; and it is said, in a
report by the Secretary of the Treasury of the United
States, dated 12th May 1820, that these failures, which
mostly happened in 1814 and 1819, produced a state
of distress so general and severe, that few examples of
the like had then occurred.
But bad as this instance was, it was nothing to that
which took place subsequently to 1834. The accounts of
the aggregate issues of the banks differ a little; but the
following statement is believed to be very nearly accu¬
rate, viz,—
Years.
1830
1834
1835
1836
1837
Notes.
*66,628,898
94,839,570
103,692,495
140,310,638
149,185,890
Now observe, that this sudden and enormous increase
took place under the obligation, which we are told is
quite enough to prevent all abuse, of paying notes on
demand. The result was, what most men of sense must
have anticipated, viz., that a revulsion took place, and
that every bank within the Union, without, it is believed,
a single exception, stopped payment in 1837.
In 1838 such of the banks as had been best managed,
and had the largest capitals, resumed payment in specie.
But in 1839 and 1840, a farther crash took place. And
the bank-notes afloat, which, as has been seen, amounted
to $149,185,890 in 1837, sunk to $83,734,000 in 1842,
and to $58,563,000 in 1843. It is supposed that in
this latter crash nearly 180 banks, including the Bank
of the United States, were totally destroyed. And the
loss occasioned, by the depreciation which it caused in
the value of stocks of all kinds, and of all sorts of pro¬
perty, was quite enormous. And yet, vast as that loss
was, it was really trifling, as a writer in. the American
xYlmanack has stated, compared with “the injury resulting
to society from the upheaving it occasioned of the
elements of social order, and the utter demoralization of
men by the irresistible temptation to speculation which
it afforded, ending in swindling to retain ill-gotten
riches.”
The evils of the American system have been aggra¬
vated by the lowness of the notes which most banks have
issued. This brings them into the hands of retail traders,
labourers, and others in the humbler walks of life, who
always suffer severely by the failure of a bank.
Since 1838 and 1842, various measures have been Money,
taken in nearly all the States, but principally in New
York, to restrain the free action of the banks, and to pre¬
vent a repetition of the calamities referred to.
In New York, for example, the banks have been divided
into two great classes—the incorporated and the free
banks. The former, which are incorporated by a State
law, have to conform to certain regulations, and have to
contribute a half per cent, annually upon their capital to
a security fund, which is devoted to the payment of the
notes of defaulting banks. But this is a most objection¬
able plan; for, in the first place, it does not prevent
bankruptcies; and, in the second place, it compels the
well-managed banks to contribute to a fund which goes
to pay the debts of those that are mismanaged. It has
consequently declined in favour, and is now rarely acted
upon.
In the other, or free banking system, all individuals or
associations who choose to deposit securities (minimum
amount $100,000) for their payment, are allowed to
issue an equal amount of notes. And this is certainly
by far the more efficient as well as the most popular of
the two plans. But it is objectionable, because, 1st, A
longer or shorter, but always a considerable, period ne¬
cessarily elapses after a bank stops before its notes can
be retired; and, 2d, Because the securities lodged for the
notes are necessarily at all times of uncertain and fluctuat¬
ing value; while, in periods of panic or general distrust,
they become all but inconvertible. The Sub-secretary of
the Treasury of the United States has animadverted as
follows on this plan, in a letter dated 27th Nov.
1854
“ The policy of many of the State governments has of
late years consisted in encouraging the issue of small
notes, by sanctioning the establishment of what are
popularly called ‘ free banks,’ with deposits of stocks and
mortgages for the ‘ ultimate ’ security of their issues.
This ‘ ultimate ’ security is, it may be admitted, better
than no security at all The mischief is, that it is least
available when most wanted. The very causes which
prevent the banks from redeeming their issues promptly,
cause a fall in the value of the stocks and mortgages on
‘ the ultimate security ’ of which their notes have been
issued. The- ‘ ultimate security ’ may avail something
to the broker who buys them at a discount, and can
hold them for months or years; but the labouring man
who has notes of these ‘ State security banks ’ in his pos¬
session, finds, when they stop payment, that ‘ the ulti¬
mate security ’ for their redemption does not prevent his
losing twenty-five cents, fifty cents, or even seventy-five
cents in the dollar.
“ In a circulating medium we want something more
than ‘ultimate security.’ We want also ‘immediate’
security; we want security that is good to-day, and will
be good to-morrow, and the next day, and for ever there¬
after. This security is found in gold and silver, and in
these only.”1
It appears from the Keport of the Superintendent of
Banking for the State of New York for 1856, that the
securities he then held in trust amounted to $39,359,071,
which were almost wholly lodged by banking associations
and individual bankers.
During the year the securities held in trust for the
under-mentioned banks that had become insolvent in 1855
were disposed of. But the sums realised by their sale did
1 The above statements are taken from a paper read by Lord Overstone to the late Committee on Banks.
492
MONEY.
Money.
not in any case suffice to pay the notes at par, while a
period, varying from two to four years, would have to
elapse before the affairs of the insolvent banks will
finally settled.
be
Names of Banks that failed.
Eighth Avenue Bank 
Farmers’ Bank, Onondaga 
James’ Bank 
Merchants and Mechanics’ Bank, Oswego.
New Rochelle, Bank of. 
New Rochelle, Bank of. 
Notes redeemed.
All 
All 
All 
All 
Stock notes 
Stock and estate notes
Bates of
Redemption.
94 cents.
85 cents.
91 cents.
77 cents.
Par 
81 cents.
Time for Redemption
will expire.
May 21, 1861
Nov. 12, 1859
June 17, 1858
Sept. 28, 1860
June 17, 1858
June 17, 1858
This statement sets the defective nature of the secu¬
rity system, as administered in New York, in the clearest
point of view. It might, no doubt, be improved by
increasing the proportion of securities to notes. But,
owing to the variety of securities that are taken (viz., all
manner of bonds and mortgages, state, canal, and railway
stocks, &c. &c.), and the uncertainty of their value, a
great deal of risk is always incurred in accepting them,
and they can never form a proper foundation on which
to issue notes.
But, however desirable, it would, we fear, be visionary to
expect that local issues should be suppressed in America,
or that her paper currency should be placed on a really
sound foundation. But it may, nevertheless, be easily
and greatly improved. And, perhaps, this would be
best effected by suppressing low notes, or those for less
than twenty dollars, and increasing the proportion of
securities to issues. The rules on which so much stress
is laid, in most parts of America, for making the issues of
banks depend on the magnitude of their capitals, or the
amount of specie in their vaults, are really of no use
whatever. They may be and have been eluded and
defeated in a thousand ways, and serve only to make the
public look for protection to what is altogether impotent
and worthless for any good purpose.
The following table from Hunt’s Commercial Magazine
for March 1857, gives an account of the number and
condition of the banks of the United States, as officially
reported, in certain years from 1834 to 1856.
Table of the Secretary of the Treasury, showing the Number of Banks and Branches, with their Capitals, Discounts,
Specie, Circulation, and Deposits, in the Union, in the following years from 1834 to 1856. The last line
gives the position of the Banks near January 1, 1856:—
Years.
1834..
1836..
1837..
1843..
1848 .
1851..
1854..
1855.
1856..
Banks.
506
713
788
691
751
879
1,208
1,307
1,398
Capital.
Dollars.
200,005,944
251,875,292
270,772,091
228,861,948
204,833,175
227,807,553
301,376,071
332,177,288
343,874,272
Discounts.
Dollars.
324,119,499
457,506,080
525,115,702
254,544,937
344,476,582
413,756,799
557,397,779
576,144,758
634,183,280
Specie.
Dollars.
26,641,753
40,019,594
37,915,340
33,515,806
46,369,765
48,671,048
59,410,253
53,944,545
59,314,063
Circulation.
Dollars.
94,839,570
140,301,038
149,185,890
58,563,608
128,500,091
155,165,251
204,689,207
186,952,223
195,747,950
Deposits.
Dollars.
75,666,986
115,104,440
127,397,185
56,168,628
103,226,177
128,957,712
188,188,744
190,400,342
212,705,662
Since writing the above, another crash has taken
place, and all the banks in the Union, from the Gulph of
Mexico to the frontiers of Canada, have again stopped
payments!
This new crash affords, had that been necessary, a
fresh and striking illustration of the truth of the princi¬
ples we have endeavoured to establish in the course of
this treatise; and it may be expected to awaken, if that
be possible, the American people to a proper sense of the
enormous abuses connected with their banking system;
and the necessity of placing it on an entirely new foun¬
dation.
The above account shows that there had been a rapid
increase of discounts since 1851, and that increase was
especially great in 1856, and. went on augmenting down
to August last (1857). On the 8th of that month, the
discounts and advances by the New York banks,
amounted to #122,077,252, the deposits in their posses¬
sion being, at the same time, #94,436,417. This was the
maximum of both. On the 24th of August, the Ohio
Life and Trust Company, which carried on an extensive
banking business in New York, stopped payments ; and
by so doing gave a severe shock to credit and confidence,
which the suspension of two or three more banks turned
into a panic. Notes being in a certain degree secured,
the run upon the banks was principally for deposits.
And to meet it they so reduced their discounts and ad¬
vances, that on the 17th October, they amounted to only
#97,245,826. This sudden and violent contraction neces¬
sarily occasioned the suspension of many of those mer¬
cantile houses that had depended on the banks for dis¬
counts. And it did this without stopping the drain for
deposits, which had sunk on the 17th October to
#52,894,623, being a decrease of #41,546,784 in about
two months. The universal stoppage of the banks was
a consequence of these proceedings.
There seems to be no doubt that improvident advances
on the part of the banks, and overtrading, were the
main causes of the crisis. And it is important to observe
that it is stated in the Bankers’ Magazine for November
1857 (p. 430), and other works of authority published in
New York, that the improvidence referred to was, in part
at least, occasioned by the too high interest allowed at
New York on deposits on current accounts, or at call. This
MONEY.
493
made the opulent bankers and capitalists in the Western
States keep large balances at New York ; and it tempted,
and in some degree obliged, the bankers and money-
dealers in the latter to make advances on questionable
security, for the sake of the high interest payable on
them. A system of this sort may be truly said to force
capital into the hands of the least deserving, and to be
a prolific source of wild speculation and overtrading.
And whenever any serious check is given in any quarter
of the Union to the process of inflation, the consequences
are sure to be in the last degree disastrous: for, the
greater number of the banks being very ill supplied
with specie, they can resist no serious demand upon
them either for payment of notes or deposits; and when
one or a few stop, a panic is generated, which involves
even the best managed banks in the common ruin.
A tendency to panics is, in fact, one of the peculiarities
of the American system. Owing to the liability of the
partners in banks being limited, the depositors in them,
and the holders of notes not issued upon securities,
having nothing to trust to, make all imaginable haste,
when their suspicions are awakened, to save them¬
selves by withdrawing their deposits, and cashing their
notes. And hence the rapidity with which panics spread
throughout the Union : and, we may add, that the slow¬
ness with which they are disseminated in this country,
arises from the contrary circumstances, from the confi¬
dence placed by the public in the unlimited obligation of
the partners to make good all demands.
In the city of New York, the action of the foreign
exchanges compels the banks to have always on hand
a very considerable amount of specie. But the reader
will hardly believe with what a small stock of coin the
banks in the country parts of that state, and generally
throughout the Union, contrive to carry on their business.
In illustration of this statement, we may mention, that
in June last (1857), the fifty-six banks in the city of
New York are reported in the official returns to have had
#8,000,000 notes in circulation, with an aggregate
amount of no less than #12,000,000 specie in their
coffers. But at the same time that the city banks were
in this situation, the circulation of the 255 country banks
then existing in the state is returned at #24,000,000, and
their specie at only #1,200,000, being only ^oth part of
their notes afloat. And as these returns give only
average results, it follows that, while some of the banks
would have more, others would have proportionally less
specie than this medium rate.
A notion, indeed, would appear to be gaining ground
among the banks, in some parts of the States, that when
they have given security for their issues, they have done
quite enough, and that they may dispense with the trouble¬
some obligation to pay them on demand.. It appears, for
example, that in the moral and religious state of
Massachusetts, there were, on the 7th July 18o6,
no fewer than 135 banks (excluding those in Bos¬
ton), which had #6,601,130 of deposits, and notes
in circulation amounting to #13,106,068, while their
specie on hand amounted to only #1,092,463, or about
Y^th part of the circulation. And in other parts of
the Union the stock of bullion was still more scanty.
Thus, in Illinois, on the 6th of July 1857, the State Bank,
with notes afloat to the amount of #725,000, had, to
meet all demands, #61,000 in specie inhercoffersj while
the Grayville Bank, with a circulation.of #47.1,o56, was
provided with a supply of #18,951, in specie, and the
Raleigh Bank, with a circulation amounting to #248,000,
had a specie fund of no less than #1000 ! It nmy be
supposed, perhaps, that this would be the minimum
amount of specie, but no. For some banks (such as
the Bank of the Commonwealth, with notes afloat to the
extent of #84,915) were honest enough to admit that
they had a considerable circulation without being encum¬
bered with a single dollar!
It is evident that a banking system of this sort has no
better foundation than a house of cards. It is sure to
fall to pieces at the first touch. The grand object of
by far the greater number of the bankers is to get
their notes into circulation; and as these are often issued
for very small sums, cost nothing, and at the same time
yield some 8, 10, or 12 per cent., or more, of interest,
we need not wonder at the eagerness with which they
pursue this object, or at their success, or the abuses to
which it leads. The discount of bills at distant dates,
and their renewal, make part of the system.
The security system followed in New York, even
wei’e it generally adopted, affords no guarantee against
these evils. Instead of preventing, it really tends to
encourage over-issue, and it is impotent to insure a proper
supply of bullion. All that it contemplates is the ulti¬
mate payment of the notes; but it does not prevent the
bankruptcy of those by whom they are issued, and we
have seen that it does not even accomplish that ultimate
payment which it has exclusively in view. The whole
system is rotten to the core; and unhappily, too, it is
deeply injurious to all those with whom the Americans
have any dealings, as well as to themselves.
We are glad to be able to corroborate our views of
these matters by the high authority of the President of the
United States. Mr. Buchanan, in his message to Con¬
gress, delivered on the 8th December 1857, makes the
following conclusive statement:—“ The first duty which
banks owe to the public is to keep in their vaults a suffi¬
cient amount of gold and silver to insure the converti¬
bility of their notes into coin at all times and under all
circumstances. No bank ought ever to be chartered
without such restrictions on its business as to secure this
result. All other restrictions are comparatively vain.
This is the only true touchstone—the only efficient regu¬
lator of a paper currency—the only one which can guard
the public against over-issues and bank suspensions. As
a collateral and eventual security it is doubtless wise, and
in all cases ought to be required, that banks shall hold
an amount of United States’ or State securities equal to
their notes in circulation, and pledged for their redemp¬
tion. This, however, furnishes no adequate security
against over-issues. On the contrary, it. may be per¬
verted to inflate the currency; indeed it is possible by
this means to convert all the debts of the United States
and State governments into bank-notes, without reference
to the specie required to redeem them. However valu¬
able these securities may be in themselves, they cannot
be converted into gold and silver at the moment of pres¬
sure, as our experience teaches, in sufficient time to
prevent bank suspensions and the depreciation of bank¬
notes.”
To show the worthlessness of the returns published by
the American banks, we may state that they continue,
down to the latest advices (December 1857), to repre¬
sent the capital of the New York banks as quite unim¬
paired, and as large as it had been twelve months
ago! But everybody knows that it is impossible such
should be the case. A very large proportion, not less,
perhaps, than from a third part to a half or more of the
capital of the banks, must have been lost by the late
bankruptcies in that city, and by the depreciation of the
stocks held by the banks.
It is truly stated by Mr. Buchanan, in the message now
referred to, t£ that it is easy to account for our financial
history for the last forty years. It has been a history of
Money.
494
MON
MON
Mouge.
Monflan- extravagant expansions in the business of the country,
followed by ruinous contractions. At successive intervals
the best and most enterprising men have been tempted
to their ruin by excessive bank loans of mere paper
credit, exciting them to extravagant importations of
foreign goods, wild speculations, and ruinous and demo¬
ralizing stock gambling. When the crisis arrives, as
arrive it must, the banks can extend no relief to the
people. In a vain struggle to redeem their liabilities in
specie, they are compelled to contract their loans and
their issues; and at last, in the hour of distress, when
their assistance is most needed, they and their debtors
together sink into insolvency.”
We have already seen that the real value of our
exports to the United States in 1856 amounted to
£21,476,000. But we have been too much in the habit
of estimating our commercial prosperity by the mag¬
nitude of the exports, which is a most fallacious cri¬
terion. We have heard it stated by well-informed
parties, and we believe the statement to be true, that
but for the extreme inflation of the banking and credit
system of the United States, the imports from England
during last year would not have exceeded 15 or 16
millions; and that those from France and other countries
would have been reduced in something like the same
proportion. And, had such been the case, production
here would not have been unnaturally stimulated, and a
fair profit would have been obtained from our exports,
whereas they will now entail a large and most serious
loss.
Besides the bankruptcy and ruin that periodically arise
from such a system, it is at all times productive of the Monge
greatest inconvenience and trouble. Where there are
so many separate and independent banks (about 1400),
the sphere of the influence and circulation of each
is necessarily circumscribed; and when notes get to
any considerable distance from the place where they are
issued, especially when they get into a different State,
they circulate with difficulty, and generally at a discount.
But this is not the only evil by which their circulation
is attended. Banks are every now and then suspending
payments, or getting into discredit. And lists are regu¬
larly published of such defaulting or suspected banks, and
of the rates of discount at which their notes are current,
without which no traveller can leave his house, and
no shopkeeper can venture to transact any business.
It is truly astonishing, seeing the extreme inconvenience
resulting from such a state of things, that it should be
tolerated even for a week. If the general government
be not sufficiently strong to suppress local issues, and
to substitute in their stead a national paper issued on
deposits of bullion, the public may, if they choose, rid
themselves of the evil, by refusing to accept payment
otherwise than in coin. The banking interest is, how¬
ever, so very powerful, and embraces so great a number
of individuals, that we doubt whether, even with the
co-operation of the general government, the time has yet
arrived for anything effectual being done for the amend¬
ment of the system. But the longer it exists, the more
intolerable will it become; and in the end, no doubt, it
will be suppressed. It forms, at present, the most gigan¬
tic abuse by which an intelligent people ever permitted
themselves to be disgraced and oppressed. (j. K. m.)
MONFLANQUIN, a town of France, in the depart¬
ment of Lot-et-Garonne, is situated on a hill near the left,
bank of the Lede, 25 miles N. of Agen. The town is
well built, but the streets are narrow, crooked, steep, and
ill paved. Wine and fruits are produced in abundance in
the neighbourhood. Pop. 5075.
MONGE, Gaspae, the inventor of descriptive geo¬
metry, was born at Beaune in 1746. He received his
education at the college of the Oratory in his native town,
and at a superior school in Lyons. His talent for mathe¬
matics gained for him a place as modeller at the age of
nineteen in the school founded at Mezieres for the in¬
struction of engineers. From this obscure position, how¬
ever, he soon raised himself by the discovery of a new
and easy method of making the calculations of an opera¬
tion of deployment or defiling, which had been pre¬
scribed him as a task. Bossut, who professed mathematics
at Mezieres, now appointed Monge his assistant; and he
was attached, in the same capacity, to Abbe Nollet, pro¬
fessor of natural philosophy, whom he soon afterwards
succeeded in that chair. In this situation he made a
number of curious experiments on gas, molecular attrac¬
tion, and the effects of optics and electricity, as well as
refined deductions on meteorology, and on the important
discovery of the production of water by the combustion of
inflammable air ; in which, however, he had been antici¬
pated by Cavendish without being aware of it. About the
same time Monge extended and generalized his first ma¬
thematical essays, and setting out from the principle which
refers to the three rectangular co-ordinates the position of
any point whatever taken in space, he made it the founda¬
tion of a new and fruitful doctrine, indispensable for all
the arts of construction, and to which, when completed by
successive developments, he applied the name of Descrip¬
tive Geometry. More than twenty years elapsed, however,
e oie he succeeded in obtaining the application of his
geometry to the tracings of carpentry.
Through the interest of D’Alembert, Monge was re¬
ceived into the Academy of Sciences in 1780, and was
soon after made professor of physics in the Lyceum of Paris.
Like many others, he was at first led away by the pro¬
mises and hopes of the Revolution ; but the terrible events
that followed in such rapid succession in some measure
dissipated this illusion, which he shared in common with
so many others. He was made a member of the Execu¬
tive Council, but resigned this irksome post in 1793.
When the Committee of Public Safety made an appeal
to the savans to assist in producing the materiel requisite
for the defence of the republic, Monge applied himself
wholly to these operations, and distinguished himself by
his indefatigable activity. It was at this time he composed
his Art de fabriquer les Canons, and hisHw's aux Ouvriers
en Fer, sur la Fabrication de VAcier.
At length Monge published his Geometric Descriptive,
which he had so long kept secret, and which unquestion¬
ably forms his highest title to distinction. Of all the ap¬
plications of which his geometry w'as susceptible, he has
only treated of five,—viz., carpentry, stone-cutting, de¬
ployment, linear and aerial perspective, and the distribu¬
tion of light and shadow. To him also France was in a
great measure indebted for the establishment of the Poly¬
technic School. After visiting Italy on an artistic mis¬
sion, Monge accompanied Napoleon to Egypt, where he
was indefatigable in his scientific researches, and in his
endeavours to provide for the wants of the army after the
naval defeat of Aboukir.
On his return, Monge became president of the Egyptian
Commission, and was again placed at the head of the Poly¬
technic School. On the formation of the Senate he was
appointed a member of that body, with an ample provision
and the title of Count of Pelusium ; but on the fall of
Napoleon he was deprived of all his honours. He died on
the 28th of July 1818.
The separate publications of Monge are :—Trade Ele-
MON
mentaire de Statique, Paris, 1786, in 8vo ; Description de
VArt defabriquer les Canons, Paris, 1795, in 4to ; Lemons
de Geometric Descriptive, Paris, 1813, in 8vo; Application
de VAnalyse d la Geometric des Surfaces du Premier et
du Deuxieme Degre, Paris, 1809, in 4to. Monge like¬
wise inserted four memoirs on Pure Analysis in the Collec¬
tion des Savants Etrangers de VAcademie des Sciences de
Paris (tomes vii., ix., and x.) His name also figures
amongst the contributors to the Dictionnaire de Physique
of the Encyclopedic Methodique; and the Annales de
Chimie contain several memoirs written by him. (j. b-e.)
MONGHIR, a British district of Hindustan, in the pre¬
sidency of Bengal, bounded on the N. and E. by Bhau-
gulpore, on the S.W. by Ramghur and Behar, on the W.
by Behar and Patna, and on the N.W. by Tirhoot. It
lies between Lat. 24. 20. and 26. 1. N., and Long. 85. 40.
and 86. 50. E. The district has an area of 2558 square
miles, and a population estimated at 800,000. It is in¬
tersected by numerous rivers, the principal of which are
the Ganges, the Sukree, the Kiyul, the Bhagmuttee,
and the Gogaree. The district was acquired by the East
India Company in 1765 by virtue of the firman of Shah
Allum, Emperor of Delhi, granting to them the devvanny
of Bengal, Behar, and Orissa. The town of Monghir is
situated on the southern bank of the Ganges. It was the
residence of Sultan Sujah during his government of the
Bengal province, and was strengthened by him during his
rebellion against his father, Shah Jehan. I he fortifica¬
tions have been for many years quite neglected, and the
only part which remains is a small citadel, containing an
arsenal and store-rooms. It is still surrounded by a wall
and deep ditch, and is a place of considerable antiquity. It
was an object of contention between the kings of Behar
and Bengal in the early part of the sixteenth century. In
1762 it was the residence of Cossim Aly Khan, and was
taken by the British the following year. The travelling
distance from Calcutta is 300 miles.
MONGOLIA, an extensive district in the interior of
Asia, forming part of the Chinese empire, and bounded on
the N. by Siberia, E. by Mandchooria, S. by China proper,
and W. by the Chinese province ofKansooand the govern¬
ment of Thianshan Peloo. It lies between 38. and 52. N.
Lat. and between 87. and 124. E. Long., having a length of
about 1500 miles, a breadth in the central part of about
900, and an area estimated at 1,200,000 square miles.
This vast territory consists of an elevated plain, bounded
on the S. by the mountains of Nanshan, and on the N.
by the Altai range. The centre of the plain is occupied
by the Great Gobi Desert, which extends across the country
from S.E. to N. W., and is estimated to contain an area of
300,000 square miles. It is covered with sand and stones,
and the vegetation, except in a few oases, is very stunted
and scanty. In the N., however, the surface of Mongolia
becomes more mountainous, and rises in some places to
a considerable height. The principal ranges in this region
are offshoots from the Altais, which extend eastwards, under
various names, till they reach the basin of the Amoor. On
the S. the Alashan ridge, a continuation of the Nanshan,
enters Mongolia, and after stretching northwards for about
400 miles, extends in an easterly direction, under the name
of Inshan, for about 600 miles more. The ridge then
turns north-eastwards, when it assumes the name of Khing-
Khan, and continues in this direction till the Altaio or
Nertshinsk Mountains are reached about 120. E. Long. Its
highest summit, the peak of Petsha, situated in about
43. N. Lat., is said to attain the height of 15,000 feet above
the sea-level. The country which lies to the S. of the
Inshan Mountains for the most part resembles in its cha¬
racter the Gobi Desert, and is covered with sandy hills,
almost entirely destitute of vegetation and water. It is
inhabited by a tribe of Mongols called Ortoos, who attend
MON
495
almost exclusively to the rearing of sheep, which find sub- Mongolia,
sistence on the patches or oases of pasture-land that here
and there occur. Of a similar nature, but less covered with
sand-hills, is Kortshin, a district of Mongolia which lies
to the E. of the Khing-Khan range. The country on the
N.W. side of the Great Gobi is almost totally unknown.
That, however, through which the caravan road to Siberia
passes is said to be hilly, with level tracts of meadow
land, and, though thinly wooded, is not destitute of
water. There are no great rivers in Mongolia, although
its table-land gives rise to many large streams which water
other lands. The principal of these are the Hoangho in
the S., the Kerulun and Toro, tributaries of the Amoor, on
the N.E.; and the Selenga and Orchan, affluents of Lake
Baikal, on the N.; besides some small streams in the inte¬
rior, which lose themselves in stagnant lakes, or sink into
the sand. Almost the entire extent of Mongolia is elevated
more than 3000 feet above the sea, and the climate in
consequence is extremely cold in winter. The weather,
however, is subject to great and sudden changes, and in
summer the heat is often insupportable from the want of any
shelter from the rays of the sun. The principal animals of
Mongolia are bears, boars, wolves, foxes, hares, wild horses,
goats, cranes, quails, swans, &c. The inhabitants of Mon¬
golia belong to that great family of races known by the
name of Mongolian. They are middle-sized, strong, and
muscular, with a dark-yellow complexion, broad faces, flat
noses, and prominent ears. They have very little beard,
and shave the hair of the head, with the exception of a
single tuft. This race consists of two branches; the
Proper or Eastern Mongols, who inhabit the country called
Mongolia; and the Kalmucks, or Western Mongols. The
former of these nations is divided into three sub-branches;—
the Tshakhars, Khalkhas, and Sunnits. The first of these
inhabit the country between the Gobi on the N. and the
wall of China on the S.; the desert itself is occupied by
the Sunnits, who are the least numerous of the three; and
the Khalkhas dwell in the N. of Mongolia. They are all
nomads, dwelling in tents, and pursuing pastoral occupa¬
tions. Large herds of camels, horses, and sheep are
reared by them, and oxen, asses, and mules by those on
the frontiers of China. They are divided into twenty-six
tribes, each of which is governed by a hereditary chief;
with the exception of the Khalkhas, who form only one
tribe, and are governed by four chiefs called khans. A
sort of feudal system prevails in Mongolia; the princes
pay a tribute to the Chinese Emperor, and the people are
bound to military service between the ages of eighteen and
sixty. The Chinese Li-fanyuen, or tribunal of foreign
affairs, exercises jurisdiction over the Mongolians; and
under it are one civil and two military governments.
A considerable trade is carried on through Mongolia, be¬
tween China and Russia, by means of caravans. The prin¬
cipal imports are furs, woollen stuffs, and leather; while
the articles exported to Russia consist of teas, silk and
cotton goods, rhubarb, sugar-candy, &c. The seat of
this trade is at the towns of Kiakhta in Siberia and
Mae-mae-chin in Mongolia, which are situated at a short
distance from each other, on each side of the boundary
between the two countries. Free intercourse is allowed
between the inhabitants of the two towns during the day,
but by night the gates are shut, and all communication is
cut off. "The trade generally continues from October till
the end of winter, and is carried on solely by barter, the
use of money being forbidden. Previous to the twelfth
century of the Christian era, the Mongolians do not seem
to have been united under one empire, or known by a
common name ; but under Gengis Khan, who was born
in 1163, these tribes became important and received from
him the name of Kcekce Monghoel, or “ Celestial People.”
Gengis Khan, after having raised himself, and the tribe to
496
MON
MON
Monk, which he belonged, to the head of the whole Mongolian
George. race> conquered China, Persia, and the whole of Central
' Asia, and carried devastation and terror into Europe as
far as the boundaries of Poland. He was succeeded by his
son Oktai, under whom the empire continued to be en¬
larged ; but it was soon afterwards split into many small
tribes, which were again re-united in the fourteenth cen¬
tury by Timur or Tamerlane. After the death of this con¬
queror in 1405 the Mongol empire gradually became sepa¬
rated into the various tribes of which it had been originally
formed. Frequent wars between the Mongolians and the
Chinese took place, until the conquest of China by the
Mandchoorians in the seventeenth century, when the i shak-
kar and Sunnit Mongols voluntarily submitted to the con¬
querors ; and their example was followed in 1688 by the
Khalkhas. It is believed that the Mongolians, who are all
trained to military service, could bring into the field an
army of 500,000 men ; and the population of the country
has been estimated, from that circumstance, at 2,000,000.
(See the article Asia.)
MONK, George, Duke of Albemarle, was a younger son
of Sir Thomas Monk, and was born at Potheridge, in Devon¬
shire, on the 6th December 1608. As his family were in
decayed circumstances, he was from an early age destined
to be a soldier of fortune. But before he had formed any
definite plans for his future life, and before he had attained
the age of seventeen, he cudgelled an under-sheriff for an
affront offered to his father, and was forced to escape from
punishment by volunteering into the army. His first cam¬
paign was made in that ill-concerted expedition against
Cadiz, which returned inglorious at the end of the year.
Nothing daunted by this unfortunate beginning, he soon
afterwards sailed in the armament against the Isle of Rhe,
and served as an ensign till the end of the war in 1628.
The peace which followed rendered it necessary for him
to earn his livelihood by entering some foreign service.
He therefore embarked for the United Provinces, at that
time the great seminary for soldiers, and began to devote
himself earnestly to all the duties of his profession. After
he had been engaged in several battles and sieges, he re¬
turned to England about his thirtieth year with the rank of
captain, and with a thorough knowledge of the military art.
Charles I. was then on the eve of mustering an army against
his Scottish subjects. At the recommendation of the Earl
of Leicester, Monk was appointed a lieutenant-colonel, and
accompanied the King in those two futile expeditions which
resulted in 1640 in the treaty of Ripon. The colonelcy
of a regiment in Ireland was then conferred upon him by
Lord Leicester, and for a year he fought with distinction
against the Irish rebels. By this time the King was in the
very heat of his struggle with the Parliament, and was in
urgent need of the assistance of the troops in Ireland. Monk
was therefore ordered to strike a truce with the rebels, and
to return to England. But no sooner had he landed with
his forces at Bristol in September 1643, than he was appre¬
hended, and deprived of his command, on the charge of
being friendly to the Parliament. This suspicion, founded
on no other grounds than his connection with Leicester
and his studied indifference to either of the contending
parties, was speedily disproved, and the rank of major-
general of the Irish brigade was conferred upon him as a
compensation for the injury done to his character. He set
out for his new regiment, then engaged in investing Nant-
wich, and arrived in time to be surprised and captured by
Sir Ihomas Fairfax in 1644. For the next two years he
lay in the Tower, and his imprisonment would have been
aggravated by severe poverty had not Charles I. secretly
supplied him with a hundred pounds. Yet, when his royal
benefactor had been left by the issues of war a hopeless
captive in the hands of his enemies, Monk did not hesitate
to abandon his cause. He was induced in November 1646
to purchase his freedom by taking the Solemn League
and Covenant. His valour and military experience were
immediately recognised by the Parliament; and in 1647 he
was sent to quell the rebellion in the north of Ireland. Any
other leader in this command would have become hopelessly
embarrassed through the scanty supplies from England;
but Monk was economical, and by his attention to agricul¬
ture, and his judicious division of the booty, managed to
provide for his troops. He continued to harass and weaken
the daring rebel O’Neill until 1649, when discontent and
dissension among his troops forced him to patch up a truce
and return to England. His talents, however, had by this
time secured the confidence of Cromwell. Accordingly, in
the expedition against the Scots in 1650, he was appointed
lieutenant-general of the ordnance, and a regiment was
raised expressly for him. He did signal service at the
battle of Dunbar, was appointed commander-in-chief in
Scotland, and was left by Cromwell to complete the subju¬
gation of the kingdom. This he effected with much energy,
and at the same time with much cruelty, for he butchered
in cold blood the governor of Dundee and 800 of the
garrison. Scotland was then formally united to the English
commonwealth, and Monk returned to London in 1652.
Shortly afterwards the Dutch war broke out; and in 1653
Generals Monk and Dean were sent out into the Channel
in command of a fleet to encounter the redoubtable admiral
Van Tromp. A fight began on the 2d of June. Dean
was almost immediately shot. Monk, however, maintained
the contest for two days, until the opportune arrival of a
squadron under Admiral Blake gave an impulse to his
attack, which in a short time scattered the Dutch ships in
irretrievable flight. On the 31st of July he acted an import¬
ant part in that other sea-fight which resulted in the death
of Van Tromp and the humiliation of Holland. About this
time an insurrection of the royalists in Scotland rendered it
necessary that some able general should assume the com¬
mand in that country. This post was allotted to Monk;
and he repaired to the north in the early part of 1654.
After reforming the discipline of the English army, which
had relapsed into a state of great laxness during his absence,
he followed the rebels into the Highlands. In a short time
he pressed upon them so closely, that the Earl of Middleton,
their principal leader, was forced to abandon his troops and
to flee for his life into Holland. The rest of the insurgents
soon submitted ; and Monk, returning to the neighbourhood
of Edinburgh, took up his abode at Dalkeith House. He
now set himself to consolidate the government of the king¬
dom. As long as he was under the watchful and penetrat¬
ing eye of Cromwell, he was prudent enough to show him¬
self a thorough supporter of the policy and principles of the
Protectorate. He set a price upon the head of all those
nobles who had been up in arms for the King. He forbade
the gentry to exercise any jurisdiction over their servants,
to wear swords, to ride on horses of value, or to settle their
own disputes. He discountenanced the Presbyterians, by
depriving them of the power of excommunication and of
the liberty of meeting in general assemblies. He also
transmitted to London all intelligence regarding the machi¬
nations of the royalists, and took care never to intermeddle
with English politics. But no sooner had Cromwell died,
and left the reins of government in the feeble hands of his
son Richard, than Monk changed his policy. He fixed a
steady eye upon the commotions which then began to
trouble the English public. He relaxed the severity of his
government in Scotland, and endeavoured to conciliate both
the royalists and republicans. At the same time he hoarded
up money, ammunition, and arms. In 1659 the resignation
of Richard, the restoration of the Long Parliament, and the
consequent rupture between the Parliament and the army,
opened up for Monk a way to more decisive measures.
Uninfluenced by a private letter which he received at this
MON
■ 3nkg period from the exiled prince, he resolved to follow that
|| course of action which was likely to be safest, and at the
Inmouth. same time most advantageous to himself. He therefore
declared for the Parliament, and set out for London at the
head of 7000 veterans. It was now apparent to all that the
kite of the country was in his power, and the parliamenta¬
rians and the republicans, the two great parties into which
the people were divided, alike strove to secure his aid. Yet
he marched through England, hearing deputies from both,
with the same cautious taciturnity, diverting their attention
with fruitless negotiations, and all the while silently observ¬
ing in what direction the tide of public opinion was setting.
On his arrival in London he continued to fluctuate for
some time between serving the Parliament and conciliating
the citizens; but no sooner was he convinced that the
general opinion of the nation and of his army was in favour
of a freer and fuller representation of the people, than he
awed the Parliament into re-admitting those of their number
who had been expelled by former governments. One of
the first acts of the restored members was to appoint Monk
commander-in-chief of the entire forces both by sea and
land. He now saw the direction in which the public mind
was tending, and he now had the power to take the lead in
that direction. His actions accordingly became more de¬
finite. He remodelled the army, placed several royalists in
high places of command, and laid all the officers under an
engagement to be completely subservient to his will. He
dissolved the old Parliament and convoked a new. At
length, on the 1st May 1660, he introduced Sir John
Greenville to the Parliament with proposals from the King;
and two days afterwards he received Charles II. on the
beach of Dover. Llonours and riches were now lavished
upon him. He was created Earl of Torrington and Duke
of Albemarle, and received several pensions. In 1664 he
presided at the Admiralty; and in 1665 he was entrusted
with the government of the city during the great plague.
Along with Prince Rupert he commanded the fleet against
the Dutch in 1666, and displayed all the courage of his
youth. Monk died of dropsy on the 3d January 1670, and
was buried in Westminster Abbey. (See Britain; also
Lives of Monk by Skinner, 1723, and by Guizot, 1849.)
MONKS. See Monachism.
MONMOUTH, James, Duke of, a natural son of
Charles II. and Lucy Walters, was born at Rotterdam in
1619, and was educated in France. His winning man¬
ners rendered him popular, but his foolish vanity made him
the dupe of designing tacticians, who induced him to head
an insurrection against his uncle James II. in June 1685.
He was beheaded on the 15th July of the same year. (See
Britain.)
MONMOUTH, a parliamentary and municipal borough
and market-town of England, capital of Monmouthshire, is
situated at the junction of the Monnow with the Wye, 17
miles S. of Hereford, and 129 miles W. of London. I he
site of the town is a tongue of land formed by the junction
of the two rivers aforementioned; and its vicinity is charac¬
terized by all the picturesque attractions of the valley of the
Wye. The name of the town, however, is derived from
the tributary of this stream—it being a corruption of Mon¬
now’s Mouth. Monmouth has been successively a British
and Roman station, a Saxon fortress, and a Norman walled
town. A castle was erected here during the Saxon period to
overawe the surrounding district, which originally belonged
to the county of Hereford, and after the Norman conquest
was handed over to the custody of William 1‘itz-Badoron.
In 1257, John, Lord of Monmouth, replaced the old fortress
by one of greater dimensions; but he, having no male
heirs, resigned possession in favour of Prince Edward, aftei-
wards Edward I. Eight years later, this fortress suffered
so severely from a siege by the Earl of Leicester, that it
had to be rebuilt and its defences rendered more complete.
M 0 N 497
It then passed into the hands of John of Gaunt; and dur- Monmouth-
ing the reign of his son Henry IV. became the birth- shire,
place of Henry V., the hero of Agincourt. In 1846 the ^
castle, being held by the royalists, was besieged and taken
by the parliamentary forces. Only a few ruins remain
of this ancient building. Traces of the old town wall
and moat are also apparent, and one of the four city
gates is still entire. The town is provided with an ex¬
cellent market-place, and contains several other objects of
note and interest. The assize court buildings, the fapade
of which is decorated with a statue of Henry V., the cas¬
tellated county jail, and St Mary’s church, are the most
prominent buildings. The latter occupies the site of a
church belonging to a Benedictine priory once situated
here, and is remarkable for the beauty of its spire, which is
200 feet in height. St Thomas’s church, on the other
side of the Monnow, an old building, partly in the Nor¬
man, partly in a later style; a handsome town-hall; and
Jones’s Free Grammar School, are the only other edifices
worthy of mention. The borough was incorporated by
Edward VI. in 1550, and also received charters from
Queen Mary in 1557, James I. in 1606, and Charles II. in
1666. It is governed by a mayor, 4 aldermen, and 12 coun¬
cillors ; and unites with Newport and Usk in returning a
member to Parliament. Monmouth owes most of its pro¬
sperity to the periodical influx of persons during the assizes
and sessions, and to the large number of tourists attracted
by the beauties of the district. Manufactures are few and
insignificant; but a considerable trade in timber and metals
is carried on; while the Wye fisheries give employment to
several persons in the town and vicinity. A market is held
on Saturday. Pop. (1851) 5710.
MONMOUTHSHIRE, a maritime county of England,
bordering on South Wales, is bounded on the N. and N.E.
by Hereford, N.W. by Brecknock, E. by Gloucester, S. by
the estuary of the Severn and the Bristol Channel, and W.
by Glamorgan. It is 34 miles in length from E. to W.,
by 28 miles in greatest breadth, and contains an area of
368,399 statute acres. The coast line, which is 20 miles
long, extends from the Rumney to the Wye, and includes
the two harbours of Chepstow and Newport. These are
respectively formed by the mouths of the rivers Wye and
Usk, which here debouch into the Bristol Channel. The
scenery of Monmouthshire is highly picturesque and varied,
uniting the beauty of Devon with the grandeur of Wales.
The language spoken is partly Welsh, partly English. The
latter is the ordinary language of the districts abutting on
Gloucestershire and Herefordshire, and Welsh of the rest;
though, owing to the establishment of schools, there are
now few persons who do not understand both languages,
especially in the towns. The Welsh spoken is the Gwentian,
one of three dialects prevalent in Wales.
Monmouthshire has an irregular surface, encircled by a
chain of heights, some of which attain the altitude of moun¬
tains. This ridge commences near Wentwood Forest on
the south-east, and extends to the neighbourhood of New¬
port on the south-west. The sea-shore, however, is skirted
by two extensive levels, called Caldecot and Wenloog levels,
protected from the sea by strong embankments, which are
kept in repair by the landowners of the district. The geo¬
logical structure of the county is interesting. Devonian
rocks prevail east of a line drawn between Abergavenny and
Newport, and is pierced by an under-stratum of Silurian
near Usk, in the centre of the county ; while the South
Wales coal-field occupies the western half of the county, and
becomes rich in iron as well as coal in the vale of Crick-
howell, on its north-west border. The coal measures are
skirted by a narrow strip of carboniferous limestone—use¬
ful as a flux with iron ore, as well as lor building and manure.
A tongue of carboniferous limestone also enters the county
at Chepstow from the Dean Forest coal-field, and is bor-
3 R
VOL. xv.
MONMOUTHSHIRE.
498
Monmouth- dered on the south by a strip of Permian formation, which
shire. forms the Monmouthshire shore of the Severn.
^ The surface in the southern or maritime district of the
county consists of large tracts of moorland, having a
rich, loamy soil, which occasionally is highly favourable to
the growth of trees. In the east the soil is of a reddish
colour, which, when carefully cultivated, is very productive,
and this district extends along both sides of the River Usk.
The soil of the western and most mountainous parts, on the
other hand, is generally thin and peaty, and covers strata of
sandstone, under which the coal and iron are found.
Agriculture is comparatively backward in Monmouth¬
shire; the farms are small, ranging from 20 to 100 acres,
and are held almost universally from year to year. The
farm buildings are likewise inferior, though quite equal to
the capabilities of the present class of tenantry. The pro¬
duce of wheat averages 20 bushels an acre; and, where
skill has been applied, as many as 35 bushels have been
obtained. The soil resting on the red sandstone, when kept
clean and drained, is here admirably adapted for the growth
of wheat; but the crop is taken too often. Many farms
where barley is raised, being unweeded and undrained, pro¬
duce no more than 10 to 15 bushels an acre of that cereal,
but, with better cultivation, would yield twice the quantity.
Nor are the green crops very luxuriant, owing to the gene¬
ral want of drainage—although on some estates 20 tons per
acre of Belgian carrots, and 40 tons per acre of mangel-wur¬
zel, have been produced. Efforts are being made by the land¬
lords to stimulate improvement; and the Duke of Beaufort,
the owner of a large part of the county, has shown that, by
skill and management, good crops may be obtained from
the worst land. One of the results of this recent interest
taken in agriculture is the adoption by many farmers of the
light fences in place of the old-fashioned jungles, which,
however much they add to the picturesque, diminish the
breadth of land and injure the crops. The county contains
many dairy farms, for which cows of the Durham and Glou¬
cester breeds are preferred. Hereford cattle are common;
and the Radnor breeds improve wonderfully on the pastures
here. Of sheep, the prevalent breeds are Ryelands and
Leicesters, and a smaller number of South Downs. The
rearing of mules is carried on perhaps to a greater extent
than in any other county, and Spanish asses are imported
for the purpose. The animals produced are well-formed
and capable of bearing great fatigue. They are em¬
ployed in carrying coal on their backs in the more hilly
districts.
Monmouthshire, however, is a mining rather than an
agricultural county, and the chief commerce flows from its
staple productions—coal and iron. There are twelve beds
of the former, which vary in thickness from 3 to 9
feet. The area of the Monmouthshire coal-field is about
90,000 acres; the seams which can be profitably wrought
averaging a thickness of 50 feet, and the yield being nearly
73,000 tons an acre. The principal seams lie at a con¬
siderable depth below the ground, and they are reached by
digging what are called in this country “ levels,” which are
passages driven through the sides of the hills, instead of
perpendicular shafts. The quantity of coal exported from
Newport in the year 1856 was 681,442 tons; and, in addi¬
tion, a large quantity was carried into the interior of the
country by railway, or found an outlet at the port of Cardiff,
in the neighbouring county of Glamorgan. The ironstone
of Monmouth occurs both in beds and in large detached
masses, and yields from 18 to 55 per cent, of iron. The ore
is the common clay-ironstone. The iron-works are situated
in the neighbourhood of Pontypool, which is perhaps one
of the first places in which iron was fabricated in this king¬
dom. A family named Grant were the first ironmakers at
Pontypool. They were succeeded about the year 1565 by
Mr Richard Hanbury, citizen and goldsmith of London,
who held a third part of the immense tract of mineral pro- Monmouth,
perty in the neighbourhood at a rental of 3s. 4d. a year, shire. '
the whole of it having been let by the owner, the Earl of
Abergavenny, for 9s. 4d. only. Mr Hanbury greatly in¬
creased the works; and they were extended still more by
his grandson, Mr Capel Hanbury, the first great ironmaster
of his age. At that time (the reign of Elizabeth) the ore
was smelted with charcoal; and to prevent the destruction
of timber in making it, a statute was passed prohibiting the
erection of iron-works except in certain districts; of these
Monmouthshire was one. Yet in 1740, nearly 150 years
afterwards, when coal was first successfully employed in
iron-smelting, Monmouthshire contained only two iron
furnaces, making 900 tons annually ; while the invention
of the steam-engine in 1788 only led to the erection of a
third furnace, by which the “ make” was increased to
2100 tons. In 1790, however, three new furnaces were
erected at Blaenavon, and others at Blaendare and Ebbw
Vale. Five years later the Nantyglo works were com¬
menced, but at first did not succeed, and were suspended
for a year. Under the management of the Bailey family,
however, they have now come to be ranked among the
greatest works of the kind in the United Kingdom. A great
impulse was given to the Monmouth iron trade by the suc¬
cess of that of Blaenavon, and a perfect range of furnaces
sprung up along the valleys that run towards Merthyr-
Tydvil. In 1803, the Beaufort, Ebbw Vale, Clydach, and
Varteg works were put in operation ; then followed the
Tredegar in 1805, the Nantyglo in 1811, the Coalbrook
Dale in 1821, the Blaina in 1824, the Pentewan in
1825, the Abersychan in 1827, the Bute in 1828, the
Golynos, afterwards united with Pentewan, in 1837, and
the Victoria works in 1838. These are all very extensive
furnaces; but there are besides many minor works, some
of which have been recently opened. The South Wales
system of iron-works commence at Clydach, 4 miles from
Abergavenny, and extend in an unbroken line to Merthyr,
a distance of 20 miles. The Monmouthshire coal and iron
trade is greatly facilitated by a succession of valleys, with
a gradual inclination towards Newport, whence the produce
is exported.
A group of mountains in the north, neighbouring on
Abergavenny, called the Blorenge, or Grayridge, possesses
great beauty of outline. The northern extremity of the
chain is 1720 feet high ; while its loftiest peaks, the Sugar-
Loaf and Holy Mountain, are respectively 1856 and 1498
feet high.
The chief rivers of the county are the Wye, the Monnow,
the Usk, the Rumney, and the Ebbw. The first is universally
pronounced one of the most beautiful of the English rivers,
meandering, as it does, through a rich as well as picturesque
country, its banks overhung with trees, and occasionally
darkened by some abrupt and lofty cliff. Rising from the
sides of Plynlimmon in Montgomery, the Wye separates
Brecknock from Radnor, and enters Hereford, which it
traverses in a S.E. direction, till it forms the boundary
between that county and Gloucester. It then takes a
southerly course, dividing the counties of Monmouth and
Gloucester ; and after passing the towns of Monmouth and
Chepstow, enters the Bristol Channel, after a course of 40
miles through the county. The river is navigable at the town
of Monmouth, and is used for the export of timber and bark.
The Monnow rises at Hay in Herefordshire, enters Mon¬
mouthshire near Langua bridge, and forms the eastern bound¬
ary of the county, flowing through a beautiful valley until it
joins the Wye at Monmouth. The Usk enters the county
from Brecknock near Abergavenny, becomes tidal at Caer-
leon, and falls into the sea a little below the port of Newport.
The Rumney rises in Brecknock, forms the boundary be¬
tween that county and Monmouth, and after a meandering
course southwards, enters the Bristol Channel 2 miles E. of
M 0 N M 0 U
Ujiraouth-Cardiff. The Ebbw finds its source at Ebbw Vale, on the
hire. N.E. of the county, and after a southerly course enters
the estuary of the Usk. There are also some minor
streams: the Sirrhwy, a feeder of the Ebbw; the Avon,
of the Usk; the Trothy, of the Wye ; and the Honday, of
the Monnow. Of these streams, the Wye and Usk are the
most abundant in salmon ; while all the rivers are well
stocked with trout and other fish. The fishermen here use
boats called coracles, said to be of the same character as
those in use among the ancient Britons. They are made
of thin hoops, covered with strong canvas, thickly coated
with pitch, and edged with basket-work. The seat is in
the middle of the coracle, which measures about 5 feet in
length, and is light enough to enable the fisher to carry it
on his shoulders. Great dexterity and caution are required
to avoid upsetting, for even the slightest movement in
hooking a fish will be sufficient to overturn the craft.
The means of internal communication in Monmouthshire
is rendered complete by the number of railways and canals
which intersect it. The South Wales line, connecting Lon¬
don and Milford Haven, is carried along the coast of this
county, and passes by Chepstow and Newport. The New¬
port and Abergavenny Railroad, which unites with the
Hereford line, connects Monmouthshire with Shrewsbury
and the north. A branch from the same also passes through
Pontypool to Blaenavon, and a number of short mineral
lines bring the various coal and iron stations into ready
communication with the sea and the main railroads.
The population of the county has shown a steady in¬
crease for the last fifty years, and the only subject for re¬
mark is the preponderance of males over females. In 1831
there were 112,686 inhabitants; in 1841, 157,021 ; and in
1851, 177,130. Of the last sum 92,301 were males, and
84,829 females. The county contained in 1851 only three
towns having more than 5000 inhabitants,—viz., Newport,
19,323; Tredegar, 8305; and Monmouth, 5710. Mon¬
mouthshire returns three members to Parliament, tvyo for
the county and one for the combined boroughs. It is di¬
vided into 6 unions and 161 parishes, which afforded in the
half-year ending Lady-Day 1857, poor-relief to the amount
of L.19,210, or L.710 less than what was expended in
the former half-year. The county is included in the Ox¬
ford circuit, and belongs to the diocese of Llandaff, with the
exception of three parishes, which pertain to that of Here¬
ford, and three to St David’s. In 1851 there were 434
churches in Monmouth, of which number 159 belonged to
the Established Church, 126 to the Methodists, 79 to the
Baptists, 51 to the Congregationalists, 8 to the Roman Ca¬
tholics, and 6 to the Mormons. Education was dispensed,
at the same date, in 336 day schools, 135 of which were
public, attended by 12,632 scholars, and 201 private, at¬
tended by 4548 scholars; and also in 330 Sunday schools,
attended by 28,882 scholars. The number and character
of the literary institutions, with their respective libraries,
in 1851, are too insignificant to require notice.
The history of Monmouthshire can be carried back to
the time of the Roman conquest. It formed a part of the
territory belonging to a native tribe called the Silures, at
the time of the second Roman invasion of Britain. Ostorius
Scapula, one of the commanders of the Emperor Claudius,
attempted to expel them, but the Silures, assisted by tie
mountainous character of the district, ultimately ob ige
him to retire. The general died not long afterwards of an
illness caused by the fatigues of his campaign. Julius
Frontinus was, however, more successful in the reign ot
Vespasian, and Monmouthshire became a part of Britannia
Secunda,—a term applied to the conquered territory west
of the Severn. After the Romans evacuated Britain a.d.
408, South Wales was divided into a number of petty
states, which were either at war with each other or engaged
in repelling the attacks of the Scots and 1 icts. Voiti-
T H S H I R E. 499
gern, who invited the Saxons over to Britain to expel these Monmouth-
ruthless bands, was a king of Gwent, as Monmouthshire v shire- y
was anciently called. For many years after, the Angles
and Welsh were at constant war, until the latter were
forced to submit. In 1034 the territory of Gwent or Mon¬
mouth was invaded by Canute the Dane, and several for¬
tresses were occupied by his forces. It remained in the
possession of the English till the Norman conquest, when
William, unable to spare sufficient troops to subdue the
district thoroughly, incited his barons to make incursions
at their own cost. The lands which they conquered became
their own, and were held per baroniam, with the right of ad¬
ministering justice upon them. 1 he subsequent history
of the county exhibits a series of struggles between the
possessors of the land and the Welsh. The natives were
then little better than barbarians, and hated the English,
who held their towns and castles, punished their bards as
vagabonds, and excluded them from every public office.
Henry II. seized and garrisoned the town and castle of
Caerleon in 1174, when on his way to conquer Ireland.
Henry III. defeated Llewellyn, the Welsh prince, at
Grosmont Castle, and twice seized that fortress, giving it at
first to Hubert de Burgh, but afterwards annexed it to the
duchy of Lancaster. Henry V., when Prince of Wales, in
1405 drove Owen Glendwr, the last of the Welsh chief¬
tains, out of Grosmont Castle, and defeated him in battle at
Usk. During the Parliamentary war Monmouthshire be¬
came again a field of contest. Raglan Castle, a favourite
residence of Charles I., was held for him in 1646 by Henry,
Marquis of Worcester, who, although then eighty-five years
of age, kept up the defence for two months, after which
he capitulated to Fairfax. Chepstow Castle surrendered to
the parliamentary forces two years later, being^ the last
fortress which defied the power of Cromwell. The feudal
jurisdiction, which was abolished by Henry VIII. in 1535,
was succeeded by an administrative arrangement, which
placed Monmonth among the English shires; and it was
regularly considered an English county in the reign of
Charles II., when it was included in the Oxford cir¬
cuit. The last vestiges of the baronial system, however,
were not got rid of until the reign of William III., when
the Lord Marchers’ Court, held at Ludlow, Shropshire, was
suppressed by act of Parliament on the petition of the
Welsh people.
Monmouthshire is rich in antiquarian remains. It con¬
tained five Roman stations,— Venta Silurum, now Caer-
went; Isca Silurum, now Caerleon; Gobannium, now Aber¬
gavenny; Blestium Burrium ;—the last two are doubt¬
fully fixed at Monmouth and Usk. The remains of walls,
aqueducts, subterranean buildings, mounds, and pavements,
are remarkable. The county was traversed by two Roman
roads,—the Via Julia, leading from the mouth of the Severn
to Caerwent, Caerleon, and onward towards Neath ; and the
Akeman Street, from Caerwent, across the Wye and Se¬
vern, to Cirencester. The former can still be traced, and
is called in tbe Gwentian dialect Sarn-her, “ the long-paved
causeway.” There are traces of six British and Roman en¬
campments, and remains of no less than twenty-five Noi-
man fortresses: these formed two lines, the first, including
Scenfreth, Grosmont, Monmouth, Chepstow, and Caldecot,
on the banks of the Monnow, the Wye, and the Severn;
and the second, including White Castle, Usk, Langibby,
Caerleon, and Newport, stretching in a diagonal line from
Grosmont to the banks of the Rumney. At the time of
the Reformation there were two hospitals and fifteen other
religious houses in the county ; but two only remain—Llan-
tbony and Tintern abbeys—both in ruins. The former
was once a distinguished priory of Cistercians, and, judging
from the remains, never had been a highly-ornamented
building. It was erected about 1112, but was soon after¬
wards abandoned by its inmates. Tintern Abbey, famous
500 MON
Monochord alike for the beauty of its architecture and of the surround-
II . ing scenery, was founded in 1131, and dedicated to St
Monomoise. ]yjary< rpjll'e ni'in) which exhibits the purest Gothic style, is
roofless, but the walls are almost entire, and some of the
piers are still standing. (f. C.)
MONOCHORD, an instrument by which the several
proportions of musical sounds and intervals, as well in the
natural as in the tempered scales, are tried. Originally it
had, as its name implies, only one string; but it is better
constructed with two; for, by means of the additional
string, an opportunity is afforded of judging of the harmony
of two tempered notes in every possible variety of tempera¬
ment. The monochord is called the harmonical canon.
Its invention is ascribed to Pythagoras.
MONOGRAM, an abbreviation of a name by means of
a character or cipher, formed by the interweaving of two or
more letters with each other. They are of very ancient
date, and were employed upon coins, medals, seals, &c., by
not a few of the more distinguished families of Greece and
Rome. They were not used by the Roman emperors till
a later period. The Greek monogram for the name of
Christ > consisting of a combination of the first two
letters of Xpioros, is found on the coins of Constantine the
Great; and was continued by not a few of his successors.
Monograms appear frequently on coins, &c., during the
middle ages, and they were frequently employed by princes
{e.g., the kings of France, a.d. 751-987), and other digni¬
taries of that period, as a substitute for their signature.
This mode of adhibiting their names to their works was
frequently adopted in later times by printers, painters, and
engravers; and monograms are occasionally to be met with
at the present day attached to books and works of art.
When all the letters which compose the word are expressed
in the monogram, it is called perfect; otherwise it is said to
be imperfect.
Much labour and research have been expended on the
deciphering of ancient monograms, and many of them re¬
main still unintelligible. The most valuable works on this
branch of the subject are Montfaucon, Palceographia Grceca ;
Froelich, Annal. Reg. Syr.; Combe, Museum Hunteri-
anum ; Torremuzza, Description des Monnaies de Sidle ;
Pellerin, Recueil des Villes, des Peuples, et des Rois;
Mionnet, Traite de la Numismatique; Le Blanc, Traite
Historique des Monnaies de FraJice. Of later monograms
various treatises have taken notice; but the ablest works,
since the Abbe de Marolles, in 1667, drew attention to the
subject, are those of Bartsch, Peintregraveur; and espe¬
cially Brulliot, Dictionnaire des Monogrammes, &c., 2 vols.
4to, Munich, 1832-34,—both works of great accuracy and
research. (See Numismatics.)
MONOMANIA. See Mental Diseases.
MONOMOISE, or Monomoezi, a territory of southern
Central Africa, situated on the eastern shore of Lake Tag-
anyka, inclosed by no definite boundaries, but having an
estimated length of 570 miles, by a breadth of 420 miles.
S. Lat. (of Oha the capital) 6. 34., and E. Long. 29. It is
now two centuries and a half since this country was first
heard of by Europeans, and at that time it was believed to
extend from Abyssinia in the N., to Monomotapa in the S.,
and from the E. coast far into the interior of Central Africa.
From more recent explorations, however, its limits are found
to be not nearly so extensive, and its exact position has
been now determined bv Lake Taganyka instead of Lake
Nyassa, on whose shores some later geographers have in¬
correctly placed it. Monomoise, which may be said to lie
between 3. and 7. of S. Lat., occupies an elevated table¬
land watered by the Luffia and its affluent the Magrassie, and
is composed of several tribal districts. These are stated by
one authority to amount to six,—viz., Uranga, Ovinza, Ugi-
yie, Oha, Usooie, and Oocanga; while according to a later
M 0 N
account, they are said to number only four. Each tribe is Monomu.
governed by a chieftain, who pays homage to the great chief tapa
of the Oha tribe, and thus the entire territory has sometimes II
been designated the Empire of Monomoise. The prefix Mo"HPhy-
mono signifies great, or master; hence the full name is v ,
equivalent to the great Moises, or the chief nation of the
Moises; and it is known that this last name is borne by a
numerous people, widely scattered over the interior, and
divided into various tribes. The Monomoises are a ta.
race, and those residing on the shores of the lake are said
to be as fair as the Abyssinians. In civilization they sur¬
pass nearly all the other South African nations, and are
described as industrious and ingenious, as well as hospitable
to strangers. Their dress consists of cotton, manufactured
by themselves, and which they make not only for their own
use, but also for transmission to the sea-coast for shipment.
Trade, which is largely engaged in, is much furthered by
the use of a hardy breed of asses for conveying goods to the
sea. The Monomoises, however, are far from a peaceful
people ; on the contrary, they are said to be at constant war
with their neighbours in the interior, though friendly rela¬
tions are generally preserved with the commercial tribes of
the coast. Large caravans proceed annually from Oha to
Zanzibar, conveying cotton, copper, ivory, and a sort of red
oil, which articles are obtained from the country to the
S.W. of the lake. These generally start for the coast in
March or April, after the end of the rainy season, and
return after an absence of nine or ten months. Lake Tag¬
anyka contains large quantities of fish, has numerous islands,
and is navigated by long and narrow boats without sails.
Its breadth at the town of Oha, situated on its shores, is
about 24 miles; its depth is also great, and it is frequently
agitated by a considerable swell. The River Luffia, which
waters the Monomoise country, flows from Lake Taganyka,
and is joined by several tributaries. No estimate has as
yet been made of the population, but it is said to be large,
especially on the shores of the lake.
MONOMOTAPA, a country in the S.E. of Africa, to
the S. of the Zambesi, between 15. and 19. S. Lat., and 30.
and 35. E. Long. It is inhabited by a people of the Muca-
ranga race, and was formerly an important empire, but it is
now split up into independent states, of which the most
important are Susas and the Katalosas. The name Mono¬
motapa is not now in use.
MONOPHYSITES, a body of heretics who adopted
the doctrine of Eutyches the Archimandrite, the opponent
of Nestorius. (See Eutyches.) The latter, from the two
natures of Christ, inferred also two persons,—a human and
a divine. Eutyches, on the other hand, from the one per¬
son inferred also one nature, viz., the Divine,—the human
having been absorbed into it; but in the end his own united
with the rival heresy in more points than one. After the
condemnation of Eutyches at Chalcedon, his heresy be¬
came divided into ten chief sects, whence it has received
the name of the “ten-horned.” Of these the principal
leaders, as enumerated by Anastasius the Sinaite, were
Eutyches himself, Dioscorus, Timothy QSIurus, or “ the
Cat,” Gajan, Julian, Severus, Peter “the Fuller,” Barsanu-
phius, Theodosius, and Jacob Baradaeus, or “ the Ragged.”
Besides these, are to be enumerated the followers of Peter
“the Stammerer,” the Acephali, the Aphthartodocetae, who
held that Christ’s body was in itself incorruptible, and not
subject to passion or suffering; the Theopaschites, from
Peter “ the Fuller,” who held that the Godhead suffered di¬
rectly ; and the Theodosians, from Severus and Theodosius
of Alexandria, whose followers soon fell into numberless di¬
visions. The chief of these were the Agnoetae, whose dis¬
tinctive tenet it was, that Christ was altogether ignorant ot
things to come ; and the Tritheites, who thought that there
were three essences as well as three persons in the God¬
head. There were also numberless other sects who differed
MON
tfi'Opoli from each other on points of more or less consequence, and
|j agreed only in their hatred of the Council of Chalcedon,
Miiothe- ancj t]ie doctrine it laid down.
^;es. When all attempts of the imperial power to restore peace
to the churches of Egypt and the East had failed, th,e
Emperor Zeno, in the year 482, published his “ Henoticon,”
by which he hoped to put a period to the disturbances
which on more than one occasion had terminated in open
riot and bloodshed. The “ Henoticon ” asserted the Creed of
the General Council of Nice held in 325, and anathema¬
tized Nestorius and Eutyches, but said nothing positively
as to Monophysitism in itself,—that is, the doctrine of the
nature or natures after the Incarnation. The greater
number of eastern bishops readily signed this formula; but
Leo the Great, then Pope, separated them in consequence
from the communion of the Church of the West; while the
more obstinate of the Monophysites seceded from the rule
of their bishops, and formed the sect of the Acephali, which
existed upwards of three centuries, when its members were
received again into the church.
The Monophysites still exist in Egypt and the East,
under the title of Jacobites, which they derived from Jacob
Baradams; whilst the orthodox are distinguished by that of
Melchites, or Royalists, from their adherence to the edict
of the Emperor Marcian, in favour of the Council of Chal¬
cedon, and their adoption of its doctrine. (g. J. d.)
MONOPOLI, a town of South Italy, Naples, province
of Bari, and on the shore of the Adriatic, 26 miles S.E. of
the town of Bari. It stands on an eminence overlooking the
sea, and is protected by a castle. The streets, which are
narrow and irregular, are rather gloomy in appearance, from
the height of the houses. The town, nevertheless, is the
favourite resort of many people of wealth. There are
numerous churches; and the cathedral, which is a hand¬
some edifice, contains a painting of “St Sebastian” by Palma
Vecchio. There are two suburbs, in which the houses are
better built than in the town itself. Manufactures oi linen
and cotton fabrics are carried on ; and there is a consider¬
able trade in wine and oil, as well as in the manufactures of
the place. The town has two harbours, which, however,
though deep, are not well sheltered. On the coast, about
6 miles S.E. of Monopoli, stand the ruins of the ancient
Gnatia, known in modern times by the name of lorre
d’Egnazia. Monopoli is the seat of a bishop, who is a
suffragan of the Holy See. Pop. 15,000.
MONOTHELITES, a heretical offshoot from the sects
of the Apollinarians and Monophysites. They distinguished
the will from the operation, and said that a multiplicity of
wills must of necessity involve a multiplicity of willers.
In order, therefore, to preserve the unity of Christ’s person
and nature after the Incarnation, they held that in Him there
was one will or energy only. This will was not human, for
that would infer strife and sin ; but they admitted Him to be
perfectly sinless, and hence they ascribed to Him a divinely
human will, which, from a term used by Dionysius the Areo-
pagite, they called Theandric. As the Eutychians absorbed
the human in the Divine nature, so the Monothelites merged
the human will in the Divine. Their opponents met them
by the denial of their major premiss, that the will depends
on the person of the wilier, and asserted, on the contrary,
that it is the result of the nature; and, therefore, that in
Christ each nature had its own manner of operation and
will, though in Him these wills were in no degree in sinful
opposition.
Monothelitism was first heard of in the seventh century,
and was in its vigour from the year a.d. 629 to the sixth
general council held a.d. 680. Heraclius, the Greek
emperor, was the original cause of its formal enunciation.
After he had recovered the provinces rent from the empire
by the Persians, he was desirous of strengthening his power
by the reunion with the dominant church of those Nesto-
M O N 501
rians who had been driven into Persia. The leaders of the Mcmothe-
Monophysitesacceded tohiswish,on theconditionofitsbeing lltes-
ruled, that after the union of the two natures in Christ, ''■•'V'"-’7
there was but one mode of operation and will; Sergius, the
Monophysite patriarch of Constantinople, agreed; and Hono-
rius, in consequence, published in the year 630 an edict in
favour of that doctrine. On this Cyrus, who had been
recently converted to Monothelitism by Sergius, and pro¬
moted by Honorius to the patriarchate of Alexandria, held
a council in that city a.d. 633, and propounded nine articles
of faith, which at first met with great success. He was
earnestly opposed, however, by Sophronius, a monk of
Palestine, then residing at Alexandria, who, on being made
patriarch of Jerusalem, assembled a council there and con¬
demned the Monothelites. Sergius thereupon wrote to
Pope Honorius, who in reply expressed his approbation of
the doctrine of Sergius as opposed to that of Sophronius,
and clearly enunciated Monothelite doctrine. “We con¬
fess” he said, “one will in Jesus Christ, because the God¬
head took not our sin, but our nature as it was created
before the corruption of sin.”
More than one of the Romish controversialists have made
unsuccessful attempts to defend the reputation of Honorius
from the accusation of heresy arising out of his letters to
Sergius. The error of his Holiness, like that of the Mono¬
thelites, lay in the assumption that two wills could not co¬
exist in our Lord without sinful opposition ; and hence he
must be ranked with those heretics with whom he was
subsequently condemned in the sixth general council.
To put an end to the dispute, Heraclius, in the year 639,
issued the edict known by the name of the “ Ecthesis,” or
exposition of the faith, in which he laid down the doctrine of
one will, but prohibited all controversy on the question of one
or two operations. Many eastern bishops, with Pyrrhus, the
successor of Sergius, at their head, received the “Ecthesis;”
but John IV. of Rome immediately assembled a council in
that city, in which the “Ecthesis” was rejected, and the
Monothelites condemned. The most able opponent of
Monothelitism at this time was Maximus the monk, who
vanquished Pyrrhus, Patriarch of Constantinople, in a public
disputation. Theodore of Pharan, in Arabia, was the most
prominent of its champions.
In the year 648, Constans the Emperor revoked the
“ Ecthesis,” and published in its place a formula known by
the name of the “ Type,” which was formally condemned by
Pope Martin I. in the Lateran Council of 649. Constans,
enraged at what he supposed an attack on his authority,
caused Martin to be seized and carried to the Isle of Naxos,
where he was kept prisoner for a year. Thence he was
removed to the town of Chersonesus in the Crimea, where
he soon afterwards died. Maximus was next arrested and
brought, with his disciple Anastasius, to Constantinople.
On his refusing to adopt Monothelitism in any guise, he was
forcibly conveyed to Byrza in 1 brace; thence he was
carried back to Constantinople, where he was publicly
scourged, had his tongue cut out, and his right hand
severed at the wrist. After this lie was banished to Lazi
in Colchis, where he soon died. The West, overawed by
these violences, remained for some time quiet; but in the
year 677 the schism between the East and West was com¬
plete. To put a final termination to these disputes, the
sixth CEcumenical Council was assembled at Constantinople
in a.d. 680, at which the Emperor was present in person.
The result was to establish the doctrine of two wills and
operations; and the Monothelites, with Pope Honorius at
their head, were again formally condemned. The doctrine
of Monothelitism was henceforth confined to the people in¬
habiting Mounts Libanus and Antilibanus, who are known
in history by the name of Maronites. (See Maronites.)
(For more detailed information respecting the Monothelites,
consult Neander’s Church History, vol. v.) (g. j. d.)
502 MON
Monro MONRO, Alexander, a celebrated physician and
II anatomist, and founder of the medical school of Edin-
Monroe. was t]ie son of John Monro, a surgeon in Edinburgh,
v—and was born in London in 1697. He showed an early
inclination to the study of physic; and his father, after
giving him the best education which Edinburgh then
afforded, sent him successively to London, Paris, and Ley¬
den, to improve himself further in his profession. On his
return to Edinburgh in the autumn of 1719, he was pre¬
vailed upon to read some public lectures on anatomy, and
to illustrate them by showing the curious anatomical pre¬
parations which he had made and sent home when abroad.
He at the same time persuaded Dr Alston, then a young
man, to give some public lectures on botany. Accord¬
ingly, in the beginning of the winter of 1720, these two
young professors began to give regular courses of lectures,
—the one on the materia medica and botany, the other
on anatomy and surgery. These were the first regular
courses of lectures on any of the branches of medicine
which had ever been read at Edinburgh, and may be looked
upon as the opening of that medical school which has since
acquired so great reputation all over Europe.
On the foundation of the medical faculty of Edinburgh
in 1721, Dr Monro was appointed university professor of
anatomy, but was not received into the university till the
year 1725, when he was inducted along with Maclaurin,
the celebrated mathematician. From this time he x-egularly
gave a course of lectures on anatomy and surgery from
October to May, upon a most judicious and comprehensive
plan,—a task in which he persevered with the greatest assi¬
duity, and without the least interruption, for nearly forty
years; and so great was the reputation he had acquired,
that students flocked to him from the most distant corners
of his Majesty’s dominions. Dr Monro had a principal
share in founding the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh, and
was accustomed occasionally to give lectures on the sur¬
gical cases which occurred there.
In 1759 he entirely relinquished the business of the
anatomical theatre to his son Dr Alexander Monro, who
had returned from abroad, and had assisted him in the
course of lectures delivered the preceding year. He still
endeavoured, however, to render his labours useful, by
reading clinical lectures at the hospital for the improvement
of the students. Dr Monro died on the 10th of July 1767,
in the seventieth year of his age.
Of his works, the first in order is his Osteology, or
Treatise on the Anatomy of the Bones, which appeared in
1726, and was translated into most of the languages of
Europe. In the later edition he added a description of the
Lacteal Nacand Thoracic Duct, and gave an admirable de¬
scription of the Anatomy of the Nerves. The six volumes of
Medical Essays and Observations, so well known and so
much esteemed, were published by a society in Edinburgh,
and were mainly owing to his zeal and activity. In the first
two volumes of \hoPhysical and Literary Essays, published
by the Physical Society of Edinburgh, we find several papers
written by him, possessing very great merit. His account of
the Success of Inoculation in Scotland may be considered as
his last publication. A collection of his works, properly ar¬
ranged, corrected, and illustrated with copperplates, with a
Life of the author prefixed, was published by his son, Dr
Alexander Monro, in one 4to volume, Edinburgh, 1781.
MONROE, James, a President of the United States, was
descended from a Scottish family, and was born in West¬
moreland county, Virginia, in April 1758. After receiving
his education at William and Mary College, he entered
the revolutionary army in 1776, was engaged in several
battles, and rose to be aide-de-camp to Lord Stirling, with
the rank of major. Towards the close of the war General
Washington conferred upon him the rank of colonel; but
as he w as unable to raise an army in Virginia, already ex-
M 0 N
hausted by former conscriptions, he devoted himself to the Monrovia
study of law. His sagacity, firmness of purpose, and plod- ||
ding perseverance soon marked him out as one adapted for ^Ion8'
civil offices. He was elected a member of the Assembly of
his native state in 1782, a member of the old Congress in
1783, a member of the Virginia Convention in 1788, and a
senator of the United States in 1790. In 1794 he was ap¬
pointed minister plenipotentiary to France; but as his mea¬
sures failed in satisfying the government of his native country,
he was recalled in 1796 by President Washington, with an
implied censure. Yet this circumstance did not degrade him
in the general estimation. In 1799 he was nominated go¬
vernor of Virginia, an office which he held for three years.
He was also appointed minister extraordinary to France,
and minister to London in 1803, and envoy to Spain in the
following year. In 1806 he was again sent to England to
negotiate with the Fox ministry. The important post of
secretary of state was bestowed upon him in 1811 ; and in
18l7he succeeded James Madison as Presidentof the United
States. In 1821 he was re-elected by an almost unanimous
vote. The government of Monroe was characterized by
a vigorous and enlightened patriotism. His attention to
the improvement of the army and navy was great, and de¬
scended to minute particulars. He made vigorous exertions
for the abolition of the slave trade, and encouraged the
establishment of the principles of free commerce with all
nations. His resolution to defend the independent South
American governments against all European interference
was bold and at the same time sagacious, and it served its
purpose. At the end of his second term Monroe retired
from the presidency into private life. He died at New
York on the 4th July 1831.
MONROVIA, a seaport-town of West Africa, capital
of the Liberian republic, is situated on the Guinea coast,
N. Lat. 6. 19., and W. Long. 10. 49. It contains the go¬
vernment-house, the president’s residence, and several
churches and schools, besides a printing establishment and
a head jail. The town was founded in 1821, and now con¬
tains about 2000 inhabitants.
MONS (Flem. Berghen), a town of Belgium, capital of
the province of Hainault, is situated on both sides of the
Trouble, which is here crossed by three bridges, 38 miles
S.W. of Brussels by railway. It stands partly on a plain
and partly on the slope of a hill, is defended by a castle,
and is surrounded by fortifications, which are entered by
five gates. On the E. of the town are two lakes, by means
of which and the river the whole neighbourhood may be
laid under water. The streets are in general wide, regular,
and well paved, though some are steep and winding ; and
the houses are handsome and well built. There are eight
squares, the most important of which is the Place d’Armes,
which contains the government-house and the provincial
council-hall. Mons possesses five churches, the principal of
which is that of St Wardru, a building in the Gothic style,
with one of the finest collections of works of art in Belgium.
The chief of the other buildings are the town-hall, a Gothic
edifice with a handsome steeple; the castle, court-house,
college, theatre, and arsenal. The town has also an academy
of music, school of arts, and many other educational institu¬
tions ; an orphan hospital, a deaf-and-dumb institution, two
lunatic asylums, &c. The manufactures of Mons are im¬
portant and various, consisting of linen, woollen, and cotton
stuffs; hardware, fire-arms, musical instruments, soap, oil,
candles, earthenware, &c. The chief wealth of the place, how¬
ever, is derived from the coal-pits in the neighbourhood, in
which a large number of men are employed. There are also
extensive bleachfields near the town. The trade is consider¬
able in coal, marble, building stone, timber, horses, cattle,
corn, and manufactured goods. Mons stands on the
railway between Brussels and Valenciennes, and is also
connected with Conde on the Scheldt, and by a canal which
MON
MON
503
lliiuelice forms part of a communication by water between this town
|| and Paris. It is believed to occupy the site of a Roman camp
Mhster. founded by Caesar, which was defended with great courage
and success by Q. Cicero, the brother of the orator, against
several Gallic tribes. In the seventh century it became
the residence of Alberic, Count of Hainault, and subse¬
quently increased in size and prosperity, till it was made
by Charlemagne, in 804, the capital of Hainault. After
undergoing several sieges and changes, it fell into the hands
of the Duke of Burgundy. The greatest prosperity to which
this town attained was during the reign of Charles V., but
this was soon after checked by the exactions of the Duke
of Alva ; and after an unsuccessful attempt at revolt, the
town remained quiet, and gradually declined in importance.
In 1678 the Prince of Orange was defeated near Mons by
Marshal Luxemburg, who afterwards besieged the town;
but his operations were cut short by the peace of Nimeguen.
In 1691 it was besieged and taken by the French, who re¬
tained the town till the peace of Ryswick. In 1709 the
battle of Malplaquet was fought in the neighbourhood of
Mons, in which Marlborough and Prince Eugene defeated
the French; and the town soon afterwards capitulated to
the conquerors. In 1792 the French, under Dumouriez,
defeated the Austrians at Jemappes, and afterwards ob¬
tained possession of Mons, which was in 1794 declared to
belong to France, and made the capital of the department
of Jemappes. It was restored to Belgium in 1814. Pop.
23,165.
MONSELICE, a town of Austrian Italy, in the govern¬
ment of Venice, and province of Padua, is situated on a lofty
rock, 12 miles S.S.W. of Padua. The principal buildings
are an ancient castle, which commands the town, and fou.
churches. Manufactures of woollen stuffs, silk, and hats
are carried on here. It has a considerable trade, which is
much assisted by the position of the town on a canal con¬
necting Este and Bacchiglione. Pop. 5400.
MONSOON, a regular or periodical wind, in the Indian
seas, blowing constantly in the same direction during six
months of the year, and contrariwise during the remaining
six. (See Meteorology, sect. 67; and Physical Geo¬
graphy.)
MONSTER, a birth or production of a living being de¬
generating from the proper and usual disposition of parts
in the species to which it belongs; as, when there are too
many members, or too few, or some of them are extrava¬
gantly out of proportion, either on the side of excess or
defect. The word comes from the Latin monstrum, a de¬
rivative of monstrando, showing ; and hence also the box
in which relics were anciently kept to be shown was called
monstrum. Dugdale mentions an inventory of the church
of York with this article, “ Item unum monstrum cum ossibus
sancti Petri in beryl, et crucifixo in summitate.” Aristotle
defines a monster to be a defect of nature, when, acting
towards an end, she cannot attain to it, from some of the
principles being corrupted.
Monsters do not propagate their kind, for which reason
some rank mules amongst the number of monsters, as also
hermaphrodites. Females which bring forth twins are
found most liable to produce monsters. 1 he reason pro¬
bably is, that although the twins are covered with one
common chorion, yet they have each their separate amnios,
which by their contiguity may chance to grow together,
and so occasion a confusion or blending of the parts.
With respect to structure, monsters are of various kinds.
Some have an excess or defect in certain parts, such as
those which are called acephalous, or want the head ;
those which have two heads, two arms, two legs, and one
body, or which have two bodies and one head, or which
have three le^s and those which want the arms or the
legs. Others err through an extraordinary and deformed
conformation, through an unnatural union of certain parts
or viscera, through a great derangement in one or more of
their members, and through the extraordinary place which
these often occupy in consequence of this derangement
or transposition. The monster described by Dr Eller of
the Academy of Berlin was of this kind. It was a foetus
of nine months, twenty-eight inches long, with an enor¬
mous head and frightful countenance: and in the middle
of a broad and vast forehead it had a reddish eye, without
either eyebrows or eyelids, and sunk deep into a square
hole. Immediately below this eye was an excrescence
which strongly resembled a penis, with a glans, a prepuce,
and an urethra; the part covered with hair was likewise
below the nape of the neck. In other monsters we meet
with the unnatural union of some parts which, from their
destination and functions, ought always to be separate ; and
the separation of other parts which, for the same reasons,
ought constantly to be united. The reader may see the
different ways in which the formation of monsters takes
place in four memoirs by M. Lemery, inserted in UHis-
toire de VAcademic des Sciences, 1738 and 1739.
In the volume published by the Academy of Sciences in
the year 1724, mention is made by M. Geoffroy of a mon¬
ster born in Barrois, 1722. This monstrous production
consisted of two children without the inferior extremities,
and joined together by a common navel. Each of them had
a nurse, sucked, and eat pap; and the one sucked whilst
the other slept. The reader may likewise consult the
second part of Winslow’s Memoirs on Monsters, inserted in
the volume published by the Academy of Sciences in
1734, where he will find the history of the two very ex¬
traordinary twin monsters who exhibited during their lives
a great difference in their moral and physical qualities. We
are obliged to refer simply to these memoirs, as they are
too long for abridgment.
It is observed by Haller, that in some monsters the na¬
tural structure has been changed by some shock or passion,
whilst in others the structure, independently of any acci¬
dent, appears to have been originally monstrous ; such as
when all the members are reversed from left to right, when
the person has six fingers, and in many other instances.
M. Renou, surgeon at Pommeraye, in Anjou, published an
account of some families with six fingers, who were to be
found in several parishes of the Lower Anjou, and which
had existed there from time immemorial. This deformity
was perpetuated in these families even when they inter¬
married with persons who were free from it. Whether the
propagation of these supernumerary organs, which are not
only useless, but inconvenient, and even disagreeable, be
owing to the father or mother, the children of both sexes
are subject to it indiscriminately. A father and mother
with six fingers frequently have a part, and sometimes the
whole of their children, free from this deformity; but it
again makes its appearance, and in a very great degree, in
the third generation. From this it appears that such a
fault in the conformation is hereditary. (The reader may
consult the Journal de Physique for November 1774,
p. 372.) This variety of sexdigitary hands and feet is not
comprehended in the Recherches sur quelques Conforma¬
tions Monstrueuses des Doigts dans l’Homme, which is
inserted in the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences for
1771. In the Journal de Physique for August 1776, we
find a description of a double uterus and vagina observed
in a woman who died in childbed, by Dr Purcell of Dublin ;
and in that for June 1788 we have an account, by Baron
Dietrich, of a man with seven fingers on each hand.
(See also the curious work of Dr Barkow, entitled Monstra
Animaliumper Anatomenindagata, ii.,4to, Leips., 1828-36.)
Three opinions have been advanced by physiologists as
to the causes of monstrosity by excess:—1. Duverney,
Winslow, and Haller ascribed excess of organs to the
coalition of two perfect germens. 2. Wolf and Meckel
Monster.
504 M O N
Monster, considered it as owing to an original excess of productive
power. 3. The celebrated Tiedemann ascribed it to
abnormal vascular action, modified by pressure. The first
opinion lias been adopted by Treviranus, Otto, Burdach,
Rudolfi, Mayer, and Muller: the second has been de¬
fended by Baer and Himly ; while the third has been main¬
tained by Serres and Geoffroi St Hilaire. (For further in¬
formation on the subject, see Lectures on Medical Juris¬
prudence, by Dr Traill.)
Monsters are more common and more extraordinary in
the vegetable than in the animal kingdom, because the
different juices are more easily deranged and confounded
together. Leaves are often seen, from the internal parts
of which other leaves spring forth ; and it is not uncom¬
mon to see flowers of the ranunculus from the middle of
which issues a stalk bearing another flower. Bonnet informs
us, that in certain warm and rainy years he has frequently
met with monsters of this kind in rose trees. This ob¬
server saw a rose from the centre of which issued a square
stalk of a whitish colour, tender and without prickles,
which at its top bore two flower-buds opposite to each
other, and totally destitute of a calyx ; and a little above the
buds issued a petal of a very irregular shape. Upon the
prickly stalk which supported the rose, a leaf was observed
which had the shape of a trefoil, together with a broad
flat pedicel. In the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences
for 1707 mention is made of a rose from the centre of the
leaves of which issued a rose branch two or three inches
long, and furnished wuth leaves. In the Memoirs for
1775, a singular instance is mentioned of a monstrosity
observed by Duhamel in an apple tree ingrafted with clay.
At the place of the insertion there appeared a bud which
produced a stalk and some leaves ; the stalk and the pedicle
of the leaves were of a pulpy substance, and had the
most perfect resemblance both in taste and smell to the
pulp of a green apple. An extraordinary chameemelum
is mentioned in the Acta Helvetica. Bonnet, in his He-
cherches sur V Usage des Feuilles, mentions likewise some
monstrous productions which have been found in fruits
with kernels, analogous in their nature to those which
occur in the flowers of the ranunculus and of the rose tree.
He observed a pear from the eye of which issued a tuft of
thirteen or fourteen leaves, very well shaped, and many
of them of the natural size. He noticed a second pear
which gave rise to a ligneous and knotty stalk, on which
grew another pear somewhat larger than the first. The
stalk had probably flourished, and the fruit had formed.
Reynier has mentioned some individuals monstrous with
respect to the flower, in the Journal de Physique et
d’Histoire Naturelle for November 1785.
These vegetable productions, w hich are so extraordinary
and so contrary to the common course of things, do never¬
theless present deviations subject to particular laws, and
reducible to certain principles, by distinguishing such as
are perpetuated either by seed or by transplanting from
those which seem to be only accidental. Monstrosities
which are perpetuated exist in the original organization of
the seed of the plant, such as marked or curled leaves, &c.
The word monster is more properly applied to those irregu¬
larities in plants which arise from frequent transplantation,
and from a particular culture, such as double flowers;
but those monstrosities which are not perpetuated, and
w hich arise from accidental and transient causes deranging
the primitive organization of the plant when it comes to be
unfolded, being the effect of diseases, of heat or cold, of a
superfluity or scarcity of juices, of a deprivation of the
vessels contributing to nutrition, of the sting of insects, and
of contusions and natural grafts, retain also the name of
monsters. Of this kind are knobs or swellings, stunting,
gall-nuts, certain streaks, the inosculation of branches, and
other similar defects.
MON
MONSTRELET, Enguerrand de, a French chron- Monstreiet
icier, was born of a noble family, and flourished in the ||
first half of the fifteenth century. He was provost of the Montagu,
city of Cambray and bailiff of Wallaincourt; and he died v'—V'*'
in 1453. His Chronicle narrates with simplicity and
truth, but with great diffuseness, the capture of Paris and
of Normandy by the English, and the wars between the
houses of Orleans and Burgundy. The first book begins
with 1400, the year at which the chronicle of Froissart
stops, and ends with 1422 ; the second stops at 1444
There is a third book, bringing down the history to 1453,
which Buchon, the best editor of Monstrelet, considers to be
spurious. The edition of Buchon was published in 15 vols.
8vo, Paris, 1826-7. Johnes, the translator of Froissart,
translated Monstrelet into English, in 5 vols. 4to, 1810.
MONT DE PIETE (Ital. Monte di Pieta), a
public benevolent institution established in Italy in the
15th century, by the Papal and other Italian governments,
for lending money to the necessitous at a limited rate of
interest. With the design of putting a check upon the
usurious Jewish money-lenders of that age, Leo X., or
according to some, Paul III., sanctioned the first establish¬
ment of a Monte di Pieta at Rome, which was a sort of
bank, under the direction of a society of wealthy persons,
who supplied the necessary funds, and lent upon pledges
small sums for a fixed term at a low rate of interest. The
interest charged w^as meant to defray the necessary ex¬
penses of the institution ; and the funds were administered
on the most economical and equitable principles, with the
sole design of benefiting the borrower. Similar establish¬
ments were afterwards set on foot throughout the most of the
Italian towns, and soon extended to the Netherlands and to
Spain. These institutions, which are still in existence in
Italy, were plundered by the French under Napoleon during
the Italian invasion of 1796-7 ; and the Pope himself was
obliged during the same period to seize upon the pledges
of the Monte di Pieta, to enable him to pay the war con¬
tributions exacted by the French.
The Monti Frumentarii are granaries established in
different parts of Italy to supply the needy with grain on
the same principle as that on which money is lent by the
Monti di Pieta.
MONTAGNANA, a town of Austrian Italy, in the
government of Venice, and province of Padua, is situated
22 miles S.W. of Padua. It is defended by walls and
high towers, built of brick, and affording an excellent spe¬
cimen of the fortification of the middle ages. The town
has several old churches, one of which, of the fourteenth
century, in the Italian-Gothic style, stands in the Piazza
or principal square. There are also at Montagnana a
castle, a theatre, a female school, and an hospital. The
manufactures consist of woollen and linen stuffs, leather,
and hats; and there is some trade in agricultural produce.
Pop. 9800.
MONTAGU, Basil, Queen’s counsel, was the natural
son of the fourth Earl of Sandwich and of that Miss Ray
who was shot in the piazza of Covent Garden, in 1779, by
her jealous lover, a clergyman of the name of Hackman. He
was born in April 1770. His early education was received
at the Charter-House School in London ; and he studied
and took the degree of M.A. at the university of Cam¬
bridge. He afterwards entered Gray’s Inn, and was called
to the bar in 1798. His professional eminence, however,
was not the result of his power of pleading, but of the nu¬
merous works which he continued to write. 1 he most
important of these was A Digest of the Bankrupt Laics,
&jc., which was published in 4 vols. in 1805, and which
secured for him the office of commissioner of bankrupts.
Montagu was also distinguished for his exertions to miti¬
gate the severity of the penal code. He wrote several
pamphlets on capital punishments ; and in conjunction with
MON
MON
505
ntagu.
Wilberforce, Romilly, and others, he succeeded in abolishing
hanging for forgery. To the reader of general literature,
however, he is best known as the friend of Coleridge, and
the editor of an elaborate edition of Bacon’s works in 16
vols. He died at Boulogne in November 1851.
Montagu. Lady Mary Wortley, was the eldest daughter
of Evelyn Pierrepont, Duke of Kingston, and Lady Mary
Fielding, daughter of William, Earl of Denbigh, and was
born at Thoresby, Nottinghamshire, in the year 1690.
She was connected through the Pierreponts with Beaumont
the dramatist. Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, was her
grand-uncle, and Henry Fielding was her second cousin.
Having lost her mother at the age of four, her education
was left to a sensible grandmother, a superstitious nurse,
and a weak governess. Under the tuition of her brother’s
preceptors, she acquired some knowledge of Latin, a smat¬
tering of Greek, and the rudiments of the French language.
At the age of eight she had made considerable proficiency,
and began to read all the books she could lay her hands
on. Her first known poetical effusion was an Epistle from
Julia to Ovid, written at the age of twelve, and which,
besides the complimentary gallantry, exhibits a nice
apprehension of the style of versification then in vogue.
At fifteen she formed a project of establishing an English
nunnery, and of electing herself lady-abbess, but had not
the means to carry out her scheme. At twenty she trans¬
lated Epictetus, most probably from the Latin version,
under the eye of her friend Bishop Burnet.
The next step of importance in the life of Lady Mary
was her marriage with Edward Wortley Montagu, son of
the Hon. Sydney Montagu, and grandson of the first Earl
of Sandwich. He was a country gentleman, not remark¬
ably brilliant, but possessed of considerable scholarship.
The marriage seems to have been ill-assorted, and certainly
proved unfortunate. A radical incongruity of character
existed between them which time could not correct.
In 1714 Mr Wortley obtained a place in the Treasury,
and in consequence took his lady to court, where her wit,
spirit, and beauty attracted general admiration, and made
a considerable impression on the Prince of Wales, after¬
wards George II. In 1716 Mr Wortley, who had made
no great figure at home, was appointed ambassador to Con¬
stantinople, where his success was not more remarkable.
But he took his wife with him to the capital of the Turkish
empire, and thus afforded her an opportunity, in her
Letters from the Levant, of charming the world with the
most luxurious pictures ever yet given of a voluptuous
people, and of bringing away with her, in the shape of
inoculation for small-pox, a talisman for the preservation
of beauty. From these, and indeed from all her future
letters, it is clear that her good sense was sound and un¬
compromising, with an ever-increasing tendency towards
universal justice. Besides Constantinople, Lady Mary and
her husband, whilst abroad, visited several parts of Ger¬
many ; and on their return sailed through the Archipelago,
touched on the coast of Africa, and, crossing the Mediter¬
ranean to Genoa, reached home through Lyons and Paris
in October 1718. From all these places we have letters
of the liveliest kind, and, considering the time at which she
wrote, of the most original description. A traveller so
shrewd and observant was till then unknown, and her sex
gave to the novelty an additional attraction. The manners
of Italy she found peculiarly congenial to her disposition ;
and accordingly, when in 1*739 she resolved to pass the
remainder of her life on the Continent, she betook herself
to that country, and remained there until within less than
a year of her death.
On her return from the East, Pope prevailed on her
to come and live near him at Iwickenham. Both were
then in the zenith of their reputation, and mutual admiration
seemed to give assurance of the stability of their friendship.
VOL. XV.
But a short time sufficed to prove that this anticipation was Montagu,
ill founded. Various causes have been assigned for the
sudden rupture which ensued. According to Lady Mary’s
own statement, the truth of which is borne out by other
evidence, Popo at some ill-chosen time made such passionate
love to her, as, in spite of her utmost endeavours to be
angry and look grave, provoked an immediate burst of
laughter, from which moment the mortified poet became
her implacable enemy.
On her return from Constantinople, she introduced in¬
oculation for the small-pox into England, through the me¬
dium of the medical attendant of the embassy. She had
lost her only brother by the disease, which had also de¬
stroyed her own beautiful eye-lashes ; and she was resolved
to give to her family and the world the benefit of a prac¬
tice which promised to save the lives and to preserve the
beauty of millions. With courageous love, she began
with her own offspring, and lived to see her innovation
triumphant, though not until it had encountered such an
opposition that she almost repented of her philanthropy.
In the month of July 1739 she left England without
her husband, with a resolution to pass the remainder of
her life on the Continent. She proceeded at once to Venice,
and took possession of a deserted palace on the banks of Lake
Iseo, in the Venetian territory, where she planned a garden,
applied herself to the business of a country life, and solaced
herself with books, which in some measure supplied the
want of society. On the death of Mr Wortley, which took
place in 1761, she yielded to the solicitations of her daugh¬
ter, Lady Bute, and after an absence of twenty-two years,
returned to England. But her health had suffered much
from a cancer with which she was afflicted; and before
ten months had elapsed, she expired, on the 21st of
August 1762, in the seventy-third year of her age. Lady
Mary Wortley Montagu was undoubtedly the most remark¬
able woman of her time. She was the presiding female wit
in the days of Pope, the benefactress of her species by the
introduction of inoculation, and the keen satirist of the
fashionable circles. Her poems are indeed little else than
wit in rhyme,—mere vers de societe ; but her prose is truly
admirable. It is idiomatic, easy, fresh, racy, and piquant;
sparkling with wit, and often equally remarkable for strong
sense and sarcastic bitterness. The conventional shows of
things could not deceive her ; she saw beneath the painted
masks which are worn in society, and fearlessly published
her discoveries. It is only to be regretted that she occa¬
sionally overlooked what was worthy in human nature, and
wasted her fine powers on objects that only served to em¬
bitter her life.
The best edition of her Letters and Works is that
published by her great-grandson Lord Wharncliffe, London,
1837, in 3 vols. 8vo, containing a very spirited life of Lady
Mary, under the title of Biographical Anecdotes, supposed
to be from the pen of her grand-daughter Lady Louisa
Stuart. A new edition of her Letters appeared in New
York in 1856, in vol. ii. of The Library of Standard
Letters.
Montagu, Edward Wortley, only son of Edward Wort¬
ley Montagu, Esq., and Lady Mary, the subject of the pre¬
ceding article, was born at WharnclifFe in Yorkshire in Oc¬
tober 1713. In 1716 he accompanied his parents to Con¬
stantinople. and, on their return to England in 1718, was
placed at Westminster School. Here he gave the first in¬
dication of his wayward disposition by running away, and
eluding all search, until about a year afterwards, when he
was accidentally discovered at Blackwall, with a basket of
fish on his head, having bound himself, by regular inden¬
ture, to a poor fisherman. Emancipated from this degrad¬
ing condition, he was again placed at Westminster School;
but ere long he absconded a second time, and bound him¬
self to the master of a vessel engaged in the Oporto trade,
3 s
506 MON
Montaigne, who, supposing him a friendless boy, treated him with great
^ kindness and humanity. He had scarcely landed at Oporto,
however, when he ran away, and contrived to get employ¬
ment for two or three years in tending vines. Here he
was at length discovered, brought home, and, on promise
of amendment, pardoned; but unhappily with no better
effect than before. He ran away a third time, after which
his father procured him a tutor, who so far reclaimed him
to habits of regularity, that he obtained an appointment in
one of the public offices. In 1747 he was elected one of
the knights of the shire for the county of Huntingdon ; but
he does not appear to have in any way distinguished him¬
self as a member of Parliament, nor did he long retain his
seat, his expenses having so far exceeded his income, that
towards the close of the year 1751 he found it prudent
once more to leave England. He proceeded to Paris,
where in a short time he was imprisoned in the Chatelet
for some fraudulent gambling transaction in which he had
been concerned, but soon effected his escape. In the Par¬
liament which assembled in 1754 he was returned for Bos-
siney. Besides some dull communications to the Royal
Society, he published a book on the Rise and Fall of the
Ancient Republics, the merit of which was afterwards
claimed by his tutor, Mr Foster. His father died in the
year 1761, at an advanced age, and by his will bequeathed
to his son a considerable annuity. His mother died in the
year ! 762, and left him only one guinea. He had offended
her irreconcilably by his misconduct. But as his father’s
bequest had rendered him independent, he took a final
leave of his native country, passed the remainder of his
life in foreign parts, and died at Padua in 1776. Before
his death he became first a Catholic and then a Mo¬
hammedan, in which latter character he ended his days.
He travelled in the East; and among other pieces is said
to have published an Explication of the Causes of Earth¬
quakes.
MONTAIGNE, Michel Seigneur de, wras descended
from an ancient English family named Eyquem, and was
born at the castle of Montaigne, in Perigord, on the 28th
of February 1533. His father, a brave and loyal squire,
who had served in Spain and Italy, where he had cultivated
his mind and improved his taste, bestowed much attention
on his education, and in particular initiated him into the
knowledge of languages by a process much less tardy and
laborious than that ordinarily pursued in schools. He pro¬
vided his son with a German master, who, being entirely
ignorant of French, but well versed in Latin, spoke to him
only in the latter tongue, which he consequently acquired
as a vernacular language, and at the age of six was able
to converse in it with tolerable freedom and fluency.
Greek was also taught him as a sort of diversion. By
means equally attractive, he was led to acquire some know¬
ledge of science ; and, without forcing his inclination or
imposing the necessity of severe application, his habits were
formed, and his powers agreeably exercised. All this care
and attention he repaid by the most tender affection for the
memory of his father; indeed filial piety is said to have
formed a conspicuous trait in his character, though it must
be confessed that he sometimes displayed it in a manner
sufficiently singular. At an early age he vras sent to the
college of Guienne at Bordeaux, then the most flourishing
in France, where he had as masters Nicolas Grouchy,
William Guerente, George Buchanan, and Muret, under
whom he appears to have made considerable proficiency.
Having completed his studies at the age of thirteen, Mon¬
taigne resolved to study law; and in 1554 he became a
counsellor or advocate at Bordeaux, and continued to prac¬
tise as such until the death of his elder brother, when he
abandoned a profession to which he never had any real
liking, and which he appeared afterwards to consider as de¬
rogatory. In 1566 he married Fran^oise de la Chassaigne,
MON
to please his friends, he says, rather than himself, for he Montaigj,
was not much disposed for a married life. He, however, v>—
proved a faithful husband, and enjoyed the matrimonial
state much better than he had “ promised or hoped.” But
he reconciled himself, as he says in his own familiar, gossip¬
ing, satirical way, by reflecting that “ it is too late to kick
when the fetters are on.” He had one daughter as the fruit
of this marriage.
At his father’s request, Montaigne translated in 1569 the
Theologia Naturalis of the Spanish divine Raymond Se-
bonde ; and in 1571-2 edited the posthumous works of his
lamented friend Etienne de la Boetie. He kept aloof
from public affairs during the civil and religious dissensions
then desolating France, and thus rendered himself ob¬
noxious both to the Protestants, with whom he really sym¬
pathized, and to the Roman Catholics, to whom he was
attached by the ties of education and loyalty. His feelings
were as humane as his sentiments were liberal; and the
horrors of St Bartholomew plunged him into a deep me¬
lancholy. For the improvement of his health, and with
a view to the study of men and manners, he travelled
through various parts of France, Germany, Switzerland,
and Italy, making observations on everything curious or
interesting in society, and receiving several marks of dis¬
tinction in the course of his peregrinations. The private
journal which he kept of this tour was discovered two cen¬
turies afterwards, and published under the title of Journal
de Voyage de Michel de Montaigne en Italic, par la Suisse
et VAllemagne, en 1580-81, Paris, 1774. It was about
this period that he began to write his celebrated Essais,
which were published in March 1580. In 1581 he was ad¬
mitted a citizen of Rome, in which city he then sojourned;
and the same year he was elected mayor of Bordeaux, an
office in which he seems to have given much satisfaction to
his fellow-citizens. In 1582 he was sent on a special mis¬
sion to court about some affairs of importance; and on the
expiration of his mayoralty he was again elected to the
same office. In 1588 he appeared to some advantage at
the assembly of the states at Blois, and, though not a
deputy, took a share in the proceedings, but on what pre¬
tence or in what capacity does not clearly appear. During
one of his visits to court he received the cordon of the
order of Saint Michel, a distinction which he appears to
have greatly coveted, though we afterwards find him com¬
plaining of the discredit into W'hich it had fallen. Having
retired to his family residence, he devoted himself to study;
but his tranquillity was disturbed by the civil wars which
desolated Guienne; and being driven from his house, he wan¬
dered about during six months seeking shelter for his family,
and often with difficulty obtaining an asylum amongst those
who had shared his hospitality. It appears, from a state¬
ment of De Thou, that Montaigne had sought to bring
about a reconciliation between the Duke of Guise and the
King of Navarre, afterwards Henri IV.; and on his return
from Paris, where he had completed a new impression of
his Essais in 1588, he was with the historian at Blois when
the Duke of Guise was there assassinated. In his old age
he was very much afflicted writh stone and nephritic colic;
but he never could be prevailed on to take medical advice.
He died on the 13th of September 1589, and was buried
in the church of the Feuillants at Bordeaux, where a monu¬
ment was erected to his memory. Notwithstanding his con¬
stitutional tendency to scepticism, and certain unguarded
expressions which seem almost to intimate an entire absence
of the sentiment of religion, he is said to have died a Chris¬
tian. He at all events had mass celebrated in his cham¬
ber in his last moments, and expired during the elevation
of the host.
To form anything like a correct idea of Montaigne, it is
absolutely necessary to make a study of his Essais. No¬
thing but a weak and dwarfish picture of the man could be
MON
igne. formed from selections or quotations from his familiar pages,
' however judiciously made. His book, he informs us, is
about himself, and himself alone. Whatever else of anec¬
dote, speculation, narrative, or remark, is introduced into
it, has only a place there from its relation to the living
centre around which it has been collected. In what to him
seemed a wide sea of conflicting opinion, shoreless and
without a horizon, the only fixed and really tangible object
he considered to be himself. To disclose himself, accord¬
ingly, in all phases of his nature, whether of strength or
weakness, nobility or meanness, beauty or deformity, wis¬
dom or folly, he made the business of his calm, meditative
life. He records his virtues and his vices, his merits and
his defects, with a familiar candour and easy simplicity
which at once disarms criticism and secures sympathy.
One feels, as he listens to this strange blending of simple
gossip and deep wisdom, told in an easy, rambling, pictur¬
esque style, as if he occupied a seat in that small round study
of Montaigne’s, with its “ three noble and free prospects,”
from “ the third storey of a tower” of his high, windy Mon¬
taigne Castle, and enjoyed the close and familiar friend¬
ship of this robust, indolent, thoughtful old Gascon. As
to his personal appearance, he was of low stature, he in¬
forms us : “I am, as to the rest, strong and well-knit;
my face is not puffed, but full; my complexion, betwixt
jovial and melancholic, moderately sanguine and hot.” He
deplores his incorrigible awkwardness and want of personal
dexterity. “ My hands are so clumsy that I cannot so
much as write so as to read it myself.” He consoles him¬
self, however, for these physical defects by the reflection,
that “ my bodily qualities are very well suited to those of
my soul; there is nothing sprightly, only a full and firm
vigour. I am patient enough of labour and pains ; but it is
only when I go voluntarily to the work, and only so long as
my own desire prompts me.” (Essais, t. ii., c. 17.) He
dwells now upon his want of memory and his perfect
truthfulness,—upon his occasional absence of mind,— upon
his dislike of ceremony and love of politeness,—and upon
his disbelief in omens and ghosts. Again, he has a pro¬
found sense of the sad instability of all human affairs, be¬
comes gravely thoughtful, and shows symptoms of a real
though passing melancholy as he meditates on death. He
wore for his device a balance, with the characteristic motto,
Quesgayje?” was vain of his cordon of honour, and was
fond of showing his coat of arms. He was strongly averse
to all cruelty and malignity of feeling, and never fails to
denounce injustice, inhumanity, and uncharitableness.
His reputation as a writer is founded solely on his Essais,
which were at one time extremely popular, and which are
still read by a numerous class. As a writer, he imparted
to the French language an energy which it did not before
possess, and which but few of his successors have equalled.
As a philosopher, his object was to describe man as he is,
without reserve and without exaggeration ; he studied him¬
self, and recorded his observations with surprising acute¬
ness and fidelity. He united in a high degree the powers
of observation and reflection, without which the study of
man can never be successfully prosecuted; and although
there is no doubt much truth in the acute but severe stric¬
tures on his character by the Port-Royalists, who freely ex¬
pose his vanity, his self-love, and the indulgent manner in
which he speaks of his vices; yet, as Mr Stewart observes,
“ this consideration, so far from diminishing the value of
his Essais, is one of the most instructive lessons they afford
to those who, after the example of the author, may under¬
take the salutary but humiliating task of self-examination.”
In the first Preliminary Dissertation (part i., section ii.),
to which the reader is referred, will be found an exposition
and criticism of Montaigne’s philosophy. Montaigne’s Life
was first written by the President Bouhier, and prefixed to
a supplementary volume of his works in 1740. In 1774 the
MON 507
Academy of Bordeaux awarded a prize to Talbert for an Montalegre
eloge on Montaigne ; and the French Academy bestowed a II
similar honour on Villemain in 1812. This masterly eloge Montalvan.
is attached to the 8-vol. edition of Montaigne’s Essais, Paris,
1825. The best English translation of the Essais is that
of Cotton, first published in 1700, but revised and cor¬
rected in 1759.
Since the above was written a new Life of Montaigne
has been published by Bayle St John, Lond. 1857. (For
valuable papers on Montaigne, see Sterling’s Essays and
Tales, Emerson’s Representative Men, and Oxford Essays
for 1857.)
MONTALEGRE, a town of Brazil, in the province of
Para, is situated on an island in the Amazon, near the
mouth of the Gurapatuba, 150 miles E.N.E. of Para. It
has a church, a saw-mill, and a considerable trade in man-
dioc, cotton, cocoa, coffee, &c. Pop. 4000.
MONTALEMBERT, Marc-Ren^:, Marquis de, a
distinguished French engineer, was descended from a noble
and ancient family, and was born in July 1714, at Angou-
leme. After receiving an education suitable to his birth,
he entered the army at the age of eighteen, and was pre¬
sent at the sieges of Kehl and Philipsburg. He was next
engaged in the war with Bohemia. On the conclusion of
peace he turned his attention to the cultivation of those
sciences upon which the military art is founded. He
became a member of the Academy of Sciences in 1747,
and contributed to its Memoirs several papers on fortifica¬
tion. He also established forges at Angoumois and Peri-
gord, for the purpose of supplying the French navy with
cannons and projectiles. During the Seven Years’ War
the important post of French agent in the Russian and
Swedish armies was entrusted to him. In 1776 he began
to publish at Paris his La Fortification Perpendiculaire, ou
VArt Defensif superieur & VOffensif, a large work, which
was completed in eleven volumes in 1796. Meanwhile he
had been charged in 1779 with the task of fortifying the
Isle of Aix against the attacks of the English. The wooden
fort, which he constructed on a new plan, proved efficient in
spite of the prognostications of his fellow-engineers. By
these efforts for the promotion of military art Montalembert
brought himself into debt, and was compelled to sell his
foundries to the government. But the price of them could
not be obtained even after frequent applications. It is no
wonder, therefore, that, aristocrat though he was, he became
a supporter of the principles and practices of the French
revolution. A pension, awarded to him for the loss of an
eye during his services to the government, was resigned for
the behoof of the state; and, like a true democrat, he divorced
his wife to make room for the daughter of an apothecary. In
return for such conduct he was allowed to recover his seques¬
tered estate, and to sell it for the supply of his wants. The
assignats, however, which he received as the price, fell im¬
mediately in value, and left him as poor as ever. Towards
the close of his life Montalembert recommended himself to
the notice of the Committee of Public Safety; and was
frequently consulted by Carnot on the subject of military
operations. He died of dropsy in March 1800. Besides
his chief work, already mentioned, Montalembert wrote
Correspondance pendant la Guerre de 1757, 3 vols. 8vo,
1777; EAmi de VArt Defensif, 4to, 1796; and Relation
du Siege de Saint-Jean-d’Acre, 8vo, 1798.
MONTALVAN, Juan Perez de, an eminent Spanish
dramatist, was the son of the King’s bookseller, and was
born at Madrid in 1602. His youthful genius was stimu¬
lated by the example, and guided by the advice and assist¬
ance, of the great dramatic writer Lope de Yega. So
strong, indeed, was the mutual esteem between the two
poets, that the elder treated the younger as a son, and the
younger adopted the elder as his model in almost every¬
thing. Like his admired master, Montalvan entered the
508 MON
Montanaro priesthood, and accepted an office in the Inquisition. He
II was also a most voluminous writer. By his thirtieth year
Montanus. jiad produced thirty-six dramas; and in 1636 the num-
her had increased to about sixty. In their success, as
well as in their flimsy construction and careless execution,
he likewise resembled Lope de Vega. One of the last
works of Montalvan was an extravagant panegyric on Ins
great friend, published in 1636. By this time his intense and
incessant labours had begun to derange his brain. Not long
afterwards he fell into a state of imbecility, winch continued
till his death in June 1638. Montalvan’s collected dramatic
works appeared in 1638-39, and were reprinted in 1652.
MONTANARO, a town of Piedmont, in the province
of Turin, is situated near the Oreo, 14 miles N.N.E. of
Turin. It is well built, and has two squares, a church, a
castle, a court-house, and several schools. Some trade is
carried on here in cattle and tobacco. Pop. 4400.
MONTANCHES, a town of Spain, in the province of
Caceres, is situated in a hilly region, 20 miles S.E. of the
town of Caceres. The streets are steep and well paved ; the
principal buildings are a town-house, prison, church, nun¬
nery, and several schools. The town has many flour and
oil mills; but it is chiefly noted for the excellence of its
hams. Pop. 5587.
MONTANUS, the founder of the sect of the Montan-
ists, appeared as a teacher of new doctrine at the village of
Ardaban, on the borders of Phrygia, about the middle of
the second century. At that time the church was suffer-
in" under bloody persecutions from without and distract¬
ing heresies from within. In his burning desire to cheer
and enlighten her, Montanus began to imagine himself to
be the passive instrument in the hands of God for dispens¬
ing new revelations. He foretold the near approach of
those judgments that would sweep all persecutors from the
earth, of the second advent of Christ, and of the com¬
mencement of the blessed millennium. With such a pro¬
spect at hand he admonished all Christians to live soberly
and righteously, and more especially to risk all for the
martyr’s crown. At such startling announcements many
scoffed ; but others, including two females of fortune, Maxi-
milla and Priscilla, became converts, and fell immediately
into ecstacies of exhortation and prophesying. Stimulated
by this success, the delirious imagination of Montanus began
to create more portentous delusions. He fancied himself
to be an inspired prophet sent to the entire church to com¬
plete the code of moral duties, to extinguish all heresies
by new light from on high, and to prepare the church for
the coming of her Lord. He even pointed out a paltry
Phrygian village, called Pepuza, as the future site of the
New Jerusalem.
Such presumptuous ravings, in order to merit the name
even of heresy, required a systematic arrangement which
the crazed brain of Montanus was too weak to execute.
This arrangement was afterwards effected by Tertullian,
the greatest of the Montanists, and may be represented in
the following outline:—Christianity, like all the other woiks
of God, undergoes a gradual development, and is con¬
stantly approaching perfection. This developing process
may be distinctly seen running through the successive ages
of the patriarchs, the prophets, and the teachers of the
New Testament. But in the last of these periods it had
not attained perfection ; for Christ explicitly foretold the
coming of a Comforter who should elucidate all the myste¬
ries of the truth ; and even after the death of the apostles
there remained pagan practices to be condemned, heresies
to be refuted, and obscure passages in the Scripture to be
explained. It therefore stands to reason that the Spirit of
God, the same in all ages, should descend with resistless
influence in these latter times, as in the days of the Hebrew
prophets and at Pentecost, and should fill certain chosen
vessels with that supernatural illumination which is to light
M O N
the church on to perfection. Accordingly Montanus, like Montargi*
the Apostles, became the passive recipient of the Holy U
Ghost. Nor was the supernatural gift restricted to the Wont,
priests, who claimed to be successors of the Apostles. ai>tan.
Christians of every grade fell into divine rhapsodies, and
even women, as Joel had foretold, began to prophesy.
The precepts with which these enthusiastic teachers
eked out the moral code were, as might have been antici¬
pated, full of severe asceticism and a stoical contempt of
pain. The old fasts were prolonged, and new fasts were
added. Those who were guilty of the more deadly crimes
were excluded from the church for ever. Martyrdom was
held up as the great object of ambition, and to attempt to
shun this kind of death, or to wish for any other, was de¬
nounced as a sin. Those believers who wished to become
superior channels for the stream of revelation passing from
heaven to earth, were required to remain in celibacy.
Marriage was defined to be a bond, not merely bodily and
temporal, but also spiritual and eternal; and therefore they
who married a second time were treated as adulterers. A
denouncement also fell upon all usages and all arts and
sciences that arose during the reign of heathenism.
The followers of Montanus, in the midst of much con¬
troversy and persecution, continued to increase under the
several names of Montanists, Cataphrygians, and Pepu-
zians ; they were found in Asia, Africa, and a part of Eu¬
rope. They still existed in the time of Augustine and
Jerome. (See Neander’s History of the Church.')
MONTARGIS, a town of France, capital of an arron-
dissement of the same name, in the department of Loiret,
is situated on the Loing, 40 miles E.N.E. of Orleans. J he
town, which is partly walled, is well but irregularly built,
and formerly contained a castle, which was entirely de¬
stroyed in 1809. Montargis has a church, two hospitals,
and a theatre. Manufactures of cloth, leather, and paper
are carried on here; and the town has a considerable trade
in cattle, corn, honey, wax, leather, &c. Pop. 7757.
MONTAUBAN, a town of France, capital of the de¬
partment of Tarn-et-Garonne, is situated on an elevated
plain on the right bank of the Tarn, which is here crossed^
by a brick bridge of seven arches, 342 miles S. by W. of
Paris. It is small and irregular, and the houses ill built;
but on the other side of the river stands a suburb called
Ville Bourdon, which is regularly and well built. rI he town
itself has three squares, one of which, called the Place
Royale, is large and surrounded by handsome houses.
There is a fine promenade called Les Terrasses, which com¬
mands an extensive view of the surrounding country as far as
the Pyrenees and the sea. Montauban wTas formerly strongly
fortified; but the only remains of its defences at present are
its gates. The principal buildings are,—the cathedral, a
cruciform building in the Italian style, with two turrets ; the
church of St James; the prefecture; the town-hall, a
square building with four turrets ; and the bishop’s palace.
Montauban has also a college and several other educational
institutions. The manufactures are extensive, consisting of
silk, woollen, and cotton stuffs, leather, starch, soap, earthen¬
ware, brandy, &c.; and some trade is carried on in these
articles and the produce of the neighbourhood. Montauban
has a court of first resort, a tribunal of commerce, a cham¬
ber of manufactures, a public library, and a society of agri¬
culture, science, and literature. Five fairs are held here
annually. Montauban was founded in 1144 by Count
Alphonse of Toulouse. At the Reformation the people
embraced the Protestant cause ; and the town wras ineffec¬
tually besieged by the adverse party in 1580. It afterwai ds,
in 1621, resisted for three months the assaults of Louis
XIII., and did not yield till after the fall of Rochelle in
1629. The fortifications were soon after destroyed. 1 he
Ville Bourdon was founded by Protestants expelled from
Montauban in 1562. Pop. (1851) 23,314.
MON
Ctbel- MONTBELLIARD, or Montbeliard (German Mum-
, ard pelgard), a town of France, capital of an arrondissement of
' II the same name, in the department of Doubs, is situated
IJonfc at the confluence of the Allan and the Luzino, 48 miles
|fnC^ J N.E. of Besangon. The town is well built, and
S' adorned by several fountains. The principal buildings
are,—the castle, now used as a prison, situated on an emi¬
nence ; the town-hall; and the churches of St George and
St Martin. The manufactures consist of silk, cotton, and
woollen fabrics ; leather, clocks, watches ; scythes, and other
implements of husbandry. There is also an active trade
carried on in timber, corn, cheese, &c., with Switzerland
and the south. Montbelliard was in former times a place
I of some strength, and the capital of a county that originally
formed part of the kingdom of Burgundy, but was trans¬
ferred to the Wurtemberg family in 1395. Although
twice taken by the French in the seventeenth century, it
was not finally ceded to them till 1 796. Pop. (1851) 5605.
MONT BLANC, the highest mountain in Europe,
belongs to the Pennine Alps, and is situated on the con¬
fines of Savoy and Piedmont. This mountain, along with
the adjacent branches, forms an oval mass, extending from
N.E. to S.W., between Mont Catogne, above Martigny, and
the Col du Bonhomme, a distance of 30 miles ; and having
a breadth of 13 miles between Chamouni and Courmayeur.
The appearance of Mont Blanc, when viewed from Cha¬
mouni, is that of a round smooth summit, covered with snow,
and towering above the other peaks of the same group.
The colour of the summit is generally an orange-yellow
when lighted by the sun ; but at sunset and sunrise the most
remarkable and beautiful changes of appearance take place.
When the sun’s rays have ceased to illuminate the lower
mountains, and Mont Blanc alone has the light of the sun
still shining on it, its bright hue appears much brighter by
reason of the contrast with the surrounding darkness; it
assumes a clear roseate tint, and its lustre is sometimes
nearly equal to that of the stars. Soon after, however,
this brightness passes away as the sun’s light is gradually
withdrawn, and the mountain assumes a pale-blue appear¬
ance. This is owing to the contrast between the mountain,
now in the shade, and the thin clouds and vapours which
hang above it, and are still lighted by the sun. The geolo¬
gical structure of the central mass of Mont Blanc, as well
as of the group of mountains to which it belongs, is granite ;
but on the sides are found strata of limestone, sloping^ up¬
wards from the centre; while on the further side of the
valleys by which the mountain group is bounded, the
limestone strata slope in an opposite direction; and
beyond these granite is again found. From the central
summit of Mont Blanc many ridges branch out in
all directions; between which are ravines, filled vith
glaciers, and sloping down to the valleys on each side.
These valleys are four in number, and form the separa¬
tion between the group of Mont Blanc and the rest of
the Alps. They are separated from each other by lidges,
called cols, of comparatively small height, which join Mono
Blanc at various points to the other mountains. 1 he valley
of Chamouni lies to the N.W. of Mont Blanc, and is bounded
at its head by the Col de Balme. It is watered by the
Arve, which flows in a S.W. direction to the foot of the
valley, where it turns N.W., and flows round the Col de
Voza and the Col de Forclaz, which separate the vaLey of
Chamouni from that of Montjoie. 4 he latter valley, which
bounds Mont Blanc on the W., is traversed by the swift
stream of Bon Nant, which flows northward, and joins the
Arve below the point where these two valleys finally unite.
The head of the valley of Montjoie is formed by the Col
du Bonhomme and the Col des Fours, on the S. side of
which rise the head waters of the Isere, which flow directly
away from Mont Blanc. I he S.E. and E. boundaries of
the mountain group are formed by the Alice Blanche and
MON 509
the valley of Ferret. The head of the Alice Blanche is .^ont'
formed by the Col de la Seigne, from which the valley ex-
tends in a N.E. direction, being traversed by one of the Monta
main streams of the Doire, a tributary of the Po. The Chiaro.
other branch of this river flows in an opposite direction,
from the Col de Ferret through part of the valley of Ferret;
and both streams join a short distance above Courmayeur.
The Col de Ferret divides the valley of the same name into
two parts, or rather into two distinct valleys, the Piedmon¬
tese and the Swiss, the latter of which extends northwards
as far as Mont Catogne, the north-eastern extremity of the
group of Mont Blanc. The Col de la Forclaz extends to
the N. between Mont Catogne and the Col de la Balme.
The main ridge of the Alps consists of the Col de Ferret,
which extends eastward to the Great St Bernard, and the
Col de Seigne, which stretches southward to the Little St
Bernard. The principal glaciers which descend into the
valley of Chamouni are,—the Glacier du Tour, the Glacier
d’Argentiere, the Glacier des Bois, the Glacier des Bos-
sons, and the Glacier de Tacconay ; in the valley of Mont¬
joie the chief are those of Bionnassay, Niage, and Trela-
tile; in the Allee Blanche,—the Glacier de I’Estellette, the
Glacier de 1’Allee Blanche, the Glacier de Miage, forming
the opposite side of that of the same name in the valley of
Montjoie, and the Glacier de la Brenva. In the Piedmon¬
tese valley of Ferret there are the Glacier of Mont Frety,
that of Entreves, the Glacier de Rochefort, the Glacier de
la Grande Jorasse.the Glacier de Triolet, and the Glacier
of Mondolent. The glaciers in the Swiss valley of Ferret
are not of great size; and the only other remarkable one
is that of Trient, which stretches northward between the
Col de la Forclaz and the Col de Balme. ' There are also
several glaciers in the centre of the mountain group; the
principal of which is the Mer de Glace, which forms the
upper portion of the Glacier des Bois. 1 he height of Mont
Blanc is 15,744 feet above the level of the sea; and on the
S. side it rises 11,700 feet almost perpendicularly from the
Allee Blanche. Its appearance from this side, accordingly,
is much more imposing than when seen from Chamouni,
as the acclivity consists entirely of steep and rugged rocks
on which no snow lies. (See Alps.)
MONTBLANCH, a town of Spain, in the province of
Tarragona, and 19 miles N.W. of the town of that name.
It has a town-house, several churches and schools, an hos¬
pital, and a prison. There are distilleries, tanneries, cotton
factories, flour and oil mills; and some trade is carried on
in wine, brandy, and fruits. Pop. 4200.
MONTBRISON, a town of France, capital of the
department of Loire, is situated at the foot of a high and
steep rock, on the Vizezy, 37 miles W.S.W. of Lyons.
The streets are narrow and crooked, and the houses poor
and ill built. The town was formerly fortified; but the
walls are now’ replaced by fine boulevards. It has a Gothic
cathedral of the thirteenth century, a court-house, a college,
and several schools. Manufactures and trade are carried on
to a very trifling extent. Pop. (1851) 6435.
MONT-DE-MARSAN, a town of France, capital of
the department of Landes, is situated on a sandy plain, at
the junction of the Midon and Douze, which form the
Midouze, 63 miles S. of Bordeaux. The streets are broad,
regular, well paved, and clean, and contain several foun¬
tains. The principal buildings are,—the church, town-hall,
court-house, college, theatre, barracks, and prison. There
are also public baths, and a public library. Manufactures
of sail-cloth, blankets, leather, and brandy, are carried on;
and some trade in wine, brandy, oil, wool, and the produce
of the neighbouring country. Pop. (1851) 4463.
MONTE CHIARO, a town of Lombardy, on the left
bank of the Chiese, 12 miles S.E. of Brescia. It is walled,
and was formerly defended by a castle, of which one tower
is all that now remains. There are two churches, and
510 MON
Montecu- several hospitals. Manufactures of silk are carried on ; and
culh there is a considerable trade. Near this town the French
gained a victory over the Austrians in 1796. Pop. 6700.
MONTECUCULI, Raimondo, Count de. Prince of
Melfi, and generalissimo of the imperial armies of Ger¬
many, was descended from a noble family, and was born at
Modena in 1608. He entered the imperial forces as a
volunteer, was engaged in the war against the Swedes, and
quickly rose through the several grades of rank until he
was placed in command of 2000 horse. At the head of
these, in 1639 he surprised an army of 10,000 before
Numslau in Silesia, cut them to pieces, and took their
artillery and baggage. But he was speedily overtaken and
captured by General Bannier near Prague. After a cap¬
tivity of two years, spent in close study of the military
art, he returned with renewed eagerness to the scene of
war. His reputation as a general was retrieved by the
defeat of Wrangel at Triebel in 1647. On the peace of
Westphalia in 1648, he visited his native duchy; but
being so unfortunate as to kill one of his dearest friends,
Count Manzani, in a tournament held in honour of the
marriage of Duke Francesco I., he hastened his return
to Germany. His next expedition was against Prince
Ragotski and the Swedes, who, in 1657, were threatening
to drive John Casimir, King of Poland, from his kingdom.
No sooner had he forced these to conclude a treaty, than
he was despatched to relieve the King of Denmark from the
Swedish force that was besieging his capital. In this
enterprise he continued to experience his usual success
until peace was re-established in the north by the death of
Charles Gustavus, King of Sweden. He was then sent to
check the advance of the Turks into Hungary. At the
head of a very inferior force, he continued, by the rapidity
of his movements, to baffle all the projects of the grand
vizier, until, receiving reinforcements from the French, he
came forth boldly into a fair field of battle, and finished
the war in 1664 by the brilliant victory of St Gothard.
Montecuculi was reserved for achievements still greater.
On the outbreak of the war with France in 1673, he was
placed at the head of the imperial troops, and contrived to
effect a junction with the Prince of Orange, in spite of the
manceuvres of the great general Turenne. In the following
year the elector of Brandenberg was chosen to supersede
him. But it was soon manifest that none but Montecuculi
could cope with Turenne: he was therefore reinstalled
in the supreme command in 1675. Then began a series
of manoeuvres and counter-manoeuvres more glorious than
an equal number of victories. For four months these two
generals continued to follow each other, to watch every
movement, and to be ever on the alert to seize the slightest
advantage. Yet endurance, rapidity, and stratagem were
all tried in vain, and could not affect the equality of the con¬
test. Each divined the purposes of the other by supposing
what he himself would have done in his position ; and no
sooner had the one begun to execute any plan than he
found that he had been anticipated and thwarted by his
opponent. At length the scarcity of provisions rendered it
necessary for both parties that a battle should be risked.
Turenne was already reconnoitring tbe ground, when a ran¬
dom ball from a cannon shot him dead, to the deep regret
of the magnanimous general whom he had been ready to
attack. His place was taken by the Prince of Conde. But
not even that great commander could out-manceuvre Mon¬
tecuculi; and the war was closed without any decisive action.
Montecuculi had now finished his last and most glorious cam¬
paign. He spent the remainder of his life in the enjoyment
of the distinction and honourswhich his great deeds had won,
and in promoting the cause of learning and science. He died
at Lintz in October 1681. The military memoirs which he
wrote show how profoundly skilled he was in his profes¬
sion. They were published in Italian at Cologne in 1704,
MON
and in Latin at Vienna in 1718. A French translation, Montecu.
with a Life of the author, appeared at Amsterdam in 1752. cull
Montecuculi, Sebastiano di, the alleged poisoner of the II
eldest son of Francis I., was a gentleman of Ferrara, and ^Ionte'
was originally in the service of the Emperor Charles V. >, eQD^ l
He came to France in the suite of Catherine de Medici,
and was appointed cup-bearer to the Dauphin. It was in
this capacity that he accompanied the crown prince on a
journey up the Rhone in the midsummer of 1536. While
halting at Tournus, the Dauphin, in the midst of a game at
tennis, became over-heated, and commanded his cup-bearer
to give him a draught of cold water. He drank it off
with great avidity, dropped down sick, and expired in
a quarter of an hour. Montecuculi was immediately
suspected of having poisoned him. His knowledge
of medicine, and the fact that a treatise on poisons was
found in his possession, confirmed the suspicion. He was
therefore examined at Lyons in the usual manner of the
day, and a wavering confession was wrung from him by
torture. At one time he affirmed that he had been em¬
ployed to perpetrate the crime by two of the generals of
Charles V.; at another time he shifted the accusation on
Catherine de Medici. But as he could adduce no facts in
proof of either of these charges, he was dragged on a hurdle
to the scaffold and executed. The infuriated populace
tore his still quivering limbs into a thousand pieces, and
threw them into the Rhone. Yet since that time histo¬
rians have generally agreed in thinking that the Dauphin
died of pleurisy, and that. Montecuculi was innocent.
MONTEFIASCONE, a town of Italy, in the Papal
States, situated on a hill, 9 miles N.N.W. of Viterbo, and
54 N.N.W. of Rome. The only public buildings are
a cathedral and a few convents. Some remains have been
found here of an ancient Etruscan city, the place of which
is occupied by the modern town. The wine of the vicinity
is reckoned of fine quality. Pop. 4800.
MONTEFORTE, a town of Naples, province of Prin-
cipato Ultra, 5 miles W.S.W. of Avellino. It is situated
at the foot of a hill, on which stand the remains of a castle
formerly the residence of the family of De Montfort, who
thence derived their name. The ruins are very pictur¬
esque ; and from them a fine view of the neighbouring
country may be obtained. Pop. 4000.
MONTEGO, a town of Jamaica, capital of Cornwall
county, is situated on a bay of the same name, on the N.
coast of the island, 17 miles W. of Falmouth. The town
is defended by a battery ; and the harbour is protected by a
breakwater, but is exposed towards the N. There is a
considerable trade carried on here. Pop. 4000.
MONTELEONE, a town of Naples, in the province of
Calabria Ultra II., in a lofty position, 15 miles N.E. of
Nicotera. Its imposing appearance is heightened by its
castle, which overlooks the town. The town itself is
irregularly and meanly built, chiefly of wood, and is badly
paved. There are four churches, with some fine paintings; a
royal college ; and a court of commerce. The inhabitants
are chiefly engaged in the tunny fishery; but there are also
some silk-mills; and a considerable trade is carried on.
N. of the town, andon the coast, stands the village of S. Pietro
di Vivona, where there are some remains of the harbour of
Hipponium or Vibo, a city of considerable importance in
ancient times. It was originally a colony from the Epize-
phyrian Locrians, on the other side of the peninsula of
Bruttium; but was taken b.c. 389 by Dionysius of Syracuse,
who transported the people to that town. Ten years later
they were restored by the Carthaginians; but soon after¬
wards the town fell into the hands of the Bruttians, in
whose possession it remained till conquered by the Romans.
A colony was established here by the latter in 192 b.c.,
and the city became one of the most flourishing in this part
of Italy. It had large dockyards for ship-building, and was
MON
MON
511
nte-
iart
II
nte-
:gr°.
conveniently situated for trade both by land and by sea. The
ancient town probably stood on the same site as the modern,
which is not older than the thirteenth century; but there
are no ancient remains to be seen. Pop. 6630.
MONTELIMART, a town of France, capital of an ar-
rondissementof the same name, in the department of Drome,
is situated at the confluence of the Roubion and the Ja-
bron, 26 miles S. of Valence. The town is defended by
Gothic walls, is entered by four gates, and has acastle stand¬
ing on an eminence in the centre. The houses are well
built, and the streets broad and paved with basalt. It de¬
rives its name, Monteil d’Adhemar (Mons Adhemari), from
an ancient noble family who had possessions here as early
as the time of Charlemagne. Montelimart was one of the
first towns of France to adopt the Reformed doctrines; and
is noted in the civil wars of the Reformation. It has a court
of primary instance, and a communal college. Manufactures
of silk, leather, hosiery, tiles, &c., are carried on ; and the
place is famed for a sort of cake made of almonds and honey.
Some trade is carried on in these articles, as well as in cattle,
corn, &c. Pop. (1851) 8632.
MONTEN, Dietrich, an eminent battle-painter, was
born at Diisseldorfin 1799. The love of his art seems to
have been strong from his earliest boyhood. The descrip-
tionsof warlike encounters in Homer,Tasso,and Ariosto were
the favourite readings of his school-days, and furnished sub¬
jects for his first attempts in sketching. That he might
become thoroughly intimate with military scenes, he volun¬
teered into the Prussian army in 1828, and served for a year.
The next two years were devoted to study in the Academy
of Arts in his native town. He then placed himself under
the tuition of Peter Hess at Munich, and with the aid of
that great battle-painter began to develop his own peculiar
style of art. His pictures were executed with a rapidity that
left no time for faithful design and elaborate finish. Yet
they were full of spirited figures, boldly drawn, and strik¬
ingly coloured. In 1827 they had obtained for him the
patronage of the painter Cornelius, and of Ludwig I., King
of Bavaria. By the former he was employed to execute
on the arcade of the Hofgarten three frescoes, representing
the scenes from Bavarian history of “ The Storming of the
Turkish Entrenchment at Belgrade in 1717,” “ The Battle
of Arcis-sur-Aube,” and “ The Granting of the Bavarian
Constitution by Maximilian Joseph I. in 1818.” For the
latter he painted “ The Battle of Saarbriick,” and “ The
Departure of the Poles from their Fatherland.” Among
his other important historical pieces are “ The Death of
Gustavus Adolphus,” and “ The Great Camp in 1838 at
Augsburg.” Monten died in 1843. (See Bryan's Diction¬
ary of Painters and Engravers.)
MONTENEGRO (called by the natives Zernagora,
and by the Turks Karadagh, all which names are derived
from the dark forests with which the mountains are covered)
is a small state in European Turkey, tributary to the Porte,
but virtually independent. It extends from 42. 10. to
42. 56. N. Lat.; and from 18. 41. to 20. 22. E. Long.;
and is bounded on the N. by Herzegovina, E. and S. by
Albania, and W. by Dalmatia. Area about 1450 square
miles. This country consists for the most part of a mass
of mountains, forming a part of the Dinarian Alps. I he
slope towards the sea is very steep; so that there are no
rivers of any size on that side, and very little vegetation
is found on the rocky acclivities. The lowest parts of this
mountainous district are probably more than 2000 feet in
elevation, and many of the higher summits rise upwards of
5000 feet above the sea. The interior is intersected with
numerous ridges, forming valleys, which, however, are of
no great size. Towards the E. the mountains diminish in
height, till they are lost in the plain of the Moratsha; and
the access to the high lands from this side lies through seve¬
ral narrow gorges. " The Moratsha is the only river of any
importance in Montenegro; it flows southward, and falls Monte-
into the Lake of Skutari, which is situated in Albania, on neSro*
the confines of Montenegro. The climate is healthy, but
cold, owing to the elevated position of the country. The
winter is long, and the spring and autumn are often very
severe. Owing to the configuration of the country, there
are few streams or rivers, and wells do not occur in large
numbers; so that the inhabitants are obliged to collect the
rain-water in cisterns to supply their wants. Except in a
few well-watered spots, the fertility of the soil is not very
great; and the ground is not largely cultivated. Indian
corn, potatoes, cabbages, and other vegetables are raised;
but the inhabitants depend for support chiefly on the live
stock which they rear. Sheep, goats, and pigs are numer¬
ous, but there are few horses or cattle. Most of the
mountains are covered with forests, chiefly consisting of
oak and beech, which, though they do not attain their full
height on the higher elevations, are often of great size in
the lower regions. The Venetian sumach, a shrub, the
wood of which is largely used in tanning, is found here in
great abundance, and forms an important article of trade.
The Montenegrins, from fear of invasion, have made no
roads in their country ; and internal communication is car¬
ried on by means of footpaths impassable for beasts of bur¬
den. A good deal of trade is carried on with the inhabi¬
tants of Cattaro in Dalmatia; but the Montenegrins are not
allowed to carry on any intercourse with the neighbouring
Turkish towns. They export live stock, smoked mutton,
bacon, cheese, tallow, sheepskins, wool, &c., as well as the
sumach wood and firewood; while they import wine,
spirits, oil, salt, gunpowder, fire-arms, and other manufac¬
tured articles. The average value of the annual exports to
Austria is L.1392, and that of the imports from that coun¬
try L.434. Montenegro proper consists of four nahias or
cantons—Katunska, Rietshka, Zermnitshka, and Lieshan-
ska; but besides these there are some other tribes which
belong to the confederation. These also are divided into
four cantons, called berdas, distinguished by the names of
Bielopovlitshka, Piperska, Kutshka, and Moratshka; and
the inhabitants are called Berdiani, to distinguish them
from the Montenegrins proper, or Zernagorzi. The govern¬
ment is in the hands of a vladika or prince, residing at
Zetlinie ; and the office is hereditary in the male line. The
religion of the people is that of the Greek church; of
which the vladika was formerly a bishop, uniting the
supreme civil and ecclesiastical authority in his own per¬
son; but since 1851 these offices have been separated.
There is a Senate, or council of elders, consisting of 12
membei’s, to assist the prince. The people are tall, hardy,
and athletic. They have great hospitality and a strong
feeling of patriotism ; but their mode of warfare is barbarous
and unsparing, and they are constantly making plundering
forays into the neighbouring districts. Their system of
defence, when their country is invaded, consists of posting
sharpshooters in various positions in the mountains, and
enticing the invaders into these fastnesses, where they are
gradually shot down by the unerring aim of the Montene¬
grin riflemen. When out of their own country, however,
these mountaineers cannot stand against regular troops.
The language spoken in Montenegro is a dialect of the
Slavonic, the same as that spoken in Servia. Education is
in a very low state, and it is thought a great accomplish¬
ment to be able to read and write. There are only two
schools, one at Zetlinie and one at Dobroskoselo, both of
which have been founded since 1841. The Montenegrins
were reduced under the dominion of the Turkish empire in
the reign of Solyman the Magnificent, and they remained
in this condition till the year 1700, when, at the instiga¬
tion of the Vladika Daniel, all the Mohammedans were put
to death, and the country declared independent. In 1712
the inhabitants of the canton of Katunska took up arms in
512 M O N
Montereau favour of Peter the Great, and defeated a large Turkish army.
II The remaining three cantons united with thatof Katunska in
Monte a confederation, after another victory gained over the Turks
Itosa. antl the tribes of Bielopovlitshka and Moratshka
were added about the beginning of the present century.
The last to join the republic was the tribe of Kutshka,
which did not do so till 1831. The independence of Mon¬
tenegro, however, although virtually complete, was never
recognised by the Ottoman Porte, nor by any other ot the
European powers, with the exception of Russia. The em¬
peror of that country took the Montenegrins under his P10"
tection, and sent to the vladika an annual lemittance of
L.4000, to meet the tribute paid to the Sublime 1 orte. 1 ne
Austrian government also was always favouiable to the in-
dependence of Montenegro. In 1851, on the death of the
Vladika Pierre Petrovitsch, his nephew Daniel, who was
appointed by his will to succeed him, refused to assume the
office of bishop, and proposed to the Senate of Montenegro
that the civil and ecclesiastical power should thenceforth
be disjoined. This change in the constitution was approved
of by the Senate and by the Emperor of Russia; and the
prince, on his return from St Petersburg, was received amid
the acclamations of the people. In 1853, in consequence
of the seizure by the Montenegrins of the fortress of Zab-
liak, on the Lake of Skutari, the country was invaded by a
Turkish army of 34,000 men, under the command of Omer
Pasha ; but after gaining a few successes in bloody conflicts,
the interference of the Austrian and Russian cabinets in¬
duced the Sultan to recall this force, and leave Montenegro
in its former state of independence. The population of
Montenegro is about 120,000.
MONTEREAU, or Montereau-Faut-Yonne, a town
of France, in the department of Seine-et-Marne, is situated
at the confluence of the Yonne and the Seine, 12 miles E.
of Fontainbleau. It is divided into three parts by the two
rivers, which are crossed by bridges, the largest part lying
on the left bank of the Yonne. The town is for the most
part well built, and has a collegiate church, an hospital, and
a town-hall. Manufactures of hosiery, leather, and earthen¬
ware are carried on, and there is a considerable trade with
Paris in grain, timber, cattle, &c. Montereau is remarkable
in history for the murder of the Duke of Burgundy at the
bridge over the Seine in 1419, and for the last victory ot
Napoleon, February 18, 1814. Pop. 4826.
MONTEREY, a town of Mexico, capital of the state of
New Leon, is situated on the Tigre, at the head of an ex¬
tensive and picturesque valley, 85 miles E. by N. of Saltillo.
The town is well built and paved, most of the houses be¬
ing in the Moorish style, with flat roofs. The climate is
mild and healthy, and there are gold, silver, and lead mines
in the neighbourhood. Monterey is well fortified, and
offered some resistance to the invading army of General
Taylor in 1846; but after an assault of three days, it sur¬
rendered on honourable terms. Pop. about 13,000.
MONTE ROSA, a mountain of the Pennine Alps,
on the borders of Switzerland and Piedmont, is a union
of several mountain chains rather than a single summit.
Four mountain chains radiate from a centre point, N., S.,
E., and W., respectively. A ridge of inaccessible moun¬
tains extends E. and W., from the Cime de la Pisse on the
E. to the Col du Mont Cervin on the W.; and this is inter¬
sected at right angles by another chain, extending north¬
wards as far as the Cima di Jazy, and southwards as far as
the Col d’Ollen. The centre where these branches unite,
called the Signal Kuppe, is not the most elevated point,
there being three of greater height on the northern range.
The first of these is called the Zumsteinspitze, and is the
only one of the three which has been ascended ; the second
is the Hochste Spitze, or highest of all, which is connected
with the former by a narrow and sharp ridge, descending
steeply on one side into a tremendous abyss ; and the third
MON
is the “ Nord-End,” which, like the highest, has not yet been Monte San
ascended. The difference of the height of these four peaks Giuliani)
is not, however, more than 200 feet between the highest Mjj
and the lowest. The height of the highest is 15,158 feet tcsp^'
above the sea. The four branches of Monte Rosa inclose ^ a , n
between them four glaciers,—viz., that of Macugnana on
the N.E., that of Corner on the N.W., that of Lys on the
S.W., and several of less size in the valley of Sesia on the
S.E. The geological formation of Monte Rosa is gneiss
and mica-slate; and it separates the w'aters flowing to the
Rhone from those which join the Po. (See Alps.)
MONTE SAN GIULIANO, a town of Sicily, in the
province of Trapani, is situated on a mountain 2184 feet
high, 5 miles E.N.E of Trapani. It has a large number of
churches and convents, and an hospital. The mountain
was in ancient times called Eryx, and had a temple of
Venus on the top, founded, according to tradition, by
iEneas. This is now replaced by a Saracen castle. The
town of Eryx belonged to a Sicilian tribe called Elymi,
but afterwards fell into the hands of the Carthaginians.
Though taken by Pyrrhus in 378, it was regained by the
Carthaginians, who abandoned it in the first Punic war. It
does not seem to have been restored by the Romans.
Pop. 6600.
MONTESQUIEU, Charles he Secondat, Baron de
la Brede et de, was descended from an ancient and noble
family of Guienne, and was born on the 18th of January 1689,
at the castle of La Brede, near Bordeaux, where he passed
his early days, and composed those works which have ac¬
quired for their author an imperishable reputation. His
father having early discovered in him indications of genius,
and a promise of future eminence, bestowred the utmost
pains on his education, which appears to have been con¬
ducted with equal judgment and success; and being destined
for the magistracy, he employed the energies of his active
mind in studying the immense collection of the different
codes, and in endeavouring to detect the motives, and unravel
the complicated relations, of the obscure or contradictory
laws contained in them. His taste for this study was insa¬
tiable ; and if it proved the source of his future glory, it was
also that of his greatest happiness. He has himself stated,
that he never had to reproach himself with an hour of read¬
ing wasted or misspent. When exhausted with his arid
labours upon jurisprudence, he recruited his mind with
books of history and travels, and with the productions of
the classical ages of Greece and Rome. Enchanted, as he
says, with antiquity, he at the age of twenty composed
a work, in the form of letters, wherein he sought to
prove that the idolatry of the pagans did not appear to de¬
serve eternal damnation; but this first production of his
genius he wisely abstained from giving to the world. On
the 24th of February 1714 he was received as counsellor
to the Parliament of Bordeaux; and on the 13th of July
1716 he was, through the influence of his paternal uncle,
named president d mortier. The same year he was ad¬
mitted into the Academy of Bordeaux, which had been re¬
cently founded by a number of persons possessing a com¬
mon taste for music and works of entertainment. Con¬
ceiving, however, that its object was too limited, and de¬
sirous to extend the sphere of its utility, he undertook to
convert this coterie of wits into a learned society; and his
views in this respect were warmly seconded by the Duke
of La Force, who founded a prize, and held out several
other inducements to the cultivation of science. As a
member of this learned association, he contributed his con¬
tingent of memoirs or communications, chiefly on subjects
connected with natural history, a species of study for which
he had a particular taste. But his physical constitution
disqualified him for that minute observation which is essen¬
tial to the successful prosecution of this particular science.
He was not only short-sighted, but his vision wras weak :
MONTESQUIEU.
' on- and this infirmity increased so much with time, that to-
taiuieu. wards the close of his life he became almost blind. It may
also be observed that, at the period when Montesquieu
applied himself to natural history, the fundamental princi¬
ples of that science had not yet been established. In 1719
he circulated, by means of the journals, an Histoire Phy¬
sique de la Terre ancienne et moderne ; and he read suc¬
cessively to the Academy of Bordeaux a dissertation Sur la
Politique des Remains dans la Religion, an Eloge du Due
de la Force, and a Vie du Marechal de Berwick, a produc¬
tion which in several points recalls the manner of Tacitus.
Montesquieu, however, was by no means in haste to
appear before the public in the character of author. He
preferred waiting until his faculties were ripened by time
and matured by reflection ; nor was it until the year 1721
that he entered upon his literary career, by the publication
of the Lettres Persanes, the first idea of which seems to
have been borrowed from the Siamois of the Amusemens
Serieux et Comiques of Dufresnoy, though, in works of
genius, the primary conception is of little moment compared
with the execution. The success of t\\e Lettres Persanes,
and the influence which they exercised, were unparalleled.
This is to be ascribed to two causes ; the circumstances of
the period at which the book appeared, and the form into
which it was cast. On the death of Louis XIV. libertinism
succeeded to devotion, effrontery to hypocrisy, familiarity
to respect, and audacity to submission. The liberty of
saying or writing anything with impunity led men to ex¬
amine and to combat all that had been agreed to without
opposition, or even assented to with enthusiasm. In the
midst of this general effervescence appeared the book of
the Lettres Persanes. From the shape into which it was
cast, it had all the attractions of a romance; it abounded in
voluptuous details, which flattered the taste of the age for
pleasure, and in irreligious sarcasms, which gratified its
tendency to infidelity ; and it treated with contempt Louis
XIV. and his reign, which people now sought to depreciate.
But it must nevertheless be admitted, that, with all these
faults, the book displays an ardent love for the welfare of
mankind ; a courageous zeal for the triumph of reason and
virtue; luminous views upon commerce, public law, cri¬
minal jurisprudence, and the dearest interests of nations ; a
penetrating insight into the vices of society, as well as
those of governments ; and, generally, strong evidence of
profound reflection, which takes the reader the more by
surprise that it seems to be the constant object of the au¬
thor to disguise it under the mask of frivolity. Its princi¬
pal attraction, however, and that which won the suffrages
of all, consisted in the keen, animated, sprightly, satire of
French manners and caprices, and in a style always lively,
sparkling, full of happy innuendos and unexpected con¬
trasts, the pointed irony of which sometimes rose to the most
energetic eloquence.
Four years after the publication of the Lettres Persanes,
Montesquieu caused to be printed separately, in 1725, the
Temple de Gnide, an ingenious trifle, though cold and
without interest, being equally devoid of easy wit or natural
grace, and which Madame du Deffand happily called the
“ Apocalypse of Gallantry.” The same year, at the opening
of the Parliament of Bordeaux, he delivered a discourse on
the duties of magistrates, advocates, attorneys, and all those
connected with the administration of law, which, though
but little noticed, is written in a fluent, impassioned style,
different from the ordinary manner of Montesquieu, and in
that vein of eloquence which addresses itself more to the
sentiments than to the reason of men. In 1/26 he sold
his office and withdrew from the magistracy, the duties of
which he had so well described. The desire to regain his
freedom, and apply himself entirely to philosophy and let¬
ters, was no doubt one of his motives ; but the principal
cause of this determination seems to have been a sense of
VOL. xv.
513
inadequacy to fill the situation in which he was placed. He Mon¬
informs us, indeed, that his whole merit as president con- tesquieu.
sisted in rectitude of purpose and understanding sufficiently
the questions themselves; but that he had never been able
to master the forms of procedure, although he had applied
himself to the subject.
Being now at liberty to devote himself exclusively to phi¬
losophy and letters, he presented himself as a candidate for
the place in the French Academy vacant by the death of
M. de Sacy; but Cardinal Fleury wrote to the Academy
that the King had declared he would not give his approba¬
tion to the author of a work containing impious sarcasms
against religion. Montesquieu, however, though at once
amazed and offended by the refusal of the King and his
minister, contrived, by a device more dexterous than candid,
to propitiate the cardinal. He asserted his claim with firm¬
ness, yet disavowed those letters of the book which formed
a legitimate ground of objection against him. The King
was appeased by the intervention of the minister, and on
the 24th of January 1728 he was received into the Aca¬
demy, on which occasion he delivered an inaugural dis¬
course, which appears amongst his printed works. Montes¬
quieu having accomplished this object, resolved to travel,
and in the course of his peregrinations visited almost all
the countries of Europe. He proceeded first to Vienna,
where he often saw Prince Eugene; he then passed into
Hungary, whence he journeyed to Italy, and at Venice
became acquainted with John Law of Lauriston, who, from
the height of grandeur, wealth, and celebrity, had fallen
into obscurity, neglect, and poverty; and also with the
Comte de Bonnevol, who had as yet only gone through
part of the cycle of his romantic adventures. From Venice
he proceeded to Rome, where he became acquainted with
Cardinal Corsini, afterwards Clement XII., and with Car¬
dinal Polignac, author of the Anti-Lucrece. He next
visited Genoa, but having met with a cold reception there,
he soothed his ill-humour by writing some satirical stanzas,
which, however, he did not think fit to print. From Italy
he passed into Switzerland, and traversing the different
countries watered by the Rhine, stopped some time in Hol¬
land, where he met Lord Chesterfield, with whom he had
become acquainted at Venice. He then visited England,
where he resided about two years, was admitted a member
of the Royal Society, and treated with marked distinction
by Queen Caroline. On his return to his own country, he
retired to his castle at La Brede, where he resumed his
favourite pursuits. He had either before or during his
travels caused to be printed in Holland a little work en¬
titled Reflexions sur la Monarchic universelle, which is
now but little known, and extremely rare, though it is re¬
ferred to by the author himself in a passage of the Esprit
des Loix (1. xxi., c. 22). The object of this piece was to
prove that, in the actual state of the modern nations of
Europe, it is impossible even for the ablest and most am¬
bitious of sovereigns to establish a universal monarchy.
After two years spent in his retreat at La Brede, Montes¬
quieu published in 1734 his Considerations sur les Causes
de la Grandeur et de la Decadence des Romains ; a work
which, if not the most remarkable, is perhaps the most
finished of all his productions, and in which he had to enter
into competition with several eminent men, both amongst
the ancients and the moderns, particularly Polybius, Ma-
chiavelli, Saint-Evremond, and Bossuet. But Montesquieu
was the first writer who grappled with this great subject in
all its details, and who compared all the facts with laborious
sagacity. He overlooked none which could afford matter
for reflection, or warrant any inference of importance, and
yet he managed to compress the whole into a volume of
moderate size. The Dialogue de Sylla et d’Eucrate,
which is subjoined to this work, and may be considered as
forming part of it, is one of those productions in which
3 r
MONTESQUIEU,
514
Mon- Montesquieu has displayed the greatest eloquence; and
tesquieu. w;ti1 this may be classed another piece not less remarkable,
namely, Lysimaque, in which he has delineated, in a man¬
ner altogether sublime, that system of stoicism which raised
man above the ordinary weaknesses of his nature, and en¬
abled him to brave with joy, and even with pride, the
cruelties of tyrants and the iniquities of fortune.
The Considerations on the Grandeur and Decline of the
Homans make us acquainted with the history of a single
people ; but Montesquieu had long been engaged in study¬
ing that of all other nations, in discovering the causes of
those revolutions which had successively changed the face
of the world, and in investigating those laws and customs
which had contributed to their prosperity or decline. The
success of the treatise on the Roman people, which in some
sort formed only a detached portion of the vast plan he had
conceived, served to increase his ardour in the execution of
so great an undertaking, to the completion of which fourteen
more years of incessant labour were devoted. Sometimes
he thought that he advanced rapidly, and would speedily
accomplish his design ; at other times he appeared to recede,
and to become perplexed by the immensity and complica¬
tion of the subject. At length, after twenty years of unre¬
mitting application, he had the satisfaction to put the last
hand to a production upon which he had expended so much
anxious labour and meditation, and which he entitled
DEsprit des Loix. But before sending this work to the
press, he judged it prudent to consult one of his intimate
friends, whose talents and knowledge he respected; and
with this view he sent his manuscript to Helvetius. The
latter, however, was so little satisfied with the production
after perusal, and so much alarmed for the danger to which
the reputation of Montesquieu would be exposed by the
publication of a work which he considered as so defective,
that at first he did not venture to express what he thought
of it, and solicited the author’s permission to communicate
the manuscript to a common friend, Saurin, the author of
Spartacus. The latter coincided in opinion with Helvetius,
and both agreed that, by the publication of this book, the
celebrated author of the Lettres Persanes would injure his
reputation, and low-er himself in the estimation of the world.
After some hesitation, this extraordinary judgment was
communicated to Montesquieu, accompanied with an earnest
entreaty on the part of both that he would subject the whole
to careful revision, and upon no account publish the work
in the crude and imperfect state in which it then appeared.
The strange counsels of these friends, however, had so little
influence on Montesquieu, that he sent the manuscript to
the press without altering a word, prefixing this epigraph,
“ Prolem sine matre creatam” to indicate that his work had
no model; and, as if to mark still more strongly how little
he was moved by their unfavourable judgment, he congra¬
tulated himself in his preface on having produced a work
which was not altogether destitute of genius. Nor did the
result disappoint the just expectations he had formed. Its
success was in fact so great, than in little more than a year
and a half after its publication, it had gone through twenty-
two editions, and been translated into almost every lan¬
guage of Europe. The Esprit des Loix appeared about the
middle of the year 1748, and before the end of the year
1750 its reputation was universal.
If the Spirit of Laivs, however, was much read, much
admired, and much praised, the work, like all those which
have produced a great impression, was also much criticised.
Madame du Deffand said of it, that it was not Tesprit des
loix, but de Vesprit sur les loix, a saying which had just that
degree of truth which gives currency to an epigram. But
the work was not of a kind likely to interest the epigrammatic
mind at all. It was written with quite a different aim, and
has had quite a different reputation now that men have had
time to judge of its merits. Its author addressed himself to
men of reason and experience, to statesmen and thinkers in Mon.
general. Those political problems which had been hitherto tesquieUi
shaded by uncertainty, or obscured by ignorance, and with
which the world had been occupied previous to his time,
Montesquieu either solved or placed in a clear light for subse¬
quent investigators. And although not a few of the hostile
criticisms with which his work was assailed appeared to be
well founded, the reputation of Montesquieu was greatly
enhanced by the publication of the Spirit of Laws ; and it
may be said with truth, that this work alone would have
been sufficient to insure him lasting renowm,and to constitute
a noble monument of his genius, sagacity, and wisdom.
For an estimate of the relative merit and true historical
position of the Esprit des Loix, in establishing just ideas
of jurisprudence, see the First Preliminary Dissertation
(part i., sect, iii.)
Montesquieu had resolved not to reply to any of the cri¬
ticisms which might be made on the Esprit des I^oix ; but
the attacks of an anonymous author, who, in a journal called
Nouvelles Ecclesiastiques, had, amongst other things, repre¬
sented him as an atheist, induced him to deviate from this
resolution. In the Lettres Persanes he had treated the
Christian religion with too much levity ; but afterwards,
when his mind was fully matured by age, study, and re¬
flection, he had seen cause to alter his views; and hence
in the Esprit des Loix-, he recommends Christianity in ex¬
pressive terms, not only as the most perfect of all religious
systems, but also as the most powerful support of the whole
social system. He therefore deemed it of importance to
repel the calumnious insinuations of the ecclesiastical jour¬
nalist, and at the same time he wished to refute by anti¬
cipation the theologians of the Sorbonne, who, being
dissatisfied with some passages in the Esprit des Loix, were
proceeding to condemn the work. It was with this double
purpose that he wrote his Defense, which may be con¬
sidered as a model of solid discussion, light pleasantry,
and contemptuous moderation. “ What pleases me in my
Defense,'’ said he, “ is not seeing the venerable theologians
gravelled ; it is seeing them laid gently upon their backs.”
But he took no notice whatever of a crowd of brochures,
filled with absurd criticisms or gross abuse, which appeared
against the Spirit of Laws. “ 1 he public,” said he,
“ avenge me on the one by their contempt, and on the
other by their indignation.”
The appearance of a book like the Spirit of Laivs, natu¬
rally formed an epoch in political and literary history; but
its effect was different in different countries, being great¬
est in Britain, where it obtained a reputation, which has
since continued to increase, and least in France, where its
influence was and still is but small. This may be accounted
for partly from the different circumstances in which these
countries were respectively placed, and partly also from
the fact that, while Montesquieu pointed out the hazards
to which the British constitution was exposed from the
incessant conflicts of a tyrannical oligarchy and a turbu¬
lent democracy, he had confined his researches to the dark
ages of the French monarchy, in regard to which his
efforts were doubtful, and his conclusions disputed. But if
his work did not prove as useful to his country as he had
hoped, the reputation which he had acquired in his lifetime
far exceeded that which men of letters can ordinarily aspire
to obtain. He was considered throughout all Europe as
the legislator of nations, and the founder of the philosophy
of jurisprudence and politics. But, far from being dazzled
by this high reputation, he continued to live like a sage,
and to enjoy the society of his friends, dividing his time
between his castle of La Brede and Paris,—that is, be¬
tween study and the world. In the country, he occupied
himself with gardening and agricultural improvements, and,
though jealous of his seignorial rights, was much beloved
by the peasantry, whose comfort and happiness it was his
MON - MON 515
Mon- object to promote. In the capital he was always a welcome
squieu. guest, although simple and somewhat negligent in his dress,
’ as well as in his conversation. He was always disposed to
render justice to talents, and to relieve merit in distress.
One day he received from Henry Sully, an English artist,
who had greatly contributed to improve horology in France,
the following letter:—“I am tempted to hang myself, but
I believe nevertheless that I should not do so if I had an
hundred crowns.” To this Montesquieu immediately re¬
plied,—“ I send you an hundred crowns, my dear Sully; do
not hang yourself, and come to see me.”
Although in some of his opinions Montesquieu sym¬
pathized with the philosophers of his day, yet he loved
neither the proselytism of impiety nor the excesses of the
spirit of cabal. Nor was this the only cause of his estrange¬
ment from Voltaire. Being in a great measure insensible
to the charms of verse, he thought the reputation of that
celebrated man usurped, and did not hesitate to express
his opinion to that effect; whilst Voltaire, on the other
hand, was by no means sparing in malignant reflections
and bitter criticisms. In fact, they mutually accused each
other of having too much wit, and frequently abusing it
in their writings. But Voltaire had an exquisite sense of
literary merit, which triumphed over his strongest antipa¬
thies; and, under its benign influence, he did justice to the
author of the Spirit of Laws, by observing, that “ when the
human race had lost their titles, Montesquieu found and
restored them;” a fine thought, notwithstanding the epi¬
grammatic form in which it is expressed, But whatever
might be his sentiments in regard to Voltaire and the other
men of letters of his time, it was only in conversation, or
in the intimacy of familiar intercourse, that he allowed the
secret of his opinions to escape; he never wrote against
any of his contemporaries, and conducted himself with a
dignity and wisdom which were the effect of the moderation
of his passions, as well as the result of reflection. At the
solicitation of D’Alembert and the Chevalier de Jaucourt,
Montesquieu, having completed the Esprit des Loix, con¬
sented to write for the Encpclopedie, and composed for
that work the Essai sur le Gout, some inedited chapters of
which were afterwards published in the Archives Litteraires
(tom, ii., p. 301).
It appears that soon after the publication of the Esprit
des Loix, his physical strength diminished rapidly, and no
longer corresponded to his ardour in literary pursuits. He
had conceived the design, as he informs us in his journal,
of giving greater extension and depth to several parts of
the Spirit of Laws; but he found that he had become incap¬
able of carrying his intention into effect. “ Mes lectures,”
says he, “ m’ont affaibli les yeux ; et il me semble que ce
qu’il me reste encore de lumiere, n’est que faurore du jour
ou ils se fermeront pour jamais.” And in fact he died soon
afterwards, on the 10th of February 1755, at the age of
sixty-six ; that is, only seven years after the publication of
his great work. He was attacked at Paris with a violent
inflammatory fever, which, in spite of every effort to arrest
its progress, carried him off after an illness of about a fort¬
night. But the benignity of his character sustained him
to the last moment; no complaint, no sign of impatience,
escaped him. He knew from the first that he was in im^
minent danger, and occasionally asked his physicians,
“ Comment va 1’esperance a la crainte f ” The Jesuits tried
to gain him over in his last moments, and, with this view,
sent to him Fathers Routh and Castel, who were accused
of exercising their ministry with undue importunity. He
observed to them, “ I have always respected religion ; the
morality of the gospel is the finest present which God has
made to men.” As the Jesuits pressed him to put into
their hands the corrections he had made on the Lettres
Persanes, that the irreligious passages might be effaced,
he refused to comply with their request; but he afterwards
placed the manuscript in the hands of the Duchess of Monte-
Aiguillon and Madame Dupre de Saint-Maur, saying, “ I verde
wish to sacrifice everything to religion, but nothing to the Mo|Jte
Jesuits ; consult with my friends, and decide if this ought video"
to appear.” Nevertheless, he received the viaticum from v. ^ t
the hands of the parish priest, who, at the same time, ob¬
served to him, “ Monsieur, vous comprenez combien Dieu
est grand;” “ Oui,” replied the dying philosopher, “ et
combien les hommes sont petits.”
Montesquieu left a great number of manuscripts. They
consist of,—l. A little romance entitled Le Metempsyco-
siste, by no means worthy of the author of the Lettres Per¬
sanes ; 2. Morceaux qui n’ont put entrer dans VEsprit des
Loix, et qui peuvent former des dissertations particulieres,
amongst which are one on Paternal Authority, another on
Verbal Obligations, and a third on Successions ; 3. Three
large volumes in quarto, bound, consisting of extracts
made by him in the course of his reading, with reflections
annexed. In these volumes there are several original
pieces of considerable extent, particularly a sort of intro¬
duction to the History of Louis XL, which is considered
as equal to anything that Montesquieu ever wrote. He is
said to have written an account of his travels, which if it
exists at all, must be in a very imperfect state; and as to
the Notes sur VAngleterre, inserted in some of the last
editions of his works, we know not whether they were ex¬
tracted from the materials which he had prepared for the
Relation de ses Voyages.
Among a vast number of editors and commentators
on the works of Montesquieu, we may cite the following
distinguished names :—Voltaire, Condorcet, Helvetius,
D’Alembert, Mably, La Harpe, Destutt de Tracy, and
Villemain. (j. b—e.)
MONTEVERDE, Claudio, a remarkable Italian com¬
poser, was born at Cremona about the year 1565. He
entered into the service of the Duke of Mantua as a per¬
former on the viol, and received lessons in counterpoint
from Marc Antonio Ingegneri, the Duke’s chapel-master,
to whose office he afterwards succeeded about 1604. On
the 19th of August 1613 he was appointed chapel-master
of St Mark’s at Venice, and held that place till his death
in the autumn of 1649. The first two books of his Madri¬
gals are so incorrectly written as to prove that his study of
counterpoint had not at that time (1587) been very pro¬
found. In his third book of Madrigals he appeared to more
advantage; and the ideas which had emanated from Flo¬
rentine musicians regarding the necessity of expressing the
sense of the words in vocal music, had evidently stimulated
his genius to explore new paths of composition. Regarding
the harmonic novelties and the new tonality introduced by
Monteverde, see the articles Music and Tonality in the
present work. (g. f. g.)
MONTE-VIDEO, or San Felipe de Monte-Video,
the capital of Uruguay in South America, is situated on
the northern shore of the estuary of the La Plata, 130
miles E.S.E. of Buenos Ayres, S. Lat. 34. 53., W. Long.
56. 16. It stands on a gentle eminence at the extremity of
a small promontory which forms the east side of the harbour,
a bay 4 miles in length by 2 in breadth. The houses are
well built, and floored with unbaked bricks. They are for
the most part only one storey high, and have flat roofs. The
streets are broad, regular, and well paved. There are no
great public buildings, except the cathedral, a handsome
stone edifice, and the town-hall. Monte-Video is surrounded
by walls, which are mounted with guns; and there is also
a citadel. The climate is healthy, and the soil of the sur¬
rounding country rich and productive; but wrater is very
scarce, and can only be obtained by wells dug on the sea¬
shore, or by collecting the rain-water in cisterns. The
harbour is shallow, varying from 14 to 19 feet in depth;
but the bottom is soft, and does not injure the vessels that
516 MON
Monfc- may run aground. The winds from the S.S.W. blow into
faucon th.e harbour and cause a considerable swell. The number of
II vessels that entered the harbour in 1856, including the
Mont‘ coasting trade, was 1220, and their tonnage 149,567 ; while
v gomery,y those that cleared were 978, and their tonnage 141,131.
* The trade of Monte-Video is very considerable; the ex¬
ports, consisting of wool, hides, tallow, salt beef, &c.; and
the imports of cotton and woollen fabrics, hardware, wine,
provisions, &c. A line of steamers was established in 1856
between Monte-Video and Genoa; and there is also another,
supported by the government of Brazil, between this place
and Rio Janeiro. Pop. about 12,000. > , .
MONTFAUCON, Bernard de, an eminent critical
and antiquarian writer, was descended from a noble and
ancient family, and was born at the chateau of Soulage, in
Languedoc, in January 1655. After a short attendance at
the college of Linioux, he was left to educate himself, and
he passed his days in the library of the family castle, Roque-
taillade, perusing books in different languages and on
almost every variety of subject. During his historical read¬
ings he had become partial to a soldier’s life. Accordingly,
he enlisted as a volunteer in the regiment of Languedoc in
1673, and served two campaigns in Germany under Marshal
Turenne. But grief for the loss of his parents rendered
him weary of the world, and induced him in 1675 to assume
the garb of the Benedictines in the congregation of St
Maur. The rest of his biography is little else than a
recital of his many important works. He now consecrated
his leisure to the study of Greek and the Oriental languages.
LI is enthusiastic devotion to learning, supported by a robust
and well-regulated constitution, carried him rapidly through
his extensive field of labour and research, and the result of
his studies issued in quick succession from the press. 1 he
work that established Montfaucon’s reputation was a new
edition of Athanasius, in Latin and Greek, 3 vols. folio, 1698.
His next great undertaking was the editing of the works of
Chrysostom. In the prosecution of this task he spent three
years in Italy, visiting the principal cities, and consulting the
manuscripts in the principal libraries. In 1718, sixteen
years after his return, his Chrysostom began to be published ;
and in 1738 it was completed in 13 folio volumes. It is
still considered the best edition of that eloquent father.
Montfaucon died in December 1741, at the age of eighty-
seven. The most important of his other works are,—
Analecta Gnxca sive varia Opuscula, 4to, Paris, 1688;
Diarium Italicum, 4to, Paris, 1702 ; Collectio A ova PaU
rum Grcecorum, folio, Paris, 1707; Palceographia Grceca,
sive de Ortu et Progressu Literarum Grcecarum, folio,
Paris, 1708 ; Le Livre de Pinion de la Vie Contemplative,
12mo, Paris, 1709; Bibliotheca Cosliniana, folio, Paris,
1715; L’Antiquite Expliquee et Representee en Figures,
10 vols. folio, Paris, 1719; Les Monuments de la Monarchic
PranQaise, 5 \o\s. folio, Paris, 1729-33; and Bibliotheca
Bibliothecarum Manuscriptorum Nova, 2 vols. folio, Paris,
1739.
MONTFORT, Simon de. See England.
MONTGOMERY, Alexander, an old Scottish poet,
who flourished in the reign of James VI. The little that
is known about his life is involved in doubt. His nick¬
name of “ The Highland Knight,” which is mentioned
by Dempster, seems to indicate his descent, and at the
same time confirms, to a certain extent, the generally-
received opinion that he was brought up in Argyllshire.
He is supposed to have been an officer in the guard of the
RegentMorton, a circumstance that may account for his ordi¬
nary title of “ Captain Alexander Montgomery.” His fame
as a poet appears to have been great among his contempor¬
aries. James VI. quoted some of his poems in a work entitled
Rewles and Cautelis ; and bestowed upon him a pension
of 500 merks. But this latter expression of royal favour
afterwards led Montgomery into a tedious lawsuit, which
M O N
brought in its train several other evils. His life was thus Mont-
embittered, and his poetry assumed a tone of complaint and gomery,
of severe satire against judges and lawyers. His principal
work, the allegorical poem of The Cherry and the Slae, was
published in 1607. Between this date and 1611 the poet
is said to have died. Montgomery’s entire works were
published at Edinburgh in 1822, under the superintendence
of Mr David Laing, and with a biographical preface by Dr
Irving. His chief characteristics as a poet are a vigorous
and lively fancy, a love for rural objects, and a power of
versification beyond most of his contemporaries.
Montgomery, James, one of the most popular of the
sacred or religious poets of England, wras born at Irvine in
Ayrshire, on the 4th of November 1771. His parents
were Irish—his father a preacher of the Society of United
Moravian Brethren. James was designed for the same
office, and in his sixth year was placed in the Moravian
establishment at Fulneck, near Leeds, where he was as
effectually excluded from the world and all its ways as if
he had been immured in a Dominican convent. A love of
poetry was kindled in him by hearing one of his masters
read aloud Blair’s Grave. He refused to study for the
ministry ; and both his parents being then dead (they had
died in Barbadoes, his father having been sent on a mis¬
sionary enterprise to the West Indies), the Brethren at
Fulneck put James apprentice to a grocer in Mirfield. He
disliked the drudgery of the shop, wrote verses, and at
length ran away, with three shillings and sixpence in his
pocket. After some wayside hardships and wanderings, he
got engaged as shop-boy in the pretty Yorkshire village of
Wath, where he remained for a twelvemonth. He next
removed to London, intent on publishing a volume of
poetry; but the Brethren of the Row were as adverse to
his poetical ambition as the Brethren of Fulneck; and he
was glad to obtain employment from one of the number,
Harrison, a well-known publisher, as clerk and assistant. He
soon tired of London, and retraced his steps back to Wath,
perhaps induced in some degree by recollection of a cer¬
tain Nancy Wainwright, “one of the Wath beauties, whom,
I am afraid,” he says, “ I sometimes looked at in church
more than was proper.” The looks came to nothing ; and
this is the only instance of anything like an approach to
gallantry in the long bachelor life of Montgomery. In his
twenty-first year he made another and final removal. He
went to Sheffield as clerk to Mr Gales, an auctioneer and
publisher of a weekly newspaper, the Sheffield Register.
This paper was liberal in its tone and tendencies, and Mr
Gales was marked out as a disaffected man. The whole na¬
tion was at that time agitated by the example or by dread of
revolutionized France ; spies and informers abounded ; and
local rulers, like the government, were jealous and eager to
convict. The Sheffield editor was wrecked in the political
storm; the Register went down, and in its place the Iris
came forth, with James Montgomery for its conductor and
proprietor. He was now in a congenial and independent
position; he had a weekly outlet for all his thoughts and
musings, whether in prose or verse; and, though no politi¬
cian, he had a true poet’s love of liberty and hatred of
meanness, fraud, or oppression. He was determined to be
prudent; he was by nature inoffensive ; yet within a twelve-
month, before he had completed his twenty-fifth year, he
was twice convicted, fined, and imprisoned for libels. He
had printed for a hawker some copies of two old songs that
remained in type in the office. One of them related to the
destruction of the Bastile in 1789, and was surmounted by
a rude woodcut representing Liberty and the British
lion. The hawker sold the songs in the streets, ingeniously
drawing attention to his wares by crying “straws to sell.” I he
purchaser of a straw, price one halfpenny, obtained a copy of
the ballads ; and one of the Sheffield constables, acute as Dog¬
berry, smelt treason in this device of the straws, and in the
M O N
MON 517
“ effigies ” of Liberty and the Lion. The printer was traced ;
he was found to be the suspected editor of the Iris ; and
Montgomery, after a form of trial, was sentenced to three
months’ imprisonment in York Castle, and to pay a fine of
L.20. His second offence consisted in some reflections on the
conduct of a colonel of militia, who had displayed super¬
abundant zeal and recklessness in quelling a street riot.
After an extraordinary scene of contradictory evidence, a
verdict was given against the publisher of the Iris, and he
was sent again to York Castle, but for a period of six
months, and with the further penalty of a fine of L.30.
Such oppression seems almost incredible now; and Mont¬
gomery said, that “no man who did not live amidst the
delirium of those evil days and that strife of evil tongues,
could imagine the bitterness of animosity which infatuated
the zealous partisans.” In his own case he lived to see it
all extinguished. He ultimately found friends among his
old opponents—even the fiery militia colonel; but for some
years he was neither democratic enough for the wild refor¬
mers, nor submissive enough to serve the purposes of the
local magnates, and his editorial life was truly a life of martyr¬
dom. He was able to retire from it altogether in the year
1825, and on that occasion a great public banquet, presided
over by Viscount Milton, was given him by his townsmen
and neighbours, men of all ranks, classes, and distinctions.
Politics and political strife were now buried for ever, and
there was a long day of warmth and sunshine after the cold
blasts of the morning.
The literary career of Montgomery dates from his incar¬
ceration in York Castle. He wrote there, and published in
1797, Prison Amusements, a series of short poems, which
had only a local reputation. In 1805 he issued another
poem, The Ocean ; and in 1806 The Wanderer of Switzer¬
land, and other Poems. The last of these volumes had
gone through two editions, when it happened to fall into the
critical hands of Francis Jeffrey, and received a check which,
to the sensitive poet, seemed to threaten nothing less than
the annihilation of his hopes and labours. The Edinburgh
Pevietv denounced the unfortunate volume in a style of
such authoritative reprobation as no mortal verse could be
expected to survive. The critic, however, proved a bad
prophet: the work continued popular because it was really
worthy of popularity ; and the criticism must be set down as
one of those wanton sins against good taste and proper
feeling which the Review occasionally perpetrated in its
nonage, before it had attained to years of discretion.
Montgomery’s next poetical production was written to
commemorate the abolition of the slave-trade, and was
entitled The West Indies. It is in the heroic couplet of
Dryden and Pope, and exhibits the poet’s command ot that
peculiarly English style of verse, the best of all for narrative
poetry. In 1813 appeared The World before the Flood,
also in the same measure; in 1819, Greenland, a poem
founded on the Moravian mission to that remote territory;
and in 1827 The Pelican Island, a descriptive poem in
blank verse, and which is unquestionably the most original
and powerful of all Montgomery’s works. Numerous ex¬
quisite little pieces from his pen came forth in the annuals
and other periodicals; and he collected two volumes of
sketches, published under the quaint title of Prose by a
Poet. In the winter of 1830—31 he delivered a course ot
lectures on poetry and general literature at the Royal Insti¬
tution, which were afterwards published in one volume.
He was now recognised as a standard English classic, un¬
rivalled in popular sacred poetry and in the poetry of the
domestic affections by all but Cowper. His verse was clear,
copious, and flowing; always musical, and often strikingly
picturesque. If he had no secret beauties of diction or
subtle trains of thought and imagination, his works displayed
a high and pure moral feeling and strong religious faith,
untinctured by sectarian formality or exclusiveness. In his
poetry, as in his life, James Montgomery exhibited a catho¬
lic spirit that embraced whatever was lovely and of good
report. He looked beyond the grave, but never neglected
any form of suffering humanity or call of active duty and
brotherly sympathy.
In 1841 a collected edition of Montgomery’s works was
published in four volumes; and so late as 1853 he issued a
series of Original Hymns. To his limited means—the
small hoard accumulated through years of toil and anxiety
—the government, on the recommendation of Sir Robert
Peel, added a pension of L.150 per annum. The latter
years of the old poet were thus passed in ease and comfort.
To all benevolent and missionary schemes he lent a willing
hand ; his townsmen were proud of him, and his society was
much courted. When he had nearly reached the allotted
period of threescore and ten, he made a pilgrimage to Scot¬
land, and finding out the house in the “ Half-way ” of Irvine
where he first saw the light, he shed a flood of tears at the
humble scene of his birth. He was publicly received by
the magistrates and other inhabitants of Irvine; and in
Edinburgh he also met with a marked and honourable
reception. His history altogether affords a fine example of
virtuous and successful perseverance, and of genius devoted
to pure and noble ends,—not a feverish, tumultuous, and
splendid career, like that of some greater poetical heirs of
immortality, but a course ever brightening as it proceeded,
—calm, useful, and happy. He attained to the great age of
more than eighty-two years, dying at his residence near
Sheffield on the 30th of April 1854. Memoirs of his life
and writings, with extracts from his correspondence and
journals (somewhat too voluminous and indiscriminate),
have been published, in 7 vols. 8vo, 1855-6, by two of
his friends, John Holland and James Everett. A com¬
plete edition of his poetical works appeared in 1855, in 4
vols. 12mo. (r. C—s.)
Montgomery, Robert, the author of several religious
poems, was born at Bath in 1807. He had hardly reached
his twenty-first year when his poetical fame was established
by the publication of his Omnipresence of the Deity. His
swelling epithets, and the pompous roll of his versification,
satisfied the majority of the readers of poetry ; his choice of
his theme recommended him to the religious public; and
at tbe same time the dullness of his intellect, the barrenness
of his imagination, and his many broken metaphors, passed
undetected. The poem, therefore, reached an almost un¬
precedented popularity, and passed through eight editions
in an equal number of months. Stimulated by this success,
his versifying faculty produced in the same year another
volume containing, A Universal Prayer, Death, A Vision
of Heaven, and A Vision of Hell. Satan followed in 1829,
and raised the author’s reputation to its greatest height.
Montgomery now began to contemplate studying for the
church. He entered Lincoln College, Oxford, in 1830,
took the degree of B.A. in 1833, and was ordained in 1835.
His first pastoral charge was the curacy of Whittington in
Shropshire. From it he removed in 1836 to Percy Street
chapel, London. By this time his preaching was acquiring
a popularity scarcely less false in its foundation than that
which had greeted his poetry. The crowds that flocked to
hear him mistook his affected attitudes for studied elegance,
his vague generalizations for profound thinking, and his
noisy ranting for true oratory. His fame as a preacher
continued to increase after he had removed, in 1838, to his
ultimate charge of St Jude’s chapel, Glasgow. Towards
the close of his life he published several works, both prose
and poetical, on religious subjects. He died at Brighton in
December 1855.
MONTGOMERY, a municipal and parliamentary bo¬
rough of Wales, capital of the county of the same name, is
placed at the foot of a high and well-wooded eminence,
about 1| mile from the Severn, and 168 N.W. by N. of
518 M 0 N
Mont- London. It is small but well built; and has four principal
gomery streets, meeting in a market-place in the centre. The
II principal buildings are,—the church, an old edifice in the
eomery- ^orm a cross’ " a modern tower; the guildhall; and the
shiref county jail. The borough returned a member to Parlia-
^ ment from the time of Henry III. till the passing of the
Reform Act; but since that time it has formed one of six
boroughs which together elect one representative. 1 he
ancient castle of Montgomery, of which some ruins still
remain,was founded by Baldwin, a follower of William the
Conqueror, who was appointed Lieutenant of the Marches
by that monarch. In consequence of its situation on the
borders of England and Wales, it was long considered an
important stronghold ; and was the subject of frequent con¬
tention between the Saxons and the Bormans. It received
its present name from Roger de Montgomery, Earl of
Shrewsbury, by whom it was enlarged and strengthened.
It afterwards passed into the hands of the crown, by whom
the stewardship was granted, in the fifteenth century, to the
Herberts of Cherbury. Pop. (1851) 1248.
Montgomery, a town in the LTnited States of North
America, capital of the state of Alabama, is built on an
eminence on the left bank of the Alabama River, 197 miles
N.E. of Mobile, and 331 miles above it by river. The
town contains 7 churches, 2 academies, a state-house, a
bank, and 6 newspaper offices. In the neighbourhood of
Montgomery is one of the richest cotton-producing districts
of Alabama, and 75,000 bales are annually shipped here.
The river is navigable for steamers as far as Montgomery;
and as it is never impeded by ice, large vessels ply be¬
tween this town and Mobile at all seasons of the year. The
town is also connected by railway with Atlanta in Georgia;
and another line is in progress towards the west. Mont¬
gomery has several very pleasant suburbs; and is a very
prosperous and enterprising town. Pop. (1850) 4935;
(1853) estimated at 7000.
MONTGOMERYSHIRE, an inland county of North
Wales, having on the E. Shropshire, N. Denbighshire and
Merionethshire, W. Cardiganshire and Merionethshire, and
S. Radnorshire. It is of an irregular form, its greatest
length from E. to W. being about 40 miles, and its great¬
est breadth from N. to S. 36 miles. Its area measures 755
square miles, and contains 385,290 statute acres. It is thus
third in point of size of the Welsh counties.
This county, traversed as it is throughout its entire
length by one of the largest of British rivers, the Severn,
possesses scenery of the most varied and attractive cha¬
racter. It has few very lofty mountains; but the whole
county is diversified with a succession of hill and dale and
the most beautiful river scenery. Towards the English
border there are extensive tracts of finely-cultivated land,
and everywhere the surface is beautified by fine woods,
chiefly of oak. The parks of Lord Powis, Lord Sudeley,
and other large landed proprietors in this county, vie in
beauty with any in the British Islands. The principal
mountain range is that of Plymlimmon, 2463 feet in height,
which gives birth to the rivers Severn and Wye. The
Dovey, the Tanat, and the Vyrnwy are the other principal
streams. There are but few lakes of importance.
The climate is for the most part mild; and agriculture
has made greater progress in this than almost any of the
other divisions of the principality. Many of the farms are
of large size, and are cultivated in a spirited manner. Mr
Naylor’s model farm at Leighton Hall, near Welshpool,
is one of the most complete establishments of the kind the
British Islands can boast of. The cultivated crops con¬
sist of wheat, barley, oats, buckwheat, and rye; vetches,
peas, beans, clover, and clover-seed ; mangold, carrots, tur¬
nips, and potatoes; flax and rape. There are also extensive
orchards. Montgomeryshire has long been famous for its
breed of hardy horses and ponies, for which high prices are
M O N
obtained. The cattle are chiefly of the Hereford breed, Monti,
and the sheep the Shropshire Downs; but there is a breed
of small sheep produced on the borders of this county
known as “ dims,” which are highly prized.
The lead mines of this county are very important, and
are now (1857) yielding largely. At Llangynog the famous
Llangynog Mine, in the hands of Sir Hugh Middleton,
yielded for a long period more ore than all the other mines in
Britain, furnishing those immense resources which brought
the New River to London, and which greatly contributed to
the wealth of the then lords of Powis. The ore was quar¬
ried like stone in great open quarries. These mines afford
the finest example of what is called a “gash ” vein known
in the world. The whole county rests upon the Upper and
Lower Silurian group of rocks; but there are numerous
outcrops of intercalated beds of trap, affording, when in¬
vestigated by means of the mines, a curious and most
interesting study to the geologist.
This county is connected with the Dee at Chester by the
Chester and Ellesmere Canal. It has also lately completed a
small railway from Newtown to Llanidloes, and has got acts
for two others.
Besides Montgomery, the principal towns are,—Welsh¬
pool, Newtown, Llanidloes, Machynlleth, and Llanfyllin.
Welshpool is the thriving, general business town of the
county. Newtown and Llanidloes are chiefly devoted to
the manufacture of Welsh flannels, of which they form the
chief seat, and possess mills of great size, which are worked by
the newest and most improved machinery. Montgomery¬
shire returns one member to Parliament, and has done so
since 1536. It possessed 2986 registered electors in 1852 ;
and the political influence is wholly in the hands of Sir W.
W. Wynn and the Earl of Powis.
The population, by the last census, was 67,335, of which
33,634 were males, and 33,701 were females. The popu¬
lation was less in 1851 by 1300 persons than in 1841. In
1851 there were 13,350 inhabited houses, 716 uninhabited,
and 25 building. These figures give 89 persons and 18
houses to a square mile, or 7‘2 acres to each person and
36-2 acres to a house,—nearly the same proportions as Bre¬
con possesses.
The amount of real property assessed for income-tax in
1851 was L.340,192; amount of property rented to the
poor, L.280,833. It is computed that 15 per cent, of the
population live by agriculture, and 10 per cent, by trade.
About one-fourth are labourers, servants, &c.; 400 persons
are in professions; and 1000 possess independent means.
The total number of churches in Montgomeryshire in
1851 was 346, with 62,886 sittings. Of the former, 66 be¬
longed to the Church of England, 191 to the Methodists, 58
to the Independents, and 26 to the Baptists. According to
the census of 1851, there were in Montgomeryshire 1272 day
schools, with 6194 scholars (3857 males and 2957 females), of
which 72 schools, with 4854 scholars, were public. Of the
public schools, 3, with 136 scholars, were supported by
general or local taxation; 18, with 1264 scholars, were
supported by endowments; and 51 schools, with 3554
scholars, were supported by religious bodies. There were
also 312 Sunday schools, with 23,001 scholars (11,612
males, and 11,389 females); and 6 evening schools, with
130 scholars. English is more spoken in this county than
Welsh, owing probably to its manufacturing industry.
MONTI, Vincenzo, an eminent Italian poet, was born in
the Romagna on the 19th of February 1754. He received
his elementary education at the seminary of Faenza, where
he acquired an extensive knowledge of the Latin language,
and became passionately attached to the Roman poets.
By his father he was destined to follow the profession of
agriculture ; but as he continued to evince a predilection for
literature, the elder Monti sent the youthful poet to the
university of Ferrara to study law or medicine. Young
MON
MON
519
Monti ultimately resigned himself wholly to the cultivation
of literature and poetry. His first Italian poem was en¬
titled, The Prophecy of Jacob ; and although an unequal
production, it contains some vigorous, and even sublime
passages. About this time the perusal of Dante opened up
to him new and splendid views of the grand old style of his
native land, and henceforth the bard of the Divina Corn-
media became his model and his master. His admiration
of Dante bordered on idolatry, and catching a portion of
the inspiration of that great poet, he wrote the Vision of
Ezekiel, in which he displayed that grandeur of imagery
and fluent command of language which distinguish his com¬
positions. Monti was at this time scarcely eighteen years
of age. His genius attracted the notice of Cardinal Bor-
ghese, who conducted him to Rome. Here he extended his
knowledge of the classics, and his acquaintance with the
learned ; but it was not until 1780 that public attention was
directed to him. The compositions which he recited on
the occasion of the celebration of the quinquennali of Pius
VI. drew forth such general applause, that Don Luigi
Braschi, the Pope’s nephew, made him his private secretary.
His next composition of any importance was his tragedy of
Aristodemo, written, it is said, to rival the Virginia of
Alfieri, which he had heard the poet read before a literary
club. The very great success of his Aristodemo induced
Monti to write another drama, entitled Galeotto Manfredi,
which proved an entire failure. His genius was not dra¬
matic, but lyrical; and highly-wrought imaginative rhapso¬
dies were more in accordance with the natural bias of his
mind, than the concatenation of plots and the delineation of
human passion.
Monti being attached to the papal court when the revo¬
lutionary Basseville was stabbed in the streets of Rome,
laid hold of this circumstance, and celebrated at once the
repentance of Basseville and the decapitation of Louis
XVI. in a poem entitled the Basvilliana. This produc¬
tion is entirely supernatural in its construction. The soul
of the murdered man, like the body of Moses, is contended
for by the angel of God and the enemy of mankind ; and
although the former is triumphant, yet the disembodied
spirit of the republican is doomed for a certain period to
hover about the banks of the Seine, and to witness all the
atrocities which are there perpetrated. The subject is
treated with great power, and the imagery with which
the poem is adorned is in the highest degree original and
majestic. As a whole, it approached more nearly to the
grandeur and sublime daring of Dante than anything which
had been produced for centuries ; and the fame of Monti
rose above all rivalry. But the tide of French republi¬
canism having now set in upon Italy, entirely changed the
aspect of affairs in that country, and brought Monti into
close contact with some of Napoleon’s generals. To this
circumstance we must attribute the admiration which the
poet began to entertain for the French hero, and the lively
anticipations of good to be derived by his country from the
new order of things which were awakened in his mind.
The enthusiasm of Monti hurried him away with the general
current in which so many ardent young hearts were borne
along.
In a mythological poem entitled Musogonia, he paid
court to Napoleon ; and in a still finer production, Pro-
meteo, he enthusiastically celebrates the triumphs of the
Gallic chief, at the same time pouring out the vials of his
wrath upon England. On the decay of the Napoleonic in¬
fluence in Italy, Monti was compelled to seek refuge be¬
yond the Alps, where he fell into a state of the most de¬
plorable destitution. The return of Napoleon, however,
and his new victories in Italy, afforded Monti an oppor¬
tunity of partially retrieving his fortunes. He returned to
Milan, and there published his poem, the Mascheroniana,
he chief object of which is to bind new wreaths of victory
around the brow of Napoleon. Shortly afterwards, Monti Monti-
produced a third tragedy, entitled Cains Gracchus ; and villiers
in 1802, an ode, in which he calls upon his military idol to
place himself at the head of the Italian people, which Bona- rccy,
parte did not long hesitate to do. The rewards of the i.
poet were, first, a professorship at Pavia, and, a few years
subsequently, a number of offices and honours at Milan.
In 1805, when Napoleon was crowned king of Italy, the
event was celebrated by Monti in a poem called II Beni-
ficio. Indeed, every fresh victory and new conquest of
the Emperor of France afforded a theme for the courtly
muse of the Italian poet. The triumph of Jena resounded
in his ode entitled the Spada di Federico ; the attempted
usurpation of the Spanish throne was sung in the Palin-
genesi; and various other conquests were celebrated in
numerous odes and hymns. Besides these works, he finished,
in less than two years, a translation of the Iliad, which,
without possessing much spirit, is considered elegant and
faithful.
The overthrow of Napoleon in 1814 deprived Monti of
all his public employments ; and after this period, although
he composed an occasional poem, his labours were chiefly
confined to prose. The principal of these are, considera¬
tions on the difficulty of properly translating the poetry of
the Iliad, and several dialogues on the Italian language,
full of wit and acute criticism. By an order of govern¬
ment to reform the national dictionary, his attention was for
a time engrossed with the subject of language. He under¬
took a crusade against the Della Cruscans, attacking their
decisions with the utmost vigour and no common success.
He continued to reside at Milan ; and in 1823 he once more
turned his thoughts to poetry. He restored the true read¬
ing of the Convito of Dante, wrote an idyl on the nuptials
of Cadmus, and then contemplated the completion of the
Feroniade, a poem which he had begun many years before.
He had nearly accomplished his design when death put a
final period to his labours on the 13th October 1828, in
the seventy-fourth year of his age. (j.f. s.)
MONTIVILLIERS, a town of France, department of
Seine-Inferieure, pleasantly situated at the head of the fer¬
tile valley of the Lezarde, 6 miles N.E. of Havre. Many
of the houses are of wood, and have an antique and pic¬
turesque appearance; but the beauty of the town arises
chiefly from the clear stream which flows through it, and
the trees by which it is surrounded. The church, which is
in the Romanesque style of architecture, formerly belonged
to a Benedictine abbey of the seventh century. Manufactures
of cotton and woollen stuffs, lace, paper, leather, and sugar
are carried on here. There is also some trade in corn,
cattle, groceries, &c. Pop. 4195.
MONTLUCON, a town of France, capital of an arron-
dissement of the same name, in the department of Allier, is
situated near the Cher, here crossed by a stone bridge, 39
miles S.W. of Moulins. It is well built on the slope of a
hill, the summit of which is crowned by the remains of a
castle, formerly a place of much strength. Manufactures of
linen, serge, candles, &c., are carried on ; and there is some
trade in cattle and agricultural produce. Pop. (1851) 8810.
MONTMORENCY, Anne de, constable of France,
was descended from one of the most ancient French
families, and was born at Chantilly in 1493. He was
brought up along with the young Dauphin, afterwards
Francis L, and on the accession of that prince he was
raised to an influential position. He was not long in
proving himself worthy of his good fortune. His chival¬
rous valour was conspicuous in several campaigns, and
gained for him a marshal’s baton in 1522, soon alter the
outbreak of the war against Charles V. Contrary to his
advice, however, the battle of Pavia was fought in 1525,
and he found himself in consequence a prisoner, along with
his sovereign, in the hands of the Emperor. On being
520 MON
Montmo- ransomed, he contributed in no small degree to effect the
rency. release of his royal master. But as Francis I. refused to
fulfil the conditions of his liberation, Montmorency was in
course of time called upon to defend France against
Charles V. Fie continued by his skilful manoeuvres to
harass and repel the enemy till war was superseded by
negotiation. As a reward for these services, the office of
constable of France was conferred upon him in 1538. In
this lofty position, the austerity of his morals and the
roughness of his manners appeared in greater prominence,
and excited against him much dislike at court. It is not
surprising, therefore, that he was disgraced in 1541. He
bore his exile with great magnanimity, until the accession
of Henri II., in 1547, recalled him to his office of constable,
and to greater influence than ever. His military talents
were called into requisition in 1557, to relieve St Quentin
from a besieging army of Spaniards. But a hazardous plan,
which he had begun to execute, for the purpose of entering
the city, failed, and left him wounded and a prisoner in the
hands of the enemy. As an aggravation of this misfortune,
he discovered, when he was released at the peace of 1559,
that the Guises, during his absence, had been supplanting
him in the favour of the King. The death of Henri II.,
and the accession of Francis II., in that same year, com-
pleted his disgrace. He returned to court, however, on
the accession of Charles IX., and played an important part
in the struggle which was then beginning to convulse
France. His firm devotion to the Catholic religion in¬
duced him to make common cause with his former enemy,
the Duke of Guise, against the Prince of Conde and the
King of Navarre, the leaders of the Huguenots. In the
civil war that followed in 1562, he gained the victory of
Dreux over Conde, but was himself made a prisoner. On
his release in the subsequent year, he expelled the Eng¬
lish from Havre. In 1567 the civil struggle was renewed,
and Montmorency once more encountered the Protestants
on the plains of St Denis. His troops were already in the
full pursuit of victory when he received a mortal wound.
He died on the 12th of November 1567.
Montmorency, Henri II. Hue de, grandson of the
preceding, was born at Chantilly in 1595. His career
began under the most favourable circumstances. He was
the godson of Henri IV., and was constantly receiving
marks of the royal affection. Flis illustrious name, his
winning manners, his generous spirit, and his chivalrous
valour, rendered him at an early age the darling of the
court and the people. Plardly had he attained his eigh¬
teenth year when Louis XIII. raised him to the office of
admiral. Yet his good fortune was not greater than his
desert. He wrested several important places from the
Protestants, and was present at the sieges of Montauban
and Monpellier. On the renewal of the cival war in 1625,
the fleet sent from Holland to the aid of the French King
was placed under his command. Kindling the lukewarm
Dutch soldiers by his fiery enthusiasm, he captured at their
head the Isles of Rhe and Oleron. He then in 1628
measured his strength in Languedoc against the Due de
Rohan, and was not worsted in the contest with that famous
leader of the Huguenots. His brightest laurels, however,
were won during the following year in the war against
the Spaniards in Piedmont. Falling in with an army under
Doria at Veillane, he charged across a ditch at the head
of the gendarmes of the King, struck down the hostile
general with his own hand, and fought like a common
soldier until the enemy was completely driven from the
field. This brilliant victory was followed by the raising of
the siege of Casal, and the appointment of Montmorency
to the rank of Marshal of France. In the height of his
fame and influence he was now solicited to join the op¬
ponents of Cardinal Richelieu. His pride, pampered by so
many successes, was quick to incite him to hostility against
M 0 N
one who was so deadly a foe of the nobility ; and he rushed Montmo.
into open rebellion with his characteristic impetuosity. In riflou
his character of governor of Languedoc, he raised levies of II
troops and money in 1632, and, after forming a junction
with Gaston, Duke of Orleans, saw himself at the head of y
an army of six or seven thousand. Negotiation was tried
in vain ; and in September Montmorency was confronted
at Castelnaudary by an army under La Force and Schom-
berg. At this crisis he forgot the caution of the general
in the headlong valour of the soldier. Bursting into the
royal camp at the head of a few horsemen, he cut his way
through six ranks of infantry amidst a continued shower of
shot, and fought against overwhelming numbers, until his
horse dropped dead, and left him in the power of his
enemies. He was doomed to death by the inexorable
Richelieu, as an example to the rest of the plotting nobility.
In vain was his life begged by all ranks throughout France.
The only palliation of punishment that could be obtained
from Louis XIII. was that the execution should be in pri¬
vate. Montmorency was therefore beheaded in the Hotel
de Ville of Toulouse in October 1632.
MONTMORILLON, a town of France, capital of an
arrondissement of the same name, in the department of
Vienne, is situated on both sides of the Gartempe, 27
miles S.E. of Poitiers. It was formerly a strong place,
and still contains the remains of an old castle, part of
which is now used as an ecclesiastical college. The town
possesses a few paper-mills and bleachfields, and it has some
trade in cattle. Pop. 4400.
MONTOIR, a town of France, in the department of
Loire-Inferieure, 11 miles W. of Savenay. The manu¬
facture of vitriol is carried on here ; and large quantities of
peat are obtained in the neighbourhood. Pop. 4500.
MONTORO, a town of Spain, in the province of Cor¬
dova, is situated on a rocky eminence, nearly surrounded
by the Guadalquivir, 27 miles N.E. of Cordova. It is
closely built; but the streets, though narrow and steep,
are well paved and lighted. The town has a market-place
and four public squares ; a parish church, with a Gothic
front and a lofty tower; another church ; a town-house ;
an hospital; and several educational institutions. There
are quarries and mines in the neighbourhood, but these are
not now worked. The town has several flour and oil mills ;
and the principal article of export is oil. Pop. 10,732.
MONTPELIER, a town of Vermont, in the United
States of North America, capital of the county of Washing¬
ton, is situated on both sides of the Onion River, 200 miles
N.W. of Boston, and 85 S.E. of Montreal. The principal
edifice in the town is the State House, built of granite in
the form of a cross, 150 feet in length by 100 in breadth,
and surmounted by a dome 100 feet high. The portico in
front has six pillars, each 6 feet in diameter and 36 in height.
The cost of this magnificent building was about L.60,000.
Montpelier has also a court-house, five churches, two banks,
and five newspaper offices. The trade is considerable;
and the town is connected by a branch with the great line
of railway between the Atlantic and the St Lawrence.
Pop. (1850) 2310.
MONTPELLIER, a town of France, capital of the de¬
partment of Herault, is situated on an eminence on the
right bank of the Lez, 30 miles S.W. of Nimes, and 17
N.W. of Cette, the port of this town. It is irregularly
built, with narrow, steep, but generally clean streets;
and the houses are mostly well built. The public places
are for the most part small in size and irregular in form ;
and the public buildings are unworthy of so large a town.
The latter consist chiefly of a cathedral, with no preten¬
sions to beauty or interest; an exchange, with a fine Co¬
rinthian colonnade; a court-house; a medical school, &c.
Of the fortifications with which the town was once sur¬
rounded there are now few remains, except the citadel and
MON
MON
521
some of the gates; the ancient ditches being now occupied
by boulevards, which, along with the esplanade between
the citadel and the town, and the Promenade de Peyrou,
occupying the summit of the hill at the other end, serve as
public walks for the recreation and amusement of the inha¬
bitants. The last of these, which forms the chief attraction
of the town, but is perhaps overpraised when it is regarded
as one of the finest public walks in Europe, consists of
shady avenues and neat parterres, adorned with fountains
and pieces of sculpture. It is surrounded by balustrades,
and has a fine Doric arch at its entrance, an equestrian statue
of Louis XIV. in the centre, and a Corinthian building of
hexagonal form, called the Chateau d’Eau, at its further
extremity. This edifice forms the terminus of an aqueduct,
about 5 miles in length, raised for the distance of 2896 feet
upon a double tier of arches, which conveys water for the
use of the town, and supplies the numerous fountains which
adorn it in different places. Montpellier is distinguished
for its school of medicine, which was founded in the twelfth
century by the Arabs who were expelled from Spain. This
institution, which now occupies the old episcopal palace,
is celebrated as the place where Rabelais studied medicine
and took the degree of doctor; and it now rivals in ex¬
cellence and fame the medical school of Paris. It has
large anatomical collections, and a library of 35,000 volumes
and 600 MSS. The botanic garden of Montpellier, the
earliest collection of the sort in France, was established in
the reign of Henri IV.; and having been for some time
under the superintendence of the celebrated De Candolle,
who was professor of botany at Montpellier, it is now one
of the best arranged in France. Montpellier has also seve¬
ral hospitals, which are both large and well managed.
Among the other celebrities of the town must be noticed
the collection of paintings contained in the Musee Fabre,
an institution founded in 1825 by an artist of that name
who was born here. It includes, besides the picture
gallery, a library of 15,000 volumes, including those which
once belonged to Alfieri. The manufactures of Mont¬
pellier are considerable, and some of them, such as that
of verdigris, which is obtained by placing plates of copper
between grape husks, are carried on in few other places.
There are, among other establishments, cotton and woollen
factories, dye-works, paper-mills, distilleries, breweries,
sugar-houses, and chemical works for the making of alum,
Prussian blue, &c. An active and extensive trade is car¬
ried on with the port of Cette, and with the neighbouring
towns and villages. The principal articles of export, besides
the produce of the manufactures, are wine, oil, fruits, wool,
and other rural produce. Montpellier enjoys a great repu¬
tation, especially in the north, as having a very temperate
and healthy climate, and is frequently recommended as a
residence for invalids; but though the heat is not so intense
nor the air so close as at Marseilles, yet the temperature is
very changeable, from the scorching glare of sunshine to the
cold breezes of the mistral. The advantages of this town
seem to have been exaggerated, both in respect of the
salubrity of its climate and of the beauty and retirement of
its situation. Towards the end of the eighth century, when
the neighbouring city of Magueleonne embraced the side of
the Saracens, and w7as in consequence destroyed by Charles
Martel, Montpellier, which seems to have been formerly
a small village, was first raised into the position of an
important town, governed by hereditary lords under the
bishops of Magueleonne. In the two following centuries
the lords of Montpellier were not a little distinguished in
the Crusades and other wars with the Infidels ; while the
town is represented as vying as a place of trade with the
chief cities of that age. In 1202 the or Iship of Montpel¬
lier passed by inheritance to the family of Aragon, and
afterwards to a younger branch of that family, who were
also Kings of Majorca. It was purchased in 1350 by Philip
VOL. xv.
VI. of France from James III. of Majorca, for 200,000 Montreal,
crowns of gold. It was conferred by Charles V. on Charles
of Navarre, in exchange for certain other lordships ; but in
1578 the possessions of that monarch were confiscated for
high treason, and Montpellier returned into the possession
of France. The town still remained, however, distinct from
the rest of France in its language and customs; and all
the Kings of France, till the time of Louis XL, had to visit
it in person in order to secure its allegiance. At the Re¬
formation a great number of the inhabitants embraced the
side of the Huguenots. In 1622 the town was attacked by
Louis XIII., and after a siege of two months, surrendered;
after which event the citadel was built to keep the town in
subjection. Montpellier was the birthplace of Cambaceres
and Cambon, who played an important part in the first
French revolution ; of the historian Darn ; of the chemist
Chaptal; and of several other distinguished characters.
Pop. (1851) 40,222.
MONTREAL, a town of Lower Canada, capital of a
cognominal county, and the largest city in British Ame¬
rica, is situated on a triangular-shaped island of about
30 miles in length and 7 in breadth, at the confluence
of the Rivers St Lawrence, and Ottawa, N. Lat. 45. 32.
22., and W. Long. 73. 32. 46. It was founded in 1642,
and called Ville Marie, by a French company, which had
for its object the conversion and civilization of the Indian
tribes. During fifty years the settlers were harassed by the
treacherous attacks of the Iroquois ; but by a heroic resist¬
ance they at length succeeded in securing the tranquillity
of the colony. On the 8th September 1760 Montreal was
finally delivered up to the British, in whose hands it has since
remained in peaceful possession. The town was then de¬
fended by some old fortifications, but these were demo¬
lished about the beginning of the present century, and re¬
placed by wide and substantial streets. In 1815 the city
scarcely contained 15,000 inhabitants ; now its population
is estimated at 75,000, and is steadily increasing.
The St Lawrence, on the left bank of which Montreal
is situated,has a length of 742 miles above the city, and links
together the celebrated combination of lakes which con¬
tain the largest amount of navigable fresh water on the
surface of the globe ; their total area being 98,000 square
miles; while the extent of their coasts, if stretched out in a
straight line, would measure upwards of 6000 miles.
The River Ottawa, which joins the St Lawrence both
above and below the town, drains an area of about 80,000
square miles; and Montreal being the highest point to
which the St Lawrence is navigable for sea-going vessels
drawing 18 feet of water, it may be considered as the chief
port of the great St Lawrence system.
The city is situated on the left bank of the St Lawrence,
300 miles from its mouth, and stands at the footof an isolated
hill, from which it takes its name. This eminence is com¬
posed of trap, which bursts through the Lower Silurian
limestone of the vicinity, and rises to the height of 750
feet above the harbour. The slopes at its base are beauti¬
fully studded with orchards and villas, those on the side next
the river gradually mingling with the buildings of the city.
The city occupies an area of 7 or 8 square miles. Its
principal streets run parallel with the bank of the river; and
all the public edifices, with a large proportion of the pri¬
vate dwellings, are built of cut limestone, derived from ex¬
tensive quarries in the immediate neighbourhood. The
majority of the houses, however, are of brick, roofed with
tin, which from a distance produces a sparkling effect on
the landscape.
The views from the mountain behind the city are very
striking and beautiful. From the one side, looking to the
upper end of the island, the eye takes in a fine expan¬
sion of the St Lawrence, called Lake St Louis, with a
portion of the Lake of Two Mountains, backed by the
3 u
522 MONT
Montreal, hills which give it name. A well-cultivated and wooded
j-mmJ district stretches to the westward and north-westward, watered
by the Ottawa, and bounded at a distance of about 30 miles
by the Laurentian Hills.
On the east side of the mountain, on the other hand,
the city occupies the foreground, adorned with the steeples
of its numerous churches, and inclosed by the St Lawience,
which has here a breadth of from 1 to 2 miles. Above the
city the bed of the river is occupied by Nun’s and St
Helen’s Islands, the latter rising to a height of 150 feet.
In the interval between these islets the great \ ictoiia
brido-e is in course of erection, for the purpose of connect¬
ing Montreal Island with the mainland, and completing
the links of the Grand Trunk Railroad. This stupen¬
dous bridge, which when finished in 1859 will be the
largest in the world, is to be of the following dimensions :
 Xts total length will measure 10,384 feet; the span of each
of the twenty-five arches will be 242 feet, with the excep¬
tion of the centre one over the navigable channel, which
will measure 330 feet. In this arch the height from the
water-level of the river to the floor of the iron tube will be
60 feet. The limestone masonry, with rock-faced ashler
work, will contain 2,900,000 cubic feet; the iron tube will
w^eigh 10,400 tons; and the cost of the whole is to amount
to L.l,250,000 sterling.
From the east side of the river, opposite Montreal,
there extends a wide champaign country, the natural fer¬
tility of which is attested by the fact, that a large part of
1,000,000 bushels of wheat, exported from Lower Ca¬
nada so early as the year 1801, was derived from it.
This flat region is thickly studded with farm houses, and
it is broken by a number of isolated trap mountains. Be¬
yond these a prolongation of the Green Mountains of Ver¬
mont are visible, some of them attaining here a height of
about 4000 feet above the St Lawrence. Some excellent
roofing slates and beautiful white granite are found in the
ridge, and are now partially used in the city.
At Montreal, and nearly all the way down to Lake St
Peter, the channel of the St Lawrence is scooped out of
a black bituminous shale; while 2 or 3 miles above the
town this shale is cut by trap dykes, and becomes inter¬
calated with trap beds. The river, changing its upward
bearing from southward to westward, here crosses the stra¬
tification, and its wearing action having been resisted by
the superior toughness of the trap and the solidity ot the
limestone, a natural dyke is formed, which keeps the Lake
St Louis at a higher level by 44 feet than the harbour of
Montreal, and gives origin to the Lachine or St Louis
rapids. In these the whole body of the river, contracted
to half a mile, rushes with a rapidity of 18 miles an hour;
and although they are navigable downwards for steamers
drawing 10 feet, they of course present an insuperable
barrier to any ascent of the stream being attempted.
To obviate this and similar obstructions to the naviga¬
tion, a magnificent system of canals has been established,
called the St Lawrence Canals. These are nine in number,
and 42 miles in length. Twenty-seven locks occur in
the system, by which a rise of 205 feet is obtained, and
which are capable of floating vessels ot 200 feet in length
by 45 feet in breadth, and drawing 9 feet of water. 1 he
lowest section, which avoids the Lachine rapids, com¬
mences at the port of Montreal, and, with a length of 9
miles, reaches Lake St Louis at Lachine, opposite Caugh-
nawaga. The town, however, is otherwise benefited by
the sudden fall of the river here, as great facility is
thereby afforded for an ample supply of fresh water being
conveyed into the city. By means of the new water¬
works the w'ater is brought from the St Lawrence about
H mile above the Lachine rapids, at an elevation of
37 feet above Montreal harbour, and conducted tor 5
miles along an open canal, 43 feet w ide by 8 in depth, to the
REAL.
pumping machinery, where it is forced up to reservoirs Montreal
excavated out of the solid rock 205 feet above the level
of the harbour, and which contain about 15,000,000 gal¬
lons of water. Gas-light is also abundantly supplied by a
company incorporated in 1847, who had laid down a
length of pipe in 1855 of 34 miles. What most attracts
the stranger, however, in Montreal is the number of its
public buildings, which could well be compared with those
of any town of similar size in the New World. Of
these the greater number are for religious or charitable
purposes. One of the largest Catholic churches was
consumed in the great conflagration of the 8th July
1852, which destroyed one-third of the city. The Eng¬
lish cathedral was also destroyed by fire in December
1856. Preparations are now made for the rebuilding
of both churches on a much larger scale. The Catholic
parish church, which was opened for public worship
in 1829, is one of the finest sacred edifices in North
America. It measures 241 feet in length by 135 feet
in breadth, and is surmounted by twm lofty towers, which
rise to the height of 213 feet. The cost of the whole
building amounted to L.80,000. A chime of bells be¬
longing to this church is much admired, particularly the
great bell, which weighs 25,000 lb., and was cast in
London twelve years ago by Mears. Besides these
there are other Catholic churches—that of St James’,
erected on the ground of the ancient cathedral of Notre-
Dame; Bonsecours and Recollet for the French Cana¬
dians ; and St Patrick’s and St Ann’s for the Irish, who
form one-third of the Catholic population. Of the Pro¬
testant churches the most remarkable are St George’s,
St Andrew’s (a fine Gothic edifice), the Wesleyan church
in Great St James’ Street, Zion church, and St Thomas’s.
These, with the new Unitarian and other places of worship,
among which is the Jews’ synagogue, impart an elegance to
the architecture of the city. Among the charitable institu¬
tions there are the Hotel Dieu, whose origin dates as far back
as that of the colony itself; and St Patrick’s Hospital, abranch
of the same, both of which are attended by the nuns of St
Joseph de la Fleche, who receive and assist the sick. The
General Hospital, founded in 1747 by Madame d’Youville,
is attended by the Gray Nuns, who receive foundlings, or¬
phans, and infirm persons; and who also have lately opened
two other asylums in the interior of the city. The House
of Providence is also open for aged and infirm persons.
The English General Hospital, maintained by the liberality
of government, and erected in a salubrious situation, is a
very fine edifice, open to Catholics as vvell as Protestants,
and to which deceased merchants of the city have left large
sums of money. The Protestant Orphan Asylum, the
Protestant Industrial House of Refuge, the University
Lying-in Hospital, the Seamen’s Friend Society, with many
others, have rendered the greatest service to the community,
and are well supported by the people. Of litei'ary and edu¬
cational institutions, there are few cities in North America
which afford such easy and abundant means of education as
Montreal. Without mentioning a number of private schools,
there is M‘Gill College, founded by the Hon. James M‘Gill,
a merchant in Montreal, who died in 1813, bequeathing to
the institution, which was to bear his name, L.10,000, and
the estate of Burnside, of 46 acres, within the city. Liti¬
gation, however, having ensued as to the validity of the
bequest, which was left in trust to the “ Royal Institution
for the Advancement of Learning,” it was settled in 1835
by a decision of the Privy Council. The bequest or
L.10,000 amounted then to L.22,000, of which L.15,000
were expended on buildings. In 1852 Her ^Majesty, by a
new charter, appointed the members of flie “ Royal Insti¬
tution of Learning” governors of this university ex officio ;
and in 1856 a sum of about L.15,000 was subsetibed by
the citizens of Montreal for its advancement and extension,
MONT
jctreal. of which L.5000 were given by the Messrs Molson for the
support of the “Molson Professorship of History and Eng¬
lish Literature.” The university is now in a flourishing
condition, and has a principal, 5 professors of law, 9 of me¬
dicine, and 9 of arts, besides a high-school department,
with a rector and 9 assistant-masters. The number of
students was, in 1856, of law, 16; medicine, 96; arts, 54;
and high school, 225 ; while the total number of volumes
contained in the library amounted to 4036. The Montreal
college, founded by the priests of St Sulspice a hundred
years ago, and St Mungo’s college, established a few years
since by the Jesuits, number each about 200 students.
There are also two normal schools, established in 1857.
The M‘Gill normal school is under the direction of the
corporation of the university of M‘Gill college. It is
designed for the Protestant population of Lower Canada,
and the instruction given is principally in the English lan¬
guage, although French is also taught. The Jacques
Cartier normal school is also situated in Montreal, and is
designed for the Roman Catholics of the surrounding
districts. The instruction given is principally in the French
language, but English is also taught. On the ground for¬
merly occupied by the Mountain Fort, and commanding one
of the most enchanting views in Canada, is erected a new
theological Catholic seminary, an edifice of considerable di¬
mensions. Besides these, there are the Canadian Institute for
the French Canadians; the Mechanic’s Institution, a build¬
ing in the Italian style ; and the Mercantile Library Asso¬
ciation, the latter principally composed of young men act¬
ing as clerks in mercantile establishments. It is furnished
with a library consisting of above 3000 volumes; and lectures
on various subjects are delivered in its hall during the winter
months. The national societies, so specially illustrative of
colonial life, are likewise worthy of mention. They con¬
sist of the associations of St Andrew, St George, St Jean
Baptiste, St Patrick, and New England, and have for their
object the relief of such of their members as may become
reduced in circumstances.
The only public monument in the city is one erected to
Lord Nelson. It is situated in the market-place, is 60
feet in height, and is surmounted by a colossal statue of
the hero. The Montreal Merchants’ Exchange, the new
post-office, and the several banks are all elegant buildings,
and of various styles of architecture. The markets are well
supplied with commodities; the largest of them are the
Bonsecour’s and the St Ann’s. The town supports seven
daily newspapers printed in English, and one daily in
French; two French and one English semUweekly paper;
and three English weekly; besides sixteen other periodi¬
cals, published monthly and quarterly, on theological, medi¬
cal, and literary subjects.
The commerce of Montreal, although it has from time
to time received severe checks, has, in the aggregate,
rapidly increased; and when the advantages of its posi¬
tion are considered, the ultimate importance of this city
appears certain and immediate. As late as 1847 all Cana¬
dian produce was protected in the British markets. But
in that year the differential duties were repealed, and the
St Lawrence, which up to that time enjoyed a monopoly
of Canadian trade, had to enter into competition with the
United States; and the Drawback or Bonding Bill having
at the same time come into operation there, the people of
Western Canada were enabled to import foreign goods, or
send their own produce through the United States in bond.
On account of this change of commercial policy, and with¬
out the advantages arising from a repeal of the Naviga¬
tion Laws, as now in force, the trade of Montreal suffered
severely. The imports and exports, which in 1846 amounted
to L.2,845,008, declined in 1849 to L.2,013,478; but in
1856 the value of imports and exports at the port amounted
to L.4,992,565. A rivalry now exists between the state of
K E A L. 523
New York on the one hand and East Canada on the other, Montreal,
as to which shall be successful in attracting the trade of
Upper Canada and the Western States of the Union, to
New York on the Atlantic, or to Montreal on the St Law¬
rence. The merchants of this port are well aware of the
measures necessary to command success. The shoals
which obstructed Lake St Peter and other parts of the
river between Quebec and Montreal have been removed,
and the depth of water increased throughout from 11 feet to
18 feet at the lowest water ; while it is expected that in 1859
the channel from Montrealto the sea will be brought to a depth
of 20 feet at the lowest water, and a width of 300 feet. The
magnitude of this work can be estimated by the fact that,
when completed, 5,074,491 cubic yards of silt will have
been removed. Sailing vessels of 2000 tons, and steamers
of 3000 tons, will then be able to enter the port of Montreal
from the sea. New docks are also projected for the accom¬
modation of such vessels; and with storehouses connected
therewith, such facilities will be obtained for the ocean and
western vessels exchanging their cargoes as cannot be ex¬
celled at any other port in North America. Montreal is
300 miles nearer Liverpool than the port of New York,
and is nearer also to any port in Upper Canada, or in the
Western States, than that city. At present, however, the
shipping of Montreal is exceeded by that of Quebec, and
many vessels from the former port are re-cleared at the
latter, and vice versa. In 1854 an aggregate seaward ton¬
nage of 72,305 entered Montreal, against 59,712 in the pre¬
ceding year; and an aggregate seaward tonnage of 73,917
cleared from the port in 1854, against 59,902 in 1853.
By railway Montreal is connected with all the most
important points. The Grand Trunk Railroad extends
from St Thomas (30 miles below Quebec), and from Port¬
land (Maine) to Montreal, and from thence to Stratford,
having a total mileage of 850 miles. The Champlain Rail¬
road extends from St Lambert, opposite Montreal, to
Rouse’s Point, in Lake Champlain, a distance of 45 miles.
The Montreal and New York Railroad, including distance
by ferry, extends from Montreal to the Province line, a
distance of 39 miles; and these railroads, with the Great
Western Railroad from Niagara Falls and Hamilton to
Windsor on the Detroit River, place Montreal in commu¬
nication with Quebec, Portland, and all ports of the United
States. In addition to these advantages, Montreal is the
terminus of the Canadian line of ocean steamships, now
running every fortnight between Montreal and Liverpool,
and also under contract to run in 1859 every week during
the period of navigation, and once every fortnight during
w’inter, to Portland. Lines of telegraph are in connection
with all parts of Canada and of the United States ; while a
bill has been obtained by the Montreal Telegraph Company
to carry a wire down the St Lawrence, to connect at New¬
foundland with the projected cable across the Atlantic.
Another work which must result greatly to the benefit of
Montreal, is the construction of a ship canal from the St
Lawrence, near the town, into Lake Champlain. The dis¬
tance is about 28 miles. This would tend more than any
other public work to give important advantages to the St
Lawrence route.
Montreal is also the seat of a large manufacturing in¬
terest, and from the immense water-power, in the fall
of 44 feet of the St Lawrence within a distance of 7
miles, it is evident that manufactures within and near the
city must rapidly extend. At present the only water¬
power is furnished from the Lachine Canal, and here seve¬
ral thousand men are employed in cotton and woollen mills,
edge-tool factories, boiler and engine works, saw-mills, sash,
blind, and door factories, Indian-rubber, rope and cordage,
nail, axe, and shovel factories. The manufacture of boots
and shoes is likewise carried on to a large extent.
The value of assessed property in 1856 was L.6,391,333
524 MON
Montrose, and the revenue of the town from all sources L.71,258.
The city is divided into nine wards, and is municipally
governed by a mayor, aldermen, and council, elected by
householders who pay an annual rent of ten pounds sterling^
or upwards, or persons who own real estate producing halt
that amount of rent annually. The city returns three
members to the provincial Parliament. Pop. (1851) 57,715,
and in 1857 about 75,000. (J- Y-)
MONTROSE, a royal and parliamentary burgh and
seaport-town of Scotland, Forfarshire, 30 miles N-E. of
Dundee; 56. 42. N. Lat., and 2. 28. W. Long. It is situ¬
ated on the west side of a narrow sandy peninsula formed
by the German Ocean on the E., the South Esk River on
the S., and on the W. by a large basin not less than 7
miles in circumference, into which the tide, flowing up the
South Esk, spreads itself after passing the town. This
“ basin” becomes dry at low-water; but its alternate filling
and emptying as the tide ebbs and flows has an important
effect in scouring and deepening the harbour. On the east
side of the town, and between it and the sea, are exten¬
sive links or downs, belonging to the community of the
burgh, and forming one of the finest golfing-grounds in
Scotland. The town is in general well built, is lighted
with gas, and amply supplied with excellent water, brought
from the valley of the North Esk, 3 miles distant. The
principal street extends, under various names, the whole
length of the town; and the centre part of it, named the
High Street, is spacious, and contains many elegant build¬
ings. An excellent statue of Sir Robert Peel is one of the
finest ornaments of this street, and another of Mr Hume is
about to be erected. From the east side of this main street
run several cross streets, which connect it with the different
smaller streets and buildings lying in that direction. The
town-house, which stands in the High Street, is a handsome
edifice of three storeys, with an arcade below, and contains
the council-room, guild-hall, court-room, news-room, and
public library. Besides this, Montrose contains numerous
public buildings, among which are two churches belonging
to the Establishment, two to the Free Church, two to the
United Presbyterian, and one each to the Independent,
Methodist, and Scottish Episcopalian denominations. A
chapel belonging to the English Episcopalians, burnt down
in 1857, is shortly to be replaced by a commodious place
of worship. The Baptists and Glassites have each a small
place of worship. The old lunatic asylum in the Links,
erected in 1780, is about to be sold, and a new one is in
course of erection 2 miles from the town, at a cost of about
L.25,000, and with accommodation for 400 patients. A
spacious infirmary was erected in 1837; and in 1833 a com¬
modious jail, adjoining which a police-office has since been
built. Dorward’s House of Refuge for the Destitute, built
in 1839, and endowed by Mr William Dorward, affords
accommodation for about 200 paupers. The Academy, a
fine edifice, erected 1814, has a rector, an English teacher,
2 assistant teachers, a writing and a drawing master. Dor-
ward’s seminary, originally erected by the seven incorpo¬
rated trades in 1832, but subsequently endow’ed by William
Dorward, is now under the charge of his trustees. Besides
these, there are two endowed free schools—White’s, having
100 boys; and Miss Straton’s, with 42 boys and 35 girls.
There are also an infant and several private and denomina¬
tional schools. There are two subscription libraries, the
one having about 10,800 volumes, the other, supported
chiefly by the working-classes, 3000 volumes. A news¬
paper was established in 1811, named the Montrose, Ar¬
broath, and Brechin Review, which is published every Friday
morning; and another in 1837, also published on Friday,
called the Montrose Standard. A branch railway to Dub ton,
two miles distant, connects the town with the Scottish N.E.
Railroad. The great northern turnpike crosses the South
Esk by means of two bridges; one of stone, with a revolving
MON
drawbridge in the centre, on the S. side of the small island Montrose,
of Inchbrayock; the other a magnificent suspension-bridge,
from Inchbrayock to the N. side of the river. It was de¬
signed by Captain Brown, the patentee of chain cables,
and finished at a cost of about L.20,000. The founda¬
tion-stone was laid on the 18th of September 1828. The
distance between the towers at the two extremities of the
bridge, measuring from the centre of each, is 432 feet.
There are four main chains, supported by two strong
towers, 71 feet in height, and these form the grand entrance
to the bridge on each side, through an archway 16 feet
wide by 18 feet high. A pontage is levied at the bridge.
In 1838 a large portion of the roadway of this bridge was
blown down; after which it was much strengthened and
improved. The harbour is formed by the outlet of the
River South Esk, the channel up to the quays being 172
yards in width by 15 feet in depth at neap tides. A wet
dock was constructed in 1839, 3^ acres in extent, with 19£
feet of water in spring, and 16 in neap tides, over the sill.
There are two good lighthouses between the harbour and
the sea, and a patent slip for repairing vessels. The har¬
bour-dues for year ending May 1857 amounted to L.4301.
On 31st December 1856 there were 96 vessels, of 15,292
tons, registered at the port; and during that year 753 ves¬
sels entered the harbour; while in 1857 the number had
risen to 925. The tonnage of these two years was re¬
spectively 60,515 and 75,503. In 1857 the principal imports
were,—flax, 5551 tons; coals, 44,566 tons; timber, 17,668
loads ; herrings, 7412 brls.; guano, 1682 tons ; wheat, 9876
qrs. The chief exports were,—wheat, 7036 qrs.; barley,
7862 qrs.; oats, 1607 qrs.; timber, 7394 loads; potatoes,
39,677 bolls.
The chief manufacture is flax-spinning, carried on in 5
mills, employing about 2000 hands, and consuming nearly
5000 tons of flax annually. The number of small hand-looms
has greatly diminished of late years. Instead of600 in 1848,
there are now only about 250. But, on the other hand,
there are now about 160 power-looms employed on the For¬
farshire fabrics, besides 80 broad looms on floor-cloth and
wide linen sheetings of fine quality. Ship-building has for
many years been actively carried on. There are four build¬
ing-yards. Two saw-mills have recently been erected,
driven by steam-engines of 80 horse-power, and giving
employment to about 100 men. The other factories
comprise three foundries, two machine manufactories, two
breweries, two large rope and sail works, and two artificial-
manure works, with bone-mills, a starch-work, four herring
and fish-curing works employing 40 boats and 250 fisher¬
men and others, two candle-works, and a large cabinet and
upholstery manufactory.
The burgh of Montrose received its first charter from
David I. about the beginning of the twelfth century; but,
from the tenor of that charter, it seems to have been a burgh
even before that time. Sir James Douglas embarked from
this port in 1330 for the Holy Land, with the heart of King
Robert Bruce. Montrose is distinguished as the first place
in Scotland where the Greek language was taught, and as
having sent forth from its seminary the learned scholar and
divine Andrew Melville. The celebrated Marquis of Mon¬
trose was born here. In 1716 James the Chevalier embarked
here for France, after his unsuccessful attempt to raise the
country; while in later years (1777) it became the birthplace
of Joseph Hume, the distinguished financial reformer.
The annual revenue of the burgh corporation amounts to
nearly L.3000; while the estimated value of the property of
the same, after deducting debts, was, in 1857, L.38,509.
Montrose is governed by 19 councillors, including a provost,
3 bailies, dean of guild, treasurer, and master of the founda¬
tion called the Ancient Hospital. It unites with Arbroath,
Forfar, Brechin, and Bervie, in returning a member to Parlia¬
ment. Pop. of parliamentary burgh (1841), 15,094; (1851),
J .ntser-
■ rat.
I II
J: ntucla.
MON
15,238; of royal burgh (1851), 14,328. The constituency
is 432.
MONTSERRAT, one of the smallest of the British
West India Islands, belonging to the Leeward group, and
about equally distant (30 miles) from Antigua, Guadaloupe,
and Nevis; N. Lat. 16. 40., and W. Long. 62.10. It is of
an oval form, mountainous on its eastern shores, and has a
gradual slope westward to the sea. Area 30,720 acres. The
island is of volcanic origin, and characterized by. great
abruptness, both in the elevation of its hills and in the
descent of the valleys. Vegetation is everywhere abundant,
and reaches in trees and shrubs to the greatest heights of
the island, viz., about 2500 feet. The climate is remark¬
ably salubrious. The chief productions are the sugar-cane,
arrow-root, and timber. Owing to the heavy taxation on
land, however, the full resources of its soil have not yet
been developed, although of late years much has been done
in lightening those burdens ; and thus, in all probability, the
planters here will shortly be able to compete with those on
the other islands, or on the mainland. There being no other
class or trade on the island than that of landholders, the legis¬
lature has been obliged to lay the entire taxation on them;
and consequently in 1855 we find that 33 per cent, was taxed
on the letting value of a farm for the purposes of government,
besides about 25 per cent, more on the imports, which include
here many of the necessaries of life. This system, how¬
ever, is being gradually ameliorated in its effects by the
rigid economy of the government. The trade of Montserrat
is carried on exclusively with the neighbouring islands. In
1855 the imports amounted in value to L.7704; and in
1854 to L.8963; while the exports of the former year
amounted to L. 19,986, against L.14,515 in 1854. The chief
imports are corn, cottons, dried fish and preserved meats,
manure, and hardware; the principal exports, sugar (L.l 3,552
worth in 1855), molasses, and rum. In regard to the ship¬
ping, there was in 1854 a tonnage of 4562, against 3986 in
the preceding year, entered; and a tonnage of 4589 in 1854,
against 4310 in 1853, cleared from the island. The govern¬
ment of Montserrat is administered (under the governor-in-
chief of the Leeward group) by a president and an execu¬
tive council of eight members appointed by the crown, who
also form the legislative council. There is, besides, a re¬
presentative assembly, consisting of 12 members. In 1855
the revenue amounted to L.3500, and the expenditure to
L.3264. Education, which has been productive of much
good here, was dispensed in 1854 in 18 schools, attended
by 1623 scholars, of whom 891 were females. This island
was discovered by Columbus in 1493, and named after a
mountain near Barcelona. In 1632 a party of Irish Ro¬
man Catholics from St Christopher’s settled on it; and
after experiencing a French invasion in 1712, the island
was finally made over to Britain by the treaty of Breda in
1783. Representative government was first established
here in 1689. Plymouth, the capital, is situated on the
S.W. of the island. Pop. of island (1851) 7053, the great
majority of whom are blacks.
MONTUCLA, Jean-Etienke, a learned mathematician,
was the son of a merchant, and was born at Lyons in 1 * 25.
He attended the college of the Jesuits in his native city,
and was early distinguished by his tenacious memory and
his aptitude for mathematics. At the age of sixteen he
removed to Toulouse to prosecute the study of Hw) nnd
after taking the usual degrees he repaired to Paris. 1 here
his conversational powers, his solid information, and his ac¬
quirements as a linguist, soon introduced him to the notice
of the learned. In the society of D’Alembert and Lalande,
his taste for mathematical studies was confirmed and stimu¬
lated. After publishing two anonymous treatises on the
Quadrature of the Circle, and the Duplication of the Cube,
he gave to the world in 1758 the first part of his great
work, The History of Mathematics. Not long after this
MOO 525
his merits were recognised by the French government, and Moodkee
he was promoted to several important offices. He was ap- II
pointed intendant-secretary at Grenoble in 1758, secretary JIooltan-
to the expedition for colonizing Cayenne in 1764, and pre-
mier commis des bdtiments, and censor-royal for mathemat¬
ical books, in 1765. During the next twenty-five years
his time was divided between his official duties and the
study of his favourite science. The Revolution then en¬
suing, deprived him of his income, and left him in great
destitution. The offer in 1795 of a mathematical chair in
one of the schools of Paris was declined on account of his
infirm health, and he was still in straitened circumstances
in 1798, when he published a second edition of the first
part of his History. He also enlarged Ozanam’s Mathe¬
matical Recreations, afterwards published in English by
Dr Hutton, 4 vols., Lond. 1803. About four months be¬
fore his death a pension of 2400 francs was conferred upon
him. He died in December 1799. His History of Mathe¬
matics was completed by Lalande, and published in 4 vols.
4to, 1799-1802.
MOODKEE, a small town of Hindustan, 25 miles from
the left bank of the River Sutlej, 1140 miles N.W. from
Calcutta; Lat. 30. 48., Long. 74.55. It is only remarkable
for a victory gained by the British over a greatly more nu¬
merous force of the Sikhs on 18th December 1845. This
was the first action in that war, and the loss of the English
was very considerable, more than fifty European officers
being killed and wounded.
MOOLTAN, or Moultan, a province of Hindustan,
constituting one of the territorial divisions of the Punjab,
and containing an area of 15,494 square miles, with a po¬
pulation amounting to 971,175.
Mooltan, the capital of the above province, situated
4 miles from the left bank of the Chinaub or Acesines,
below the points where it receives the waters of the Ravey
{Hydraotes) and the Jhylum {Hydrastes), and about 30
miles above its confluence with the Indus. It was formerly
inclosed by a fine wall from 40 to 50 feet in height, with
towers at regular distances ; and had a citadel on a rising
ground. The vicinity is covered with an amazing quantity
of ruins of tombs, mosques, and shrines, which show the
former extent and antiquity of the city. The adjacent
country is fertile, well cultivated, well watered from wells,
and productive of wheat, millet, cotton, turnips, carrots,
and indigo. Mooltan is noted for the manufacture of silks,
and for a species of carpet, which, however, is much inferior
to those of the Persian manufacture. This is supposed to
have been the city known anciently by the name of Malli;
and in 1582 it is described by Abul Fazel as one of the
most ancient cities of Hindustan. It was plundered by
Mahmoud of Ghizni about the year 1006, and was again
plundered by Timour in 1398. For many years the nawaub
paid a tribute annually, for protection, to the sovereign of
Cabul. In 1806 it was captured and plundered by Run-
jeet Singh. In 1809 the nabob was obliged to pay tribute
to the Ameers of Sinde; and in 1818 it was again captured
by Runjeet Singh, who cut to pieces the garrison of 3000,
with the exception of a small number admitted to quarter.
Subsequently to the death of Runjeet Singh, and during
the distracted times which ensued, this place again furnished
an object of contention. In 1848 the atrocious conduct of
Dewan Moolraj, who held the fortress where two British
officers were basely assassinated, called for the renewal of
hostilities on the part of the British, which were rendered
memorable by the energy and enterprise displayed by
Major Herbert Edwardes, then only a subaltern. At that
time the citadel of Mooltan was represented as being more
regular in construction than any other stronghold laid
down in India by native engineers. The wall was sur¬
rounded by thirty towers, and protected by a ditch faced
with masonry. On the 2d January 1849 the city was
526 MOO
Moon captured by a British force under General Whish, after an
|| obstinate and gallant defence; and on the 22d, practicable
Moor, breaches having been effected, the British troops were about
to storm the citadel, when Moolraj with his whole garrison
surrendered unconditionally. A few months later the de¬
struction of the fort was completed by the elements, when
the most violent storm ever remembered occasioned the
flooding of the rivers of the Punjab. It was not thought
advisable to repair the fortress. An obelisk, erected in the
town by order of the British government, preserves the
memory of those who fell in the Sutlej and Punjab cam¬
paigns. The circumstances under which this part of Run-
jeet Singh’s territories became a portion of the British do¬
minions will be found detailed in the article Punjab.
The population of Mooltan, including the suburbs and
cantonment, is given at about 80,000. Lat. 30.12., Long.
71. 30.
MOON. See Astronomy, part ii., chap, in., &c.
MOOR, a market-town of Lower Hungary, in the pro¬
vince of Thither Danube, and county of Stuhlweissenburg,
is situated in a valley 17 miles N.W. of Stuhlweissenburg.
It contains a strong castle, large cavalry barracks, two
churches, a monastery, a town-hall, and many well-built
houses. There are several brandy distilleries here, and a
considerable trade in corn, horses, and cattle. Pop. about
7000.
MOOR, James, an eminent Greek scholar, was born at
Glasgow on the 22d of June 1712. His father, James
Moor, was a teacher of mathematics in that city, and was
distinguished for great devotion to scientific and literary
pursuits. Young Moor entered the university of his native
city in November 1725, and soon attained to great profi¬
ciency in classical literature and mathematical science. In
Greek he enjoyed the instructions of Alexander Dunlop,
who combined with a thorough knowledge of the language
a remarkable power of inspiring his students with a love for
the study. The celebrated professor of mathematics, Dr
Robert Simson, alludes repeatedly throughout his writings
to the eminent talents of Moor for mathematical pursuits.
After completing his academical course, he opened a school
for classics and mathematics, but not succeeding in this
undertaking, he speedily relinquished it. He now became
a private tutor, and was connected successively in that
capacity with the families of the Earl of Kilmarnock and
the Earl of Selkirk. On the 11th November 1742 he was
appointed librarian to the university of Glasgow; and
during the same year, in conjunction with Dr Hutcheson,
published an anonymous translation of The Meditations of
the Emperor Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. On the resig¬
nation of the Greek chair by Dunlop in 1746, Moor was
unanimously elected to the vacant professorship. He still
continued to combine the study of classical literature with
the study of the mathematical sciences; and during his
residence in Paris in 1748, he received assistance from the
eminent Greek scholar Capperonnier in researches on which
he was then engaged connected with an edition of the
Greek text of Pappus. This undertaking, which was never
completed, was superseded by the more magnificent one of
a complete and splendid edition of the works of Plato.
This project originated with the Messrs Foulis of Glasgow,
who, after being at great labour and expense in collecting
materials for the undertaking, were compelled to relinquish
a scheme which Dr Moor, the editor, and many other dis¬
tinguished scholars throughout the kingdom, had very much
at heart. The entire collection for this edition of Plato is
now in the possession of the Bodleian Library at Oxford.
Ihe earliest fragment of Moor’s Grammar of the Greek
Language appeared in 1755 ; and after an interval of fifteen
years, the work appeared with its final improvements, under
the title of Elementa Livguce Grcecje; novis plerumque
liegulis tradita, brevitate sua memorice facilibus, &c.,
MOO
Glasgow, 1770, 8vo. A short time after the first appear- Moore,
ance of his Grammar, he published (1759) a small volume Edward,
of Essays on the influence of philosophy upon the fine v'—‘v-'"*'
arts, on the composition of the picture described in the
Dialogue of Cebes, and on historical composition. His
next work was his Spartan Lessons, or the Praise of
Valour in the Verses of Tyrtceus, &c., which appeared
anonymously in 1759. In 1763 he published an essay on
that passage of Aristotle’s Poetics, in which we are told
that tragedy purifies the passions by means of pity and
terror. Moor did not seem to understand how this was
possible, and he accordingly questioned the ordinary inter¬
pretation of the author’s language. His endeavour, how¬
ever, to discover a new translation of the passage, was more
ingenious than successful. The next production of his
pen was an acute tract On the Propositions of the Greek
Language, an Introductory Essay, Glasgow, 1766. It
was characterized by great ingenuity; but the soundness
of his theory of the Greek prepositions has been called
in question by several distinguished scholars. During the
same year he published his Vindication of Virgil from the
charge of a puerility imputed to him by Dr Pearce, in his
Notes on Longinus. In addition to his original works,
Moor is known to have assisted in editing various editions
of those Greek classics which issued from the press of the
Messrs Foulis. He edited the Arenarius of Archimedes;
the works of Herodotus, 9 vols., 1761 ; the works of Thu¬
cydides, 8 vols., 1759; and, conjointly with Muirhead, the
professor of humanity in Glasgow, edited the splendid copy
of Homer, in 4 vols., which issued from the university
press in 1756-58. As a relaxation of his severer studies,
the professor is said to have indulged occasionally in the
composition of English and even of Scotch verses. Some
of these poetical effusions appeared in various publications
of the time; but he does not seem to have been endowed
with much genius for song. In 1761 he was appointed
vice-rector of his university ; and the senatus conferred upon
him the degree of LL.D. in 1763. His health had been
giving way for some time, and he was constrained to resign
his professorship in 1774. He was allowed to retain his
house and salary, but his domestic affairs got into disorder,
and he was relieved from the annoyances of pecuniary
embarrassments only by death on the 17th September 1779.
MOORE, Edward, a dramatist of the last century, was
the son of a dissenting minister, and was born at Abingdon
in Berkshire in 1712. He followed the business of a linen-
draper for some time in London, but was forced by ill
fortune to become a literary adventurer. His first poetical
work, entitled Fables for the Female Sex (1 744), imitated
with success the pungency and flowing versification of Gay.
It speedily became popular, and secured for its author the
patronage of several men of influence. A favour shown
him by Lord Lyttelton was the occasion of his next work,
a complimentary effusion, styled The Trial of Selim the
Persian. Moore then turned his attention to the drama.
His two comedies, The Foundling (1748), and Gil Bias
(1749), were unsuccessful. But his rare power of riveting
the attention by a tale of domestic sorrow secured for his
tragedy The Gamester a footing on the stage, which it still
retains. It was published in 1753, and has been often re¬
printed. Hitherto the labours of Moore had not been
sufficiently remunerative. He was therefore installed as
editor of The World, a periodical which had been established
by his friend Lyttelton, for the purpose of affording him a
sure income. In this office he continued until the serial
was brought to a close in February 1757. By this time
sixty-one papers had been contributed by his own hand.
He died while the last number of his periodical was passing
through the press. A quarto edition of his Poems. Tables,
and Plays was published in 1756, and a separate issue of
his Dramatic Works appeared in 1788.
MOO
[oore MOORE, Dr John, was the son of a clergyman, and
■ John was born at Stirling in the year 1730. He received his
medical education at the university of Glasgow, and at the
Toore, age 0f seventeen he served with the army in Flanders,
r John. Af'ter t]ie conclusion of peace, he prosecuted his medical
studies at Paris, where he was appointed surgeon to the
household of the English ambassador, Lord Albemarle. On
his return to Scotland he settled as a surgeon at Glasgow,
where he quickly rose to extensive and successful practice.
In the year 1769 he was called, in his medical capacity,
to attend the young Duke of Hamilton, which led to his
subsequently accompanying the brother of his patient to the
Continent. An extensive and long-continued tour through
Italy, France, and Germany, opened a wider range to his
observation of character than he had hitherto enjoyed.
After spending five years abroad, he settled as a physician
in London; and about the same time commenced his lite¬
rary career by publishing the fruits of his travels in his View
of Society and Manners in France, Switzerland, and Ger¬
many, 2 vols., Lond. 1779. This work was so well received,
that in 1781 he added to it two volumes, entitled A View
of Society and Manners in Italy. In 1785 he published
his Medical Sketches, consisting chiefly of observations on
the animal economy and the treatment of fevers. His
next performance, which appeared in the year 1789, was a
novel entitled Zeluco, in which he has exhibited a character
so atrocious as rather to excite horror than afford amuse¬
ment or instruction. It was much admired, however, on its
first appearance, and was hailed as a work of very great power.
In 1792 Dr Moore accompanied Lord Lauderdale to
Paris, where he witnessed some of the principal scenes
of the Revolution, of which he published an interesting
account on his return to England, entitled A Journal of a
Residence in France during the Revolution 1792-4. The
same journey supplied him with materials for his Vieio of
the Causes and Progress of the French Revolution, which
was published in 1795. The scenes which Dr Moore had
hitherto exhibited, both in his travels and fictitious com¬
positions, were copied from the manners of other countries.
The novel of Edward, which he published in 1796, is en¬
tirely confined to the illustration of our domestic usages
and national customs. Mordaunt, or Sketches of Life,
Character, and Manners in Various Countries, possesses
something of the same sort of merit as Ldward, but in an
inferior degree. He survived the publication of Mordaunt
only two years, and died at London in 1802. In addition
to the works already signalized, Dr Moore published an
edition of Smollett’s works in 8 vols., with a Life of the
author, Lond. 1797.
The reputation of Dr Moore with posterity will rest on
his travels and novels. As long as they are read, he will
be acknowledged as a writer endowed with admirable good
sense, a rich vein of original humour, keen insight into
human nature, and a capacity of describing its intricacies
with force and discernment.
A complete edition of his works, in 7 vols., with a Me¬
moir of his life, was published by Dr Robert Anderson,
Edinburgh, 1820.
Moore, Sir John, a consummate British general, a
brave soldier, and an accomplished gentleman, was born at
Glasgow on the 13th of November 1 /61. He was a son
of Dr Moore, the author of Zeluco and other works, noticed
in the preceding article, and received the principal part of
his education on the Continent, whilst his father attended
the Duke of Hamilton in his travels. In 17/6 the Duke
of Hamilton procured him an ensigncy in the 51st regi¬
ment, then quartered in Minorca; and he afterwards ob¬
tained a lieutenancy in the 82d, with which he served in
America until 1783, when he was reduced with his regi¬
ment. By the interest of his former patron he was subse¬
quently brought into Parliament for the Lanark district of
MOO 527
burghs, which he for a short time represented. In 1787 or Moore,
1788 he obtained the rank of major in the fourth battalion Sir John,
of the 60th regiment, then quartered at Chatham, but after-
wards negotiated an exchange into the 51st. In 1790 he
succeeded by purchase to the lieutenant-colonelcy of the
same regiment, which, the following year, he accompanied
to Gibraltar. After some other movements, he was sent to
Corsica, where, owing to a misunderstanding between the
military and naval commanders, General d’Aubant resigned
the command to him under the most critical circumstances ;
and here, though still a young officer, and without parlia¬
mentary friends, he was called to fight the battles of the
army against a domineering old admiral, Hood, who pos¬
sessed great influence at home, and who had shown himself
capable of the most outrageous violence. By dint of firm¬
ness, however, he succeeded in controlling this daring, ob¬
stinate, clever man; and was at length relieved from the
difficult and embarrassing situation in which he had been
placed by the arrival of Sir Charles Stuart, who having as¬
sumed the command of the army in 1794, appointed Moore
to command the reserve. At the siege of Calvi which fol¬
lowed, the latter particularly distinguished himself, and re¬
ceived his first wound in storming the Mozzello fort. He
gave his opinion against besieging Bastia, which afterwards
surrendered after a very feeble defence, though the place
was strong and the garrison numerous; but this, as a mili¬
tary judgment before the event, was nevertheless sound and
just, for Moore never could have anticipated that General
Gentili would neglect to avail himself of the means in his
power, “ because he wished to do his duty and no more,”
and had property in England.
Sir Charles Stuart having been recalled in consequence
of a disagreement with the viceroy, Colonel Moore returned
to England in 1795, and being immediately appointed a
brigadier-general in the West Indies, he was attached to a
brigade of foreign troops, consisting of Choiseul’s hussars,
and two corps of emigrants. On the 25th of February
1796 he received orders to take charge of and embark with
Perryn’s brigade, destined to join the expedition to the
West Indies under Sir Ralph Abercromby. Having hurried
to Portsmouth, where he had scarcely time to prepare a few
necessaries, he sailed for the West Indies on the 28th, with
no other baggage than a small portmanteau. He arrived
at Barbadoes on the 13th of April 1796, and there waited
on the commander-in-chief, who had preceded him in the
Vengeance line-of-battle ship. That calm and sagacious
observer soon appreciated his merit; and in the operations
against St Lucia, which immediately followed, employed
him in every arduous and difficult service. During the
siege of Morne Fortunee, his conduct, as expressed in
general orders, was the admiration of the whole army ; and
after the capitulation he was appointed to the government of
the island, notwithstanding he had earnestly requested per¬
mission to accompany the commander-in-chief and the
troops in the reduction of the other islands. In this situa¬
tion, beset with all manner of difficulties, his conduct was
not less admirable than in the field, and, tempering justice
with humanity, the severity of military examples with a due
consideration of the circumstances which palliated the con¬
duct of the Negroes and republicans, he subdued discon¬
tent, restored order, and re-established security.
Having completely re-established tranquillity in St Lucia,
Moore was relieved from the command of the island, and re¬
turned to England in August 1797. In November, Sir Ralph
Abercromby having received the command of the forces in
Ireland, desired that General Moore should be placed on his
staff, and the latter accordingly accompanied him to Dublin in
the beginning of December. During the period immediately
preceding the rebellion he held an important command in
the south of Ireland, which, being much disaffected, was
considered as the quarter where the enemy were, in the
MOORE.
528
Moore, event of an invasion, likely to attempt a landing. His head-
Sir John. quarters were at Bandon, and the troops under his com-
mand, amounting to 3000 men, formed the advanced guard
of the south. When the insurrection broke out in 1798,
he was at first employed under Major-General Johnstone
at New Ross, but was afterwards detached towards Wex¬
ford, at that time in the hands of the insurgents. On this
occasion he had only the 60th sharpshooters, 500 light in¬
fantry, 50 of Hompesch’s dragoonsj and 6 pieces of artil¬
lery ; and with these troops he had not proceeded above a
mile when a large body of insurgents appeared on the load
advancing to attack him. The rebels, amounting to about
6000 men, headed by one Roche, attacked with great spirit,
and maintained the conflict with much obstinacy, but were
at length defeated, driven from the field, and pursued with
great loss. After the action he was joined by two regi¬
ments from Duncannon, and took post for the night upon the
ground where the combat had commenced. Next day, when
he had resumed his march, he was met by two men from
Wexford with proposals on the part of- the insurgents to
lay down their arms and submit on certain conditions; but
General Moore, having no power to treat, declined enter¬
taining these proposals, and continued his march to Wex¬
ford, which he delivered from the power of the insurgents.
He was afterwards employed to suppress a remnant of the
rebellion in Wicklow, where many of the insurgents had
taken refuge amongst the mountains and bogs, whence they
issued to wage a sort of desultory warfare. Speaking of this
affair in his journal, he says, that moderate treatment by
the generals, and the preventing of the troops from pillag¬
ing and molesting the people, would soon restore tranquil¬
lity ; that the latter would certainly be quiet if the gentle¬
men and yeomen would only behave with tolerable decency,
and not seek to gratify their ill-humour and revenge upon
the poor; and he adds, that he judged their harshness
and violence had originally driven the farmers and peasants
to revolt, and that they were as ready as ever to renew their
former ill-usage of them.
i These and other similar observations on the insurrection
of 1798, extracted and published from General Moore’s
journal, do equal honour to his head and heart, evincing
the discriminating and unimpassioned sagacity of the states¬
man, united with that high and liberal feeling which forms
the greatest ornament in the character of the accomplished
soldier.
Immediately after quitting Ireland, General Moore en¬
gaged in the memorable expedition to Holland. The Dutch,
whom we sought to rescue from the alleged tyranny of the
French government, made common cause with the enemy.
They received the French as friends and deliverers, because
the House of Orange, aided by Prussia, had destroyed their
republic, suppressing their constitution and liberties; and
hence, after a short struggle, the Duke of York was obliged
to capitulate. But the troops displayed their usual gal¬
lantry, particularly those under the command of General
Moore, who, after being wounded in the hand and thigh,
received a musket-ball in the face, and was with difficulty
brought from the ground. Being carried back to his quar¬
ters, a distance of 10 miles, he was taken thence to the
Helder as soon as he could be moved, and embarked on
board the Amethyst frigate, which arrived at the Nore
on the 24th of August. Soon after his return to England
the King conferred on him the command of a second bat¬
talion which had just been added to the 52d regiment;
and his wounds having closed in the course of five or six
weeks, he joined his brigade at Chelmsford on the 24th of
December.
Early in 1800 it had been resolved to send a body of
troops to the Mediterranean under the command of Sir
Charles Stuart, and General Moore willingly consented to
serve under that officer, whom he greatly esteemed. The
first intention was, that the expedition should consist of Moore
15,000 men; but it afterwards turned out that the regi- Sir John,
ments destined for the service, part of which had lately
been employed in Holland, mustered only 10,000 effective
soldiers. About the middle of March the first division,
amounting to 5000 men, embarked under General Pigott.
But at this time a change took place in the plan, if not in
the destination, of the expedition. Sir Charles Stuart, hav¬
ing some misunderstanding with ministers, resigned his
command; and Sir Ralph Abercromby being appointed to
succeed him, named as one of his major-generals, Moore,
who, along with Pigott and Hutchinson, sailed about the
end of April with the second division of the troops. Dur¬
ing this expedition, which a variety of causes conspired to
render abortive, General Moore had little opportunity of
signalizing his exertions ; nor was it until the following year,
when his troops were ordered to proceed to Egypt under
Sir Ralph Abercromby, that a theatre of action opened for
the display of his talents. On his arrival at Malta he was
sent forward to Jaffa to inspect the Turkish army, and judge
as to the amount of co-operation which might be expected
from it; but his report being unfavourable, Sir Ralph de¬
termined to land in the Bay of Aboukir, and to march im¬
mediately upon Alexandria. In the affair of the landing
on the 4th of March 1801, in the combat of the 13th, and
again in the battle of the 21st, where he received a wound
in the leg, General Moore was actively engaged, and as
usual, greatly distinguished himself. On recovering from
his wound, which occasioned him much suffering, he con¬
tinued to serve with the army in Egypt until the surrender
of Alexandria, when he returned to England, where he
received the honour of knighthood and the Order of the
Bath.
Soon after his return to England, we find Sir John Moore
actively occupied in the camp at Shorncliff, where his
skill in training troops was proved to be equal to his courage
in leading them. Many persons have been led to suppose
that he was a harsh and odious disciplinarian ; but this
calumny has been refuted by the most irrefragable proof.
“ The officers of the regiments which were formed by his
care,” says Sir William Napier {Edinburgh Review, vol. lix.),
“ were ever after his warmest admirers. His discipline it
has been their object to maintain ; his maxims have been
their guide; his reputation has been by them considered
as a part of their own; his memory is cherished in their
hearts to this day, and will be as long as those hearts retain
an atom of a soldier’s pride and honour.” Such is the tes¬
timony of one who knew him thoroughly; and who, besides
his pre-eminent qualifications for judging rightly, had the
best opportunities of understanding his views and appre¬
ciating his real character.
On the renewal of the w'ar after the short peace of Amiens,
Sir John Moore’s talents and services pointed him out as
deserving of some important employment. He was accord¬
ingly sent to Sicily as second in command to Sir John Stuart;
and when that officer had been superseded by General Fox,
he virtually acquired the chief command in that island.
Associated with such a nominal superior, Moore had full
scope for the exercise of his ability and sagacity; and in¬
deed his whole proceedings showed that his sense and judg¬
ment in civil matters were in no degree inferior to his talents
in war.
When Sir John Moore arrived in England from Sicily,
he was immediately sent with an expedition to Gottenburg,
to aid Gustavus Adolphus IV., King of Sweden, against
the encroachments of Napoleon. While engaged on this
expedition, he became involved in a grave dispute with the
unreasonable Swedish king; and had it not been for the
ability and resolution which he displayed on that occasion,
10,000 of the finest soldiers of England would have been '
sacrificed.
MOOR E..
529
We come now to the expedition to Spain, which termi¬
nated Sir John Moore’s earthly career. In 1808 he was
appointed to the chief command of an army to be employed
in Spain; and Gallicia, or the borders of Leon, were fixed
upon as the place for assembling the troops. He was or¬
dered to send the cavalry by land, but it was left to his
own discretion to transport the infantry and artillery either
by sea or land ; and being at the same time informed that
] 5,000 men were ordered to Coruna under General Sir
David Baird, he was directed to give such instructions to
that officer as should facilitate the junction of the whole
force. Before he commenced his advance from Portugal,
he was assured that his entry into Spain would be covered
by from 60,000 or 70,000 men ; and Burgos was the place
fixed on for the junction of the different divisions. But he
soon discovered that these assurances were fallacious, that
little or no reliance could be placed upon the Spaniards,
and that the patriotic enthusiasm which he had been taught
to expect in the people had either never existed at all, or
had entirely evaporated. Not only Burgos, but Valladolid,
was in possession of the enemy ; and he found himself, with
an advance corps, in an open town, at the distance of
only three marches from the French army, without even a
Spanish piquet to cover his front. At this time he had
only three brigades of infantry, without a single gun in
Salamanca; and although the remainder were coming up in
succession, the whole could not be assembled in less than
ten days. At this critical moment the Spanish armies, in¬
stead of concentrating or uniting in a common effort with
the British, were disseminated all over the Peninsula; Blake
had been defeated, and his army totally dispersed ; Romana,
equally weak and obstinate, proved incapable of under¬
taking anything; and Sir David Baird, informed that the
French were advancing upon him in two directions, was
preparing to retreat upon Coruna, a movement which was
countermanded by Sir John Moore, upon learning that the
report was unfounded. (See Sir William Napier’s History
of the Peninsular War, vol. i.) Never was a general com¬
manding an army placed in a more critical position than Sir
John Moore; for, whilst he received information that there
was now no army remaining in the field except his own,
which was thus exposed to attack on all sides by over¬
whelming numbers, he was called upon to repel the most
irritating interference, to guard against open treachery,
and to counteract folly, equal in its effects to treachery.
Yet, even in these circumstances, he was willing to attempt
something for the cause, and even to risk the danger of an
advance on the capital. With this view he commenced a
forward movement from Salamanca on the 12th of Decem¬
ber, intending to attack Soult on the Carrion, draw the
mass of the French force towards the north of Spain, and
thus afford the Spanish armies time to rally and adopt some
new plan of operations. This movement, in a strategical
point of view, was ably conceived, and it proved to be well-
timed and successful; but Sir John Moore, with 23,000
men, could not maintain himself against the whole French
army; and as Napoleon, having secured the capital,
was now rapidly advancing at the head of from 60,000 to
70,000 men, a retreat became inevitable. It was now
the depth of winter, and the retreat had to be effected
through the mountainous region of Gallicia, which neces¬
sarily led to much suffering and disorder. There were not
awanting many who blamed this retreat for precipitancy,
but this charge has long since been shown by the best au¬
thorities to be unfounded. (See Napier’s History, vol. i.)
The rear-guard quitted Astorga on the 1st January; on
the 3d it repulsed the enemy in a sharp skirmish at Cal-
cabelos; on the 6th it rejoined the main body at Lugo,
having three times checked the pursuers during the march.
It suffered no misfortune; and the whole army offered battle at
Lugo for two successive days without being accepted. The
VOL. XV.
retreat recommenced; the troops reached Betanzos on the Moore,
morning of the 10th, and Coruna on the 11th; and five Sir John,
days afterwards fought and won that celebrated battle in *"■'
which their brave commander fell.
After the fight the British troops embarked and steered
home directly from Coruna; a terrible storm scattered it;
many ships were wrecked, and the remainder, driving up
the Channel, were glad to put into any port. The soldiers,
thus thrown on shore, were spread from the Land’s End to
Dover. Their haggard appearance, ragged clothing, and
dirty accoutrements, things common enough in war, struck
a people only used to the daintiness of parade with sur¬
prise ; the usual exaggerations of men just escaped from
perils and distresses were increased by the uncertainty in
which all were as to the fate of their comrades; a deadly
fever, the result of anxiety, and of the sudden change from
fatigue to the confinement of a ship, filled the hospitals at
every port with officers and soldiers; and thus the miser¬
able state of Sir John Moore’s army became the topic of
every letter, and a theme for every country newspaper
along the coast. The nation, at that time unused to great
operations, forgot that war is not a harmless game, and
judging of the loss positively instead of comparatively, was
thus disposed to believe the calumnies of interested men,
who were eager to cast a shade over one of the brightest
characters that ever adorned the country. Those calumnies
triumphed for a moment; but Moore’s last appeal to his
country for justice will be successful. And if authority be
sought for in a case where reason speaks so plainly, future
historians will not fail to remark, that the man whose talents
called forth the praises of Soult, of Wellington, and of Na¬
poleon, could be no ordinary soldier.
“ Sir John Moore,” says Soult, “ took every advantage
that the country afforded to oppose an active and vigorous
resistance, and he finished by dying in a combat that must
do credit to his memory.” Napoleon more than once
affirmed, that if Moore committed a few trifling errors,
they were to be attributed to his peculiar situation, for that
his talents and firmness alone had saved the English army
from destruction. “ In Sir John Moore’s campaign,” said
the Duke of Wellington, “ I can see but one error; when
he advanced to Sahagun he should have considered it as a
movement of retreat, and sent officers to the rear to mark
and prepare the halting-places for every brigade; but this
opinion I have formed after long experience of war, and
especially of the peculiarities of a Spanish war, which must
have been seen to be understood; finally, it is an opinion
formed after the event.”
The fall of Sir John Moore is thus described by Captain
(now Sir Henry) Hardinge:—“ I had been ordered by the
commander-in-chief to desire a battalion of the Guards to
advance, which battalion was at one time intended to
have dislodged a corps of the enemy from a house and
garden on the opposite side of the valley ; and I was point¬
ing out to the general the situation of the battalion, and
our horses were touching, at the moment that a cannon-
shot from the enemy’s battery carried away his left shoul¬
der and part of the collar-bone, leaving the arm hanging
by the flesh. The violence of the stroke threw him off his
horse on his back. Not a muscle of his face altered, nor
did a sigh betray the least sensation of pain. I dismounted,
and, taking his hand, he pressed mine forcibly, casting
his eyes anxiously towards the 42d regiment, which was
hotly engaged ; and his countenance expressed satisfac¬
tion when I informed him that the regiment was advanc¬
ing. Assisted by a soldier of the 42d, he was removed a
few yards behind the shelter of a wall. Colonel Graham
of Balgowan (Lord Lyndoch) and Captain (now Sir John)
Woodford about this time came up, and perceiving the
state of Sir John’s wound, instantly rode off' for a surgeon.
The blood flowed fast, but the attempt to stop it with my
3 x
530 .M GORE.
Moore, sash was useless, from the size of the wound. Sir John
Thomas. assented to being removed in a blanket to the rear. In
raising him for that purpose, his sword, hanging on the
wounded side, touched his arm, and became entangled be¬
tween his legs. I perceived the inconvenience, and was
in the act of unbuckling it from his waist, when he said,
in his usual tone and manner, and in a very distinct voice,
‘ It is as well as it is; I had rather it should go out of the
field with me.’ When the surgeons arrived, he said to
them, ‘ You can be of no service to me; go to the soldiers,
to whom you may be useful.’ As he was canied slowly
along in the blanket, he made the soldiers by whom he was
borne frequently turn him round to view the field of battle,
and listen to the firing, and he seemed pleased when the
sound grew fainter. On arriving at his lodgings he suffeied
great pain, and could speak but little ; at length, however,
he said to Colonel Anderson, who for more than twenty
years had been his friend and companion in arms, ‘ An¬
derson, you know that I always wished to die in this way.’
He frequently asked, ‘ Are the French beaten ? ’ and when
he was told that they had been defeated at every point,
he said, ‘It is a great satisfaction for me to know that we
have beaten the French; ’ adding, I hope the people of
England will be satisfied; I hope my country will do
me justice.’ To Major Stanhope he said, ‘ Stanhope,
remember me to your sister ; ’ and having mentioned
the name of his venerable mother, for whom he seemed
anxious to offer up his last prayers, he lost all power of
utterance, and in a few minutes afterwards expired without
a struggle.”
Thus fell, on the 16th of January 1809, in the forty-
seventh year of his age, after gaining a victory which saved
the remainder of the army from destruction, and which, in
all its circumstances, was perhaps unparalleled in the annals
of war, Lieutenant-General Sir John Moore, a perfect
model of a British soldier at a time when such models were
few, and a hero cast in the true classical mould. He was
equally a stranger to fear and reproach, yet one whom the
malignity of faction basely attempted to deprive of his just
fame, whilst venal pens endeavoured to depreciate his
achievements, and servile poets vainly sought to exclude
his name from the list of the brave who had fought and
fallen in the same struggle. But his country was well dis¬
posed to acknowledge his merits, and history has already
placed his character and actions beyond the reach of con¬
temporary injustice. (J« B E*)
Moore, Thomas, one of the most accomplished and versa¬
tile authors of the nineteenth century, and pre-eminently the
poet of Ireland, was a native of Dublin, in which city his
father carried on business as a small grocer and spirit-
dealer. He was born on the 28th of May 1779. His
parents were of genuine Celtic-Irish descent, Homan Ca¬
tholics, devoted to poetry and music, and possessing the
quick sensibilities and warm domestic affections common
among their countrymen. The poet’s mother (to whom he
was fondly attached) seems to have been a woman of great
vivacity and spirit; and she joined with his first school¬
master, Samuel Whyte (who had been the teacher of
Richard Brinsley Sheridan), in cultivating in her son a
taste for recitation, music, and theatrical performances, in
which he early became distinguished. He was made a
“ show-child,” as he confesses; and in a certain sense this
character continued with him to the last, the scene being
shifted from the gay social circles and private theatres of
Dublin to the saloons of Holland House, Bowood, and
other patrician mansions of the English aristocracy. Almost
from infancy Moore had been accustomed to act, sing, and
rhyme ; and in his fourteenth year he appeared as a con¬
tributor to a Dublin magazine. His juvenile verses he
afterwards characterized as “ mere mock-birds’ song,” which
is true of nearly all boyish rhymes ; but in the department
of versification the Irish poet, guided by an exquisite ear, Moore
was from the first correct and harmonious. Thomas.
In 1793 the penal laws against the Roman Catholics
w'ere relaxed, and Moore was enabled to enter Trinity
College as a student of his native university. The country
was then agitated by political excitement, the offspring of
the French revolution, acting upon a keen sense of na¬
tional wrongs and humiliation. The poet sympathized with
his oppressed Roman Catholic countrymen, and was inti¬
mate with Emmet and the other young and ardent spirits
who rushed into the memorable conspiracy and outbreak
of 1798 ; but he joined in none of their secret unions or
wild revolutionary schemes. He completed his college
course and took his degree of B.A. in 1798, after which he
proceeded to London. Of the small sum of money which
he carried with him, part, he says, was in guineas, carefully
sewed in the waistband of his pantaloons by his mother,
and along with the gold she had inclosed a scapular, or
bit of cloth blessed by the priest! The good woman’s
prayers no doubt accompanied this treasure, and were more
potent than the charm. In repairing to London, Moore
had two objects in view—first, to study law in the Middle
Temple, and then, as subsidiary to this professional purpose,
to publish a translation of the Odes of Anacreon by sub¬
scription. With the law he made little progress; but his
subscription was highly successful. He obtained an intro¬
duction to the Earl of Moira; the Earl introduced him to
the Prince of Wales; and the poet’s winning address, his
scholarship, singing, and genial buoyancy of spirits, soon
made him a favourite in fashionable and influential circles.
His Anacreon appeared in 1800, dedicated by permission
to the Prince. All who had listened to the “ w'arbling” of
the young translator, and who took an interest in his for¬
tunes, were loud in praise of the w'ork ; while by critics and
scholars it was considered as at least better than any pre¬
ceding version of the Greek poet, with the exception of
the few inimitable paraphrases by Cowley. “ Anacreon
Moore,” as he was now called, ventured next year on a
volume of original verse, which he put forth under the title
of The Poetical Works of the late Thomas Little, Esq.
The name of “ Little ” was a thin disguise, thrown off after
the first edition, and originally adopted in playful allusion
to the poet’s diminutive stature; for Moore, as Walter
Scott observed, was the smallest of men, not to be deformed.
He was, as Goldsmith said of Garrick, “ an abridgment of
all that is pleasant in man.” The poems were amatory
productions, elaborately polished, and remarkably melodious
in style and diction; but the chief distinction and peculi¬
arity of the volume was its O vidian warmth and pruriency,
bordering on libertinism, which exposed its author to just
and severe censure. Part was afterwards omitted from the
collected edition of his works. Moore was not studiously
immoral—his fancy played the profligate, not his heart;
and one of his Irish friends, with a touch of native humour,
compared him to “an infant sporting on the bosom of
Venus.” Through the influence of Lord Moira the poet
obtained a government appointment—that of registrar to
the Admiralty in Bermuda, which he took possession of in
October 1804. The little islands, so delicious in climate,
fruits, flowers, and foliage, appeared to him all fairyland;
and his arrival was the signal for a succession of fetes and
gaieties. But when business was forced on his attention,
it soon became obvious that the new appointment was no
lucrative prize, and that even a Spanish war would not
make his income worth staying for. Three months of
Bermuda sufficed ; a deputy was engaged, and the poet
returned to England, travelling over part of the United
States and North America, during which he visited, with a
poet’s enthusiasm, the Falls of Niagara. He reached Lon¬
don, after fourteen months’ absence, in November 1804.
The result of his journey was a volume of Odes and Epistles,
MOORE.
published in 1806, and dedicated to Lord Moira. The
work was well fitted to extend the poet’s reputation. The
Epistles contain many passages of beautiful and striking
description, and are animated by a glow of generous senti¬
ment, and a display of refined scholarly taste and subtle
imagination peculiar to Moore among all the poets of his
age. Some of the lyrical pieces in the volume—as the
“ Canadian Boat Song ” and “ The Woodpecker ”—were set
to music and instantly became popular. The work, however,
was attacked with great asperity in the Edinburgh Review.
Moore had indulged in severe strictures on the republican
institutions and society of America, and some of the poems
were tinged with that licentious freedom characteristic of
the “ Little ” volume. Jeffrey branded the poet as a deli¬
berate corrupter of the public morals. Moore replied by
sending a challenge, and a hostile but bloodless meeting
took place (August 12, 1806), which furnished a topic for
nine days’ wonder and ridicule, and proved the commence¬
ment of an acquaintance and life-long friendship between
poet and critic.
About this time a musical publisher, Mr Power, projected
a collection of the best original Irish melodies, with charac¬
teristic symphonies and accompaniments, and with words
containing as frequently as possible allusions to Irish man¬
ners and history. Moore entered cordially into this patri¬
otic undertaking, which ultimately became an important
work, both as respected his fame and emoluments, and^ was
extended to ten numbers. He knew the difficulty of the
task. “ The poet,” he said, “ who would follow the various
sentiments which the airs express must feel and under¬
stand that rapid fluctuation of spirits, that unaccountable
mixture of gloom and levity, which composes the character
of his countrymen, and has deeply tinged their music.” All
this he felt and appreciated, and amply fulfilled. Burns
alone has excelled Moore as a song-writer. If a third were
added to form a lyrical trio, Beranger might be named ;
and all were intensely national, familiar with every shade
of sentiment, prejudice, and feeling, in their countrymen.
Moore has said that the real source of his poetic talent was
the effort to translate into words the different feelings and
passions which melody seemed to him to express ; and his
genius, thus inspired, ranged over all the fields of Irish song
and story,—now swelling into heroic and martial verse,
now revelling in joyous festivity, love, and wine, and now
melting in strains of mournful regret, tenderness, and
pathos. The union of poetry and music, their natural
affinity and blended power, was never more felicitously
exemplified than in these lyrics of Moore—the most uni¬
versally popular, and, it may safely be predicted, tbe most
imperishable of all his works. Io the Irish Melodies were
afterwards added National Airs, Sacred Songs, Legendary
Ballads, Evenings in Greece, a Set of Glees (with music,
also by the poet), and a number of separate songs and bal¬
lads. The lyric department of his poetry was at once
the most voluminous and the most popular, and was con¬
stantly receiving additions. ,
For some years Moore was partially dependent on Lord
Moira, and resided at his lordship’s seat of Donmngton Park.
In 1811, however, he ventured on a step which gave a new
turn to his feelings and prospects; he married a young Ins i
actress, Miss Dyke, the faithful “ Bessy” of his Journal, who
appears to have been every way worthy of his affection.
Literature was now necessary as a profession ; and in older
that he might prosecute it with less interruption Moore
fixed his residence in an English village. He had an idea
that the Irish neither fight nor write well on their own soil,
and he seems never to have contemplated returning per¬
manently to Ireland. He went to Kegworth in Leicester¬
shire, but in the same year removed to Mayfield Cottage,
near Ashbourne, in the county of Derby ; and this spot may
claim the honour due to scenes of poetical interest and vene¬
ration, for there Moore composed the best of his Melodies,
and the greatest of his poems, Lalla Rookh. There was
still a lingering hope that Lord Moira might be able to ob-
tain some favourable appointment for the poet. His lord-
ship was not indisposed to exert his influence, but his power
was small; and in 1812 the removal of this nobleman to
India put an end to Moore’s expectations. He was averse
to any application being made in his behalf to the ministry,
and was resolved, he said, to work out his independence by
industry. He had a justifiable reliance on the facility and
versatility of his pen, and only wanted prudence to be one
of the richest, as he was one of the best rewarded, of modern
authors.
In 1813 Moore produced a political satire, Intercepted
Letters, or the Twopenny Post-Bag, a series of light yet
pungent rhyming epistles, suggested, perhaps, by Anstey’s
New Bath Guide, and which hit the public taste so well that
thirteen editions were called for in a twelvemonth. The
new and successful vein thus laid open was well cultivated
in after years. Moore had previously tried the stately or
Juvenalian style of satire ; and in the years 1808 and 1809
produced three poems, Corruption, Intolerance, and The
Sceptic, but they were heavy productions, and excited no
attention. The lighter form of weapon to which he now
betook himself was not only, he said, more easy to wield,
but more sure to reach its mark. Up to the close of his
poetical career Moore continued to throw off political squibs
or satires on the topics of the day, and they are unsurpassed
in our whole literature for wit, ingenuity, and brilliancy.
They were published in the columns of the Morning Chro¬
nicle and Times, and seem to have brought their author an
income of L.400 or L.500 a year. His imagination, he
said, was the sole or chief prompter of this satire. It was
possible, he conceived, to shower ridicule on a political ad¬
versary without allowing a single feeling of real bitterness
to mix itself with the operation. Without a lively and fer¬
tile imagination such things could not indeed have been
written ; but Moore was a partisan as well as a poet; he felt
keenly on all questions affecting his Irish Roman Catholic
brethren, he was in daily association with the Whig lead¬
ers, and he had, besides, the natural antipathy of wit and
genius to official dulness and pretence. But perhaps the
main cause why a poet so little prone to bitterness should
have so often and so long persisted in the use of this “flying
artillery ” of party warfare, was the unexampled popularity
of his satires, and the large sums of money he obtained for
them. When a few hours’ occasional labour, that partook
as much of amusement as of task-work, produced a cheque
for a hundred pounds, and elicited immediate congratula¬
tion and applause, little else was required to stimulate the
imagination. Moore was a man of quick rather than of
strong or deep feeling; to such indignation or hatred as
that of Swift he was a stranger. The political wrongs and
injustice that lacerated the soul of Swift only wakened the
poetical fancy and exercised the lively satirical ingenuity
and wit of Moore.
The circumstances attending the publication of Lalla
Rookh form an interesting chapter in literary history. In
December 1814 the Messrs Longman, publishers, stipulated
to give Moore the sum of L.3000 for a poem of the same
length as Scott’s Rokeby. They had seen no part of the work,
and had to encounter, of course, the risk of failure ; but they
placed implicit trust in the genius and honour of Moore, and
in the almost unbounded popularity of his name. After
more than two years’ delay the transaction was completed
by the publication, in May 1817, of this eastern romance;
and it is gratifying to be able to add that the enterprising
and confiding publishers were fully compensated for their
liberality and boldness, the poem having in the first year
gone through seven editions. It possessed, indeed, all the
elements of instant and decided success. Lalla Roohh
531
Moore,
Thomas.
532
MOORE.
Moore, abounds in picturesque and highly-wrought delineations of
Thomas. Eastern scenery and manners. It has the interest and at-
traction of four romantic tales, happily linked together by a
small golden thread of narrative; it has a profusion of similes
and sparkling imagery, and in some of the characters and
incidents there are pictures of the loftiest heroism and the
tenderest love. The versification is varied, spirited, and
harmonious. The poet moves in the fetters of rhyme, whether
in the heroic measure of Dryden or in the octo-syllabic verse
of Scott, with the ease and grace of Ariel himself; and Ariel
could not have desired a greater command of voluptuous
sweets—of bowers of roses and nightingales, crystal foun¬
tains and fragrant groves, made radiant by the Houris of the
East. The subject justified a large amount of this orna¬
mental splendour and sensuous beauty; and the poet drew
his materials from diligent study of oriental histories and
books of travel. All is correct in external embellishment,
costume, and decoration. The defect of the poem is its
very riches. There is too much glitter and perfume ; too
many startling contrasts of loveliness and deformity, of rap¬
ture and agony ; too visible a presence of art and prepara¬
tion. The reader is lost in admiration, but gets fatigued
as in a picture-gallery or hot-house, and sighs for the fresh
breeze and simple aspects of nature.
While enjoying this new accession of fame and of release
from the responsibility of an anxious engagement, Moore
accepted an offer from Mr Rogers to accompany him to
Paris. They spent a month in the French capital, and it
furnished matter for Moore’s next work, The Fudge Family
in Paris, a satire which, he says, “ prospered amazingly—
five editions in less than a fortnight, and his share of the
profits for that time L.350.” The Marquis of Lansdowne
had long wished the poet to take up his abode somewhere
in his neighbourhood, and Moore removed to Sloperton
Cottage, near Devizes, which was within an easy walking
distance of Bowood. His settlement in this neat and
modest poetical mansion (a thatched cottage, with garden,
rented at L.40 a-year) was followed by what seemed at first
to be a serious and almost irremediable misfortune. His
deputy at Bermuda proved faithless, having not only kept
back part of the receipts of the office, but appropriated to
his own use the proceeds of a sale of ship and cargo, de¬
posited in his hands by some American merchants. The
poet was involved, it was feared, to the extent of L.6000 ;
and a suit was instituted against him in the Admiralty Court.
Attempts were made at a compromise with the crown and
the American creditors ; and while these were pending, the
poet, ever sanguine and light-hearted, resumed his literary
labours and social festivities. His next poem was a “flash
satire,” entitled Tom Crib's Memorial to Congress, pub¬
lished in March 1819. In July the Bermuda cause was
finally decided in court, and an attachment was issued
against Moore’s person. One friend advised him to seek
an asylum for a short time in Ireland, another recommended
a retreat to the sanctuary at Holyrood, and a third coun¬
selled him to fly to France. All offers of pecuniary assist¬
ance from his friends he steadily declined. He went to
I ranee ; and shortly after his arrival in Paris (Sept. 1819)
he went with Lord John Russell on a journey to Italy.
They travelled together as far as Milan, the poet having
by the way “shuddered and shed tears” over the mighty
panorama of the Alps, which he saw in all its sunset glory.
Lord John took the route to Genoa, and Moore proceeded
alone on a visit to Lord Byron at his villa near Venice.
He subsequently extended his tour to Rome, and was for¬
tunate enough to fall in with two eminent English artists,
Chantrey and Jackson, with whom he returned to Paris.
1 his tour called forth a volume of Rhymes on the Road—
miscellaneous pieces of unequal merit, but embodying the
poets impressions of the magnificent ascent of the Simplon,
the appearance of Venice, and the glories of ancient art.
On all such subjects the inferiority of Moore to Byron, thus
made apparent, was strikingly manifest. Some reviewing
for Jeffrey, and some additional Melodies for Power, helped '
to supply the exigencies of life in Paris; but Moore’s cele¬
brity and multifarious acquaintance were fatal to anythin"
like severe study. Had he taken refuge in Holyrood he
would have been saved many temptations, but he would
also have missed much enjoyment; and his satirical poetry
would perhaps have lost some of the Attic point and polish
which familiarity with high life and public affairs in differ¬
ent countries was fitted to impart. At length, in Septem¬
ber 1822, Moore received the welcome intelligence that he
might safely return to England. The Bermuda claims had
been reduced to a thousand guineas: towards this sum the
uncle of the deputy contributed L.300, and the Marquis or
Lansdowne deposited the remaining portion (L.750) in the
hands of a banker, to be in readiness for the final settlement
of the demand. Moore allowed the deposit to be thus ap¬
plied, but immediately reimbursed his noble friend by a
cheque on his publishers for the amount. And thus the
harassing claim which had hung as an ominous cloud over
the poet’s household for more than three years was easily
and independently liquidated.
The first publication of Moore, after his return to his
Wiltshire cottage, was another romantic poem, The Loves
of the Angels, founded on eastern story and rabbinical fic¬
tions, that allegorized the fall of the soul of man from its
original purity. He next resumed satire in poetry and
prose, having published Fables for the Holy Alliance (1823)
and Memoirs of Captain Rock (1824). The latter is a
lively epitome of Irish history, in which, under the name
of a celebrated Irish chieftain, he detailed the violence and
insurrection that had sprung from systematic oppression.
Though bearing the character of a party pamphlet or special
pleading, this volume evinced considerable research and a
happy talent for dealing with historical and statistical facts.
The same qualities were more strikingly displayed in his
Life of Sheridan, published in 1825. As a work of con¬
temporary history and biography, illustrated by personal
anecdote and criticism, Moore’s Life of Sheridan told much
that was new and interesting; it was fairly and candidly
written, presenting passages of powerful reasoning and elo¬
quence ; and was only objected to on the ground that it was
too full of ornament and metaphor, the author having in¬
truded poetry into the sober domain of historical prose.
His next work was^ still more ornate, but there embellish¬
ment was graceful and appropriate. The Epicurean, a
Tale, published by Moore in 1827, is the story of a young
Epicurean philosopher who, in the reign of Valerian, visits
Egypt, falls in love with an Egyptian maid, and ultimately,
through her counsels and martyrdom, becomes a convert to
Christianity. The philosophy and pathos of this little tale,
and its exquisite descriptions, render it unique and unri¬
valled for brilliance among our works of fiction.
In 1830 appeared The Letters and Journals of Lord Byron,
with Notices of his Life, by Thomas Moore, 2 vols. 4to.
Thus modestly was ushered into the world a work that had
cost Moore infinite trouble and anxiety, and which forms by
far the most important and valuable of his prose productions.
The noble poet had written memoirs of his own life—an
autobiography, more or less complete, up to 1820—which
he presented to his friend for publication after his death.
Pressed as he always was by pecuniary necessities, Moore
in 1821 sold the Byron manuscript to Mr Murray for 2000
guineas. In 1824 that event occurred which fell upon all
Europe with grief and surprise—Byron suddenly died ; and
his friends became alarmed on account of the disclosures
that might be made in the memoirs. Mr Murray expressed
his willingness to give up the manuscript on repayment ot
his money with interest, and Moore unhappily was led into
an arrangement by which the 2000 guineas were refunded,
Moore,
533
ore,
mas.
M O O
and the manuscript reclaimed and burnt. That he acted
from honourable and chivalrous feelings cannot be doubted.
The pecuniary loss was to him a heavy sacrifice; but it
must ever be matter of regret that he was precipitated into
such a step. Byron had intrusted his defence to his hands;
he owed a solemn duty to the memory of his friend and
benefactor, and the public had a right to know
What desolating grief, what wrongs had driven
That noble nature into cold eclipse.
Whatever was objectionable in the memoirs (not amount¬
ing, according to Lord John Russell, to more than three or
four pages) could easily have been expunged, or the pub¬
lication might have been deferred for years, like the memoirs
of Walpole, but nowall was lost; and the rash act of de¬
struction was equally a fraud on the memory of Byron and
on the public. But though thus swayed by a fastidious
delicacy and deference to Lord Byron’s family and early
friends, Moore was afterwards enabled to erect a suitable
and lasting memorial of his friend. His Life of Byron is
one of the most interesting and instructive of biographies,
conceived in a right spirit, and executed with singular ability,
care, and judgment. Considered merely as a composition,
this work deserves, as Lord Macaulay has remarked, s< to be
classed among the best specimens of English prose which
our age has produced.” And as the fame of Moore was
thus placed on its highest pinnacle, his fortunes were no
less benefited. For the copyright of the Life Mr Murray
gave the large sum of 4000 guineas, besides furnishing no
inconsiderable part of the letters and journals with which
the work is enriched.
With the Life of Byron may be said to close the happy
and brilliant portion of Moore’s literary career. He still
held on his course, however, though with subdued vigour,
and, until his faculties were clouded by mental disease, was
rarely a day without some effort at composition. His social
celebrity also continued. In 1831 he published a slight
poetical performance, The Summer Fete, commemorating a
holiday gathering at Boyle Farm in Ireland ; and the same
year he issued Memoirs of Lord Edivard Fitzgerald, the
weak but amiable victim of Irish insurrection. In 1833
he ventured on a polemical, but to him congenial, subject,
Travels of an Irish Gentleman in Search of a Religion.
Moore, though indifferent to mere forms of faith, still ad¬
hered to his old Roman Catholic creed, and vindicated
what he conceived to be its superiority to all others in truth
and antiquity. In 1835 appeared the first volume of his
History of Ireland, written for Lardner’s Cyclopcedia, and
extending to four volumes. He bestowed pains and research
on this work, but without success adequate to his labour:
it was too long and close for a popular digest, yet not suf¬
ficiently critical or learned to render it an authority on Irish
history. In 1841 and 1842 he collected his poetical works,
writing short prefaces to each volume, and adding some
additional verses. He still occasionally threw off a squib
or song, and he contemplated writing the life of Sydney
Smith, a task well suited to his powers had it been required
ten years earlier; but disease was now dealing with the
accomplished and indefatigable worker. A softening of the
brain took place, as in the cases of Swift, Scott, and Southey,
and he sank by slow degrees into a state of helpless infirmity
and childishness, though happily free from pain. 1 he latter
years of the poet had been darkened by domestic grief and
calamity. His three children had predeceased him—one
of his sons having by his imprudence seriously embarrassed
his father, anil occasioned to both parents the most poignant
distress. In 1835 a pension of L.300 per annum was con¬
ferred on Moore, and in 1850 a pension of L.100 was
settled on his wife, “ in consideration of the literary merits
of her husband, and his infirm state of health.” The poet
lingered on for two years longer, lost to the world, and died
at Sloperton Cottage on the 26th of February 1852, being
MOO
then in the seventy-third year of his age. It is a touching Moors,
and characteristic trait of his last illness that he “warbled” v «-v—r
or sung on the day of his death.
The Memoirs, Journals, and Correspondence of Moore,
edited by Lord John Russell, have been published in eight
volumes; and a volume of Notes from his letters to his music-
publisher James Power, has also been given to the public.
The best excuse for the voluminous, unconnected, and un¬
satisfactory work of Lord John Russell, is the fact that Moore
left his papers for publication by his noble friend in order
that some provision might be made for his family after his
decease ; and that Lord John obtained for the MSS. a sum
of L.3000, which was invested for the benefit of the poet’s
widow. Lord John did little as editor; at least one-half
of the diary should have been thrown out, and explanatory
notes added to much of the remainder, if not the whole
recast; but what he has written of his friend is honourable
to his taste, judgment, and feelings. From the diary and
other biographical materials we know more of the Irish poet,
of his outer and inner life, than of any other of his illustrious
contemporaries. His daily round of existence was of a very
uniform tenor. His mornings were chiefly spent in study,
his best poetry being composed in his garden or in the
neighbouring fields. His evenings were devoted to society,
and no poet—not even Pope—ever lived more among the
great. In the country he enjoyed the refined intellectual
hospitalities of Bowood; in London his company was eagerly
courted in all circles. His table was covered with invita¬
tions. Authors, artists, booksellers, and musicians, ran
after him. Llis journal for weeks together, through succes¬
sive years, is little else than a record of morning visits,
dinners, balls, the opera and theatres. The time and money
thus spent kept him perpetually in difficulties. He could
rarely leave home without forestalling the fruits of his brain
by drawing on the Messrs Longman, on Power (his friendly
banker on all occasions), or on the editor of the Times, and
his literary tasks were in this way often delayed, and at last
hurriedly finished. He saw the folly of such a course of
splendid dissipation, and throughout it all he retained a
relish for the quiet pleasures of home. But he could not
resist the fascination of popular applause—the tumultuous
delight with which his presence was hailed by the great,
the beautiful, the witty, and accomplished; and the tears
which were profusely shed over the songs he sung with so
much sweetness. Never was vanity more fully gratified,
or life more thoroughly enjoyed. No shadow could remain
long on so bright and sunny a nature—his elastic gaiety of
spirit was an overmatch for fortune ! With most men this
kind of existence would have led to a coarse unamiable
selfishness ; it did so with Sheridan and Byron, and we do
not say that Moore escaped from it without injury—his
vanity, like his demands on publishers, was apt to be exor¬
bitant and unscrupulous. It was too much at times for his
truth and affection. But altogether Moore was a man cast
in a kindly, generous, and happy mould. In his intercourse
with the great, though fed with soft flatteries all day long,
and “ dearly loving a lord,” as Byron said, he preserved in
a remarkable degree his independence, his frank cordiality,
and freshness of feeling. He was, like Pope and Gray,
devotedly attached to his mother (to whom he wrote two
letters a week), he loved his wife and children, took a warm
interest in all cheap and innocent pleasures, and tried to
make every one about him happy. His love of Ireland was
a principle or passion of a nobler stamp. Her he served
with all his soul and strength, uplifting her banner in the
hour of darkness and danger ; and with the names of Grat¬
tan and Curran as Irish patriots, that of Thomas Moore will
be for ever associated. (r. c—s.)
MOORS, the Arabian conquerors of Spain, well known
by this name on account of their having come directly from
the land of the ancient Mauri, or Mauretania. They first
534 MOO
Moorsheda-invaded the Spanish territories in 711 under Tarik, the
t)a<h lieutenant of Musa Ibn Nosseyr; and in 712 that able
general, landing his forces, speedily completed the conquest
that had been begun, and subdued the entire country, with
the exception of the mountainous districts of Asturias and
Galicia. (See Musa.) The conqueror then assumed the
reins of government in subordination to the viceroy ot
Africa, and was the first of the amirs who ruled the countiy
for the next forty-four years. In 756 Abd-el-rahman, a
military adventurer, and a descendant of the deposed Mo¬
hammedan dynasty of the Beni Ommiyah, won the supreme
power by the sword. Till 1031 he anti his descendants
reigned as sovereigns of Spain. Ihe local governors then
threw off their allegiance, and established themselves as
independent potentates. A series of civil wars, however, left
Mohammedan Spain, in course ot time, under the power of
a few great kings. The Christians also, taking advantage
of the internal dissensions of their Moorish enemies, mar¬
shalled themselves under Alfonso “ the Battler,” and cap¬
tured Castile, and its capital Toledo. They were pursuing
their conquests in 1086, when Yusef Ibn Tashfin, a member
of that religious sect, called the Almoravides, which had
already subdued Northern Africa, suddenly appeared to
retrieve the sinking Moslem cause. In the same year
Alfonso was defeated at Zalaca, and the progress of the
Christians was checked. Yusef was raised to the sove¬
reignty of the country in 1099; but the Spanish dynasty
of the Almoravides which he founded lasted only for a few
generations. The Almohades, another religious sect from
Africa, invaded Spain, and in 1146 the sceptre passed into
their hands. During their sway the Christians continued to
extend their conquests over the territory of the Moors
until 1238, when Mohammed Ibn Alahmar, King of Granada,
became the vassal of Ferdinand III., King of Castile.
From this date the Moorish cause steadily declined be¬
neath the attacks of the Christians, and the still more
fatal attacks of a continuous series of treacherous conspira¬
cies and internecine broils. At length in 1491 Ferdinand
V., King of Castile and Aragon, captured Granada, and gave
the death-blow to the power of the Moors. (See Spain.)
MOORSHEDABAD, acity of Hindustan, in the district
of the same name, and province of Bengal, of which it was
at one time the capital. Its original name was Muksoosa-
bad, but this was changed to its present denomination.
It extends, including Cossimbazar, eight miles on both
sides of the Bhagiratty or Cossimbazar River, a branch of
the Ganges, about 120 miles above Calcutta. It is a mo¬
dern city, and was never fortified, excepting by an occasional
rampart in 1742, during the Mahratta invasion. The
streets are narrow and inconvenient, insomuch that they
are impassable for European carriages. I he buildings are
in general bad. Most of the houses have only one storey,
with tiled roofs ; and the palace of the nawaub is so insigni¬
ficant as to be passed without observation. From the
market-place runs a long, narrow, winding street, composed
of mean houses and huts, which is again intersected by
others still more narrow and miserable. The sewers ori¬
ginally intended to carry off the water having been de¬
stroyed, the streets become nearly impassable after a heavy
fall of rain, and emit putrid effluvia. In the year 1813 a
canal was dug between the Bhagiratty and the great Ganges
rivers, which, independently of its commercial benefits,
tended to ameliorate the unhealthiness of the town. But
notwithstanding these exertions, itwas remarkably unhealthy
in 1814, and many Europeans suffered in the general
mortality which prevailed. A strong desire is stated to
have been manifested bv the present nawaub for the im-
M O R
provement of its sanitary condition. It is still, however, a Moosh
place of great inland traffic, and the river is constantly ||
covered with boats. A Mohammedan college was some lforal-de-
years since founded here, to which an English professorship ^alatrava.
was subsequently attached. In 1757 Moorshedabad was
superseded as the capital of Bengal by Calcutta. Long.
88. 15. E., Lat. 24. 12. N.
The district of which this place is the chief town has an
area of 1856 square miles, and a population estimated at a
million ofinhabitants. Before the commercial charter of
the East India Company had ceased, this district was the
principal seat of its silk manufacture. The production and
manufacture are still carried on by private individuals.
The principal silk manufacture is that of Corahs. The
dignity of the Nawaub of Moorshedabad, which has be¬
come purely titular, is supported by the grant on the
part of the British government of the magnificent allow¬
ance of L.160,000 per annum. Shah Allum, the Emperor
of Delhi, conferred the territory upon the East India Com¬
pany by the grant of the Dewanny in 1765.
MOOSH, a town of Asiatic Turkey, capital of a small
pashalic of the same name, under that of Erzeroom. It is
pleasantly situated on the summit and sides of a conical
hill, near the Murad Chai, or eastern arm of the Euphrates,
75 miles S.S.E. of Erzeroom. The plain in which it stands
is about 40 miles in length by 12 or 14 in breadth, and has
an elevation of 4692 feet. It is well watered, though in
some places dry and stony; and its climate is one of ex¬
tremes. It contains about 100 villages; and produces
grain, tobacco, and wine, the last being of good quality.
The town itself has a wretched appearance, and is inhabited
by Turks and Armenians, the latter of whom, having the
whole trade of the place in their hands, are the wealthier class,
and pay an annual tribute of about L.2000, from which the
Turks are exempt. There are 7 mosques, 4 churches, and
several large and well-stocked bazaars in the town. Coarse
cotton cloth is manufactured here. The principal articles
of export are tobacco and cattle ; while a very small amount
of European manufactures is imported. Pop. estimated at
6000.
MORA, a town of Spain, in the province of Toledo, 18
miles S.E. of Madrid. The streets are wide, but unpaved;
and there are three market-places. The town has a church,
a town-house, a prison, and several schools. I he inhabi¬
tants are chiefly employed in agriculture, in the manufac¬
ture of articles from rushes, in flour and oil mills, and in
soap-works. Pop. 5094.
MORAD ABAD, a town of Hindustan, and the principal
place of the British district of the same name. It has con¬
siderably declined from its ancient consequence, having
been the seat of a mint in which rupees were coined, which
were current in Hindustan, until superseded by the new
rupee of the East India Company. It is 838 miles N.W.
from the city of Calcutta. The population, according to
the latest official return, is 57,414, the majority of which is
Mohammedan. The district of which this town is the chief
place has an area of 2967 square miles, and a population of
1,138,461. The province was ceded to the East India
Company in 1801 by the Navvaub of Oude. The town of
Moradabad is in Lat. 28. 49., Long. 78. 50.
MORAL-DE-CALATRA VA, a town of Spain, in the
province of Ciudad Real, is situated on the edge of the
sierra of San Cristobal, 17 miles S.E. of Ciudad Real. The
houses are generally low; and the town contains a church,
town-house, prison, hospital, and several schools. Fhere.
are also several flour and oil mills, and manufactories of
cloth. Pop. 4120.
535
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
INTRODUCTION.
due- 1. Moral Philosophy is the science of what ought to be
n. in human character and conduct. In this lies its funda-
mental idea, and by this is described the object with which
it is versant. Whilst other sciences relating to man aim at
the scientific theory of what is, Moral Philosophy has for its
special province and aim the scientific theory of what ought
to be. “ The guid est,” says Dr Chalmers, “ is not to be
confounded with the quid oportet; and moral truth is in
every way as distinct from the facts or principles which
make up the actual constitution of the human mind, as
mathematical truth is distinct from the laws and proper¬
ties of the material world. The question, What are the
affections or purposes of the mind ? is wholly distinct and
dissimilar from the question which relates to the rightness
and wrongness of those affections and purposes. My know¬
ledge that such a purpose or passion exists is one thing ;
my judgment of its character is another. In the one case it
is viewed historically as a fact; in the other case it is viewed
morally as a vice or a virtue. In the one case it belongs to
mental, in the other to moral science.”1 Generally, moral
science proposes to determine the grounds on which moral
distinctions rest .; the criterion or standard of rightness and
wrongness in actions ; the nature, conditions, and principles
of virtue ; the place and operations of conscience in the
human economy ; the laws and divisions of duty ; and, in
short, all that goes to the determination of what man has to
be and to do in order to acquit himself of the obligations
under which he has been laid by God.
2. The proper object of this science is actions,—mean¬
ing by that term all that results from the energy of vo¬
lition.2 Whilst Psychology contemplates what is given
in consciousness simply as phenomenal, and aims at dis¬
covering the laws under which the facts so obtained may
be reduced, Moral Philosophy goes out upon the field of
man’s active life, and by a standard previously fixed, de¬
termines what actions are good and what bad; and thus
dictates what course of conduct it behoves man to follow.
3. All human actions, however, do not fall within the
province of this science. The Greeks distinguished be¬
tween 7rptt£as and Troojcms, doings and mailings ; though all
do not agree as to the limits of the distinction. Without
entering here on these differences, we may content our¬
selves with what Aristotle says on the subject: “ I he end
of making (or production) is different (Le., from the making^
itself); but of doing it is not so, for the well-doing itself
is the end.”3 “ Making and doing differ specifically from
each other  Now life is a doing, not a making.
“ Prudence has to do with practice,—that is, with things
which are the object of choice or aversion, and which it
rests with ourselves to do or not to do. Nor is the faculty
for doing and the faculty for making the same; for the Introduc-
latter has an end distinct from the making, as in the build- tion.
ing art, where, since there is the making of houses, an endv'—^
distinct from the building itself—namely, the house—is pro¬
posed ; and it is the same with the joiner’s art and others
that have to do with making. In respect, however, of the
practical, there is no other end besides the doing itself, but
the very energy and action is the end. Hence prudence
has to do with practice and practical things, but not with
making and things made.”5 These passages seem sufficient
to establish that the distinction between these two, in the
mind of Aristotle, was determined by the fact, that the one
class of actions is prompted by the emotive principles of
our nature, and terminates in the satisfaction of the parti¬
cular desire or passion by which the action is prompted;
whilst the other class is more under intellectual control, and
finds its terminus in the production of something distinct
from itself. This is the distinction between moral conduct
and productive activity; and it serves to define still more
closely the boundaries of our science. Moral Philosophy
has to do with those actions which are directed to the
gratification of the emotive principles of our nature ; it has
nothing to do immediately with those actions the end of
which is production, though mediately and indirectly it
may have to do with these, inasmuch as they are sometimes
the instruments by which the gratification of the desires is
secured or sought. With the building of a house it has no
concern ; but it may have much to say in reference to the
proposal to build it,"the end for which it is built, and the
relations to each other of those engaged in building it.
4. Of those actions which fall within its sphere Moral
Philosophy has to determine the rightness or the wrongness,
and consequently to indicate what practices are to be fol¬
lowed and what shunned. This, however, presupposes
some standard of rectitude by which the moral character of
actions may be determined ; and this again presupposes a
ground or basis of moral distinctions on which this standard
rests. Before proceeding, therefore, to delineate a scheme
of practical rectitude, it is necessary to institute an in¬
quiry into the nature of rectitude itself, and to ask what s
its true basis or primal reason, and what its just and fittest
standard.
5. An action implies an agent; a moral action a moral
agent. The consideration of moral actions, therefore, na¬
turally leads to the consideration of moral agents; and here
the question which arises is, In what relation do moial
agents stand to rectitude ? I he solution of this question
involves an inquiry into man s moial constitution, into the
position he occupies as the subject of a moral government,
and into what constitutes the virtue or moral excellence of
one so placed.
6. Having determined these points, we may proceed to
* non qlemvis motum a facultatibus hominis procedentem ; sed ilium duntaxat qui provenit ac
diri^r “fTcSSus quas humane generi prm brutis Creator 0. M. attribuit, nempe qui velut prmlucenti intellect, ac decernente
voluntate suscipitur. (Puffendorff, Be Officio ZZominw, book i., ch. i., § 2.) , , , , ... ... rq Ter,
3 Tijf uh yap Ti-oweag hepov to «Ao?. Tij? & oU uv m' eart y^ ocurn rtXo?. (Me. Hth.,b vi., c. iv-> § 3> Lan'
caster’s edit 1 The stvle of Aristotle is so very condensed, that it may be well to add the paraphrase of these words by one of his com¬
mentators “ Addit Philosophic illam distinctionem quod affectionis est alius ab ipsa finis, ut opus quod ars molitur : at actioms non
semper est alius ab ipsa finis, cum ipsa perfecta ac absoluta soleat esse finis.’ (Ant. Riccobom, in Eth. Anst. ad Nic. Comment., p. 160,
Oxon.1821.) , , , . v
* AtcKpioet ii xo’mtS nlu xxi y  ode frog v^tg ov •xornoig tori. (Polit., b. i., c. i.) * ^ ^
6 ' H (ppovnotg nipi TC6 Tr^aHTX, tv olg xi^toig x.xt (pvyw, xxl itp' 'hfEiv ton or^xt xxi py ton dvi Tu>v oroiovptvuv xcti orgctT-
roptvuv ov rxvro to oroirrrtMv xxl wgattfnxoV ruv ptv yacg oromixuv ton to wags* orctmiv xKKo rthog- dtov orxpxT^ oUodopixviv, torttM
ionv oUiug oroiYiriKYi, oUta. xvrng to tsAoj tcx^x tyiv oroinoiv’ opotug tori TexTovncijg, xxi rav tojv toiyitikuV tori Si tuv ot^tuv
oiik ionv «AAo wOiv Tthog oro«> xvtyiv T'pv tt^xBiv. aAA’ *<Vo tovto Tthog >] ’evt'^ytix xxt ii wga&j, &c. (Magna Mor., b. i., c. xxxv.)
536
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Introduc- consider the practical course which the principles thus as¬
certained indicate as that which man ought to pursue.
This is tantamount to an inquiry into the duties which
devolve upon us as under moral government; for the sum
of human duties comprises the whole of what, as an intelli¬
gent and accountable agent, man has to attend to.
7. “ Every art and every method,” says Aristotle, “ like¬
wise deed and choice, seems to aim at some good ; where¬
fore the good is well defined to be that which all things
aim at.”1 But if all the actions of men aim at some good,
it becomes necessary to inquiry what is the sovereign good
or supreme end of human activity. I his will be found to
be happiness,—“ our being’s end and aim.” But if all men s
actions are aimed at happiness, and at the same time must
be in accordance with virtue, it becomes necessary to in¬
quire in what relation happiness and virtue stand to each
otlierj—whether they are identical, correlate, or subordinate
the one to the other.
8. The science of Moral Philosophy thus branches off
into four principal parts:—I. The theory of rectitude in
actions; II. The theory of virtue in individuals ; III. The
scheme of practical duties ; IV. The doctrine of happiness.
Obs. 1. Were the usage familiar in moral science w'hich has been
bo extensively and with so much advantage followed in physical
science, of naming separate branches bywords compounded from the
Greek, with kayas, discourse or science, we might conveniently de¬
nominate these four divisions of our science thus : I. Orthotetology,
from oqSgtyis, rectitude; II. Aretology, from virtue; III.
Deontology, from to "biou, that which is binding or due ; and IV. Eu-
daimonology, from eiihxiftoviot, happiness. Of these terms, some
have been actually employed, and the others might with equal right
be introduced.2
Obs. 2. To some it has appeared that there is no valid distinc¬
tion to be taken between rectitude as a quality of action, and virtue
as an attribute of individuals. Thus Dr Thomas Brown affirms,
that “ to say that any action which we are considering is right or
wrong, and to say that the person who performed it has moral
merit or demerit, are to say precisely the same thing and again,
“ the action, if it be anything more than a mere insignificant word,
is a certain agent in certain circumstances, willing and producing
a certain effect.” 3 Many passages of similar import might be cited
from his lectures, for he insists upon this point with an almost
wearisome iteration. Now it may be admitted that to say “ that
action is right,” and to say of the man who performed it, “ he has
acted virtuously,” may often mean substantially the same thing;
but it by no means follows from this that in both cases the mind is
contemplating exactly the same object. Two forms of speech may
convey the same general sense, and yet the things spoken of may not
be identical. In the case before us the action is viewed in relation
to a certain objective standard—that of rectitude; whilst the agent
is viewed in relation to a certain subjective law—that of conscience.
Moreover, though the rectitude of the action and the virtue of the
agent may often concur, they are capable of existing separately.
There may be virtue in the agent where the action itself is wrong;
and there may be rectitude in an action where there is no virtue in
the agent. This is so familiar a fact, that Dr Brown could not over¬
look it; but the way in which he endeavours to obviate the objection
thence arising to his own doctrine is anything but satisfactory.
Thus, in order to account for our approving an action as right, whilst
we cannot approve of the individual who performs it, he supposes
that we imagine the action as proceeding from a totally different
individual, and as performed under totally different circumstances.
Thus, it seems, we do distinguish between the action and the agent
as respects moral worth, commending the one whilst we condemn
the other. But we accomplish this by interpolating a second
agent, an imaginary person, to whom we ascribe the action. The
simple answer to this over-argute philosophy is, in the first place,
that it is false in fact; for we do nothing of the sort affirmed; and
tion.
in the second place, that it is unsound in principle; for how could Introduu
an imaginary person confer a character on a real act ? If the act y
have no moral character apart from the agent, then an imaginary ^
agent can c infer only an imaginary character. Dr Brown was be-
trayed into this fallacy by his peculiar theory of morals, of which
more afterwards.4
9. Moral Philosophy has often been extended so as to
embrace other sciences, which, though closely allied to it,
are yet capable of being investigated apart from it, and are
most advantageously so investigated. Aristotle, who re¬
garded morals as a branch of politics, describes the science
as rj Tregt ra avOptoinva ^xAdotk/jux, “ the philosophy pertain¬
ing to human affairs.”5 6 This is sufficiently comprehensive,
and would bring under one science not only Morals, Politics,
and Economics, but also Psychology, Logic, Rhetoric, and
Aesthetics. This general statement, however, must be quali¬
fied by what the author elsewhere insists on respecting the
distinction between Tqod^as and Trotr/para. It will then ap¬
pear that Aristotle regarded as the proper province of
moral science those actions which arise from passion, desire,
or affection, with all the social arrangements and relations
to which they lead. He thus classes under one general
science,—Ethics, or the science of personal conduct; Poli¬
tics, or the science of the relations of citizenship; and
Economics, or the science of domestic relations. To this
arrangement no objection can be urged, so far as the matter
of the science is concerned, provided it be understood that
the relations of citizenship and of the household are con¬
sidered only under their moral aspect, and apart from legal,
fiscal, or prudential considerations ; but it seems better to
confine the term Politics to the science of social and civil
relations, in so far forth as these are determined by positive
enactments or customs; and the term Economics to the
management of households or communities, in respect of
their physical and financial interests.
A recent writer on Moral Philosophy has claimed for it
a province nearly as wide as the words of Aristotle, in all
their unqualified breadth, would assert. “ Ihe laws,” says
he, “ of which Moral Philosophy is in quest are the laws of
human activity; the theory of that unceasing spirit of
pursuit which every human action displays ; the systematic
view of all those various phenomena by which the instinc¬
tive restlessness of our nature is evidenced.”0 But if a//
human activity is to be included within the sphere of Moral
Philosophy, this science will absorb the entire range of
speculation and of art, leaving only the mathematical and
physical sciences to be prosecuted as separate branches.
That the author is prepared to assert this wide claim ap¬
pears evident from his ranking not only Politics and Na¬
tural Theology under Moral Philosophy, but also Rhetoric,
Poetry, and Logic, all of which “ have their foundation in
the active nature of man.” It is difficult to see, however,
what is gained by this clubbing of sciences, the materials
and methods of which are different. It is no doubt true
that all sciences which investigate the laws of human per¬
formance “ have their foundation in the active nature of
man ;” but this is no more a reason for all these being re¬
duced under one head, than the fact that all knowledges
have their foundation in the intellect, is a reason for every
science whatever being treated as a branch of Psychology.
There is surely a wide and essential difference between
performances which terminate on an intellectual composi-
1 Nicom. Eth., at the beginning. _ ,
2 Thus there is a work entitled Aretologie, oder Philosophische Tugendlehre, by Willi. Traug. Krug; another, entitled Aretologia, ,y
Dr Innes; and Bowring has designated the book in which he unfolds the ethical system of Bentham by the title of Deontology, or the
Science of Morality. 3 Lectures, vol. iii., p. 568.
4 Aristotle distinctly recognises the distinction between rectitude in actions and virtue in the agent. Compare, e.g., his reasonings in
chapter iii. (iv.), book ii., of his Nicom. Ethics, where he argues that a man cannot become a good man simply by doing what is good, as
he may become a musician simply by playing tunes; “for,” says he, “it is not with virtues as with arts; in the latter the doing ot
the thing is what is required,—it is enough if anyhow it be done; but in the former it is not enough Jiat the thing be done, -it is also
required that the doer of it be rightly affected,” &c. 5 Nicom. Eth., b. x., c. iii., p. 350 of Lancaster s edit.
6 Hampden, Course of Lectures introductory to the study of Moral Philosophy, p. 76.
MORAL
tfroduc- tion or a physical structure, and performances which ter-
ion. minate in the gratification of a desire, the manifestation of
a disposition, or the development of a character. The
laws which these two different classes of energies obey,
the methods by which these are to be discovered, and the
uses to which they are to be applied, are so different, that
not only may they be studied apart, but it is for the interests
of both that they should be so studied.
The teaching of Moral Philosophy, as comprehending the
science of Mind as well as of Morals, has been complained
of by Dr Chalmers as an evil connected with the scheme of
instruction pursued in the Scottish universities, where, says
he, Moral Philosophy has been made to embrace, along
with its proper object, “ the whole physiology of the mind,
with all its feelings and all its facultiesand also “ the
laws and methods of the human understanding.”1 The
published writings of Reid, Stewart, and Brown go to
corroborate this statement; for all of these philosophers,
though occupants of the Moral Philosophy chair, deemed it
their province to devote a large portion of their lectures to
mental science, including Psychology, ^Esthetics, and Logic.
Practically the only disadvantage resulting from this ar¬
rangement has been, that too heavy a burden has been
“ laid upon one solitary professorship for by none of these
eminent men, nor by any of their colleagues or successors,
has the mistake been committed of in any degree con¬
founding the two great branches of knowledge which their
course of lectures was made to embrace. Nor has the
union of the two in the prelections of one teacher been
without its advantages. Important as it is to keep the
branches distinct, it is yet possible to make the separation
between them too precise and too broad. Mental Philo¬
sophy is not the science of morals, nor Moral Philosophy the
science of mind; but nevertheless there can be no doubt
that the two are closely related, and that it is not desirable
that he who would accurately apprehend the one should
wholly pretermit, or only carelessly scan the other. Part of
the field is common to the two, in so far at least as the
objects of study are concerned ; for the whole of the emo¬
tional or conative part of our nature belongs alike to
Psychology and to Moral Philosophy. Still, the two pro¬
vinces are distinct; and whether cultivated by the same par¬
ties or not, they are best treated of as separate knowledges.
Moral Philosophy has also been sometimes extended so
as to embrace Casuistry, Jurisprudence, and Political Philo¬
sophy. With these it undoubtedly stands closely associated ;
still they are not to be confounded with it. Paley says that
Moral Philosophy and Casuistry “ mean the same thing ; 2
but it is not so. The two differ as Mechanical Philosophy
differs from the art of the mechanician; the former having
for its end the establishing of the principles of morals, the
latter having for its end the application of these principles
to difficult cases, such as actually or potentially lie within
the sphere of individual experience, especially such as seem
to involve an apparent collision of duties.3 Moral I hiloso-
phy has this in common with Jurisprudence, that both have
to consider man in relation to jus ; but in the former it is
jus as determined by the unwritten law of natui e, that
comes into consideration ; in the latter it is jus as expressed
in statutes and conventions, that forms the subject of inquiry.
Moral Philosophy has to expound the duties of man as a
member of civil society, and therefore comes very close
537
upon the province of Political Philosophy; but it belongs Introduc-
to the latter exclusively to examine the structure of govern- tion.
ments, and to determine their comparative advantages in
relation to the main end of government,—a subject suffi¬
cient in extent, variety, and importance, to entitle it to
become the topic of a special science.
10. The ancient Greeks gave to the science of Morals the
title of Ethics, rjdiKa, from rfios, mos; and this term has
been much used by modern writers. It has been objected
to, on the ground of being not sufficiently comprehensive,
by some writers, who would confine it to that part of moral
science which has to do with the intercourse of individuals
in private life. Thus Bishop Hampden objects to it on the
ground that, by adopting it we exclude Natural Theology
and Politics from the domain of Moral Philosophy.4 lo
this conclusion he and others have been led by unduly
attending to the mere etymological force of the word. It
seems, however, to have escaped them, that, on the same
ground, we ought to discard the term moral; for “ moral
is the synonyme of “ ethical,” with this difference, according
to Quintilian,5 that r/Oos involves more the idea of rectitude
than mos, and is consequently the fitter root of the two
from which to form a designation of the science of right
conduct. But in all cases of this sort etymology can be
allowed very little weight in determining the sense and
compass of the terms. Here usage, “ quern penes arbitrium
est et jus et norma loquendi,” must be allowed its full
rights; and the same authority which extended “ moral,”
so as to make it embrace all questions relating to man’s
duty and obligations, can give the same extension to the
term “ ethical.” If, then, it shall be found convenient to
employ the term Ethics instead of Moral Philosophy, it only
needs usage to sanction the change to justify its being
adopted. To us it appeal's that this necessary and autho¬
ritative sanction has been given, and we regard it as desir¬
able that the change of terminology thus justified should be
followed. The convenience of the change is the least of
its advantages. In addition to this, by using the term
Ethics we not only follow the analogy of cognate sciences,—
such as Metaphysics, Dialectics, .Esthetics,—but we set free
the term Moral to be used, in its antithesis to mathematical
and material, as comprehensive of all the sciences resting
upon probable evidence; and more than this, we obtain for
our own science a more just and exact appellation than that
we would supplant. On this last point the following obser¬
vations from the pen of one of the ablest living thinkers of
Germany are worthy of consideration:—“ Ihe best name
for this science is Ethic, or doctrine of morals (Sittenlehre),
as is clear from the relation of this word to the three fun¬
damental concepts of morals,—Law or Duty, Virtue, and
Chief Good. Mos or mores (whence Disciplina Moralis)
respects rather the outward phenomenon than the inner
source, and is not commensurate with the Greek ^0os.
Mores denotes, indeed, the character, but not the compre¬
hensive source ; whilst, on the other hand, r;0os, originally
the Ionic form of l6o%, includes the habit, the appertaining
conduct; and that not merely as an empirical wararaer {mos),
which may be evil, but as wha^ is sanctioned, what is
according to order and rule. As the word, however, de¬
notes that in which one is at home, in his element (e£?os
is allied to eSos and as sitte, custom, is to sitzen, to
sit, so that the ethos denotes the inner ground-tone), it
i M 1 Ph-l h Works vol v p 17 2 -^braZ Philosophy, b. i., ch. i., at the beginning.
3 meCasuisSk ist’kein besonderer wesentlicher theil eines systems der Moral, noch auch eine besondere wissenschaft, sondern nur
ine anwendune der moralischen maximen auf einzelne schwierigere falle, oder eine nahere bestimmung der allgemeinen vorschriften und
ormeln in bezfehung auf solche falle. (Staeudlin, Lehrbuch der Moral, 2d ed., p. 17.) See also kant 8 Tugendlehre, Kmleit., § 18, in his
Collected Works edited by Itosencranz and Schubert, vol. ix., p. 261; Edinb. Rev., vol. xxvn., p. 231 ; Ilallam s Hist, of Literature, \o\.
i., p. 493 2d ed/; WhewelTs Elements of Morality, vol. i., p. 243. Z-ectwrei, pp. 36, 37. ,
* cuius nomine, ut ego quidem sentio, caret sermo Romanus, mores appellantur, atque inde pars quoque ilia philosophic v\dix.vi
noralis est dicta. Sed Ipsam rei naturam spectanti mihi non tam mores significari videntur quam morum qucdara proprietas. (Jnst.
)rat., vi. 2.1
VOL. XV.
3 T
PHILOSOPHY.
538
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Introduc- follows that it embraces, along with the objective law, still
Hon. more definitely the subjective living conditionality, which,
as good, is virtue,—consequently what we term morality
(sittlichkeit'); whilst good-breeding, decent behaviour {sit-
tigkeit, sittsamkeit) express only the scrupulous conformity
to social customs presumed to be good. But not only is
there an ethos of individual persons, but also of commu¬
nities,—for instance, in the family spirit; nay, the moral
which specifies itself in moral communities has in the ethos
of these its subsistence, its subjective-objective being, so
that also the concept of good is incorporated with the words
ethos and ethic, and so there lies therein also the transition
to the forms in which the highest good is presented.
11. By some Moral Philosophy has been regarded as
a branch of Theology; while others have proposed to treat
Natural Ethics and Christian Ethics as distinct subjects.
Instead of adopting either view, it would be probably better
to restrict Theology to the investigation of what has been
revealed to us concerning God and his methods of dealing
with his creatures; whilst Ethics would be versant with
man’s moral relations to God, and to those creatures of God,
with which he is in any way connected. And in explor¬
ing this field, it seems wise neither to overlook what the
Scriptures inculcate respecting man’s moral relations and
duties on the one hand, nor on the other to count it suffi¬
cient simply exegetically to expiscate from the sacred page
a list of moral truths, without referring them to their philo¬
sophical basis, or assigning them their proper place in a
scientific system. There is one department, however, of
scriptural Ethics which must be suffered to fall under the
head of Theology,—viz., that which embraces the special
duties arising to the Christian, as such, out of the new
relations into which the extraordinary scheme of human
redemption brings all those who enjoy its benefits. T. his,
in the strictest acceptation of the term, is Christian Ethics,
because setting forth duties binding, not on man as man,
but on such men only as are partakers of the redemption
which is in Christ.1 2
12. Moral Philosophy is not to be ranked among the
inductive sciences. From observing the moral constitu¬
tion of man we may indeed draw the conclusion, that the
final cause of such a constitution is, that man should be
under moral government; but we cannot by this process
discover what constitutes morality, what lies at its basis, or
what expresses its principles. As little could we construct
a system of Ethics from merely observing the conduct of
men, or collecting their opinions on moral questions : at the
utmost this would only enable us to declare empirically
what they for the most part may have agreed to regard as
morally right or wrong; it would give us no criterion by
which to determine scientifically whether the judgment so
reached was the just one. The question, “ Quid oportet ?”
is one “ to the solution of which,” as Dr Chalmers ob¬
serves, ‘c we are guided by another light than that of expe¬
rience. This question lies without the domain of the in¬
ductive philosophy, and the science to whose cognisance
it belongs shines upon us by the light of its own immediate
evidence.”3 “By induction,” says another writer, “from
particular observation of what transpires in our own minds,
we may indeed ascertain that we are accountable ; that
we possess those powers or faculties which are presup¬
posed in a system of moral agency ; and that, according
to the kind of conduct pursued by us is our happiness
or the contrary, or at least the approbation or disapproba¬
tion of our own conduct. But from observation of what Introduc-
transpires within us merely, we can never by any process tion.
of induction arrive at a knowledge of the true nature of■vW
virtue and vice, or of their respective sources. We can¬
not in that way discover the standard by which good and
evil are measured, the grounds of obligation to pursue the
one and avoid the other, the causes on which success or
failure in that pursuit depend, or the means to be adopted
in order to the practice of virtue and the attainment of
happiness. The very supposition that such a method of
constructing a true moral philosophy can possibly succeed,
must assume that the inquirer is in fact a perfect being—
that what ought to be, and what is, are in him the same
thing. How else, by any observation of his thoughts, feel¬
ings, volitions, and actions, can he ascertain the rule of re¬
quirement—the general law of rectitude ?”4
13. For the successful pursuit of moral science it is im¬
portant that the mind should be well disciplined in the
analysis of moral phenomena; habituated to the weighing
of probable evidence ; accustomed at once to comprehen¬
sive views of things and to minute discrimination of differ¬
ences ; familiar with human nature, with men and their
ways; and calm, deliberative, and sagacious in its processes
of decision. Hence the inexpediency of including this
science among the studies to be pursued by very young
men. On this point the most eminent teachers of the
science are agreed. “ Beware, my dear,” says the Platonic
Socrates to a youthful friend, “ lest you risk what is most
precious to you; for there is much more hazard in the pur¬
chase of instructions than in the purchase of food. When
one has bought eatables or drinkables, he may carry them
from the shop and market in other vessels, and before, by
eating or drinking them, he receives them into his body he
may, having deposited them at home, and having called in
some skilful person, take counsel whether anything is to be
eaten or drunk, and how much and when ; so that in such
a purchase there is no great risk. But there is no carrying
of instructions in another vessel; he who receives them
must pay the fee and carry them in his soul itself, and
having learned, must depart either injured or profited. Let
us then consider these things [moral questions] with our
seniors, for we are still too young to adjudicate so great a
matter.”5 Aristotle repeatedly forbids the young to occupy
this territory. He bids them study mathematics, but ex¬
horts them to leave politics and morals till they have
gathered experience. “ Youths may become geometricians
and mathematicians, and skilled in such [knowledges] ; but
it does not appear that a youth becomes wise [«>., morally
wise, ^pov/jU.os]. The reason is, that wisdom has to do with
particulars which become known from experience ; whence
a youth is not experienced, since it is number of years that
gives experience.”6 And in the earlier part of the same
work he says,—“A youth is not a fit auditor of political
science; for he is without experience of those actions which
have to do with life; whilst the discourses [he would have
to hear] are out of these and concerning these. Moreover,
being disposed to follow his passions, he would hear in vain
and without profit, since the end is not knowledge but
action. It matters not, however, whether he be a youth in
years or youthful in habit; for the defect is not in respect
of time, but from his living and pursuing everything by
passion, inasmuch as to such the knowledge becomes use¬
less no less than to the incontinent. To those, however,
who regulate their appetites, and who act according to rea-
1 Dorner, art. “ Ethik ” in Herzog’s Real-Encyclofddie fur Prot. Theol. und Kirche. Compare also Harless, Christliche Ethik, p. 5, 4th ei
2 See Hagenbach, EncyclopcLdie und Methodologie der Theol. Wisscnschaften, p. 291. 3 Natural Theology, or s, "no . i., p«
4 Gilbert, Life of Dr Edward Williams, p. 589.
5 Plato, Protagoras, p. 314, A.; in Stallbaum’s edit, of his works, vol. ii., 33, 34.
9 Nicom. Eth., b. vi., c. vii., § 3 (ch. ix., near the beginning, by the Pacian division).
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
troduc- son, it is most useful to know about these things.”1 To the
tion. same effect Burgersdyk writes, “ Actiones civiles versantur
circa singularia, de quibus non secundum praecepta sed se¬
cundum occasionem judicandum est. Quod certe fieri non
potest, nisi ah eo qui longo rerum usu atque experientia
prudentiam sibi comparavit; quae in juvenibus admodum
rara est.”2 To these testimonies may be added those of
Stewart, and Hume as quoted by Stewart.3
14. In attempting to discuss a subject of so much import¬
ance, of such compass, and of such difficulty within such
limits as this article must necessarily be confined to, we
I feel that we have imposed on us no easy task. Our aim
chiefly shall be to present such a view of the subject as
shall meet the wants of the learner and the general reader.
15. No attempt is here made to trace the History of
Moral Philosophy, partly because the space allotted to this
article renders it impossible to do anything like justice to
such a theme ; partly because the Preliminary Dissertations
of Mr Stewart and Sir James Mackintosh to a great extent
supersede the necessity of making the attempt. In lieu of
this we shall content ourselves with laying before our read¬
ers a survey of the literature of the subject:—
Plato. All the treatises of Plato are more or less ethical in
their character and drift; of those specially devoted to
this science the most important are,—the Phaedo, the
Crito, the Gorgias, the Philebus, the Meno, the De
Republica, the Politicus, and the De Legibus. The
most useful edition of his works is that of Stallbaum,
of which only nine volumes have yet appeared. Gotha,
1837-1841. Other editions, with critical apparatus and
notes, are those of Ast, 10 vols. 8vo, Leipsic, 1819-29 ;
and of Bekker, 10 vols. 8vo, Berol. 1816-23. The
Latin translation by Marsilius Ficinus (edited by Gry-
naeus, Basil, 1534, fob), the German by Schleiermacher,
and the French by Victor Cousin, are worthy of careful
consultation. The standard English translation is that of
Sydenham.
Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea, Etldca Eudemea Magna
Moralia, Politica, et(Economica,and a [spurious] treatise,
De Virtutibus et Vitiis. Of the Nicomachean Ethics, the
best separate editions are those of Zell (Heidelberg, 1820,
2 vols. 8vo), Cardwell (Oxon. 1828-30, 2 vols. 8vo), and
Michelet (Berol. 1819-35, 2 vols. 8vo). Very useful edi¬
tions are those of Lancaster (Oxf. 1834), and Brewer
(Oxf. 1836) ; the latter has English notes. Of the
Politica, the editions of Schneider (Francf. 1809, 2 vols.
8vo), and Goettling (Jenae, 1824), are reputed the best.
The editions of his whole works most in repute are those
of Pacius, 2 vols. 8vo, Genev. 1597 ; of Du Val, 2 vols.
fob, Par., 1619; 4 vols., 1654; of Bekker and Brandis, 4
vols. 4to, Berob 1831-36. Bekker’s text was reprinted at
Oxford, in 11 vols. 8vo, in 1837-
Xenophon, Memorabilia Socratis, ed. Schneider. 8vo. Oxon.
1826.—Ed. Greenwood. 8vm Lond. 1823.
Theophrastus, CAaracteresiJtAici, cd. Ast. 8vo. Lips. ^1816.
Plutarch, Moralia, Gr. et Lat., ed. D. 'Wyttenbach. 15 vols.
8vo. Oxon. 1795-1830. 6 vols. 18mo. Lips. 1820.
Epictetus, Encheiridion et Fragmenta, Gr. et Lat., ed. Up-
tonus. 2 vols. 4to. 1741. Opera Omnia et Simplicii Com¬
ment, Gr. et Lat., ed. Schweighasuser.. 5 vols.. 8vq. 1799.
Antoninus (Marcus Aureb), De Rebus Suis, Libri xib, Gr. et
Lat., ed. Gataker. 4to. 1652, 1697.
Maximus (the Tyrian), Dissertationes xxxi., Gr. et Lat., cd.
J. Davis. Bgst edit., Lond. 1740. 4to.
539
Diogenes (of Laerte), De Vitis, Dogmatibus et Apophthegma- Introduc-
tibus Clarorum Philosophorum, Libri x., ed. Meibomius. tion.
2 vols. 4to. 1692. Very convenient editions are those of
Kraus, 8vo, 1759, and Huebner, 2 vols. 8vo, 1828-31.
Sextus (Empiricus), Opera Omnia, Gr. et Lat., ed. Stephanus,
Fob 1621.—Ed. Fabricius. Fob 1718.
Cicero, Opera Omnia, ed. Ernesti. 8 vols. 8vo. Hal. Sax.
1774-77.—Ed. Oliveti, 11 vols. 4to. Oxon. 1783.—Ed.
Schiitz. 20vols.8vo. Lips. 1814-23. Opera Philosophica,
ed. Davis et Rath, 6 vols. 8vo. Hal. Sax. 1804-19.
Seneca, Opera Omnia; a Justo Lipsio Scholiis lllustrata.
Fob Antv. 1605.—Ed. Ruhkoff. 5 vols. 8vo. Lips.
1797-1811.
Boethius, De Consolatione Philosophies, ed. Bernart. 8vo.
Lugd. Bat. 1671.
Basilius (Stua-), Ethica et Ascetica, Works, best ed., 3 vols.
fob Paris, 1721-30.
Ambrosius (Stus-), De OJftciis, Libri iii. Works, best ed., 2
vols. fob Paris, 1689-90.
Augustinus (StU3•) Best edition of his works, 12 vols. fob
Antv. 1700-3, a reprint of the Benedictine of 1679.
Hildebert (of Tours), Philosophia Moralis de Hones to et
Utili, in his collected works, by Beaugendre, pp. 961-998.
fob Paris, 1708.
Abaelard (P.), Ethica sive Liber dictus Nosce teipsum, in vol.
iii., pt. ib, from p. 627 of the Thes. Anecdot. Nov. of Pez.
7 vols. fob, 1721-9.
Thomas (of Aquino), Summa Theologies ; Prima Secundae
Partis, De Virtutibus et Vitiis, &c. Fob Many editions.
William (of Ockham), Qucestiones et Decisiones in iv. Libb.
Sententiarum. Fob Lugd. 1495.
Petrarcha (Fr.), De remediis utriusque fortunes; De vera
sapientia; De Contemptu Mundi, &c., in his collected
Latin works. Fob 1554.
Valla (L.),D<3 Voluptate et verobono. Bas. 1519. DeLibero
arbitrio. Bas. 1518.
Melancthon (Ph.), Ethices Doct. Elementa, &c. Viteb. 1550.
PiccoLOMiNi(Fr.), UniversaPhil.deMoribus, &zc. Venet.1583.
Montaigne (M. de), Essais. Bordeaux, 1580.
Charron, (P.), De la Sagesse. Bord. 1601.
Horneius, Ethices sive civilis Doctrines de Moribus, Libb. iv.
Francof. 1625.
Grotius (H.), De Jure Belli ac Pads, Libb. iii. Paris, 1625.
The annotated edition published at Amsterdam in 1712
is the most useful.
Hobbes (Th.), Elementa Philosophica de Give. Par. 1647.
Leviathan; or, the Matter, Form, and Authority of Go¬
vernment. Fob Lond. 1651. Collected works edited by
Sir W. Molesworth. 16 vols. Lond. 1839-46.
Cumberland (B.),DeIjegihies naturalibus disquisitio Philoso¬
phica, &c., 1671. Translated into English by John Max¬
well, M.A. Lond. 1726.
Geulinx (A.), Yvu&i aictvrov, sive Ethica. Amst. 1665.
Puffendorf (S.), De officio hominis et civis juxta legem natu-
ralem, Libb. ii. Francof. 1673. Edited, with notes and
additions, by Gershom Carmichael. Edinb. 1724, sec. ed.
Spinoza (B.), Ethica; in his Opera Posthuma. Amst. 1716.
More (H.), Enchiridion Ethicum, prcscipua Phil.Mor.Rudi-
menta complectens, &c. Lond. 1679.
Cud worth (R.), The True Intellectual System of the Universe.
Lond. 1678. Translated into Latin by Mosheim, 2 vols.
4to. Jenae, 1733. Treatise concerning Eternal and
Immutable Morality. Lond. 1731. Appended to the 2d
ed. of Mosheim’s translation of the former work is a
translation of this.
Crellius (J.), Ethica Aristotelica ad Sacr. Litt. normam
emendata. Cosm. 1681.
1 Nicom. Pth., b. L, c. i., § 11 (c. iii., near the end, according to the Pacian division).
2 Idea Philos’. Moralis, &c., ed. 1644, p. 24. This is the “ Dutch Burgersdyck ” of the Dunciad, b. iv., 1. 298.
“ Each staunch polemic, stubborn as a rock,
Each fierce logician still expelling Locke,
Came whip and spur, and dash’d through thin and thick,
On German Crousaz and Dutch Burgersdyck.”
Poets are not the best judges of the merits of writers on Logic and Metaphysics; and in these lines Pope has thrown an air of ridicule
over two men who, as Hallam says (Hist, of Lit., ii., 372), were famous in their generation, and may yet be listened to with advantage.
Gibbon has owned his obligations to Crousaz (Life, p. 93 of Milman’s ed.) ; and of Burgersdyk we may say, that in the departments of
Logic and Ethics the incipient polemic or logician may spur many a less willing and useful steed.
3 Active and Moral Powers, Introduction, vol. b, p. 8.
540 MORAL PH
Introduc- Thomamus (Chr.), Institt. Jurisprudeniice Div., Libb. ill.
tion. Lips. 1688. Tntroductio in Phil. Mor. Hal. 1706.
>> MiTTmuANrHK Traitf.ilp. Mnrnl.p 2 vols. Lyons, 1697.
Rochefoucault (Fr. de la), Reflexions ou Sentences et Max¬
imus Morales. Par. 1690.
Wolf (Chr.), Philosophia Practica Universalis. Lips. 1703.
A greatly enlarged edition and more perfect work appeared
in 2 yoIs. at Leipzig in 1738.
Mandeville (Ber.), &c., The Fable of the Bees ; or, Private
Vices Public Benefits. Lond. 1714:. Part II. Lond.
1729.
Law (Wm.), Remarks on the Fable of the Bees. Lond. 1726.
Clakke (Sam.), Discourse concerning the Unchangeable Obli¬
gations of Natural Religion, Ac. Lond. 1708.
Whitby (Dan.), Ethices Compendium, in usum Academ. Ju-
ventutis. 3d ed. Lond. 1713.
Wollaston (Wm.), The Religion of Nature Delineated. Lond.
1723.
Innes (Alex.), Aretologia; or, AnEnquiry into the Original of
Moral Virtue. Lond. 1728.
Shaftesbury (Earl of), An Inquiry concerning Virtue and
Merit. Lond. 1699. Characteristics of Men, Manners,
Opinions, Times. 3 vols. Lond. 1710.
Fiddes (R.), A General Treatise of Morality formed on the
Principles of Natural Reason only. Lond. 1724.
Butler (Jos.),/Sermons. Lond. 1729. Analogy of Religion,
Ac. 1736. Best edit, by Fitzgerald. Dub. 1849.
Berkeley (G.), Alciphron ; or the Minute Philosopher, 2 vols.
Lond. 1732.
Hutcheson (Fr.), An Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas
of Beauty and Virtue. Lond. 1725. An Essay on the
Nature and Conduct of the Passions and Affections,
tvith Illustrations on the Moral Sense. Lond. 1728.
Phil. Mor. Instit. Compend., in libris iii. Ethices et
Jurisp. Nat. principia continens. Glasg. 1745. Trans¬
lated into English. Glasg. 1747. System of Mor. Phil.,
in three books, Ac. Edited, with Life of the Author, by
W. Leechman. 2 vols. 4to. Lond. 1755.
Balguy (J.), Collection of Tracts Moral and Theological.
Lond. 1734.
Muratori, (L. A.), La Filosofia Morale. 2d ed. Verona, 1737.
Grove (Hen.), A System of Moral Philosophy. 2 vols. Lond.
1747.
Burlamaqui (J. J.), Juris Naturalis Elementa. Geneva, 1754.
Price (R.), A Review of the Principal Questions and Difficul¬
ties in Morals, Ac. Lond. 1758.
Smith (Ad.), The Theory of Moral Sentiments, Ac. Lond.
1759.
Tucker (Abr.), Light of Nature Pursued. 9 vols. 8vo.
1768-77.
Basedow, (J. B.), Praktische Philos, fiiralle Stclnde, 2 vols.
Dessau, 1777.
Hume (D.), Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals.
Lond. 1751. Afterwards included in his Essays and
Treatises on several Subjects (Lond. 1784), and of which
there have been many editions. Philosophical Works.
4 vols. Edinb. 1826.
Reid (Th.), Essays on the Active Powers of Man. Edinb. 1788.
Edwards (Jon.), Dissert, concerning the Nature of Virtue.
Boston, U.S., 1788.
Bentham (Jr.), Introduction to the Principles of Morals and
Politics. Lond. 1789. Deontology, or the Science of
Morality, Ac. Compiled from his MSS. by J. Bowring.
2 vols. Lond. 1834.
Kant (Im.), Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten. Riga,
1785. Kritik der Praktischen Vernunft. Riga, 1788.
Metaphysische Anfangsgriinde der Rechtslehre. Konigs-
berg, 1797. Met. Anf. der Tvgendlehre. Kon. 1797.
These treatises occupy vols. viii. and ix. of Kant’s
Sdmmtliche Werke herausgegeben von Rosenkrantz und
Schubert.
Fichte (J. G.), Das System der Sittenlehre nach den Princi-
pien der Wissenschaftslehre. Jena, 1798. Das System
der Rechtslehre, und der Sittenlehre in his Nachgelassene
Werke, edited by his son, vols. ii. and iiL
IL O S O P II Y.
Ferguson (Ad.), Institutes of Mor. Phil. Lond. 1769. Introd™.
Principles of Mor. and Pol. Science. 2 vols. 4to. Edinb. tion
l792-
Beattie (J.), Elements of Moral Science. Vol. i., Ed. 1790; ^
vol. ii., 1793.
Paley (Wm.), Principles of Morality and Politics. Lond.
1785. In the 2d ed. the title was altered to Principles
of Moral and Political Philosophy.
Schleiermacher (Fr.), Grundlinicn einer Kritik der bisherig.
Sittenlehre. Berl. 1803. Entwurf einer Syst. der Sit¬
tenlehre, forming vol. v. of div. iii. of his Sdmmtliche
Werke. Berl. 1834-48.
Salat (J.), Die Moral Philosophie. Landshut, 1810. 3d ed.
Munchen, 1821.
Wynpersse (S. J. van de), Institt. Philos. Mor. Ludg. Bat.
1808.
Herbart (J. F.), Allegemeine Prakt. Philosophie. Gott. 1808.
Staeudlin (C. T.), Neues Lehrbuch der Moral. Gbtt. 1817.
2d ed.
Krug (W. Tr.), System d. Prakt. Philosophie. Konigs. 1818.
Fries (J. Fr.), Ethik oder die Lehren der Lebensweisheit.
Heidelb. 1810.
De W ette (W. M. L.), Vorlesungen uber die Sittenlehre. 4
vols. Berl. 1823-4.
Brown (Th.), Lectures on the Philosophy of the Human Mind.
4 vols., ed. 1820. The ethical portion of these lectures
was published separately in 1846, 8vo, with a preface by
Dr Chalmers.
Michelet (C. L.), Das System der Philos. Moral. Berl. 1828.
Stewart (D.), The Philosophy of the Active and Moral
Powers of Man. 2 vols. Edinb. 1828.
Payne (G.), Elements of Mental and Moral Science, Ac.
Lond. 1828. 4th ed. 1857.
Wardlaw (R.), Christian Ethics; or Moral Philosophy on
the Principles of Divine Revelation. Lond. 1833. 5th
ed. 1852.
Chalmers (Th.), Sketches of Mental and Moral Philosophy,
forming vol. v. of his Collected Works. Glasg. 1836, ff.
Swim (Alex.), Philosophy of Morals. 2 vols. 8vo. Lond. 1835.
Covsm (V.), (Euvres Philosophiques. 20 vols. Par. 1846-50.
Damiron (Ph.), Cours de Philosophie; tom. iii. and iv. Mo¬
rale. 2d. ed. Par. 1842.
Tissot (J.), Ethique ou Science des Moeurs. Par. 1840.
Bautain (Abbe), Philosophie Morale. 2 vols. Par. 1842.
Harless (G. C. A.), Christliche Ethik. Stuttgart, 1842. 4th
ed. 1849.
Rothe (R.), Theologische Ethik, 1st and 2d vol. Wittemberg,
1845.
Whewell (W.), Elements of Morality, including Polity. 2
vols. Lond. 1845. Lectures on Systematic Morality.
Lond. 1846.
Wayland (Fr.), Elements of Moral Science. Edinb. (re¬
printed from American ed.) 1847.
M'Cosh (Jam.), The Method of the Divine Government, Phy¬
sical and Moral. Edinb. 1850. 6th edit. 1857.
Muller (Jul.), Die Christliche Lehre von d. Siinde. 2 vols.
Breslau, 1849. Translated by W. Pulsford. 2 vols.
Edinb. 1852-53.
ChalybjEUS (H. M.), System der Speculativen Ethik. 2 vols.
1850.
Alexander (At.), Outlines of Moral Science. New York,
1852.
r (For the history of Moral Philosophy, besides the general
histories of Brucker, Buhle, Tennemann, Rixner, Ritter,
Erdmann, Chalybaeus, Morell, Lewes, and Schvvegler, the
following special histories may be named :—Meiners (Chr.),
Allgemeine Kritische Gesch. der dlteren und neueren
Ethik, 2 vols., Gbtt. 1800-1. Staeudlin (C. F.), Gesch.
der Moral Philosophie, Hanover, 1823. Blakey (R.),
History of Moral Science, 2 vols. 8vo, Lond. 1848.,
Whewell's History of Moral Philosophy in England. 8vo,
Lond. 1852.)
I
R«.itude.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
541
PART I.—OF RECTITUDE.
SECT. I.*—RECTITUDE DEFINED.
Rectitude is the conformity of actions to an acknow¬
ledged standard of right.
In all ages, and among all nations, a distinction has been
recognised between right and wrong; and these qualities
have been discriminated from other qualities with which
they may frequently be closely associated, such as pleasant
and painful, agreeable and repulsive, beneficial and noxious,
&c. The proposition, “ This is right,” and the proposition,
“ This is agreeable,” may be translated into all languages
under the sun by appropriate synonyms ; and by no people
would they be accepted as conveying exactly the same
concept. When Horace says of Homer,—
“ Qui quid sit pulchrum quid turpe, quid utile, quid non,
Planius ac melius Chrysippo et Crantore dicit,’1
it would be but a blundering translation which should con¬
found the distinction expressed by the author between the
pulchrum and the utile,—the morally fair or right (to kciAoV),
and the useful (to -^p-rjaLixov). So also when Aristotle says
of speech, that it is cm TW SrjXovv to oiy^epov koI to /3\a-
(3ep6v‘ ware koI to Si'kcuov kcu to dSixov,2 no person who under¬
stands his words will fail to make a clear distinction between
the qualities contrasted in the first clause, and the qualities
contrasted in the second,—between the profitable as opposed
to the hurtful, and the just as opposed to the unjust.
In the words immediately following those just quoted
Aristotle goes on to say, that man is the only animal
to whom the perception of the distinction between good
and bad, just and unjust, has been given. What man
thus alone of all animals perceives, it has always been
thought important by mankind prominently to enunciate ;
and hence among all nations we find this distinction ex¬
pressed in the form of rules or maxims more or less precise
and comprehensive ; the sum of which constitutes for any
community or body of persons the standard of right by
which they measure the rectitude of actions. Hence rec¬
titude is virtually what some of the ancients called it, vopov
irp6crTotyp.a, what the law prescribes, meaning by “ the law”
not any particular enactment, either by the state or by any
corporate portion of it, but what the community at large
regards as the standard of right and wrong; and what Mr
Horne Tooke has said, with questionable correctness of
right as an abstract quality, that the word “ is no other
than KECT-rm (regitum), the past participle of the Latin
verb regere” and that the thing means simply “ that which
is ordered,”3 may be accepted as not an inapt description ot
rectitude as a quality of actions. We may detect an ana¬
logous conviction in the use ot the same words to designate
the concept of straightness and the concept of moral recti¬
tude,—a usage which is found to pervade all languages.
When, in fine, we find the Hebrews denoting sin by such
a word as and the Greeks by such a word as d/xdp-
rr]p.a, both derived from roots which signify primarily to miss
a mark, and both used to denote the physical act of missing or
swerving, we see a further evidence of how generally man¬
kind have identified the idea of rectitude with that of con¬
formity to some acknowledged norm or standard of right.
SECT. II. RECTITUDE A REAL QUALITY.
Rectitude in actions presupposes and depends on a dis¬
tinction between right and wrong per se ; and the question,
whether the quality so predicated ofactions is to be regarded
as a real quality will be determined by the answer given to Rectitude*
the question, whether this distinction is an essential and
permanent, or only an accidental and variable distinction.
That it is the former and not the latter, the following
considerations render probable in limine:—
(i.) The recognition of the distinction by all peoples and
in all times, as the appropriation of words to express it in
all languages sufficiently indicates. A universal belief like
this can be traced only to some common source of authority,
the lessons of which the whole race has preserved from its
cradle, or to convictions arising out of the nature of the case,
and addressing themselves to every man’s judgment. In
the case before us the former hypothesis must be excluded
as irrelevant (for however authority may attest a fact or
establish a principle, it never can originate a subjective con¬
viction); so that there remains only the latter hypothesis. But
if the recognition of a distinction between right and wrong is
to be traced to convictions springing into the minds of all men
out of the nature of the case, this distinction must be one
founded in nature, and therefore essential and permanent.
(ii.) The early period at which this distinction is recog¬
nised by children accords with the belief that it is a real
and essential distinction. Anterior to education and ex¬
perience a child will indicate, in the most unmistakable
manner, its perception of the difference between what it
thinks right and what it thinks wrong. This shows that the
moral judgment is coeval with intelligence,—a fact which
could not exist were the distinction on which that judgment
proceeds one of an artificial or accidental kind.
(iii.) We find it impossible to conceive of right and wrong
changing places, so that what is now right should become
wrong, andwce versa. There is in this respect a rigidity which
is peculiar to moral distinctions; for not only is it metaphy¬
sically impossible that rightness should become wrongness,
just as it is metaphysically impossible that blackness should
become whiteness, or crookedness straightness, but it is also
physically impossible that the same object should become
successively possessed of these opposite qualities. An object
now black may become white, an object now crooked may
become straight; but we cannot conceive of even omni¬
potence making that which is now right to become wrong.
This, then, must be regarded as a distinction lying in
nature, and immutable,—<£wra d/aV^Tov kch TravTa^oO rgv
avrrjv ixov Swa/uv, as Aristotle expresses it.4
An ancient and favourite objection to this conclusion is
drawn from the diversities that have obtained, at different
times and among different nations, as to what is right and
what is wrong. “ Now to some,” says Aristotle, “ it ap¬
pears that all are such (i.e., made binding by arbitrary
enactment) ; because what is by nature is immovable, and
has everywhere the same pow'er, just as fire burns as well
here as in Persia; whereas they see that just things vary.”5
“ In the state of nature,” says Hobbes, “ nothing can be
unjust; the notions of right and wrong, justice and injustice,
have there no place ;” and again, “ The nature of good and
evil varies according to the will of individuals in a state of
nature, and of princes in every state.”6 Locke has written
to the same effect. “ He that will carefully peruse,” says
he, “the history of mankind, and look abroad into the
several tribes of men, and with indifferency survey their
actions, will be able to satisfy himself that there is scarce
that principle of morality to be named, or rule of virtue to
be thought on (those only excepted that are absolutely
necessary to hold society together, which commonly, too,
i .Jt 1 2 3 3 Polit., b. i., c. i. 3 Diversion! of Turley, pp. 304, 306, Taylor’s ed., 1840.
4 Hie. Eth., b. v., c. vii., § 5, Lancaster’s ed. (c. x. of the Pacian division). 6 Same place. See also b. i., c. i., § 9.
8 Leviathan, c. vi.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
542
Rectitude. are neglected betwixt distinct societies) which is not some-
where or other slighted and condemned by the general
fashion of ivlwle societies of men, governed by practical
opinions and rules of living quite opposite to others.”1 *
On these statements it may be observed—
(i.) That whilst there is undoubtedly ground for the fact
alleged, the extent to which such variety of moral judgment
prevails is apt to be greatly exaggerated by those who use it
as an argument against the reality of the distinction between
right and wrong. It may be questioned whether, it the whole
human race were assembled, the variations of their judg¬
ments on questions of ordinary morality would exceed the
ratio of one in a hundred ; and as for Locke’s assertion, that
there is scarcely a single principle of morality or rule of
virtue that is not slighted or condemned by whole commu¬
nities somewhere, it can only be set down to the author’s
excessive zeal for the cause he had set himself to maintain.
“ But what nation,” we may ask with Cicero, “ loves not
courteousness, benignity, a grateful mind, and one that re¬
members a benefit ? What nation does not hate and spurn
the proud, the maleficent, the cruel, the ungrateful ?”3 But
if the mass of mankind agree in their moral judgments,—if
the agreement be anything like that above suggested, in the
ratio of one to a hundred,—it follows, that if the common con¬
sent of mankind proves anything in a case of this sort, it must
be held as proving the reality and fixedness of moral distinc¬
tions. Surely a few exceptional cases are not to be allowed
to nullify the general testimony of the race; nor are those
minds to be envied that, from contemplating this, “ can turn
away to seek, in some savage island, a few indistinct mur¬
murs that may seem to be discordant with the whole great
harmony of mankind.”3
(ii.) Even admitting the fact to the full extent alleged, it
w^ould by no means prove what it is adduced to prove. A
principle may be universally recognised, though variably
applied, and men may agree in holding a distinction to be
real, though they may differ as to the objects by which that
distinction is exemplified. In affirming the universal con¬
sent of the race to moral distinctions, it is not intended to
maintain that all men apply these with infallible and un¬
varying accuracy. It is simply affirmed, that to the un¬
biassed judgment of men right appears right, and wrong
appears wrong, and that this obtains always and everywhere.
The variations which occur may be accounted for by acci¬
dental or partial influences. 1. Excessive emotion often
tends to pervert the moral judgment. Under the irritation
of violent passion acts frequently appear lawful and proper
which, in more quiet moments, the party who is hurried
into them cannot but condemn. Smarting from the sting
of mortified vanity or disappointed ambition, even a good
man may think he “ does well to be angry.” Blinded by
prejudice and infuriated by hatred, the persecutor wrho
hales innocent men and women to prison or to the stake,
“ thinks he does God service,” and may even piously give
thanks to God for the doom inflicted on those whom he
deems in error; as Laud did when he “ pulled off his cap,
and, holding up his hands, gave thanks to God” when the
barbarous sentence endured by Leighton was pronounced.4
In these and similar cases there is no perversion of the moral
judgment properly speaking; there is simply a momentary
suspension of the moral faculty, owing to the influence of
something analogous to disease in the physical frame. 2.
Some actions, in themselves indifferent, acquire a moral
character only when they are performed under certain con¬
ditions ; and consequently, in estimating the moral senti¬
ments of the people by whom such acts are performed, we
must be careful to see that the requisite conditions exist. Kectituu4
For example, to appropriate any article is an act which
comes to possess a moral character only on the supposition
that it is property ; so long as it belongs to no one, to take
it implies no wrong. In a country, therefore, where the
distinctions of property do not exist, the natives may be
found attaching no sense of impropriety to what, in the
estimation of more civilized nations, would be regarded as
stealing. But this does not prove that by these people
dishonesty is not considered wrong; it only proves that
they did not consider the act of helping themselves to what
they did not regard as property to be dishonesty. Establish
in their minds the conviction that the article they have ap¬
propriated belonged rightfully as property to another, and
they will at once see the moral impropriety of depriving him
of it.5 3. It is seldom that acts can be contemplated under
one simple aspect. Their aspects are generally nume¬
rous ; and as under some of these aspects they may possess
a different moral character from what belongs to them under
others, it often happens that different persons or commu¬
nities, from fixing their attention exclusively on different
aspects of the same act, come to pronounce different moral
judgments upon it. An act which under a certain aspect
is wrong, may under another aspect be right, and vice versa ;
and hence may be tolerated, or even commended, by some,
whilst denounced and condemned by others. Thus the
slaughtering of innocent animals, if viewed under the as¬
pect of an amusement, must be pronounced wrong; whereas,
if viewed as necessary for the providing of food for man, it
may be regarded as permitted ; and if viewed as a sacrificial
act, it may be commended as praiseworthy; so that three
persons, viewing this one act from these three different
points of view, might pronounce on its moral character
three different judgments. This, however, would no more
prove that the moral constitution or principles of these
persons differed in each case than, in the famous shield case,
the judgment of the one knight that it was black, and the
judgment of the other that it was white, proved that their
eyes were differently constituted, or that their notions of
blackness and whiteness were not the same. This may
serve to account for the fact, that many actions, in them¬
selves of doubtful propriety, and many undoubtedly wrong,
come to be regarded with approbation or indifference by
individuals and communities: the actions have an aspect
that is really or apparently harmless, and the parties fixing
their attention only on that, and entirely overlooking the
essential and primary aspect of the action, come to pro¬
nounce upon it an erroneous or defective moral judgment.
It is upon this ground that Dr Chalmers so eloquently and
forcibly accounts for the various cruelties which are prac¬
tised, even in civilized society, upon the lower animals,
whilst he denies that “ even in the lowest walks of black¬
guardism,” there is “ such a thing as delight in suffering for
its own sake.”6 On this ground, also, may we account for
the unnatural practices of infanticide and parricide, on which
Locke lays so much stress in the context of the passage
above cited from his Essay. No man, no people, but would
condemn the slaying of a helpless babe, viewed simply in
itself; but the slaughter of that babe may come to be re¬
garded as a necessity imposed by the scarcity of provisions,
or as the fittest means of averting some terrible calamity,
or as upon the whole a kinder thing to the babe than to
suffer it to grow up amidst pain, shame, or slavery; and in
such cases the act, which in itself all would abhor, may
come to be by some regarded as not only permissible, but
even to a certain extent praiseworthy. It is the same where
1 Essay, b. i., c. iii., § 10, Works, vol. i., p. 16, fol. ed. 2 De Legibus, i. 11. 3 Brown, Lectures, vol, in., p. 592.
4 See Price’s Hist, of Protestant Nonconformity, vol. ii., p. 69.
See the instances given by Mr Stewart, Active and Moral Powers, vol. i., p. 178.
Sermon on Cruelty to Animals, Works, vol. xi., p. 249 ff.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
543
ide. parricide is tolerated ; the attention is withdrawn from the
/ act in itself to certain concomitant or consequent eftects
which are desirable or commendable; and thus what no
man would fail to pronounce wrong, if done apart from these
effects, may come to be regarded as right w'hen done for
the sake of these. In all such cases there is no doubt per¬
version of moral judgment. But whence arises this perver¬
sion ? Not from men regarding right and wrong as trans¬
ferable qualities, but simply from their not viewing the act
under that aspect under which alone its true moral character
could be estimated. 4. The effect of education and cus¬
tom must not be overlooked in reference to the variety of
men’s judgments as to the rectitude of actions. As the
organs of taste may be taught to relish what to the unedu¬
cated palate is utterly nauseous, so may the moral faculty
be educated to regard as lawful or good what the natural
conscience would recoil from as sinful. Fashion, which can
reconcile the aesthetic taste to the most inelegant costumes
or the most grotesque combinations, is also sufficiently potent
to reconcile the moral taste to practices altogether incon¬
sistent wdth propriety and decency. “ Who would believe,”
exclaims Charron, “ how great and imperious is the autho¬
rity of custom? To say that it is a second nature does not
express all the truth ; for it does more than nature—it con¬
quers nature It dominates over our souls and our
judgments with a very unjust and tyrannical authority. It
does and undoes, authorizes and forbids, what it pleases,
without rhyme or reason,—nay, oftentimes contrary to all
reason ; it makes valid and establishes throughout the world,
against reason and judgment, the most fantastic and bar¬
barous opinions, religions, beliefs, observances, manners,
and modes of living; and, on the other hand, it injuriously
degrades and vilifies things truly great and admirable, robs
them of their worth and estimation, and renders them con¬
temptible.”1 To the influence of this tyrannical power
many of the differences which prevail among men, and
which might at first sight seem to indicate a diversity of
moral principle and judgment, may be traced. A practice
is held innocent by some which all others hold wrong,
simply because the tyranny of custom has in this one in¬
stance obscured their perception of right and wrong.2 1 he
influence, however, thus exerted by education and custom
on the moral perceptions of men, though imperious, is par¬
tial and transient; were it otherwise, society could not be
held together.3
SECT. III. FOUNDATION OF RECTITUDE.
The considerations adduced render it probable that the
distinction between right and wrong is a real and perma¬
nent distinction. But to determine this more precisely, it
will be necessary to inquire into \he foundation of this dis¬
tinction.
On this point the conclusions at which inquirers have
arrived are very different. These conclusions may be
arranged under two distinct classifications; the former of
which is determined by their relation to the question
whether the distinction between right and wrong be a real
one, the latter by their relation to the question whether this
distinction is perceived by a judgment of thefintellect or
felt by an emotion,—in other words, whether the founda¬
tion of this distinction lies without us or within us. Com¬
pounding these two classifications, we may present the fol- Rectitude,
lowing scheme of opinion on the point at issue:— C—
I.—EMOTIONAL OR SUBJECTIVE THEORIES.
A. —Affirming the Mutability of Moral Distinctions.
1. That right is what accords with desire; wrong what
thwarts it.
2. That right is determined by a special principle im¬
planted in the elect.
B. —Affirming the Reality and Permanency of Moral Distinctions.
1. The theory of a Moral Sense.
2. The theory of Conscience.
3. The theory of Sympathy.
4. The theory of Approbation.
II,—INTELLECTUAL OR OBJECTIVE THEORIES.
C. —Affirming Moral Distinctions to be Accidental and Mutable.
1. That they are created by human law.
2. That they are determined by the Divine will.
3. That they are determined by the consequences of actions.
D. —Affirming Moral Distinctions to be Essential and Immutable.
1. That they arise out of the fitnesses of things.
2. That they are determined by the truth of things.
3. That they are determined by the nature of things.
4. That they lie in the essential nature of God.
Analysis may resolve some of these theories into a common
principle ; but as they have all been advocated by different
writers, it may be proper, in the first instance, to consider
them apart.
I.—Emotional or Subjective Theories.
A. 1 and A. 2.—On the first two theories in this scheme
it is not necessary that we should dwell. They are, pro¬
perly speaking, not so much attempts to account for the
distinction between right and wrong, as attempts to set
aside that distinction entirely. The former (A. 1) proceeds
on the assumption that man is the slave of circumstances—
that his desires are excited by extraneous objects, and that
he must act as his desires prompt. The only good for man,
then, is to have these desires gratified, and the only evil is
to have them thwarted. What men call right and wrong
is really tantamount to gratification and disappointment; or
it is a distinction existing only in words, and meaning no¬
thing in reality. The latter theory (A. 2), is that of the
Antinomians, who maintain that the elect are endowed with
a principle of action far beyond any law, and that as this
principle always operates necessarily according to the Divine
predestination, it invariably conducts to what is right, even
though it may prompt to what, on the lower ground of legal
morality, would be pronounced sinful or vicious. Such doc¬
trines are chiefly worth noticing because they show the ex¬
tremes to which men will go in devising theories when they
wish to sustain some “ foregone conclusionand also be¬
cause, as compared with each other, these theories illustrate
the tendency of extremes to meet, and show how the ultra-
ism of theological speculation and the ultraism of infidelity
may meet together and erect a common trophy on the ruins
of morality.4 It is needless to linger on the refutation of
either theory. The former is sufficiently refuted by the
common consciousness and experience of the race, which
loudly attest that man is not the slave of circumstances,
that desire is not irresistible, that we have a conception of
goodness and rectitude wholly distinct from that of desirable¬
ness, and that it is according as the one or the other of these
2 TantaTst^corruptela mate consuetudinis,” exclaims Cicero, “ ut ab ea tanquam igniculi exstinguantur a natura dati, exorianturque
-stSK ; Stewart’s BM.c/tke Active and Moral Pavers, vol. L, p. 152, ff.; Brown’s Lectures,
V0* “If o^Antfnomians could pay a visit to the heathens of Hindustan, they would find millions on millions of their way of thinking.
Nor need they uo so far from home ; among the apostles of modern infidelity the same thing may be found in substance. The doctrine
of necessity, as embraced by them, reduces man to a machine, destroys his accountableness and casts the blame of sin on the Creator.
The body of these systems may be diverse, but the spirit that animates them is the same.' (A. Fuller, Boris, vol. n., p. 599.;
546
^ Tn this Question it must be confessed th only a nega-
W^'tive answXn be returned. Allowing t, eyn.patb, all
the influence and force which Dr Smith asribes to it, it
must nevertheless be pronounced wholly inaequate to sus¬
tain the superstructure which he has sought o erect upon
it His theory stands exposed to the followin among other
obiections 1. It assumes a fact as given i consciousness
which consciousness refuses to own. The pi cess of trans-
MOBIL PHILOSOPHY.
ticular relation either to ourselves or to those whose in-
terests are affected by our conduct, who is neither father 'w
nor brother nor friend to them or to us, but is merely a
man in general, an impartial spectator, who considers our
conduct with the same indifference with which we regard
that of other people.” From this it appears that it is not
our sympathy with any of our fellow-men who may be
supposed to witness our conduct, but our sympathy with
ferring ourselves into the position of anotl r, m order to
fudge of the rectitude of his affections by snposmg them
our own, or of placing ourselves in the posi m of a spec¬
tator, in order to judge of the rectitude of tl affections we
ourselves indulge, is one which could not o on without
our being conscious of it. But in the mi itudinous in¬
stances in which we pronounce moral judgrent on others
or on ourselves, how seldom is it that we ai' conscious of
any approximation to such a process of it ection. I he
man who sees an unjust blow given, or wb recoils from
the suggestion of a tempter, passes instaianeously from
the perception of the object to the moral jucrment upon it;
and no process of after reflection awakes in him the
slightest consciousness that his reason forthis judgment
was furnished by such a transference of arties as Dr
Smith supposes. Such utter unconsciousnes of a process,
upon which the entire validity of the judgmnt is assumed
to rest, seems irreconcilable with the hpothesis of its
existence. 2. Supposing the alleged proce^ to take place,
it affords no ground for the judgment proounced. The
conviction in the mind of A, that, if placed i the circum¬
stances of B, he would have acted as B ha acted, simply
proves a similarity in his moral constitution ith that of B ;
it proves nothing as to the rightness or tl wrongness of
the action itself. In order to reach this w must suppose
A to approve the conduct of B as what in is own case he
would have held to be right. But this presupposes a
previous knowledge of the distinction bet een right and
wrong; and, consequently, a foundation fr this distinc¬
tion different from, and prior to, our symathy with the
agent. In point of fact Dr Smith tacitly a^ imes this ; and
thereby lands himself in the same vicious t ele as we have
seen to be fatal to the theories already exa ined. “ I can¬
not but regard the very celebrated theor of Dr Smith,”
says Dr T. Brown, “ as involving, in n rals, the same
error that would be involved in a theory the source of
light, if an optician, after showing us any ingenious
contrivances by which an image of some be itiful form may
be made to pass from one visible place to other, were to
contend that all the magnificent radiation of that more
than ethereal splendour which does not n rely adorn the
day, but constitutes the day, had their pi nary origin in
reflection, when reflection itself implies, nd cannot be
understood but as implying, the previous ncidence, and
therefore the previous existence, of the liht which is re¬
flected.”1 3. Dr Smith’s theory, in its primive form, offers
no account of the imperativeness which wt nvariably asso¬
ciate with the conception of right. That re approve the
act of another as what we, if in his place, w uld have done,
leaves altogether unaccounted for the onviction with
which that approval is accompanied, that te act is such as
ought to have been done. Dr Smith isfar from over¬
looking this conviction; he repeatedly aid emphatically
asserts the imperativeness of moral reqtude. But in
order to reconcile this with his theory ( sympathy, he
resorts to an expedient which virtually sets aside that
theory. He says there is “a tribunal esablished in our lauy wrung 5 rigm auu   . 1 are
own breasts which is the supreme arbiter o dl our actions;” only words that express briefly the actions 'v lMJ ]e
an this he ingeniously describes as the cnception “of a attended with the feeling of moral approbation ^n 1 ^
person quite candid and equitable, of one dio has no par- case, of moral disapprobation in the other case. 1
this imaginary man, this “ abstract man, the represent¬
ative of mankind and substitute of the Deity,” that deter¬
mines the rectitude of our sentiments and actions. But
what is this “man within” but some recognised stand¬
ard of right and wrong existing independent of us, and
recognised by us as the supreme arbiter of our actions—
in reality something without us, but appearing to be within
us, because realized as a conception of our mind? By this
theory, then, of Dr Smith, as completed by himself, we
are ultimately taken off the ground of emotionalism and
conveyed to that of intellectualism for a basis of moral
distinctions; so that its only advantage is, that it con¬
ducts us by a flowery and pleasant path, through a need¬
less detour, to a conclusion more solid and sound than it
promised. It is not without reason that the elaborate
device of the author to save his peculiar theory, without
renouncing the certainty or permanency of moral distinc¬
tions, has been compared to the expedients of the Ptolo-
maic astronomers who, “ to save appearances,” pro¬
posed to
“ Gird the sphere
With centric and eccentric scribbled o’er
Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb.”1"
B. 4. This theory will be found most ably developed in
the Lectures of Dr Thomas Brown. According to him
the basis of moral distinctions lies in the emotional consti¬
tution of the human mind,—in the feeling of approbation
which a virtuous action awakens in us towards the agent.
He denies that right and wrong are qualities of actions, and
contends that they simply express a relation to the emo¬
tional part of our nature ; that which we pronounce right
being that which excites in us approbation, that which we
pronounce wrong being that which excites in us censure or
blame. “ Right and wrong,” says he, “ signify nothing in
the objects themselves. They are words expressive only
of relation, and relations are not existing parts of objects, or
taken from them. There is no right nor wrong, virtue nor
vice, merit nor demerit, existing independently of the
agents who are virtuous or vicious ; and, in like manner, 1
there had been no moral emotions to arise on the contem¬
plation of certain actions, there would have been no virtue or
vice, merit or demerit, which express only relations to t ese
emotions.”3 “ If,” says he in another lecture, “ a particu ar
action be meditated by us, and we feel, on considering 1,
that it is one of those which, if performed by us, wi e
followed in our own mind by the powerful feeling 0 se
reproach, and in the minds of others by similar disappro
bation ; if a different action be meditated by us, and we ee
that our performance of it would be followed in om ovv
mind and the minds of others by an opposite emotion
approbation, this view of the moral emotions that are co
sequences of the actions is that which I consider as orm
what is termed moral obligation,—the moral in uCe1*!
which we feel to the performance of certain actions, ^
abstinence from certain other actions. . . • • Dur ac 1
the one case we term morally right, in the othei cas, .
rally wrong; right and wrong, like virtue and V1C^’^ ^
only words that express briefly the
^ Lectures, yol. iv., p. 139. >lilton, Paradise Lost, b. viii.
ect. xxxi., vol. iv., p. 148. Compare a Lect. Ixxiii., vol. iii., p. 567, If.
3 Lect. Ixxxii., vol- iv., p- HS, Is* e
MORAL PHILOSOIHY.
Rectitude, theory of moral distinctions the following strictures may be
offered:—
(i.) This theory is incompatible with the doctrine of the
reality and permanency of moral distinctions. Of this doc¬
trine Dr Brown is himself a zealous and eloquent advocate ;
but he appeals to have forgotten it when constructing his
own theory of the foundation of such distinctions. For if
right and wrong be terms expressive of a mere relation of
certain actions to the human mind, it follows that, the con¬
stitution of the human mind being altered, the relation
would be disturbed, might even be reversed, so that what
is now wrong might become right, and vice versa. That
which is based on what is arbitrary and mutable can never
be itself essential and permanent.
Dr Brown does not shrink from the avowal that, as the
constitution of the mind might be altered, our moral judg¬
ments might be the reverse of what they now are; but he
endeavours to defend his doctrine from the charge that it
makes rectitude precarious and changeable, by’affirmino-
that the relations of morality are not more exposed to this
objection than the relations of mathematics. “ It is not to
moral distinctions only that this objection, if it had any force,
would be applicable. Equality, proportion, it might be
said, in like manner, signify nothing in the objects them¬
selves to which they are applied more than vice or virtue.
They are^ as truly mere relations as the relations of mo¬
rality.” Now, in arguing thus, Dr Brown has either argued
irrelevantly, or he has argued against himself. It is granted
that equality is the concept of a relation; but the question
arises, A relation of what, and to what ? Is it of a certain ob¬
ject to the mind ? Certainly not; but of the object to some
other object. Either, then, the relations of morality are of
the same kind as the relations of equality, or they are not.
If they are not, Dr Brown’s illustration, drawn from the
latter to the former, is irrelevant; if they are, their rectitude
is not the relation of an action to the mind, but the rela¬
tion of the action to something else out of the mind, viz.,
to some standard of rectitude existing independently of the
mind and its feelings. The confusion into which Dr Brown
has been betrayed in this attempt to defend his theory from
a fatal objection becomes still more manifest as Ije proceeds.
“ Though the three sides of a right-angled triangle,” he
continues, “ exist in the triangle itself, and constitute it
what it is, what we term the properties of such a triangle
do not exist in it, but are results of a peculiar capacity of
the comparing mind. It is man, or some thinking being
like man, whose comparison gives birth to the very feeling
that is termed by us a discovery of the equality of the
square of one of the sides to the squares of the other two ;
that is to say,—for the discovery of this truth is nothing
more,—it is man wdio, contemplating such a triangle, is im^
pressed with this relation, and who feels afterwards that it
would be impossible for him to contemplate it without such
an impression. If this feeling of the relation had never
arisen, and never were to arise, in any mind, though the
squares themselves might still exist as separate figures,
their equality would be nothing, exactly as justice and in¬
justice would be nothing, where no relation of moral emo¬
tion had ever been felt.”1 This passage is full of errors,
and one can account for its being found where it is only by
remembering with what haste Dr Brown’s lectures were
composed, and how they were sent forth to the public
without the benefit of his superintending and correcting
hand. Had he ever carefully reviewed this passage he
would not, we believe, have allowed himself to appear be¬
fore the public as affirming that it is the three sides of a
right-angled triangle that constitute it what it is,—that the
mind may discover what has no existence,—that a disco¬
very is a feeling,—that the mind, by comparing, may find
547
out properties i uch do not exist,—and that two objects Rectitude,
may be equal to tch other, and yet their equality be “ no- ^ v -» y
thing ” apart froi a perceiving mind. But not to dwell on
these incoherence, is it not evident that Dr Brown’s illus¬
tration is altogfher against his own theory? As the
equality of the suareof the hypothenuse to the sum of the
squares of the sics of a right-angled triangle does not arise
from their relatio to the mind, as little does the rectitude
of one action am the wrongness of another arise from the
relation of such the mind ; and as the perception of the
equality of objec is the result of the mind’s comparing
these objects wit each other, so the perception of the rec¬
titude of actions the result of the mind’s comparing these
with some stand, d of right and wrong. From this it fol¬
lows conclusive! that the basis of this distinction cannot
be in the mind itelf.
(ii.) On Dr B wn’s theory it is impossible to account for
the existence in i e mind of the judgment of right or wrong
in reference to ay action. By the hypothesis there is
nothing in the ae m itself to originate such judgments; they
arise simply and lely from the mind’s feeling approbation
or disapprobation m perceiving the action. But what ori¬
ginates this feeli,’ in the mind ? It cannot be self-caused ;
and if not self-e; sed, what is there to cause it but some¬
thing in the actu itself ? Dr Bi'own’s system thus leads
to a contradictioi Had his position been, that rectitude is
a quality of act! s which the mind is adapted to approve,
and that on the rception of that quality in any action a
feeling of approl tion arises within us in reference to the
agent, all would ive been clear and intelligible ; but when
we are told that ctitude is only a relation between a cer¬
tain action and n emotion of the mind, which emotion
must exist befor the rectitude can be perceived, all is
thrown into ine icable confusion. We have the mind
approving where here is nothing to approve; an emotion
arising which th( a is nothing to excite; and a conception
formed, as the r dt of an emotion, which can only exist
where that conct ion is presupposed.
(iii.) Dr Brow’s theory obliterates the distinction be¬
tween Ethics and Psychology, by identifying what is with
what ought to be. No writer has more., distinctly than be
enunciated the rfcessity of keeping-'tftyese two questions
separate. “Who we know,” says he, “that-,man has
certain affections nd passions, there still rerpains the great
inquiry as to th propriety or impropriety of those pas¬
sions, and of the onduct to which they lead. We have
to consider not o y how he is capable of acting, but also
whether, acting i the manner supposed, he would be ful¬
filling a duty or rpetrating a crime.” 2 In pursuance of
this distinction, I Brown has considered the emotions of
moral approbatio and disapprobation, viewed as affections
of the mind, as f- ing within the psychological (or, as he
chooses to desigute it, the physiological) department of
his course. Her he analyzes these emotions as they are,
and this is all wit which Psychology has to do. But when
he comes to Ethi he has further to inquire into the moral
propriety or impr riety of these emotions. This inquiry,
however, he very consistently waives in reference to these
emotions, and se out with the assumption that these are
what they ought be simply because they are,—nay, are
themselves the s( ;ce and criterion of the propriety or im¬
propriety of acti is. If any other emotion arise in the
mind, we may as; concerning it, Is it right or wrong ? and
to answer this v must appeal to our emotion of moral
approbation or d approbation : but when this emotion it¬
self arises we ma not ask such a question concerning it;
the mere existen. of it determines that it is as it ought to
be. Now, w hy t s departure in this one instance from a
principle recognis and pleaded for in every other ? Why
1 Lect. Ixxxii., vol. H., p. 177.
3 Lett, i., vol. i., p. 9.
546
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Rectitude. To this question it must be confessed that only a nega-
^ tive answer can be returned. Allowing to sympathy all
the influence and force which Dr Smith ascribes to it, it
must nevertheless be pronounced wholly inadequate to sus¬
tain the superstructure which he has sought to erect upon
it. His theory stands exposed to the following among other
objections :—1. It assumes a fact as given in consciousness
which consciousness refuses to own. I he process of trans¬
ferring ourselves into the position of another, in order to
judge of the rectitude of his affections by supposing them
our own, or of placing ourselves in the position of a spec¬
tator, in order to judge of the rectitude of the affections we
ourselves indulge, is one which could not go on without
our being conscious of it. But in the multitudinous in¬
stances in which we pronounce moral judgment on others
or on ourselves, how seldom is it that we aie conscious of
any approximation to such a process of reflection! The
man who sees an unjust blow given, or who recoils from
the suggestion of a tempter, passes instantaneously from
the perception of the object to the moral judgment upon it;
and no process of after reflection awakens in him the
slightest consciousness that his reason for this judgment
was furnished by such a transference of parties as Dr
Smith supposes. Such utter unconsciousness of a process,
upon which the entire validity of the judgment is assumed
to rest, seems irreconcilable with the hypothesis of its
existence. 2. Supposing the alleged process to take place,
it affords no ground for the judgment pronounced. The
conviction in the mind of A, that, if placed in the circum¬
stances of B, he would have acted as B has acted, simply
proves a similarity in his moral constitution with that of B;
it proves nothing as to the rightness or the wwongness of
the action itself. In order to reach this we must suppose
A to approve the conduct of B as what in his own case he
would have held to be right. But this presupposes a
previous knowledge of the distinction between right and
wrong; and, consequently, a foundation for this distinc¬
tion different from, and prior to, our sympathy with the
agent. In point of fact Dr Smith tacitly assumes this ; and
thereby lands himself in the same vicious circle as we have
seen to be fatal to the theories already examined. “ I can¬
not but regard the very celebrated theory of Dr Smith,”
says Dr T. Brown, “ as involving, in morals, the same
error that would be involved in a theory of the source of
light, if an optician, after showing us many ingenious
contrivances by which an image of some beautiful form may
be made to pass from one visible place to another, were to
contend that all the magnificent radiations of that more
than ethereal splendour which does not merely adorn the
day, but constitutes the day, had their primary origin in
rejlection, when reflection itself implies, and cannot be
understood but as implying, the previous incidence, and
therefore the previous existence, of the light which is re¬
flected.”1 3. Dr Smith’s theory, in its primitive form, offers
no account of the imperativeness which we invariably asso¬
ciate with the conception of right. That we approve the
act of another as what we, if in his place, would have done,
leaves altogether unaccounted for the conviction with
which that approval is accompanied, that the act is such as
ought to have been done. Dr Smith is far from over¬
looking this conviction; he repeatedly and emphatically
asserts the imperativeness of moral rectitude. But in
order to reconcile this with his theory of sympathy, he
resorts to an expedient which virtually sets aside that
theory. He says there is “ a tribunal established in our
own breasts which is the supreme arbiter of all our actions;”
and this he ingeniously describes as the conception “ of a
person quite candid and equitable, of one who has no par¬
ticular relation either to ourselves or to those whose in- Rectitude,
terests are affected by our conduct, who is neither father
nor brother nor friend to them or to us, but is merely a
man in general, an impartial spectator, who considers our
conduct with the same indifference with which we regard
that of other people.” From this it appears that it is not
our sympathy with any of our fellow-men who may be
supposed to wutness our conduct, but our sympathy with
this imaginary man, this “ abstract man, the represent¬
ative of mankind and substitute of the Deity,” that deter¬
mines the rectitude of our sentiments and actions. But
what is this “man vrithin” but some recognised stand¬
ard of right and wrong existing independent of us, and
recognised by us as the supreme arbiter of our actions—■
in reality something without us, but appearing to be within
us, because realized as a conception of our mind ? By this
theory, then, of Dr Smith, as completed by himself, we
are ultimately taken off the ground of emotionalism and
conveyed to that of intellectualism for a basis of moral
distinctions; so that its only advantage is, that it con¬
ducts us by a flowery and pleasant path, through a need¬
less detour, to a conclusion more solid and sound than it
promised. It is not without reason that the elaborate
device of the author to save his peculiar theory, without
renouncing the certainty or permanency of moral distinc¬
tions, has been compared to the expedients of the Ptolo-
maic astronomers who, “ to save appearances,” pro¬
posed to
“ Gird the sphere
With centric and eccentric scribbled o’er
Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb.”1 *L-
2?. 4. This theory will be found most ably developed in
the Lectures of Dr Thomas Brown. According to him
the basis of moral distinctions lies in the emotional consti¬
tution of the human mind,—in the feeling of approbation
which a virtuous action awakens in us towards the agent.
He denies that right and wrong are qualities of actions, and
contends that they simply express a relation to the emo¬
tional part of our nature; that which we pronounce right
being that which excites in us approbation, that which we
pronounce wrong being that which excites in us censure or
blame. “ Right and wrong,” says he, “ signify nothing in
the objects themselves. They are words expressive only
of relation, and relations are not existing parts of objects, or
taken from them. There is no right nor wrong, virtue nor
vice, merit nor demerit, existing independently of the
agents who are virtuous or vicious ; and, in like manner, if
there had been no moral emotions to arise on the contem¬
plation of certain actions, there would have been no virtue or
vice, merit or demerit, which express only relations to these
emotions.”3 “ If,” says he in another lecture, “ a particular
action be meditated by us, and we feel, on considering it,
that it is one of those which, if performed by us, will be
followed in our own mind by the powerful feeling of self-
reproach, and in the minds of others by similar disappro¬
bation ; if a different action be meditated by us, and we feel
that our performance of it would be followed in our own
mind and the minds of others by an opposite emotion of
approbation, this view of the moral emotions that are con¬
sequences of the actions is that which I consider as forming
what is termed moral obligation,—the moral inducement
which we feel to the performance of certain actions, or to
abstinence from certain other actions Our action in
the one case we term morally right, in the other case mo¬
rally wrong; right and wrong, like virtue and vice, being
only words that express briefly the actions which are
attended with the feeling of moral approbation in the one
case, of moral disapprobation in the other case.”4 On this
1 Lectures, vol. iv., p. 139. 2 Milton, Paradise Lost, 1). viii.
4 Led. Ixxxi., vol. iv., p. 148. Compare also Led. Ixxiii., vol. iii., p. 567, ff.
3 Led. Ixxxii., vol. iv., p. 175,1st ed.
MORAL PH
Recitude. theory of moral distinctions the following strictures may be
' I- J °ffere^:—
(i.) This theory is incompatible with the doctrine of the
reality and permanency of moral distinctions. Of this doc¬
trine Dr Brown is himself a zealous and eloquent advocate ;
but he appears to have forgotten it when constructing his
own theory of the foundation of such distinctions. For if
right and wrong be terms expressive of a mere relation of
certain actions to the human mind, it follows that, the con¬
stitution of the human mind being altered, the relation
would be disturbed, might even be reversed, so that what
is now wrong might become right, and vice versa. That
which is based on what is arbitrary and mutable can never
be itself essential and permanent.
Dr Brown does not shrink from the avowal that, as the
constitution of the mind might be altered, our moral judg¬
ments might be the reverse of what they now are; but he
endeavours to defend his doctrine from the charge that it
makes rectitude precarious and changeable, by affirming
that the relations of morality are not more exposed to this
objection than the relations of mathematics. “ It is not to
moral distinctions only that this objection, if it had any force,
would be applicable. Equality, proportion, it might be
said, in like manner, signify nothing in the objects them¬
selves to which they are applied more than vice or virtue.
They are as truly mere relations as the relations of mo¬
rality.” Now, in arguing thus, Dr Brown has either argued
irrelevantly, or he has argued against himself. It is granted
that equality is the concept of a relation ; but the question
arises, A relation of what, and to what ? Is it of a certain ob¬
ject to the mind ? Certainly not; but of the object to some
other object. Either, then, the relations of morality are of
the same kind as the relations of equality, or they are not.
If they are not, Dr Brown’s illustration, drawn from the
latter to the former, is irrelevant; if they are, their rectitude
is not the relation of an action to the mind, but the rela¬
tion of the action to something else out of the mind, viz.,
to some standard of rectitude existing independently of the
mind and its feelings. The confusion into which Dr Brown
has been betrayed in this attempt to defend his theory from
a fatal objection becomes still more manifest as l^e proceeds.
“ Though the three sides of a right-angled triangle,” he
continues, “ exist in the triangle itself, and constitute it
what it is, what we term the properties of such a triangle
do not exist in it, but are results of a peculiar capacity of
the comparing mind. It is man, or some thinking being
like man, whose comparison gives birth to the very feeling
that is termed by us a discovery of the equality of the
square of one of the sides to the squares of the other two ;
that is to say,—for the discovery of this truth is nothing
more,—it is man who, contemplating such a triangle, is im7\
pressed with this relation, and who feels afterwards that it
would be impossible for him to contemplate it without such
an impression. If this feeling of the relation had never
arisen, and never were to arise, in any mind, though the
squares themselves might still exist as separate figures,
their equality would be nothing, exactly as justice and in¬
justice would be nothing, where no relation of moral emo¬
tion had ever been felt.”1 This passage is full of errors,
and one can account for its being found where it is only by
remembering with what haste Dr Brown’s lectures were
composed, and how they were sent forth to the public
without the benefit of his superintending and correcting
hand. Had he ever carefully reviewed this passage he
would not, we believe, have allowed himself to appear be¬
fore the public as affirming that it is the three sides of a
right-angled triangle that constitute it what it is,—that the
mind may discover what has no existence,—that a disco¬
very is a feeling,—that the mind, by comparing, may find
1 Led. Ixxxii., vol. ii., p. 177.
Bf
I L O S 0 P H Y. 547
out properties which do not exist,—and that two objects Rectitude,
may be equal to each other, and yet their equality be “ no-
thing” apart from a perceiving mind. But not to dwell on
these incoherences, is it not evident that Dr Brown’s illus¬
tration is altogether against his own theory? As the
equality of the square of the hypothenuse to the sum of the
squares of the sides of a right-angled triangle does not arise
from their relation to the mind, as little does the rectitude
of one action and the wrongness of another arise from the
relation of such to the mind; and as the perception of the
equality of objects is the result of the mind’s comparing
these objects with each other, so the perception of the rec¬
titude of actions is the result of the mind’s comparing these
with some standard of right and wrong. From this it fol¬
lows conclusively that the basis of this distinction cannot
be in the mind itself.
(ii.) On Dr Brown’s theory it is impossible to account for
the existence in the mind of the judgment of right or wrong
in reference to any action. By the hypothesis there is
nothing in the action itself to originate such judgments; they
arise simply and solely from the mind’s feeling approbation
or disapprobation on perceiving the action. But what ori¬
ginates this feeling in the mind ? It cannot be self-caused ;
and if not self-caused, what is there to cause it but some¬
thing in the action itself? Dr Brown’s system thus leads
to a contradiction. Had his position been, that rectitude is
a quality of actions which the mind is adapted to approve,
and that on the perception of that quality in any action a
feeling of approbation arises within us in reference to the
agent, all would have been clear and intelligible ; but when
we are told that rectitude is only a relation between a cer¬
tain action and an emotion of the mind, which emotion
must exist before the rectitude can be perceived, all is
thrown into inextricable confusion. We have the mind
approving where there is nothing to approve; an emotion
arising which there is nothing to excite; and a conception
formed, as the result of an emotion, which can only exist
where that conception is presupposed.
(iii.) Dr Brown’s theory obliterates the distinction be¬
tween Ethics and Psychology, by identifying what is with
what ought to he. No writer has more., distinctly than he
enunciated the necessity of keeping ^hese two questions
separate. “When we know,” says he, “that, man has
certain affections and passions, there still retrains the great
inquiry as to the propriety or impropriety of those pas¬
sions, and of the conduct to which they lead. We have
to consider not only how he is capable of acting, but also
whether, acting in the manner supposed, he would be ful¬
filling a duty or perpetrating a crime.” 2 In pursuance of
this distinction, Dr Brown has considered the emotions of
moral approbation and disapprobation, viewed as affections
of the mind, as falling within the psychological (or, as he
chooses to designate it, the physiological) department of
his course. Plere he analyzes these emotions as they are,
and this is all with which Psychology has to do. But when
he comes to Ethics he has further to inquire into the moral
propriety or impropriety of these emotions. This inquiry,
however, he very inconsistently waives in reference to these
emotions, and sets out with the assumption that these are
what they ought to be simply because they are,—nay, are
themselves the source and criterion of the propriety or im¬
propriety of actions. If any other emotion arise in the
mind, we may ask concerning it, Is it right or wrong ? and
to answer this we must appeal to our emotion of moral
approbation or disapprobation : but when this emotion it¬
self arises we may not ask such a question concerning it;
the mere existence of it determines that it is as it ought to
be. Now, why this departure in this one instance from a
principle recognised and pleaded for in every other ? Why
2 Led. i., vol. i,, p. 9,
548
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Rectitude, is one affection of the mind to be assumed to be always
right simply because it exists, while other affections of the
mmd must depend upon it for their moral character ? Why,
above all things, should that by which other affections aie
to be proved right or wrong, be assumed to be itself cer¬
tainly right without any proof? “It is obvious, as has
been justly observed, “ that Dr Brown takes for granted
the propriety of the feelings of approbation ; and indeed he
must do so. And taking this for granted, the system sup¬
plies us with no certain measure of the rectitude of any
action, or of any affection of mind whatever. The correct¬
ness of the rule not being verified, we can have no con¬
fidence in relation to the correctness of anything that is
measured by it. The whole system of morals is thus in¬
volved in doubt and uncertainty; and it is impossible, on
this scheme, for any man to know whether he deserves the
vengeance or the love of his fellow-men.
(iv.) It is impossible to understand, on Dr Brown’s theory,
in what sense rectitude can be ascribed to God. That God
is ri<dit in all his ways is a dictate of all religions, as well
of nature as of Scripture. But if rectitude be a mere re¬
lation of actions to the mind, in what sense can the actions
of God be pronounced right? Whose mind is it, by their
relation to which the rectitude of these actions is deter¬
mined ? Not, of course, that of any of God’s creatures; for
this were to make the character of God and his ways de¬
pendent on the feelings of a finite and perhaps erring be¬
ing. Not his own mind; for we cannot without absurdity
say that God’s actions are right because, when He has done
them, they are approved by Him, or were so when he fore¬
saw that he would do them. Dr Brown’s system seems here
wholly at fault. Reason and piety alike constrain us to say
that God’s actions are right, because they are all perfectly
conformed to an absolutely perfect standard of rectitude.
(v.) Experience teaches us that men may very sincerely
and conscientiously approve actions which other men see to
be wrong, and which they themselves afterwards as sincerely
and conscientiously pronounce blameworthy. In such a case,
according to Dr Brown’s theory, the same action would be
both right and wrong at the same time to different persons,
and at different times to the same person. Does not such
a conclusion go entirely to unsettle the foundations of mo¬
rality ? What confidence can one have in moral distinctions,
if the mere fact that our contemplating a certain action
with approbation makes it right for us to do it, and that
when we change our feeling with regard to it, we become
bound not to do it? Besides, does not the fact that we
may change our moral estimate of actions in consequence
of greater knowledge or greater mental purity, show of it¬
self that the rectitude of actions depends upon something
out of ourselves,—something appertaining to the action
which we require justly to apprehend before we can feel
approbation of it or of the doer of it ?
On these grounds the theory of Dr Brown, ingeniously
as he has illustrated it, appears altogether untenable.
Before leaving the emotional theories of rectitude, there
are one or two observations of a general nature which may
be hazarded in reference to certain particulars which affect
them in common.
(i.) They all agree in founding moral distinctions on the
existing constitution of the human mind. Dr Brown ex¬
pressly avows this with reference to his theory ;2 and it is
no less true with reference to the others. Whether we
resolve rectitude into a dictate of conscience, a result of
sympathy, or a perception of the moral sense, we alike base
it upon something in man’s existing mental constitution.
(ii.) Though the authors of these theories all agree in
repudiating the doctrine which finds the basis of rectitude
in the will of God, the ground they have assumed in com- Reclitmj,
mon is one which conducts ultimately to this doctrine. For
as man is God’s creature, his constitution, bodily and mental,
is simply that which God willed him to have ; and thus, as
his constitution depends entirely on the Divine will, what¬
ever depends upon his constitution must be resolved ulti¬
mately into that will. We may, indeed, ask why God willed
man to possess such a moral constitution as He has given
him ; and we may find an answer to this in the position, that
God ever does that which is right and best; but from such an
inquiry and such an answer those who place the foundation
of rectitude and goodness in certain emotions of the human
soul, preclude themselves by the ground they have assumed.
(iii.) All these theories proceed upon the assumption,
that the moral constitution of man remains in its normal
state. This is essential to the validity of their appeal; for
if man’s moral constitution be in a state of disorder or
disease, we can no more trust to its decisions in matters of
right and wrong, as an independent and original source of
moral distinctions, than we could to the reflections of an ill-
polished mirror or to the sensations of a jaundiced eye.
In making this assumption, however, they have overlooked
a fact to which all experience, no less than Divine revela¬
tion, gives testimony, that man’s moral constitution, so far
from being in the state in which it ought to be, is in a con¬
dition wholly abnormal and disordered. It is true that this
state does not amount to a destruction of man’s moral con¬
stitution ; he is still susceptible of moral impressions, still
capable of moral judgments ; and enough remains to enable
us to determine what the order of his moral nature origin¬
ally was. But with all this there is so much of perversion,
confusion, and disorder, that we can have no security that
what his moral tastes or affections may approve shall be on
that account right and proper.
II.—Intellectual or Objective Theories.
We proceed to the consideration of these with a pre¬
sumption that, in this department of speculation, we shall
find the object of which we are in search. This presump¬
tion is founded not only on the fact that we have failed to
find it in the emotional part of our nature, but also because
of the intellectual character of our moral cognitions. When
we say, “ This is right,” we do not give expression to an
emotion ; nor do we utter a wish; nor do we express a
resolution : we pronounce a judgment. Now, as a judgment
is an intellectual act, the presumption is, that the basis on
which this judgment rests will be some datum or discovery
of the intellect.
C. 1. This theory, according to which rectitude depends
on civil enactment, is generally cited as owning for its prin¬
cipal exponent and advocate “ the philosopher of Malms-
bury,” Thomas Hobbes. To this dubious honour Hobbes
has contributed to raise himself by the manner in which
he has repeatedly expressed his views; but it is more than
doubtful whether such a doctrine can be justly fixed upon
him. Mr Stewart has remarked, that “ the ethical principles
of Hobbes are completely interwoven with his political sys¬
tem;”3 and this must ever be borne in mind in estimating
his views. The great problem which he has set himself to
solve is apparently this:—Given a community, composed
of men such as men usually are, how may peace and order
be best secured in the administration of its affairs ? And ol
the solution which he offers part is this, that men in such
a community must not be allowed to judge each one lor
himself what is good and what is bad, what is meum and
what is tuum, what is just and what is unjust; but all this
must be determined by the enactment of the ruling power.
Hence his writings contain such startling assertions as the
1 Payne, Elements of Mental and Moral Science, p. 485, 1st ed. 2 See Lecture Ixxiv., vol. iii., p. 596. 3 Dies., p. 42, col. 1.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
549
Ketftude.
JL-'
, following:—“ Quod legislator prseceperit, id pro bono, quod
vetuerit, id pro malo habendum esse. . . . Ante imperia jus-
tum et injustum non extitere ; ut quorum natura ad man-
datum sit relativa; actioque omnis sua natura adiaphora
est; quod justa vel injusta sit a jure imperantis provenit.
lieges igitur legitimi quae imperant justa faciunt imperando,
quae vetant vetando injusta. Privati autem homines dum
cognitionem boni et mali ad se trahunt cupiunt esse sicut
reges; quod salva civitate non potest.”1 “ Culpa, hoc est pec-
catum, est quod quis fecerit, omiserit, dixerit, vel voluerit
contra rationem civitatis, id est contra leges.”2 “ In a state
of nature nothing can be unjust; the notions of right and
wrong, justice and injustice, have there noplace; where
there is no common power, there is no law,—where no law,
no transgressions.”3 “ No law can be unjust.”4 * Many similar
statements might be adduced from the two works from
which these sentences are taken; and such statements, it
cannot be denied, if taken by themselves, would fully jus¬
tify the imputation to Hobbes of the opinion, that it is by
the authority of political enactment that justice and injus¬
tice, right and wrong, are produced. All, however, that
he appears to have intended by them is, that in a state the
governing power must settle the conditions of property;
and by its enactment, and not by the opinions of each indi¬
vidual, must the duty and the right of each, as a member
of the body politic, be determined. That he did not con¬
sider his inquiry as directed to the settling of general prin¬
ciples of morals, but only to the determining of the autho¬
rity by which, in a state, the boundaries of good and evil
should, for governmental purposes, be fixed; and that he
held moral distinctions to be in themselves independent of
civil enactment, may be clearly shown from many parts of
his treatise De Give. Thus, in reference to theft, he says,
—“ Non queerimus an furtum sit peccatum ; quccrimus quid
furtum dicendum sit, et sic de c(uteris similibus.”'2 Accord¬
ing to this, his design is not to determine the moral virtues,
but only to ascertain by what authority such and such acts
are to be held breaches of these virtues. This obviously
implies that these virtues themselves rest on something else
than, and anterior to, civil enactment for their basis. Still
more explicitly and fully is this stated in the following
passage :—“ Doctrinarum quae ad seditionem disponunt una
et prima haec est; cognitionem de bono et malo pertinere
ad singulos. In statu quidem natural! ubi jure aequali singuli
vivunt, nec se per pacta sua aliorum imperio submiserunt
veram earn esse concedimus, imo cap. i., art. 9, probavimus.
Sed in statu civili falsa est. Ostensum enim est, cap. yi.,
art. 9, Regulas boni et mali, justi et injusti, honesti et in-
honesti esse leges civiles, ideoque quod legislator praece-
perit id pro bono, quod vetuerit et pro malo habendum
esse.” ® Here the author distinctly states, that in a state
of nature every man can and may judge for himself what
is right or wrong; and that it is only when he has entered
into a civil compact that he becomes bound to allow the
state to fix the rules of rectitude for him. Such a doctiine
may be very unsound politically, but it does not amount to
anything like an affirmation that moral distinctions, as such,
have their origin in civil enactment. On the contrary, in
that part of his work to which he here refers (the first
chapter), Hobbes shows at length that there are natural
laws prescribing to man what he ought to do; that these
laws are immutable and eternal; that they bind man inforo Rectitude.
conscientice; that they are nothing else than certain con-
elusions understood by reason concerning things to be done
and things to be omitted; that they are identical with the
moral law ; and that they may justly be called divine, “ not
only because reason, which is itself the law of nature, has
been given immediately by God to each man as the rule
of his actions, but also because the precepts of living thence
derived are the same as those which have been promulgated
by the Divine Majesty as laws of the heavenly kingdom,
through our Lord Jesus Christ and the holy prophets and
apostles.”7 These sentiments appear altogether incompatible
with the theory of moral distinctions usually imputed to
Hobbes. It belongs to another department to examine the
soundness of Hobbes’s doctrine concerning the relation of
subjects to their governors.
The opinion which has been thus injuriously imputed
to Hobbes was certainly, however, held by some ancient
philosophers, as Cudworth has showed in his learned way
by numerous citations.8 Unfortunately, these are for the
most part given in such a way, that we have been unable
to verify them all; and of those we have succeeded in
tracing, all do not appear apposite to the purpose for which
they are cited. When every deduction, however, has been
made on these accounts, there still remains enough to prove
that there were philosophers in ancient times who not only
affirmed what Hobbes has affirmed as to justice and injustice,
good and evil, being determined by law, but who affirmed
also what Hobbes "has denied, viz., that such distinctions
are not also by nature.9 Now to all such doctrines the
answer is sufficiently obvious. A law, as law, is the mere
expression of the supreme will in a community, and can
never confer a moral character on any act to which it relates.
The utmost law can do is to indicate that a given course
will be followed by a given punishment, and so to affix a
character of imprudence or folly to the pursuing of that
course. It can never per se make that which was before
right to become wrong, nor that which was before w’rong
to become right. “ A sovereign,” as has been truly said,
“ may enact and rescind laws, but he cannot create or re¬
scind a single virtue;” nor can any mere expression of his
will, or any penalty he may attach to the violation of it,
awaken one feeling of remorse or self-condemnation in the
bosom of the man who transgresses the law under a clear and
firm conviction that it enjoins what a regard to a higher
law—the law of rectitude or of God—forbids. The mere
utterance of will can never of itself add moral qualities to
an act, or bring one under an obligation to perform it; and
it matters not whether this will be that of an individual or of
a community, for mere numbers in a case of this sort go
for nothing: where x = 0, 100a: or 10,000,000a: amount to
no more. As Dr Brown puts it (though he erroneously as¬
cribes this argument to Cudworth), “ it must either be right
to obey the law, and wrong to disobey it, or indifferent
whether we obey it or not. If it be morally indifferent
whether we obey it or not, the law which may or may not
be obeyed with equal virtue cannot be a source of virtue;
and if it be right to obey it, the very supposition that it is
right to obey it implies a notion of right and wrong that is
antecedent to the law, and gives it its moral efficacy.”10 It
is not easy to conceive what could be said in reply to this.
3 Leviathan, p. 63. 4 Same book, p. 182.
7 Same book, cap. iii., §§ 27, 28, 31, 33; cap. iv., § 1.
1 Le Give, cap. xii., § 1. " ^ame book, cap. xiv § 17
6 Be Give, cap. xiv., § 17. 6 Same book cap. xn § 1.
» Treatise concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality, pp. 2-7. , , . . , . ,
9 See Plato’s Thecetetus, p. 172, B.; Opp. ed. Stallbaum, vol. viii., sect. 1, p. 149 ; Be Legibus, b. x., near the beginning^; Aristotle, Atcom.
c vii §§4 5 Lancaster’s ed.; Archelaus, in Diogenes Laertius, Us Vitis, &c., Philosophorum, s&ys, x,ou to oinetiov uvett x.a.1 to
•v'aet, d^ci \opu, b. ii., cap. iv., § 3 ; Aristippus, pr&v qmi (pvaei lUotiov y ttcCKov ij ula^ov d>.hd siofiu nxl Met, b. ii., c. viii..
Ethic., b. v., c.
nX^T’ix'T^ § 3; Carne^des 'as reported by Lactantius, Biv. Institt., b. v., c. 16, ed. Sparke.
^10’Lectures’ vol iii p. 632. It is worthy of notice that Stewart as well as Brown imputes this dilemmatical reasoning to Cudworth.
See Active and Moral Power 's, vol. L, p. 240. Both were led into the mistake by Dr Adam Smith ; see his Theory of Moral Sentiments, part
vi., § 3, c. 2.
550 MORAL P II
Rectitude. ln t]ie minds 0f many, however, there is a confused im-
' pression, that because it is morally right for subjects to obey
their rulers ; therefore whatever the ruler may prescribe be¬
comes ipso facto right, and consequently, that it is into the
will of the ruler that rectitude is ultimately to be resolved.
Now a very little reflection will suffice to show, that even
assuming this reasoning to be well founded, it will apply
to only a very small part of what concerns man as a moral
agent; by far the greater part of his moral obligations re¬
lating to a sphere within which no legislation of his fellow-
men can penetrate. It will occur also to the inquirer to
ask,—If the will of the ruler determine the moral obliga¬
tions of his subjects, what is it that determines the moral
obligations of the ruler ? He is not free from these ; for this
would be to deny to him the attributes of an intelligent crea¬
ture ; and if these have come upon him from some source
superior to his own will, and anterior to the exercise of it,
then moral distinctions cannot be created by him, and con¬
sequently conduct cannot become right simply because he
commands it. Further, the question will arise,—On what
rests the obligation incumbent on subjects to obey their
rulers? Not surely on law; for mere law can never create
an obligation: it can only prescribe how a previously ex¬
isting obligation is to be followed. But if not on law, then
on something anterior to law and above it; so that we are
again brought to the conclusion, from the very relation of
governor and subject, that there is a foundation for rec¬
titude wholly independent of any legislation or utterance
of rectoral will. “ It was never heard of,” says Cudworth,
“ that one founded all his authority of commanding others,
and others’ obligation or duty to obey his commands, in a
law of his own making, that men should be required, obliged,
or bound to obey him. Wherefore, since the thing willed
in all laws is not that men should be bound or obliged to
obey, this thing cannot be the product of the mere will of
the commander; but it must proceed from something
else, namely, the right or authority of the commander,
which is founded in natural justice and equity, and an ante¬
cedent obligation to obedience in the subject which things
are not made by laws, but presupposed before all laws to
make them valid. And if it should be imagined that any
one should make a positive law to require that others should
be obliged or bound to obey him, every one would think
such a law ridiculous and absurd; for if they were obliged
before, then this law would be vain and to no purpose ; and
if they were not before obliged, then they could not be
obliged by any positive law, because they were not pre¬
viously bound to obey such a person’s commands; so that
obligation to obey all positive laws is older than all laws,
and previous or antecedent to them.”1 In fine, it will occur
to the thoughtful inquirer, that as the obligations lying on
subjects to obey their rulers is thus imposed by an autho¬
rity above and anterior to that of any ruler, so the limits of
this obedience must be determined by a regard to this
higher authority. His authority can never ascend beyond
its own source; and if, consequently, he shall command
what the source of his own authority forbids, the obligation
resting on his subjects to obey him necessarily terminates
quoad hoc. This leads to the conclusion, on the one hand,
that a ruler is to be obeyed only so far as he enjoins what
is morally right; and, on the other, that so far from his law
creating the rectitude of actions, it is by the standard of
rectitude that the moral validity of his own law is to be tried.
C. 2. Closely connected in principle with the doctrine
just examined, though proceeding from very different parties,
and urged with very different views, is the opinion that
IL O S O P II Y.
rectitude is to be resolved into the sovereign will of God. Rectitude
Cudworth traces this opinion to Ockham, from whom he
quotes the statement, “ That there is no act evil but as it is
prohibited by God, and which cannot be made good if it be
commanded by God; and conversely.”2 But "it is certain
that, in holding this opinion, Ockham only followed his
master, Duns Scotus, as did many others of the Scotists.3
The opinion has found many advocates in more recent times,
some of whom have not shrunk from following it to the ex¬
treme consequence, that God may enjoin on us what we
now regard as the greatest crimes, but which would then
become as great virtues. Descartes, as Cudworth shows,
throws himself so energetically into the defence of this
opinion, that he does not hesitate to affirm “ that God did
not will the three angles of a triangle to be equal to two
right angles because he knew it could not be otherwise,
but because he willed the three angles of a triangle to be
necessarily equal to two right angles,—therefore this is true,
and cannot be otherwise;” thus resolving all truth, neces¬
sary as well as contingent, into the mere sovereign will of
God. A leaning to this view may also be found in Bishop
Taylor, and in several of the casuistical and mystical theo¬
logians. In judging of opinions on this subject, however,
we have ever carefully to keep in view the distinction be¬
tween the will of God as a rule and directory of conscience,
and the will of God as a source of moral distinctions. The
former opinion may be held where the latter is repudiated,
as it is, for instance, by Suarez, who says, “ Hsec Dei volun¬
tas, prohibitio aut praeceptio, non est tota ratio bonitatis et
malitiae quae est in observatione vel transgressione legis
naturalis, sed supponit in ipsis actubus necessariam quan-
dam honestatem vel turpitudinem, et illis adjungit specialem
legis divinae obligationem.”4
There can be no doubt that many who have given in to
the opinion now under consideration, have done so from a
pious desire to uphold the majesty and authority of God as
the moral governor of the universe. Such motives are to be
respected; but this must not prevent our pronouncing the
opinion to which they have given currency not only unsound
in principle, but most pernicious in tendency. It is at once,
indeed, admitted that God can never enjoin anything but
what is right and good ; that whatever He enjoins, it is the
duty of his creatures on whom it is enjoined to obey; that
His law is the safest and surest rule by which any man can
direct his conduct; and that, in actual practice, no man
needs any other or higher reason for doing what God
enjoins than is furnished by the simple fact that He has
enjoined it. But, after all tins has been conceded, the
question arises: Does the mere utterance of the Divine
will, pronouncing any course of conduct to be right, create
and constitute the absolute rectitude of that conduct ? In
other words—would that which we now feel and believe to
be right cease to be so, could it be shown that God has
never commanded it? Or, in other words still,—would
the Divine command (supposing it possible for such a thing
to occur) be sufficient of itself to alter all our present moral
convictions and relations, so as to make that which it is
now right for us to do, wrong, and conversely ? These
questions the theory now under consideration would answer
in the affirmative ; and such answer we hold to be unsound
and mischievous. In proof of this, the following observa¬
tions may be adduced :—
(i.) This theory asserts that the distinction between vice
and virtue is purely arbitrary ; and that, consequently, there
is no intrinsic excellence in virtue, no intrinsic turpitude in
vice. All this is purely matter of appointment, and the
1 Treatise, &c., p. 19.
3 actum malum esse nisi quatenus a Deo prohibitum, et qui non possit fieri bonus si a Deo prascipitur et e converso.
4 m66 ^ennemann> Grundriss d. Gesch. d. Philosophic, pp. 284, 289, 5th ed.
lactatus de Legilus ac Deo Legislalore, &c., c. vi., § 11, quoted by Ilallam, Hist, of Literature, vol. ii., p. 505, 2d ed.
1 Dwight, System of Theology, Serin, xcix.
552
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Rectitude, does not every one feel that, if conclusions like these were
true, such words as right and wrong, virtuous and vicious,
would be utterly superfluous, and calculated only to con¬
fuse and mislead.
We may apply another test to this doctrine, were it
true, it would follow that, in judging of the actions of others,
we should approve those which conduce most to the
advantage of the agent: for as we approve the actions ot
• others in proportion as they are right, if rectitude depen
on advantage, our approbation will necessarily be detei-
mined by our perception of such advantage as accruing to
the individual. It would thus become proper for us to
think well of the successful adventurer who had surrounded
himself with the comforts of life by the violation of justice,
and by trampling mercy under foot,—whose coffers were
filled with gains collected by fraud and extortion, and who
revelled in the fruits of deeds which had desolated many
homes, broken many hearts, and sent many prematurely to
the grave. There is, in fact, no sort of successful crime
which, on this principle, we should not commend, our cen¬
sure being reserved only for the unfortunate or the impru¬
dent, who”had failed to secure their own interest. On such
a supposition, is it not idle to talk of moral distinctions, or to
dignify man with the title of a moral agent?
”Every person who reflects on the moral phenomena of
his own nature must be aware that such perverted judg¬
ments are utterly impossible. Men, it is true, “ will praise
those that do well to themselves;5,1 for there is a certain
feeling of admiration excited by all successful adventure,
even when its end is purely selfish; but such praise is
always limited by the condition, that in doing well to them¬
selves men have not done ill to others; and it is excited,
besides, not so much by the view of the advantage the in¬
dividual has secured, as by the conviction that man owes a
duty to himself in reference to the promotion of his own
welfare, as well as to others. M hen it is evident that it is
by the path of crime that men have passed to wealth,
honour, or pleasure, there is in every human breast a senti¬
ment of condemnation excited by their conduct, which no
consideration of its successful result can mitigate. IN ay,
so certain and so strong is this sentiment, that even when
we ourselves are made to reap the benefits of another s
crime, we cannot but perceive and feel the evil of his con¬
duct. The favourite of a despot who is enriched by his
master’s extortions, and whose passions are regaled by
means of the license which his master’s tyranny secures,
has nevertheless within his bosom a sentiment condemna¬
tory of his master’s proceedings, which no sense of gratitude
to his master can wholly obliterate, and which the degiading
influences of a vile dependence can hardly blunt. M e
can constrain our tongue to be false, our features to bend
themselves to the resemblance of that passionate adoration
which we wish to express, our knees to fall prostrate ; but
our heart we cannot constrain. There virtue must still
have a voice, which is not to be drowned by hymns and
acclamations; there the crimes which we laud as virtues
are crimes still, and he whom we have made a god is the
most contemptible of mankind, if indeed we do not feel,
perhaps, that we are ourselves still more contemptible.
This description, though perhaps somewhat exaggerated,
is substantially true; but if virtue lie in the tendency of
any act to promote our individual benefit, why should it be
so impossible for us to commend acts which directly minis¬
ter to our advantage, or to approve of the character of one
to whose agency we owe so much ?
In reply to these strictures, it may be said that, in esti¬
mating the consequences of actions to ourselves, we must
take into account the ivhole of our being, and that in this Rectitude,
case it will be found that, as no vicious course is ultimately
beneficial, and no virtuous course ultimately injurious, true
wisdom would dictate to all men to avoid a vicious and
pursue a virtuous career. This is the form in which the
Eudaimonistic theory was advocated by Epicurus, who
maintained that “ virtues are to be preferred for the sake
of pleasure, not for their own sake, just as medicine for the
sake of health ; ” but at the same time contended “ that vir¬
tue alone is inseparable from pleasure,” and that “ no man
can live pleasantly unless he live prudently, honourably,
and justly and hence he consistently taught that prudence
(cfrpovrjav;) is the prime virtue.3 In this last assertion Epi¬
curus avows what is sufficient to prove the inadequacy of
the Eudaimonistic theory, even in this its improved form,
to account for moral distinctions, or distinct moral judgments.
After all, even on his own showing, the choice between
right and wrong is a mere matter of prudence; there is
nothing morally wrong in vice or right in virtue : the
former is to be shunned simply because it leads to unplea¬
sant consequences, and the latter to be followed simply
because upon the whole it conduces to our happiness.
On this theory it still remains inexplicable why men should
censure vice and should commend virtue. If a man
chooses to be vicious or selfish on the ground that that is the
pleasanter course for him, we may pity him for the mistake
he has made, but we have no right, on this theory, to blame
him as having done wrong.
Besides, how on this theory are we to adjust the com¬
peting merits of a life of simple selfishness and a life of
generous beneficence ? Are these equally good ? and, if
not, why not ? Let us take a case. Some person, writing
in the name of Swift, says to the people of Ireland, “I*
have been bred in a careful way of life, and never ventured
upon any project without consulting my pillow first how
much I should be a gainer in the upshot..’4 Ihese are
not Swift’s own words, for at the time they were written
he was hastening to the grave in a state of hopeless imbe¬
cility ; but they paint a character such as may sometimes
be found, and therefore are sufficient for our present pur¬
pose. Now, some twenty years before the date of this
production, Swift wrote to Lord Carteret as follows, of his
illustrious friend and countryman Berkeley :—“ He is an
absolute philosopher with regard to money, titles, and
power ; and for three years past hath been stiuck with a
notion of founding a university at Bermudas by a charter
from the crown He showed me a little tiact which
he designs to publish ; and there your excellency will see
his whole scheme of a life academico-philosophical—of a
college founded for Indian missionaries, where he most
exorbitantly proposeth a whole hundred a year for himself,
forty pounds for a fellow, and ten for a student. His heart
will break if his deanery be not taken from him and left to
your excellency’s disposal.”5 In these characteristic sen¬
tences the sarcastic Dean of St Patrick’s seeks to assist
his friend in the “romantic design,” as he calls it,—but which
he could not help feeling to be also “ very noble and ge¬
nerous,”—of resigning wealthy preferment, great prospects,
refined society, scholarly resources and associations, to go
to a distant and semi-barbarous colony as a pioneer of civi¬
lization and a preacher of religion, amid poverty and pri¬
vation of every kind. Here, again, we have a character
painted to us—happily this time a real character, thougn
one not so frequently encountered in actual life as t e
former. What shall we say of the two characters on the
Eudaimonistic theory? On that theory the motive in
both cases was the same—personal advantage and p easure.
1 Ps. xlix. 18. 2 Brown, Lectures, vol. iv., p. 72. __ 10j>' ' ’’
4 The Drapier s Letters to the Good People of Ireland, 1745, in Swift’s Works, vol. xxvii., p. 1 , eo. /
6 Works, vol. xvii., p. 153.
138, 140, &c.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
itude. Were both, then, alike good ? Is the pseudo-Swift, cau¬
tiously consulting his pillow before he committed himself
to any project, that he might avoid all possible sources of
personal loss and discomfort, to be equally commended and
admired with the large-hearted and generous Berkeley,
who, casting all personal considerations to the winds, is
willing to endure penury, and toil, and trial, for a scheme
which is to profit him nothing, even should it prove success¬
ful, but from which he hopes his fellow-men may reap
benefit ? Or if the latter is to be pronounced the better of
the two, is his superiority to be determined by nothing else
than a nicely-adjusted estimate of the superior amount of
happiness which, in the upshot, the course he has selected
is calculated to confer upon him ?
But supposing we arrive at this conclusion, it may occur
to one to ask, How did Dr Berkeley know, or how can any
one know, anterior to experience, that the path of generous
self-denial is productive of a larger amount of happiness
than that of self-indulgence? Here the Eudaimonistic
theory of human actions seems wholly at fault. For either
the happiness which virtue confers is cognised by the
mind previous to the virtuous action, or it is not. If it is
not, then all acts of virtuous self-denial are performed
either without any motive at all,—a position which the mind
refuses to admit,—or they are performed for some other
reason than the pleasure attendant on virtuous conduct.
If, on the other hand, there is an attendant acquaintance
with this pleasure, for the sake of which alone good deeds,
it is supposed, are done, this can arise only from the gene¬
rous desire being felt previous to the pleasure which the
anticipated gratification of it yields. In either case, it is
certain that it is not from selfish motives that the virtuous
deed is done.
In fine, as Dr Brown has observed, “ even if virtue were
as selfish as it is most strangely said to be, it would be neces¬
sary to form two divisions of selfish actions: one, of those
selfish actions of which self was the direct object; and
another, of those very different selfish actions in which the
selfish gratification was sought in the good of others. He
who submitted to poverty, to ignominy, to death, for the
sake of one who had been his friend and benefactor, would
be still a very different being, and ought surely, therefore,
to be classed still differently from him who robbed his friend
of the scanty relics of a fortune which his credulous bene¬
volence had before divided with him, and, not content with
this additional plunder, calumniated, perhaps, the very
kindness which had snatched him from ruin. By what
perversion of language,” he justly asks, “is the same term
to be given to affections so different ?” 1
(ii.) The theory which refers the rectitude of actions to
their tendency to promote the general good is commonly
known as, by way of eminence, the Utilitarian theory.
Though not unknown to the ancients, it is in more recent
times that this theory has found its principal expounders and
advocates. The first formally to develop it was Bishop
Cumberland, in his elaborate treatise, De Legibus Natures,
written in reply to Hobbes. It was subsequently embraced
by Puffendorf, and has more recently been advocated by
Hume, Paley, and Bentham. In substance it is the theory
which lies at the basis of the ethical system of Edwards;
and it has been avowed and defended by one of Edwards’s
ablest followers, Dr Timothy Dwight. To these writers
must be added Mandeville ; for though he teaches that
virtue and vice are determined by enactment, and the
sense of them acquired by education, yet he asserts that
rulers, in fixing what shall be called virtue and what vice,
have been guided solely by a regard to utility, making those
actions virtuous which benefit the community, and those
vicious which injure it.2 All these writers agree in main¬
taining that the utility of actions (that is, their fitness to
promote the welfare of being in general, of society at larcm,
or to the greatest possible extent of the greatest possible
number) constitutes their rectitude, and that the feelin" of
benevolence, or the desire so to act as to promote this
utility, is the principle of virtue in an agent.
Now, it may be conceded that, in a sense, utility is inse¬
parable from virtue and rectitude. By the gracious ar¬
rangement of the Almighty, all right actions are really
useful; and it is not to be denied that to will the good of
others, and to labour for that, is in itself good and right.
But after all this is conceded, it still remains to be asked,
Is the utility of an action that which, per se and solely,
constitutes that action right ? Fhose who would answer
this question in the affirmative urge the consideration that,
in a comparative view of human actions, our preference is
always given to those which are most advantageous to the
race, and that, apart from the tendency of virtue to make
men happy, there seems no reason why it should be pre¬
ferred to vice. Now, it may be granted that, in estimating
the worth of virtuous actions, men usually prefer those
which are most advantageous ; but in order to judge of the
bearing of this fact on our present inquiry, it will be needful
to view it under two conditions : first, that the criterion of
preference shall be moral rectitude, and not expediency;
and, second, that the criterion being moral rectitude, it
shall be ascertained that it is the utility of actions on which
the mind fixes as the ground of its preference. If these
conditions be enforced, we believe it will be found, not
that the actions are preferred because they are most useful,
but that those preferred, as morally best, are also found to
be most useful because of the established connection be¬
tween rectitude and utility; so that this fact determines
nothing conclusively in favour of the Utilitarian theory.
With regard to the other argument adduced, though it is
one on which Dwight lays great stress,—asserting that
“ were sin, in its own proper tendency, to produce invariably
the same good which it is the tendency of virtue to produce,
.... no reason is apparent to me why it should not be¬
come excellent, commendable, and rewardable, the same as
virtue now is,”3—we cannot but regard it as a mere
petitio principii. Of course, if virtue have no quality of
its own to distinguish it essentially from vice, and if the onlv
difference between the two lie in their tendencies, it is
clear enough that the foundation of the former is to be
sought in its tendency to utility; but all that is here
assumed happens to involve the very point in dispute, and
to be just what is required to be proved.
The fundamental objection to the theory of utility lies,
we think, in this, that it proposes to find the basis of moral
distinctions in what is not directly a moral quality at all.
Utility is a physical and not a moral excellence. The test
of this is furnished by the fact, that utility is not a quality
which awakens in us moral approbation. It may excite
admiration, delight, gratitude; but of itself it never awakens
moral approbation. When a benefactor confers on us a
favour, it is not the value of the favour that excites our
553
■Rectitude.
1 Lectures, vol. iv., p. 69.
2 Stewart has animadverted on the inconsistency of this with the doctrine with which Mandeville’s name is chiefly associated “that
private vices are public benefits.” The inconsistency is manifest, if Mandeville be regarded as meaning to inculcate that what benefit,
the public is, in any sense, or under any circumstances, a vice. But there is grave reason to doubt whether Mandeville ever tauerht other
wise than hypothetically, the doctrine imputed to him. His reasoning is If national wealth be a benefit, and if certain vices n’rnmnte
it, then on the basis of utility, these vices ought to be introduced as virtues. He himself solemnly declares that his entire trentil ;!
ironical, and that he wrote it to refute the enemies of virtue, by subjecting their views to a reductio ad absurdum. See Whatelv’s 7>r
lures on Political Economy, Lect. U. z v m. i " s .^ec-
vor xy System of Theology, Serm. xeix.
4 A
554
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Rectitude.moral approval; that is reserved for some quality in the
' benefactor, with which the utility to us of his donation h
nothinsr to do: were it otherwise, we should regard the
benevolent act which relieves a starving family with exactly
the same emotion with which we regard the coins given y
the benefactor for the purpose of his benevolence,
utility be not a quality that excites in us moral approbation,
then it must be fallacious to make it the basis
excellence ; for this would be to affirm an enure discordance
between moral truth and man’s moral natme,—in other
words to denv the possibility of morality altogether. Then,
moreover utility is a qualilv which belongs to many ob¬
jects which are irrational, and many which are inanimate, to
Jnone of which we ever think of ascribing moral excellence.
A horse is useful, a cow is useful, a chair is useful, food is
useful, and so of a multitude of other things ; yet who ever
thinks of ascribing to these objects the quality of rectitude
or moral wm-th because of their utility ? But if mere utility
were the basis of rectitude, why should it be so. why
should we refuse to ascribe moral excellence to an object
which possesses in a high degree the quality which is the
differential and constitutive element of moral excellence .
If utility and virtue be equivalent terms, why should it
seem preposterous to speak of a virtuous horse, or ridi¬
culous to commend the moral excellence of a mahogany
table ? This objection, though urged by Dr Adam bmitn,
Dr Thomas Brown, and other eminent philosophers, is
treated with great contempt by Dr Dwight. “ This ob¬
jection,” says he, “ it is hardly necessary to answer. Volun¬
tary usefulness is the only virtue. A smatterer in philosophy
knows that understanding and will are necessary to the ex¬
istence of virtue. He who informs us that if virtue is
founded on utility, animals, vegetables, and minerals, the
sun, the moon, and the stars, must be virtuous, so far as they
are useful, is either disposed to trifle with mankind for then
amusement, or supposes them to be tnflers. _ This is su -
ciently strong; but is it just? An f18
morally good, and the question is asked, Why ? To this the
utilitarian answers, “ Simply because its tendency is use¬
ful.” “ No,” replies the objector, “ for there are many things
useful which we cannot call morally good.” “ Oh, says
Dr Dwight, “ that is a trifling objection, because when i
speak of virtue I speak of what belongs only to voluntary
ao-ents.” But is not this a giving up of the whole question .
From this it appears that what constitutes virtue is not mere
utility, but utility plus a voluntary and intelligent choice ;
and as the former element in this equation must, for the
reasons above assigned, be eliminated, the latter remains as
the only substantial basis of virtue. But virtue cannot be
placed in mere choice ; it can be found only in the reasons
which have guided that choice. It follows, that in these
reasons, whatever they may be, and not in the mere utility
of the act, the element of its virtuousness must be sought.
We conclude, then, that it is not in the tendency of ac¬
tions to promote either our own happiness or the welfare of
others that the basis of virtue is to be sought. It is true
that virtuous actions will promote both, and it is true that
no higher or nobler end can be proposed by any man to
himself, as an active being, than the promoting of the
happiness and honour of universal being as far as he can.
But still, as has been justly remarked, “ it remains a ques¬
tion how far conduciveness even to these is what properly
constitutes virtue or moral rectitude. Instead of its con¬
duciveness to good constituting its essential nature, horn
its essential nature may arise its conduciveness to good. . . .
The inquiry will remain, whether virtue is good because %t
conduces to these ends, or whether it does not necessarily
conduce to these ends because it is good ; in other words,
whether the system, even in the loftiest and most enlarged Rectitude,
view of it, goes far enough back; whether there be not
ultimate principles of moral rectitude necessary and eternal,
existing previously to all possible trial and manifestation of
their tendencies; and whether the actual evolution of the
goodness of these tendencies, commencing of course with
the earliest date of creation, instead of being what essen¬
tially constitutes moral rectitude itself, ought not rather to
be regarded as the native and appropriate result of the
principles of rectitude.”2 ... , r
We may conclude this discussion by citing the words of
Cicero Sive honestum solum bonum est, ut Stoicis pla¬
cet sive quod honestum est id ita summum bonum est,
quemadmodum Peripateticis nostris videtur, ut omnia ex
altera parte collocata, vix minimi momenti instar habeant:
dubitandum non est quin nunquam possit utihtas cum hon-
estate contendere. Itaque accepimus Socratem exsecran
solitum eos qui primum hsec, natura cohaerentia, opimone
distraxissent. Cui quidem ita sunt Stoici assensi ut quid-
quid honestum esset id utile esse censerent, nec utile quid-
quam quod non honestum.
D. 1. This theory is identified with the name of Dr
Samuel Clarke. It is stated by him as follows “ That
there are different relations of things one towards another
is as certain as that there are different things in the world.
That from these different relations of different things there
necessarily arises an agreement or disagreement of some
things to others, or a fitness or unfitness of the application
of different things or different relations one to another, is
likewise as certain as that there is any difference in the
nature of things, or that differences do exist. Further,
that there is a.fitness or suitableness of certain circum¬
stances to certain persons, and an unsuitableness of others
founded in the nature of things, and m the qualifications
of persons antecedent to will, and to all arbitrary or posi¬
tive appointment whatsoever, must unavoidably be acknow-
ledo-ed by every one who will not affirm that it is equally
fit and suitable, in the nature and reason of things, that an
innocent being should be extremely and eternally miser¬
able, as that it should be free from such misery. There is
therefore such a thing as fitness and unfitness, eternally,
necessarily, and unchangeably, in the nature and reason o
things. Now, what these relations absolutely and neces¬
sarily are in themselves, that also they appear to be to the
understanding of all intelligent beings, except those who
understand things to be what they are not,—that is, whose
understandings are either very imperfect or very much de-
oraved. And by this understanding or knowledge of the
natural and necessary relations of things, the «^0^hke-
wise of all intelligent beings are constantly directed {which,
by the way, is the true ground and foundation of aI ™°
rality), unless their will be corrupted by particular interest
or affection, or swayed by some unreasonable and Pr^
ing lust.”4 Again, he says, “ The true ground and founda
tion of all eternal moral obligations is this, that the same
reasons (viz., the forementioned necessary and eternal
different relations which different things bear to each other
and the consequent fitness or unfitness of the application
of different things or different relations one to another, u
avoidably arising from that difference of the things them¬
selves'),—these very same reasons, I say, which always a
necessarily do determine the will of God, ought dso co -
stantly fi/determine the will of all subordinate intelligent
beings.”5 According to these statements, it appears^that
Dr Clarke placed the basis of rectitude ultimately in
reason and nature of things ” out of which have answer
tain essential differences in objects and their relaho ,
which again have given birth to certain fitnesses or unfit
1 germ. xcix. 2 Ward!aw, Christian Ethics, p. 107, IT., 3d ed.
4 Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God, vol. i., p. 106, 10th ed.
3 De Officiis, b. iii., § 3.
6 Same book, p. 115.
Sfctitude. nesses in the application of one thing to another, an intelli-
gent conformity to which constitutes morality.
In judging of this theory it is important to bear in mind
in what sense the author speaks of “ the fitnesses of things.”
The word “fitness” is ambiguous; it may express the
adaptation of one thing to another, or it may express the
accordance of things with some standard by which they
are judged. If we say “ this is fitted to produce such or
such an effect,” we convey a very different conception by the
word “ fitted” from what is conveyed by the word “ fit,”
when we say “ it is fit that such or such an effect should
be produced.” Now, it is in the latter of these senses that
Dr Clarke uses the term “ fitness” when he speaks of the
“fitnesses of things;” he intends by this phrase, not the
adaptation of things in general to each other, but the ac¬
cordance of things with the standard produced by their es¬
sential differences of nature and relation; in other words,
congruity, or accordance with their relations. Had Dr
Brown and Sir James Mackintosh sufficiently adverted to
this, they would have spared some of the severest strictures
they have offered on this theory.1
It is further to be borne in mind, injustice to Dr Clarke,
that in making morality consist in conformity to relations,
he had not in view all relations, but only such as belong
to the sphere of moral agency. It might be presumed
that this was his reference horn the nature of the subject
he is discussing in the part of his book where this theory
is developed—the Moral Perfection of God ; and the well-
known acuteness of the author might have preserved him
from being supposed to maintain a theory which would
have placed the constructing of a machine on strictly ma¬
thematical principles on a par, in point of moral rectitude,
with the performance of an act of eminent piety or bene¬
volence ; nay, which would make the murdering of a man
by a scientific regard to the relations of poison to the
human system, as virtuous an act as the saving of a starv¬
ing man’s life by a due regard to the relations of food to
the body. Dr Samuel Clarke was not quite the man to
fall into a gross mistake of this sort; and had due attention
been paid to his own words in the passage we have
quoted, such a mistake would not have been imputed to
him.2 The fitnesses of which he speaks, as lying at the
basis of morality, are the congruities of the -actions of
moral agents with the relations in which they have been
placed by God—relations which he holds to be not acci¬
dental or arbitrary, but flowing out of the nature and
reason of things. Here again his critics have done him
grievous wrong.
When fairly viewed, the doctrine of Clarke is rather
to be pronounced defective than condemned as erroneous.
That it is true so far as it goes it seems impossible to
deny. There can be no doubt that in the sphere of moral
agency there are essential differences, out of which arise
fixed and unalterable relations, and that there is a fitness
or propriety of actions, and the contrary, thence resulting.
The only questions- which we think can be fairly mooted
OOt)
in reference to the validity of Clarke’s theory are, Jirst, Rectitude,
whether it does not leave us with too vague and indefinite
an answer to the inquiry, “ On what is rectitude founded!”
and second, whether the author has not stopped short of a
thorough exploration of the subject ? It must be admit¬
ted that the phrases “ fitnesses of things,” “ eternal and im¬
mutable relations,” and even the phrase “nature and reason
of tilings,” are somewhat deficient in precision and clear¬
ness ; but even were these phrases more distinctly intel¬
ligible than they are, it would still remain to inquire, Why
is it that moral distinctions arise out of the nature and
reason of things? We may say, morality is conformity to
the fitnesses of things, and the fitnesses of things arise
out of the fixed and unalterable relations of things ; and
these relations result from the essential differences of
things ; but still the question comes up, To what are these
essential differences due ? By “ things” we are of course
to understand here all beings with which moral agents
have to do. Now of these “ things,” all, excepting God
himself, are the creatures of His will, and have received
their nature from Him. Shall we say, then, that in giving
them each its peculiar nature He acted arbitrariously ? No,
replies Clarke ; God was under no necessity to create; but
having resolved to create, He must make things “ so that
they shall be disposed according to the exactest and most
unchangeable laws of eternal justice, goodness, and truth.”
But is not this virtually to admit that the laws of justice,
goodness, and truth—in short, moral laws generally—exist
antecedently to the constitution of things, and regulate and
determine that ? and if so, must not a basis of moral truth
be sought deeper down than in these relations or the fit¬
nesses to which they give rise ?
D. 2. This theory is advanced by Wollaston in his Reli¬
gion of Nature. “ Those propositions,” says he, “ are true
which express things as they are ; or truth is the conformity
of those words or signs by which things are expressed to
the things themselves.” “ A true proposition may be
denied, or things may be denied to be what they are, by
deeds as well as by express words, or another proposition.
Every act of such a being as is before described (a being
capable of distinguishing, choosing, and acting for himself),
and all those omissions wdiieh interfere with truth (i.c.,
deny any proposition to be true which is true, or suppose
anything not to be what it is in any regard), are morally
evil in some degree or other; the forbearing of such acts,
and the acting in opposition to such omissions, are morally
good; and when anything may be either done or not done,
equally without the violation of truth, that thing is indiffer¬
ent.”3 This theory is substantially identical with that of
Clarke; indeed, it is offered by the author as an improve¬
ment on that of Clarke, inasmuch as it affords a more pre¬
cise and intelligible statement of the truth. What Clarke
calls the fixed relations of things Wollaston calls the truth
of things; and when Wollaston pronounces immorality to
consist in acting so as to suppose anything not to be what
it really is, he only reiterates Clarke’s statement, that blame-
1 See the acute and able reply of Dr Wardlaw to these strictures in his Christian Ethics, note E, 3d ed.
2 To this may he added the following :—“ That there is a fitness or suitableness of certain circumstances to certain persons, and an
unsuitableness of others, founded on the nature of things, and the qualifications [qualities] of persons antecedent to all positive appoint¬
ment whatever • also, that from the different relations of different persons one to another, there necessarily arises a fitness or unfitness
of certain manners of behaviour of some persons towards others, is as manifest as that the properties which flow from the essences of
different mathematical figures have different congruities or incongruities between themselves For instance, that God is infinitely
superior to man is as clear as infinity is larger than a point, or eternity longer than a moment. And ’tis as certainly fit that men
should honour and worship, obey and imitate God, rather than, on the contrary, in all their actions endeavour to dishonour and disobey
Him, as ’tis certainly true that they have an entire dependence on Him,” &c. (Vol. ii., p. 30.) These sentences leave no doubt that it
was only in respect of the relations of moral agents that Clarke meant to predicate moral fitnesses. This passage is so worded also, that
it ought to have preserved him from the charge of confounding moral and mathematical relations. It is evident he does not confound
them, but simply states an analogy between them in their respective provinces. This charge is the more unjust, in that Clarke him¬
self g'uards against it by articulately stating, that he did not, in making such comparisons, overlook the difference, “that assent to a
plain speculative truth is not in a man’s power to withhold ; but to act according to the plain right and reason of things, this he may,
by the natural liberty of his will, forbear.” (Vol. ii., p. 40.)
3 The Religion of Nature Delineated, 7 th ed., Svo, pp. 5, 6, 29.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
1
556 M 0 E A L PH
Rectitude, worthiness consists in acting as if “ the proportions of things
V*-'' in morality were what they are not.”1 2 There is little
ground, however, for Wollaston’s boast that his modifica¬
tion of the theory is the superior of the two. His phrase¬
ology is even more vague and loose than that of Clarke.
Taking his own definition of truth, and comparing that
with his emphatic declaration, that he “ would have it to be
minded well ” that when he speaks of acts inconsistent with
truth, he means “ any truth, any true proposition whatso¬
ever, whether containing matter of speculation or plain
tact,” we may venture to say that no simply immoral act
has ever been committed, or ever can be committed, inas¬
much as any act is prompted by regard to some fact or
other. It is only when couched in Clarkes moie cautious
phraseology that the doctrine ceases to be absurd.
D. 3. That virtue consists in living according to nature,
was the doctrine of the ancient Stoics, and in maintaining
this doctrine they, by implication, placed the basis of moiality
in nature. In what sense this term is to be understood
Cicero has explained : “ When,” says he, “ we say that the
world stands together and is administered by Nature, we
mean thereby not such a thing as a clod or lump of stone,
or anything of that sort, with no nature of cohering («.c.,
no force uniting the parts into one organic whole), but such
a thing as a tree or an animal, in which there is no hap¬
hazard, but order is apparent, and a certain resemblance of
art.”3 * From this it appears that to live according to nature
does not mean to live according to this or that special
nature, but to live according to the organized and orderly
system of the universe. And with this agrees what Dio¬
genes Laertius says in his exposition of the stoical scheme
of Ethics : “ To live according to virtue,” says he, “ is equi¬
valent to living according to the experience of those things
that come to pass by nature, as Chyysiopus says in his first
book concerning ends (rrcpi reXwv); for our natures are parts
of universal nature. Wherefore the end comes to be to
live consequent to nature, that is, according to man’s own
and that of the universe, doing nothing which the common
law is wont to prohibit, that is the right reason (6 6p0os Adyos)
which pervades all, the same being in Jove, the ruler of all
things that are.” And again, “ Chrysippus understands by
that nature, consequent to which we are to live, both the
common nature and that peculiar to man. But Cleanthes
accepts only the common nature as that which ought to be
followed, not also that which is partial.”1
Thus explained,the Stoical system is not essentially differ¬
ent from that of Clarke, who places the basis of rectitude
in the nature of things; and the objection which applies to
the one system applies with equal force to the other. De¬
fine nature as generally as we please, it still remains to
inquire, Whence came this nature, and what determined its
essence ? Natura from nascor, (fivcas from </>d(o, imply birth,
generation, 'production; and consequently we can never
rest in mere nature as an ultimate basis. And even if
nature be taken in the sense of essence, we shall not much
forward the research; for the essence of a creature must
be just as much derived as its form. These speculations,
therefore, though true so far as they go, are chiefly useful
in pointing out to us the direction in which we must travel
if we would find the solution they fail to supply.
D. 4. Butler, who adopts the Stoical phraseology, and
who in one place distinctly states that “ moral duties arise
out of the nature of the case,”5 6 and in another says that
I L 0 S 0 P H Y.
“ vice is contrary to the nature and reason of things,”^ Rectitufle
protects himself against the objection above adduced against
the system of Clarke and that of the Stoics, by the expla¬
nation he has given of the sense in which he understands
“nature” in such phraseology. “The general course of
nature,” says he, “ that is, not surely the words or ideas
course of nature, but Him who appointed it, and put things
into it; or a course of operation, from its uniformity or
constancy, called natural, and which necessarily implies an
operating agent.”7 This latter statement may be eluci¬
dated by a previous statement in the same treatise. “ The
only distinct meaning of that word [natural] stated, fixed,
or settled; since what is natural as much presupposes an
intelligent agent to render it so, i.e., to effect it continually
or at stated times, as what is supernatural or miraculous
does to effect it for once.”8 According to Butler, then,
conformity to nature is conformity to God, from whom
nature derived its constitution and order.
We are thus conducted to the theory which places the basis
of rectitude in the nature of God. This theory must not be
confounded with that which founds rectitude on the will of
God. The will of God is His purpose, appointment, or edict;
and although this must ever be in full accordance with His
nature, it is no more to be identified with it than the pur¬
poses or commands of a man are to be identified with
his nature. “ We ought,” says Price, “ to distinguish be¬
tween the will of God and His nature. It by no means
follows, because certain things are independent of His will,
that they are properly distinct from Him and independent
of His nature.” And he goes on to say, that to conceive
that moral distinctions, being necessarily immutable and
eternal, are independent of the Divine nature, “ would
involve us in the greatest absurdities and inconsistencies.”
“ Wherever,” he adds, “ or in whatever objects necessity or
infinity occur to our thoughts, the Divine eternal nature
and perfections are to be acknowledged, to which nothing
of this kind can be unallied.”9
This theory contemplates the moral universe as con¬
structed upon a plan ; as not a happy accident, or a congeries
of powers working now in convenience and now in contra¬
riety, but as a cosmos, or well-ordered and beautifully com¬
posed system, in which each part and power is adjusted to
the rest, and the whole is fitted to a great and worthy end.
Now, such a plan involves principles, and these must have
a basis. But where shall we search for the basis of princi¬
ples that themselves lie at the foundations of the whole
world ? Where but in the eternal nature of Him by whom
that whole has been conceived and constituted ? It is so
in the physical world. The outer universe is what it is
because God is what He is. On the awful and eternal
“ I am that I AM ” the whole scheme and order of exist¬
ence repose. The universe is the work of His hands ; the
plan of the universe is the utterance of His will; and the
archeal principles which regulate that plan are resolvable
only into the necessary perfections of His being. Now, as
it is in the material, so is it in the moral world. There,
too, all things are arranged in order and on plan. The
relations sustained by intelligent beings to the sentient and
intelligent universe, and the duties flowing out of these, are
all fixed parts of the scheme under which such find them¬
selves existing. To fulfil these relations, and to perform
these duties, is the order of the moral world, and accordant
with the plan on which it has been framed. But this plan
1 Vol. ii., p. 40.
2 To oyoKoyovyivug ryj tphirii (Diog. Laert., b. vii., c. i., No. 53.) Comp. Cic. De Fm., b. ii., c. xi.; b. iii., c. vi., ff.; Stobaeus, Eel.
•EtA. PZ. ii., frequently Clement of Alexandria, Sn-omat., b. v., § 98 (p. 253 ed. of Sylburg).
3 Nos cum dicimus natura constare administrarique mundum, non ita dicimus utglebam aut fragmentum lapidis aut aliquid ejusmodi,
nulla cohaerendi natura, sed ut arborem, ut animal, in quibus nulla temeritas, sed ordo apparet et artis quaedam similitudo. (ZJa Nat.
Dear., b. ii., c. xxxii.) 4 B. vii., c. i.. No. 53. 6 Anal., pt. ii., c. i.
6 Pref. to Scrmont, p. vii. 7 Anal., pt. L, c. ii. B Same book, pt. i., c. i.
0 Review of the Principal Questions and Pifficultics in Morals, &c., p. 149.
M ORAL P IIIL O S 0 P II Y.
ecftude. rests upon certain great moral principles or laws, and these
-V—'' again find their basis in the Divine nature. It is because
God is such as He is that moral law is what it is, and that
the moral world is constituted as it is. In the Divine
essence, then, unchangeable and eternal, lies the foundation
of rectitude—a foundation which, as it is perpetual and
immutable, gives to moral distinctions that character of
fixedness and perpetuity which all sound moralists have
asserted as belonging to them.
This doctrine coalesces in the main with Plato’s sublime
speculations regarding ideas—the eternal, uncreated ex¬
emplars in the Divine mind, according to which all creature
existence has been formed and all creature excellence de¬
termined. In one passage, indeed, he expressly calls God
the idea or exemplar of the good:—“ This, then, which
furnishes truth by means of those things which are under¬
stood, and communicates to those who understand the power
of doing so, say thou to be the idea of the good, and the
cause of knowledge and truth as understood by the mind.”1
Cicero also, in one of the passages in which he refers to the
unwritten law which is above all law, says, “ Orta autem
simul est cum mente divina, quamobrem lex vera atque
princeps, apta ad jubendum et vetandum ratio est recta
summi Jovisand still more tersely he says, a few lines
further on, “ Ilia divina mens, summa lex est.”2 When
writing these words he had probably before his mind the
memorable dogma of Chrysippus the Stoic :—“ No other
beginning, no other genesis of righteousness, is to be found
than that from Zeus and the common nature ; for thence
must everything of this sort have its beginning, if we pro¬
pose to say aught about things good and bad.”2
SECT. IV.—CRITERION OF RECTITUDE.
Having arrived at a conclusion as to the basis of moral
truth, we have now to investigate the standard or criterion
of rectitude ; for, in the nature of the case, the basis lies
hid from human view, and can no more become a guide to
practice than the foundation of a house can become a fil¬
ing place of abode.
Now at first sight it may appear as if a simple and suf¬
ficient answer to this demand were furnished by that
acknowledged quality of all right actions—their utility. If,
it may be said, it be granted that all right actions are use¬
ful, it follows that we have only to inquire what courses are
most for the well-being of ourselves and others, or of
society, or of being at large, to be furnished with a safe and
simple rule of moral conduct. But, though it may be con¬
ceded that in many cases this rule will suffice, and that in
the ordinary business of life it is sometimes the only one
we are able to apply, we must nevertheless demur to ac¬
cepting it as adequate to the full exigencies of the case.
For though it be true that all virtuous actions are useful,
it unhappily does not follow that all actions which appear
to us useful are virtuous; and as it is only by the ap¬
pearance that man can judge in such matters, it is possible
that a specious utility may often betray him into grievous
wrong and lasting mischief. It were ill for us were there
no surer and more perfect standard of rectitude than one
subject to such accidents as this.
We must go somewhat deeper into the subject in order
to find such a solution of the problem now before us as will
abide the test. Happily the conclusion to which our
previous speculations have conducted us, opens the way
for such a solution.
If the ground and basis of rectitude be found in the
Divine essence, it will follow that the character of God,—that
is, the combined perfections of Deity as a manifested per¬
sonality,—must form an absolutely perfect expression of
moral excellence. God exists in the universe as He
is in Himself; the outer manifestation is the efflux and in¬
terpreter of the inner glory. What we call his attributes
are not qualities assumed by Him, or capable of being
severed from Him or modified in Him ; they are simply
partial representations to our minds of that infinite and
unchanging essence which we can never fully comprehend.4
In the revealed character of God, then, must be found the
highest standard of moral truth for all his intelligent
creatures ; and the supreme aim of all of them, who would
excel in goodness, must be to imitate God, to act so as
that their characters shall resemble his. Hence we are
commanded in Scripture to be “ imitators of God” (/xt^rat
tov &eov), and to be holy according to the pattern or ex¬
ample of God ; and the consummation of our regenerated
being is set forth as consisting in our being made perfect in
his likeness, changed into his image.® Even Plato assures
us that the only escape from the present evil state is by
assimilating ourselves to God as much as may be—to God,
who is absolutely and ever righteous, and whom none so
much resembles as the man who becomes most righteous ;6
and he points us to heaven as the place where alone the
perfect paradigm of a State can be sought by him who
would see it, and seeing it would inhabit it.7
But the character of God can be apprehended by us only
as it is manifested to us. No man can by searching find
out God. To be known by His creatures, the Infinite and
Eternal must reveal Himself to them. Now, God has so
revealed Himself to us. All that He does within the
sphere of the sensible universe is a revelation of Him ; on
all that comes from Him he stamps the impress of His
name. Hence creation in all its parts,—the constitution and
order of nature, and the course of events, as controlled and
regulated by His providence,—all, so far as they lie within
our ken, supply us with information respecting the character
of God. But in addition to these the world possesses a re¬
velation of God in which He has clothed the truth concern¬
ing Himself in written words; and this He has placed
before us as the fullest, clearest, and most instructive
source of intelligence we can resort to on this sublime and
all-important theme.8 From these sources may be gathered
that supreme law, conformity to which is practical rec¬
titude.
SECT. V.—now A KNOWLEDGE OF RECTITUDE IS ACQUIRED.
It may be asked, however, By what process does man, in
point of fact, come to be acquainted with the intimations of
these standards of moral decision ? In reply to this, it may
be said that it is by listening to the lessons of experience
557
Rectitude.
« a * '^tri^uta Divina in se ac per se considerata sunt realiter et simplicissime unum cum divina essentia.” (Gerhard, Loc. Theol. ii., c. 7).
Sunt attributa [Dei] nihil aliud quam conceptus essentise divinae inadsequati, ex parte rei ipsam essentiam involventes, eandemque in*
trmsece denominantes.” (Quenstedt, Theologia Didac. Polem. i. 284.) H
® Compare Eph. v. 1, 1 Pet. i. 15, 1 Cor. xv. 49, 2 Cor. iii. 18, 1 John iii. 2.
Thcastet., p. 176, B. C.; in the edition of Stallbaum, vol. viii., pp. 170, 171.
^ De Repub., b. ix., p. 592, B.; in Stallbaum, vol. iii., pt. 2, p. 295.
In this respect we may truly say of the Bible what Aristophanes says of some philosophical treatise much in vogue in his day : 
BIBAION r e^uu ty.oayrog f/.ctv6a.vu tx (Frogs, 1. 1079.)
558
Virtue.
MORAL RH
and correcting and enlarging these by regard to the teach¬
ings of tradition and Holy Scripture, that a thorough moral
discipline may be best pursued. Each man s own exper -
ence will teach him that he lives in a world of which iccti
tude is the law ; for he cannot but perceive that whatever
departures men may make from this, every sue I.
is contrary to the primary order of things, is fe
blameworthy even by those who make it^am ^ uma y
followed by such consequences as show that t cannot he
done with impunity. What personal experience thus
teaches, intercourse with other men, whose experience s
found to be the same, confirms; and the concurrent test
mony of past ages embodied in tradition, at once strengthe
his own convictions, and corrects the m.stakcs mto whtch a
too partial induction may have betrayed him. And, i
fine, when he is privileged to have the Holy Scriptures, he
finds in them a law written which is the counterpart of the
law written in the order of nature and on his own heart,
ILOSOPHY.
and which at the same time completes and corrects the Virtue,
moral beliefs which nature, conscience, and testimony, have
already instilled into him.
SECT. VI.—WHENCE THE CONCEPT OP RIGHT.
There is still another question which may be asked at
this stage: Assuming that the basis of rectitude is dis-
covered by a process of reasoning, and that the decisions ot
the standard of rectitude are ascertained by the same pro¬
cess, to what do we owe the original concept of right. Is
this a simple or a complex notion ? and do we arrive at it
by a process of reasoning, or is it given to us by an inner
revelation ? These questions belong rather to Psychology
than to Ethics. We shall therefore content ourselves with
simply saying, that we incline to the opinion of those who
regard this as a simple concept, incapable of analysis, and
found in the mind as inseparable from its constitution.
PART II.—OF VIRTUE.
certain limit and order to it, and effects the ethical virtues; these
beine not passionless, but the due measures and means (piaorrrrcc;)
of the passions. Now it effects these by constituting through pru¬
dence, the susceptibility of the pathetic (or emotional) in our nature
into a gracious habit dorduv): for they say there are three
things appertaining to the soul —capability, passion, habit, of which
capMlUyl, the belinning and material of passion_as, for instance,
capability of anger, of shame, or of bravery ; passion is the mm-
ing of the capability,—as anger, shame, bravery; and Aafctt is the
strength and structure of the impulsive capability, produced by
custom and which is vice or virtue according as the passion is ill
or well tutored by reason.”4 To the same effect, in another of his
writings, he speaks of virtue as “that best and most divine habit
in us which we cognise as the rectitude of reason, the summit of the
rational nature, and the acknowledged congruity of the soul.
« Est virtussays Cicero, “ nihil ahud quam m se perfecta et ad
summum perducta natura.” 6 “ Quando virtus est affectio animi
constans conveniensque ex ea proficiscuntur honest® voluntates
sententiae, actiones, omnisque recta ratio; quamquam ipsa virt
brevissime recta ratio dici potest. T
2. The active nature of man comprises his various
appetites, desires, and passions. These have been deno¬
minated his active powers, because it is by them that he is
impelled to action ; but it would be better to term them
conative energies: energies, because they are all menta
forces,8 and conative, because what is common to them ail
the conation, or effort to reach their object. Each of these
has its own proper object, on which it terminates, and which
it strives to attain; and though this striving may not always
result in action, no action takes place without it. A meie
perception, conception, or conviction, will never lead to ac¬
tion except as it awakens some appetite, desire, or passion.
3 The moral nature of man is summed up in the word
conscience. Moral nature and conscience are two names
of the same thing. The analysis of conscience, therefore,
will unfold man’s moral nature. t . o
4. Conscience is a term describing a complex state ot
mind, which may be resolved into the following elements:
1 Vase. Qumst., b. ii., c. 18. The Greek word from hfas a ; tuge’nd^tauglichkeit,
“ the ‘he G“m“ “d ““ EDgIiSh
2 See Mcom. Eth., b. ii., c. iv. and vi. ^ following explanation of Aristotle’s third category will 8ho^:
3 noi'orm tov ix'oyov. In what sense Koiorns is to be taken her , Aristntel u 53.) What Plutarch intends by
“ ‘rolov — adjectivum quo quale quid sit sigmficatur.” (Tren e en ;”s“ancfs x«< <pvr/xov rns (Symposiae.
&Koyoy will be best gathered from his own writings. Take ^ g, A ' g F ■ ed> 0f Stephen’s Thesaurus, under uXoyos.
706, F.) aXoyov *«> (t« (Be Armc. et AduZter. 61,1^) See Paris oi is p
4 Be Virtute Morali, c. iv., p. 211, of vol. in. of the Tauchnitz ed. of his Mora W • 6 ^ l^Uus b. i., c. viii.
6 Be Audlend. Poetis, c. vi., Mor. Works, vol. i., p. 56. y
7 Tuse. Queest., b. iv., c. xv. . . , . „ nrl rfotn vii 5) In illustration of this maybe
8 “ Occulta vis dicitur Ivsjyi/a velut in semine, et vis m omin • ‘ ' \ . a.hrSruni- \upyuv OocyrKf'iKi Xtrp.2a.nt.” (D*
cited Alexander the Aphrodisian, who, in reference to conception, says, xtr.ru ruS uttrlvru, t^y^ V
Animo, b. i.)
SECT. I.—VIRTUE DEFINED.
Virtue in individuals may be viewed under a subjective
and under an objective aspect.
1 Virtue, viewed subjectively, may be described in the
general as the harmony of the active with the moral nature
of man. Virtue presupposes an agent of whoin alone it can
be properly predicated; for though we sometimes ascribe
virtue to actions, this is only by an impropriety of speech
akin to such metonomies as “ a spirited action, a manly
career,” &c.: virtue properly belongs to an agent—’ ap-
pellata est enim ex viro virtus,” says Cicero ; and it is con¬
ditioned bv this that the emotional or conative energies ot
the agent’shall be in accordance with his moral nature.
Viewed as a mental state, virtue is this internal harmony
in itself; viewed as an attribute of character, virtue is the
habit of living to which this harmony leads, and by which
it is exemplified.
Obs. Aristotle lays emphasis on the position that virtue is ex¬
clusively a tin or habit, and cannot be ranked as either one o
the capabilities (Ivwyus) or one of the passions of our
nature. By the former of these Aristotle means that part of our
natural constitution by which we are capable of certain emotions
and by the latter he means the emotions themselves. Now, lor
neither of these in themselves, he argues, are we pronounced vir¬
tuous, but only for the due and proper exercise of them. But this
presumes a deliberative choice, by which we regulate the indul
gence of our desires and emotions, and by consequence our ac¬
tions. Virtue, therefore, he defines to be tin a habit
predetermined or fore-chosen, the object of which is our affections
and actions. When, consequently, man chooses as he ought, i.e.,
in accordance with his moral nature, virtue is the result.
Plutarch teaches the same doctrine,—“ Moral character («0of) is
the quality of the impulsive part of our nature;3 and it is so called
because this quality, and the difference (=this differential quality),
the impulsive part of our nature receives by custom (s0£<), being
moulded by the reason, which does not seek wholly to oblitera e
the passion (a thing neither possible nor desirable), but prescribes a
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 559
(i.) A sense of the difference between right and wrong.
Whence this arises it does not fall upon us here to inquire.
It is sufficient that we signalize the fact that such a sense
is common to men.
(ii.) A feeling of approval for what is right, and disap¬
proval for what is wrong. This is a natural emotion im¬
planted in us as part of our psychical constitution ; and,
like all our natural emotions, it is called into action imme¬
diately and directly on the presentation of its proper object.
We commend what appears to us right, and we turn with
censure from what appears to us wrong; just as we are
drawn towards a beautiful object, or are repelled by one
that is ugly ; or as an object that pleases our palate is de¬
sired by us, while one that creates nausea is avoided. It
is not implied in this that an action is right because it ex¬
cites in those who witness it a feeling of approbation,—a
doctrine which we have already sought to confute; on the
contrary, we maintain that the existence of this feeling in
the mind presupposes a perception or sense of the recti¬
tude of the action, and thus implicitly assumes a standard
and basis of rectitude distinct from and anterior to the
emotion. Of the reality and speciality of the emotion it¬
self every one may judge who will consider for a moment
the difference between the feelings with which he regards
the successful prosecution of a piece of reasoning, and the
feelings that spring up within him when he contemplates
a generous or righteous course of conduct: the former
are those of admiration and assent yielded to the intel¬
lectual vigour or logical exactness of the reasoning; the
latter are those of moral approbation called forth by the
moral excellence—the rectitude and goodness of the ac¬
tion. It is this which the older writers had in view when
they spoke of “ the beauty of virtue,” of “ the symmetry of
virtue,” of “ moral beauty,” and such like expressions ; they
intended thereby to convey the idea that virtuous actions are
such as excite in the mind feelings of complacency and com¬
mendation analogous to those which objects of physical beau¬
ty awaken. “ Of those things,” says Cicero, “ which are per¬
ceived by sight, no other animal [but man] perceives the
beauty, the grace, the accordance of parts ; and nature and
reason, transferring this analogy from the eyes to the mind,
judge that much more are beauty, harmony, and order to
be preserved in counsels and deeds, and guard against aught
being done unbecomingly or feebly; moreover, in all opi¬
nions and acts, against aught being done or thought lustfully.
Whence is collected and formed that which we seek, the pro¬
per which, even though it be not celebrated, is still
the proper, and of which we may truly say that even though
lauded by no one it is laudable by nature.”1 “ I he mind, says
Shaftesbury, “ which is spectator or auditor of other minds,
cannot be without its eye and ear; so far as to discern
proportion, distinguish sound, and scan each sentiment or
thought which comes before it. It can let nothing escape
its censure. It feels the soft and harsh, the agreeable
and disagreeable, in the affections ; and finds a foul and
fair, a harmonious and a dissonant, as really and truly here
as in any musical numbers, or in the outward forms and
representations of sensible things. Nor can it withhold
its admiration and ecstacy, its aversion and scorn, any
more in what relates to one than to the other of these sub¬
jects ; so that to deny the common and natural sense of a
sublime and beautiful in things will appear an affectation
merely to any one who considers duly of this affair. 2 io
these quotations may be added the following from one of
the least fanciful of thinkers—Edwards : “ Virtue is the
beauty of those qualities and acts of the mind that are of a
moral nature, *.e., such as are attended with desert, or
worthiness of praise or blame. Things of this sort, it is Virtue,
generally agreed, so far as I know, do not belong merely
to speculation, but to the disposition and will; or (to use
a general word, I suppose commonly well understood) to
the heart. Therefore I suppose I shall not depart from
the common opinion when I say that virtue is the beauty of
the qualities and exercises of the heart, or those actions
that proceed from them.”3
(iii.) By this adaptation of our nature to be affected with
complacency on the recognition of virtue, and with the op¬
posite on the perception of vice, we are led to approve or
blame ourselves according as we act virtuously or viciously,
or rather according as vie believe ourselves so to act, for it
is our judgment of the moral qualities of actions, and not
these moral qualities themselves, by which our feelings are
determined. In this commendation or censure, however,
does not consist the ivhole of what we feel in such cases.
Besides the perception of the moral character of the act, there
is also a sense of responsibility a.t\.aLc\nng to man as a moral
agent; and besides the moral approbation or disapproba¬
tion which actions excite, there is an ascription of merit
or demerit to the agent according as his actions appear to
us good or bad. Responsibility or answerableness has re¬
spect to our being under government; it implies that we
are subject to laws, and that if we transgress these laws a
certain penalty shall be incurred by us; and as connected
with moral conduct, it has respect to our being under the
moral government of God, and amenable to his justice for
the manner in which we act. Under the influence of this
conviction we come to regard ourselves not only as ob¬
jects of moral approval, or the opposite, but as having at¬
tached to us the quality of good or of ill desert. When we
review our conduct, we feel constrained to believe either
that we are able to meet the scrutiny of our moral gover¬
nor, or that we are deserving of punishment because of our
transgressions of his law. In the latter case, the painful
emotions we experience may be so violent as to constitute
that sense of remorse which is itself one of the severest
punishments of guilt.
In the operations of conscience this last element is the
one which comes most distinctly into consciousness. The
sense of responsibility, and of consequent good or ill desert,
is inseparable from the human mind; and though means
may be used by the guilty to blunt or quiet it, these avail
only for the time, and the painful consciousness seeks its
opportunity of returning with augmented pungency. The
lessons which are constantly read to us by the phenomena
of event around us, as to the retribution which, even in this
world, treads upon the heels of sin, are of themselves
sufficient to quicken and sustain this sense within us.
As in the physical world we cannot violate or neglect
law without suffering for it, so we find in the moral
world that an analogous arrangement obtains. There is
perhaps no man who has not had many painful illustra¬
tions of this in his own experience, ; s well as in what
he has observed of the history of others. Hence a uni¬
versal conviction pervades the race that a man’s sin “ will
find him out”—that however he may conceal it from his
fellow-men so as to escape their censure or punishment,
there is an Intelligence he cannot evade, a retributory
Power he cannot escape; and that of all sin, however
pleasant it may seem in the commission, it may be said
that at the last “it biteth like a serpent and stingeth
like an adder.”4 The impassioned utterance which the
tragic poet has put into the mouth of one of his char¬
acters, expresses what the deepest convictions of the race
respond to:—
1 De Officiis, b. i., c. iv.
3 Dissert, concerning the Nature of True Virtue, c. i.
2 Characteristics, vol. ii., p. 29.
4 Prov. xxiii. 32.
560 M ORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Virtue. ZsD, ZsS -Aonutoiv'
j-nm j UXOTCt^lTCUV VaTt^OTTOlVOV
oltccv /Sgorwi/ x'hri^.ovi xml voivov^'ya
In consequence of the predominance of this element
in the operations of conscience, some writers have con¬
tended that this is conscience, and so have identified the lat¬
ter with the emotion of remorse. On the other hand, some,
arguing that this emotion is a mere consequent on the judg¬
ment pronounced by man on the rectitude or wrongness of
his own conduct, have resolved the act of conscience wholly
into the judgment so pronounced, thereby identifying con¬
science with the purely intellectual faculty of judging. I he
truth, however, seems to be, that neither by itself completes
the analysis of this complex state of mind. The emotion
presupposes the judgment, and the judgment is followed or
attended by the emotion ; and both together constitute the
main elements of conscience. With this accords the com¬
mon popular usage of the term. We speak of a man’s
having a good conscience or a bad conscience, meaning
thereby that, on looking back over his past conduct, he
finds occasion either for self-commendation or self-blame,
and either hopes for reward or dreads punishment, accord¬
ing as his conduct has been in conformity with, or opposed
to, the standard of rectitude.
5. Now, according to the constitution of our nature, this
moral faculty or conscience is the supremely-regulative
power within us, and ought to control all the conative ener¬
gies of our nature. When this takes place there is har¬
mony between these two departments, and the consequence
is a state of subjective virtue within the man ; the entire
system acknowledges and obeys its master-power, a just
equipoise is preserved in all parts, and the whole moves
easily and in order. On the contrary, when the appetites,
emotions, and passions escape from this their proper con¬
trol, there is a schism in the soul, order and propriety are
disturbed, and vicious courses and habits usurp predomi¬
nance in the life. It is possible, indeed, for the conflict
between conscience and passion to become imperceptible,
conscience being gradually suppressed and benumbed until
it shall ultimately become wholly dormant, or, in the strik¬
ing language of Scripture, “seared as with a red-hot iron;”
but until this terrible consummation of depravity is reached,
the conflict between the lower and higher powers of man’s
nature continues, and the schism within is perpetuated.
Berkeley has graphically delineated the course of such an
one in describing the English rake. “ He is (as Aristotle
expresseth it) at variance with himself. He is neither brute
enough to enjoy his appetites, nor man enough to govern
them. He knows and feels that what he pursues is not his
true good; his reflection serving only to show him that
misery which his habitual sloth and indolence will not suffer
him to remedy. At length, being grown odious to himself,
and abhorring his own company, he runs into every idle
assembly, not from hopes of pleasure, but merely to respite
the pain of his own mind. Listless and uneasy at the pre¬
sent, he hath no delight in reflecting on what is past, or in
the prospect of anything to come. This man of pleasure,
when, after a wretched scene of vanity and woe, his animal
nature is worn to the stumps, wishes and dreads death by
turns, and is sick of living without having ever tried or known
the true life of man.”2
6. Virtue, viewed objectively, is the accordance of the Virtue
moral nature with the standard of rectitude. It has been
already observed that we approve our conduct according
as w^e believe ourselves to act rightly. But this belief may
be founded on an erroneous estimate of what is right; and
therefore, though there may be a state of subjective harmony
in consequence of this belief, the man nevertheless cannot
be pronounced virtuous in the full sense of the term. A
truly virtuous man is one who not only walks according to
conscience, but whose conscience is guided in its decisions
and impulses by the dictates of the “ perfect law.”3 *
SECT. II.—CONDITIONS OF VIRTUE.
Aristotle has, with his usual pregnant brevity, set forth the
conditions of virtue thus: “ In reference to virtues, it is
not enough that a thing be anyhow done so as to be justly
or wisely done,—it is necessary also that the agent be in a
certain way affected ; first, he must have knowledge ; second,
he must choose, and choose for the thing’s own sake; and,
third, he must act with firm and inflexible purpose.”1 In
this passage he specifies as the conditions of virtue,—1.
Knowledge; 2. Freedom of choice; 3. Choice deter¬
mined by regard to virtue itself; and, 4. Stedfastness
and firmness of resolution. Of these the last may be dis¬
counted as being accidental rather than essential. There
remain,—
1. Knowledge.—This includes both the capacity of moral
judging and acquaintance with the standard of rectitude.
Both are essential conditions of all virtuous action. A man
might stumble into the path of rectitude without either;
but without the former he would be incapable of under¬
standing what rectitude is; and without the latter he would
have no sure means of ascertaining whether the path he
was in was that of rectitude or not. Virtue is reached only
when the agent is capable of apprehending moral distinc¬
tions, and determining the rectitude of actions by a just
standard.
2. Liberty of Choice.—This implies that the agent is free
to choose such paths as seem best to him, and that he exer¬
cises this freedom. It is no part of our present object to
attempt to solve the metaphysical difficulties which surround
the question of the freedom of the human will; all that it con¬
cerns us here to do is to assert the fact that man is a free
agent; and to maintain that without the exercise of this
freedom there is no such thing as virtue or its opposite.
Let a man do the best deeds in the world or the worst, by
accident or under physical constraint, and all will feel that
neither praise in the one case, nor blame in the other, can
be justly attached to him. It is the choosing to do the one
or the other which constitutes the conditio sine qua non of
virtue or vice.5
Obs.—“ Now, since the end is the object of will, and since
things having respect to the end are willed and chosen, it follows,
that actions relating to these must be by choice, and voluntary;
but the energies of the virtues are relating to these ; hence virtue
is in our power, and so is vice. For in respect of these it is in our
power to act; it is also in our power not to act Some say
that ‘ no man is willingly bad or unwillingly happy.’ The former
position is false, the latter true. No one is unwillingly happy, but
wickedness is with the will. Else all we have above said must be
repudiated ; and it must be denied that man is a source
and parent of actions as he is of children. If, however, this be ad-
1 Alsch. Choeph., 363-6.
“ 0 Jove, 0 Jove, that sendest from below
The retribution slow,
Against the stout heart and bold hand
That dared defy thy high command.” (Blackie’s Translation.)
2 Alciphron, or the Minute Philosopher, dial, ii., § 17. 3 Compare Aristot. Nic. Eth., b. ii., c. iii. [vi.]
4^Ta Oe xctTcc rotj dgsroi; yivouei/ct, ovx ia.v oivtk. wu; exy ^ixxiu; oa(p(>6vag wQoiTrerxt, oKhoi xctl exv 6 w^xituv, wag e%uv wgeerTJj
tiqutov pev, ixv sttsit exv wpoxi^ov/xivog, xxi w^pxi^ovyevog B/ xvtx' to Be t^itov xctl exu (is(hxiug xxl xftiTXxivYjjag typy
wgctTTjj. (A’i’c. Eth., b. ii, c. ii. [iv.], § 3.) 5 See Chalmers’s Moral Philos., p. 166, Works, vol. v.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
'561
xnitted and we have not to refer to other sources than those in our
power, it follows that the things of which the sources are in us are
also in our power, and objects of volition. To this both the private
conduct of individuals and the conduct of legislators bear witness,
for they punish and chastise those who do evil, provided they have
not done it by force or through ignorance, of which they were not
themselves the cause; whilst they reward those who do good.
This they do with a view to stimulate the latter, and to deter the
former ; but no one is stimulated to what is not in our own power,
or an object of volition. Thus, nothing would be more absurd than
to persuade men not to be warm, or to grieve, or to be hungry, or
such like, for not the less should we endure these.” (Aristotle,
Nic. Eth., b. iii., c. iv. [vii.]).
« Voluntas igitur nostra nec voluntas esset, nisi esset in nostra
potestate. Porro quia est in potestate, libera est nobis. Non enim
est nobis liberum quod in potestate non habemus, aut potest non
esse quod habemus, nec voluntas esse potest si in potestate non est.”
(Augustine, De Libero Arbitrio, b. ii., c. 3.) “ Semper est in nobis
voluntas libera, sed non semper est bona.” (The same, De Gratia
et Lib. Arb., c. 15.)
3. Choice of the right for its own sake.—The choice is
determined by motives—a motive being, as the Greeks
called it, to evc/co. ov—that on account of which anything is
chosen. Now one may choose the right from various mo¬
tives. It may be chosen because it is the more convenient,
or because it is the more agreeable, or because it is the
more profitable course; or simply because it is the right
course. It is only in the last of these cases that virtue can
be predicated of the individual. It is not what is done that
measures the virtue of the doer, but the intention with
which it is done ; “ non quid fiat, aut quid detur, refert, sed
qua mente.”1 Good actions done, therefore, without a dis¬
tinct purpose to do good, are destitute of the quality by
which alone they could reflect merit on the agent, or en¬
title him to be called virtuous.
SECT. III.— PRINCIPLE OF VIRTUE.
But if men can be virtuous only by acting with an inten¬
tion to be so, they must live under the constant influence
of an active principle of virtue operating within them. W e
have therefore to inquire what this principle is.
We may pass over such answers to this inquiry as those
which make the love of pleasure, the desire of praise, or
the sense of honour, the principle of virtuous action.2 W e
shall notice—
1. That which places the principle of virtue in benevo¬
lence or love to being in general. I his opinion has been
ably advocated by the eminent American theologian and
metaphysician Jonathan Edwards. According to him,
“true virtue most essentially consists in benevolence to being
in general; or, perhaps, to speak more accurately, it is that
consent, propensity, and union of heart to being in general
that is immediately exercised in a general good-will; and
in another place, lie says, “ 1 hat temper or disposition of
heart, that consent, union, or propensity of mind to being
in general, is virtue truly so called ; or, in other words,
true grace or real holiness. And no other disposition or
affection but this is of the nature oi true virtue. 1 his
benevolence to being in general—which the author distinctly
and consistently states to be irrespective of moral character,
for it “ does not necessarily presuppose beauty in its object,
and so has nothing of the nature of complacency in it-r-does
not exclude particular affections; on the contraiy, whilst it
inclines to the highest general good, it inclines also to
each being whose welfare is consistent with the highest
general good, in proportion to the degree of existence,
other things being equal.” 1 he degree of existence, that
is, as defined by the author, “ the having eveiy faculty^and
every positive quality in a higher [or lower] degree,
furnishes the primary ground of benevolence ; a second- Virtue.
ary is supplied by the existence of “ virtuous benevolence v—
itself in its object,” and in this case esteem, complacency,
and good-will, arise in the mind towards the being. It
follows from this, that virtuous benevolence being deter¬
mined in its degree, primarily, by the degree of existence
in its object, and, secondarily, by the moral excellence of
its object, virtue must consist in supreme love to God—who,
on both grounds, infinitely surpasses all other beings—and
in love to his creatures, according to the degree of exist¬
ence and the moral excellence of each.
Of the most serious objections to which this theory is
exposed, a condensed statement has been presented in
such clear and felicitous language by the Rev. Robert Hall,
that we cannot do better than extract the passage:—
“ 1. Virtue, on these principles, is an utter impossibility :
for the system of being, comprehending the great Supreme,
is infinite ; and, therefore, to maintain the proper propor¬
tion, the force of particular attachment must be infinitely
less than the passion for the general good; but the limits
of the human mind are not capable of any emotion so in¬
finitely different in degree. 2. Since our views of the ex¬
tent of the universe are capable of perpetual enlargement,
admitting the sum of existence is ever the same, we
must return back at each step, to diminish the strength of
particular affections, or they will become disproportionate;
and consequently, on these principles, vicious; so that the
balance must be continually fluctuating, by the weights
being taken out of one scale and put into the other. 3.
If virtue consist exclusively in love to being in general, or
attachment to the general good, the particular affections
are, to every purpose of virtue, useless, and even per¬
nicious ; for their immediate, nay, their necessary tendency
is to attract to their objects a proportion of attention
which far exceeds their comparative value in the general
scale. To allege that the general good is promoted by
them, will be of no advantage to the defence of this system,
but the contrary, by confessing that a greater sum of hap¬
piness is attained by a deviation from than by an adherence
to its principles; unless its advocates mean by the love
of being in general the same thing as the private affec¬
tions, which is to confound all the distinctions of lan¬
guage, as well as all the operations of mind. Let it be
remembered, we have no dispute respecting what is the
ultimate end of virtue, which is allowed on both sides to
be the greatest sum of happiness in the universe. The
question is merely. What is virtue itself? or, in other words,
What are the means appointed for the attainment of that
end ?”5
It may be added to these admirable strictures that the
system of Edwards virtually abrogates the moral sentiments
in man, by leaving no place for complacency in what is
morally good and lovely. For what is his secondary ground
of virtuous benevolence, on which alone he professes to
find space for a love of complacency? It is the percep¬
tion of “ virtuous benevolence itself in its object.” This,
according to him, is “ the beauty of the being in whom it
is,” and it is the seeing of this alone which awakens esteem
or complacency towards that being. But wherein does
this essentially differ from benevolence to being in general,
which, according to Edwards, has no respect to character ?
If the only thing which awakens complacence be the per¬
ception in another of benevolence to being in general, what
is the object of that complacence but this benevolence ?
Edwards himself admits that it is. “ Loving a being on
this ground,” he says, “ necessarily arises from pure bene¬
volence to being in general, and comes to the same thing.”
But if so, the only thing in which we have complacence,
1 Seneca, De Beneficiis, b. i., c. vi.
3 Liteertation, c. i.
VOL. XV.
s See the strictures on these opinions in Berkeley’s Minute Philosopher, dial. 1-3.
4 Diss., c. vii., note. 6 Modern Infidelity Considered, Works, vol. i., p. 58, 8vo ed.
4 B
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
562
Virtue, morally speaking, is a thing totally irrespective of moral
character. In this case what place is left for the moral senti¬
ments? or w'hat is approbation of goodness but merely amodi-
fied form of a feeling which has nothing to do with goodness?1
2. Closely allied with Edwards’s theory is that which
resolves all virtue into love to God. This theory is as old
as Augustine, who has in many parts of his writings dwelt
upon this theme. From some scores of passages which
might be cited we select the following, because of its ful¬
ness :—“ Now, if virtue lead us to the blessed life, I would
affirm that virtue is nothing else than supreme love of God.
For, so far as I perceive, that which is called the four-fold
virtue is named from the varying affection of love. Hence
I should not hesitate to define those four virtues—of which
I would that the power were as much in the minds as the
names are in the mouths of men !—in such a way as that
temperance should be love proffering itself entire to the
object loved; fortitude, love easily enduring all things for
the sake of the object loved; justice, love serving only the
object loved, and therefore rightly ruling ; prudence, love
selecting wisely those things by which it may be aided from
those by which it may be hindered. But this love we
have said is not of any one, but only of God ; that is, the
chief good, the chief wisdom, the chief concord.”2 There
is no great difference between this and what Edwards
states when he says, “ He that has true virtue .... must
necessarily have a supreme love to God both of benevo¬
lence and complacence. And all true virtue must radi¬
cally and essentially, and as it were summarily, consist in
this. Because God is not only infinitely greater and more
excellent than all other beings, but He is the head of the
universal system of existence ; the foundation and fountain
of all being and all beauty; from whom all is perfectly
derived, and on whom all is most absolutely and perfectly
dependent; and of whom and through whom and to whom
is all being and all perfection; and whose being and beauty
are, as it were, the sum and comprehension of all exist¬
ence and excellence, much more than the sun is the foun¬
tain and summary comprehension of all the light and
brightness of the day.”3
In proceeding to remark upon this theory it may be ne¬
cessary to premise, that no question is here raised as to the
supreme moral excellence of love to God, as to the obliga¬
tion resting on all his intelligent creatures to love Him
supremely, or as to the nullity of all virtue which does not
include love to God as its crowning and controlling ele¬
ment. Our only question is, Does this constitute all virtue ?
Is there no moral excellence but what is immediately
resolvable into love to God ?
And here it occurs first of all to ask, What, on this
theory, constitutes the moral excellence of God himself?
There are some who would not scruple to answer, *' Kis
love of Himselfand, rightly understood, the answer is
unimpeachable; for the highest conception we can form
of God is that of a being who finds in his own perfections
the object of his eternal and unmixed delight, and all whose
manifestations and workings are for his own glory. But it
may be questioned whether this is properly called love to
God. Is it not rather God’s delight in moral goodness, Virtue,
which has its fountain-spring in his own eternal essence,
and is enstamped on everything that He calls into being ?
Descending to man, it is obvious to remark that, as used
of him, “ Love to God” is a phrase of ambiguous mean¬
ing. It may mean one of three things,—delight in God’s
holy character,—gratitude to God for his goodness,—and
a desire for the Divine honour, or a rejoicing in the Divine
felicity. Now, in which of these senses is the phrase used
when it is said that all human virtue consists in love to
God ? If we take it in the last of the three, the theory
coincides with that of Edwards, for love to God in this
case is just benevolence directed towards Him as the great¬
est of beings, without respect to his goodness, if we take
it in the second of the three, the theory resolves itself into
the assertion, that all virtue consists in gratitude to God for
blessings received; and if we take it in the first of the
three, the theory is equivalent to that which affirms virtue
to consist in the love of goodness for its own sake. Of
these theories the first two must be rejected as inadequate,
for there are surely many virtues which cannot be resolved
into either a desire for the Divine felicity and glory or a
feeling of gratitude to God for his goodness ; indeed, to
go no farther, neither of these will resolve into the other,
and yet both are virtues demanded of man. The last of
these theories we hold to be the true one; but we object to
designating it by the phraseology now under consideration.
3. There is a theory which, borrowing from Edwards the
latter part of his doctrine, resolves all virtue into general
benevolence, or benevolence to the race at large. Of this
theory it is part to depreciate the domestic affections, or
particular affections of any kind, and to teach that the truly
virtuous man is one who cultivates a cosmopolitan benevo¬
lence, and merges all claims upon his love in one common
sentiment of universal philanthropy. On this theory it may
suffice to observe, briefly—(1.) That it is essentially atheis¬
tical, inasmuch as in the scheme of moral duties to which a
virtuous man is bound, it finds no place for those he owes
to God; the existence of God is ignored, and a phantom
god, in the shape of humanity or the race, put in his
stead. (2.) This theory is opposed by the testimony of
consciousness, which tells that we have particular affections,
that these are called into constant action within us, and
that in no case do they arise from any consideration of the
general weal, but are awakened each by its own special
object in consequence of certain relations existing between
us and it. (3.) This theory impeaches the wisdom of that
part of our constitution which provides for our affections
being strongest when they are confined within the narrowest
limits, whilst they become weak in proportion as we widen
the circle and attempt to embrace within our regards the
millions of the race. (4.) This theory reverses the order in
which all experience teaches us that the benevolent affec¬
tions are cultivated within our bosoms; for it is not by a
descending process from the position of general philanthropy
to the several spheres of patriotic, social, amical, and do¬
mestic affection, that we learn to love our fellow-men, but
by a process the reverse of this—a process begun in the
1 See some additional strictures on this theory in Dr Wardlaw's Christian Ethics, Lect. ix., and in Sir James Mackintosh’s Dissertation.
To the following remarks of the latter of these writers, however, we must demur :—“ The justness of the compound proportion on which
human virtue is made to depend is capable of being tried by an easy test. If we suppose the greatest of evil spirits to have a hundred
times the bad passions of Marcus Aurelius, and at the same time a hundred times his faculties, or, in Edwards’ language, a hundred times
his quantity of being, it follows from this moral theory that we ought to esteem and love the devil exactly in the same degree as we
esteem and love Marcus Aurelius.” Now, to this an Edwardsian might reply, that it is doubly wrong,—1st, by not observing that mere
quantity of being cannot excite esteem,—that being called forth only by benevolent being ; and 2dly, by overlooking Edwards qualifying
clause, when, speaking of degrees of existence, he includes among the objects of pure benevolence only those “ whose welfare is consistent
with the highest general good.” As the devil’s wickedness excludes him from the secondary ground of benevolence, this qualifying
condition excludes him from the primary. Eet the “ quantity of his being ” be what it may, he can never be the object of benevolent
love, any more than of complacent love, on Edwards’ principles.
2 De Moribus Ecclesice, b. i., c. xv.; compare also c. xxii., c. xxiv., and c. xxv. See also his Epist. 52 ad Macedonium.
3 Diss., c. ii.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
tue. cradle, when the infant first responds to the tenderness of
maternal endearment, and carried on through the succes¬
sive stages of domestic and social life, until in favourable
natures it at last reaches a universal philanthropy, which
loves man as man, and yet reserves its fullest and tenderest
affections for those to whom God and Nature have given the
earliest and strongest claim. In fine, this theory is suicidal;
for, by placing all virtue in universal benevolence, it secures
that there shall be no benevolence at all. “ When this
savage philosophy,” says Hall, “ has completed its work,—
when it has taught its disciple to look with perfect indiffer¬
ence on the offspring of his body and the wife of his
bosom, to estrange himself from his friends, insult his bene¬
factors, and silence the pleadings of gratitude and pity,—
will he, by thus divesting himself of all that is human, be
better prepared for the disinterested love of his species ?
Will he become a philanthropist only because he has ceased
to be a man ? Rather in this total exemption from all the
feelings which humanize and soften,—in this chilling frost of
universal indifference,—may we not be certain that selfish¬
ness, unmingled and uncontrolled, will assume the empire
of his heart; and that under pretence of advancing the
general good, an object to which the fancy may give
innumerable shapes, he will be prepared for the violation of
every duty and the perpetration of every crime ? ”1
4. We have already indicated the theory to which we
incline in reference to the present object of inquiry. The
principle of virtue we take to be love of rectitude and moral
goodness for its oivn sake—a love which partakes of the
nature of reverence, and which acts upon the mind with a
force that constrains to virtue. This love of goodness is,
in the Divine Being, the moral perfection of his person,—
the SiKaioo-vrr) tov Oeov,—the perfect becomingness of God,
whereby “He conforms Himself to his essence, and carries
Himself so fitly to Himself, that no spot, no darkness, no
shadow of turning, no indecency or irregularity can pos¬
sibly happen to Him.”2 In man this love of goodness is a
serene and profound complacency in that moral excellence
which has its source in the Divine nature, and is embodied
in the moral law—
“ The justice
Of the unbribed, everlasting law.”
And inasmuch as it is embodied in such a law, this justice
or moral goodness cannot be loved without being also re¬
verenced. As the mind contemplates it with delight, there
is also suffused over the soul a sense of awe that forbids us
to rest in mere contemplation, and prompts us to obey the
law lest we incur its penalties. The principle of virtue
thus coalesces with that of conscience, as above described.
SECT. IV.—OF MORAL OBLIGATION.
The conclusions at which we have arrived enable us to
give a definite answer to the question, What is moral obli¬
gation ? This is not a mere conviction of the reason ; for
though reason may guide, it never by itself constrains or
obliges. Nor is it a mere feeling of admiration for, and
delight in, what is morally good; for however pleasing this
feeling may be, it of itself exerts no motive force upon us.
Nor is it a mere sense that we ought to do what is right
and good; for though this may act in the way of urging us
to the paths of virtue, it falls short of the idea of obligation,
inasmuch as it is popish to conceive the existence of a sense
of owingness where there is no feeling of being under any
obligation to render what is due. “ Obligation,” says War-
563
burton, “necessarily implies an obliger, [who] must be differ- Virtue,
ent from, and not one and the same with, the obliged;”3
and to the same effect Paley says, “ Obligation is nothing
more than an inducement of sufficient strength, and result¬
ing in some way from the command of another.” 4 What
obliges us to virtue is the sense of being under moral law;
it is reverence for moral law involving a dread of the con¬
sequences of transgressing it; it is the voice of conscience
commanding rectitude, and whispering retribution to those
who neglect or contravene it.
We are not disposed to go the length to which Warburton
and some others (Paley, by implication, among them) have
gone in denying the possibility of a sense of moral obliga¬
tion, apart from the distinct dogmatic recognition of the
Divine existence and government. Assuming the possi¬
bility of a man’s being a sincere atheist, we could still con¬
ceive of such an one as having a deep reverence for what
Fichte calls “ the idea of moral order ” in the universe, and
a salutary dread of the consequences which he sees to flow
from violations of that order. At the same time, it is the
realization of the existence and rule of God as a moral
governor which gives to the sense of obligation its greatest
force, pungency, and constancy; nor, if it be true that the
foundation of rectitude is to be sought in the essential
nature of God, can we forbear to conclude that those who
deny the existence of God have placed themselves where
logical consistency would extort from them a denial also of
moral distinctions. In accordance with this, it has ever
been found that religion is the surest promoter of morals,
and that it is only as men fear the Supreme Lawgiver that
they are inclined steadily and conscientiously to act the
part of good men and good citizens. “We have reason to
believe,” says Hooker, “ that all true virtues are to honour
true religion as their parent, and all well-ordered common¬
wealths to love her as their chiefest stay.”5
Obs. 1. Some have distingished between an external and an in¬
ternal obligation; designating by the former that force of reason by
which we are constrained to actions as in themselves good, and
by the latter that constraint which issues from feeling that we are
under the authority and law of God. (See Burlamaqui, Juris Nat.
Elementa, p. i., c. vi.; p. ii., c. vii, sec. 13.) This distinction has its
foundation in truth; for it is very certain that before we can feel
any sense of moraZ constraint, we must not only know that a parti¬
cular course is commanded, but feel that it is in itself good. On
the other hand, however, it is quite possible to feel convinced that
a course is good, and yet not feel any obligation to follow it. It
seems better, therefore, to say that both form elements of the one
complex conception of moral obligation. “ Though sin and punish¬
ment are closely connected, yet the obligation of non licet (it may
not be done), is distinct from the obligation of non impune (not with
impunity), as sin and punishment are of distinct consideration. But
a man is bound both when he cannot do a thing without sin, and
when he cannot do a thing without punishment; and both these
obligations are in every [divine] law, and both concur to make the
obligation of it.” (Appendix to Maxwell’s translation of Cumber¬
land Be Legibus Naturce, by the translator, p. 55.) The reader may
compare the statements of the following writers on this subject:—
Clarke, Discourse, p. 43; Warburton, Div. Leg. of Moses, vol. i.,p. 93,
5th edition ; Price, Review, &c., c. 6; Horsely, Sermons, vol. ii., p.
189; Stewart, Active and Moral Powers, vol. i., p. 293; Wardlaw,
Christian Ethics, lec. 6.
Obs. 2. “ The Autonomy of the will is the alone principle of all
moral laws, and of their relative duties : all Heteronomy of the arbi¬
trary will, on the other hand, not only founds no obligation, but
is rather opposed to the principle thereof, and to the morality of
the will. It is in the independence of all material of the law (that
is, any desired object), and along with this the determination of the
will by the simple general legislative form of which a maxim 6
must be capable, that the alone principle of morality consists. That
independence, however, is liberty in the negative, this self-legislat-
1 Modern Infidelity, Works, vol. i., p. 54. To the advocates of this theory we may recommend the Terentian Chremes as an exquisite
realization of their sublime morality. “Homo sum ; human! nihil a me alienum puto,” exclaims the universal philanthropist; and pre¬
sently we find him scolding his wife because she had not, according to his orders, made away with their infant daughter.
2 Polhill, View of some Divine Truths, c. iii. 3 Divine Legation of Moses, b. L, § 4.
4 Mor. Philos., c. iii. 6 Eccles. Polity, b. v., § 1.
8 A maxim, in the Kantian phraseology, is, as defined by Kant himself, “ the subjective principle of willing” (Met. d. Sitten, c. i.); or
564
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Virtue.
ing of the pure and as such practical reason, is liberty in the posi¬
tive, acceptation. Hence the moral law expresses nothing else than
the autonomy of the pure practical reason, i.e., of liberty, and this
is itself the formal condition of all maxims under which they can
alone coalesce with the superior practical law.” (Kant, Kr. d. Pr.
Ver., b. i., c. 1, sec. 8.) . If by this nothing more were meant than
that an act to be binding must, whether prescribed by an outward
law or not, be recognised by the mind as morally right, the doctrine
of this passage would not differ from that above laid down. But by
“ the autonomy of the will” Kant meant that the will is its own law,
and finds the reason of action, the categorical imperative, in itself.
To this we confess we have always found it exceedingly difficult to
attach any clear idea. It is easy to see how the reason, or the con¬
science, may be a law to the will; but how the will can be a law to
itself we find it hard to conceive. Is not autonomy, in any strict
sense of the term, a universal impossibility? How can one and
the same power be at once above itself as lawgiver, and under
itself as subject to law?
SECT. V.-
-PRINCIPLES CONCURRENT WITH THE
PRINCIPLE OF VIRTUE.
In excluding all principles but the one specified, it is not
intended to affirm that others besides it do not concur to
animate and confirm virtuous activity. On the contrary,
while we hold reverence for rectitude to be the alone prin¬
ciple of virtue, as such, we would carefully recognise others
which concur with it, and aid it in directing the conduct of
men. Of these, Mr Stewart has specified Decency, or a
regard to character; Sympathy; a sense of the Ridiculous;
and Taste, considered in its relation to morals.1 Of these,
the first and the last are the only ones that can pass unques¬
tioned : a regard to character and a refined moral taste—a
taste that cleaves instinctively to “ the first good, first per¬
fect, and first fair,” in preference to all other objects, and
which revolts from the grossness of vice, however outwardly
adorned—are unquestionably principles that operate as
auxiliaries to virtue; though even with regard to them it
is necessary to give great prominence to Mr Stewart’s qua¬
lifying condition, that “ they maintain their due place in
subordination to the moral faculty,” and are not suffered to
“ prevail in the character as the leading motive to action.”
Of the other two he has specified, the claims to be reckoned
among the auxiliaries of virtue are, we think, very doubtful.
If the sense of the ridiculous w as invariably, or even by a
primary affection, excited by what is immoral, it might be
regarded as intended to help us in the paths of virtue; but
we suspect no analysis will show any natural relation between
the two, and in point of fact we know that it is rather virtue
than vice that is made the object of this sensibility. As
for sympathy, it depends wholly on our previous moral
character whether it shall aid or impede the course of virtue;
for a bad man will sympathize with the bad just as readily
as a good man will with the good, and perhaps with greater
force. If instead of these we substitute such feelings as
gratitude to God for his goodness, benevolence towards
men, a love of what is useful for its owm sake, we shall have
principles, the operation of which no one can doubt to be
eminently serviceable in strengthening the virtuous principle
within us, and aiding to confirm us in all virtuous courses.
SECT. VI.—MEASURE OF VIRTUE.
As in Physics a motive force may be measured by the
quantity of resistance it is competent to overcome, so in
Morals the measure of virtue is found in the amount of re¬
sistance which the virtuous principle in an individual is able
to surmount. A man who does right because he is never
tempted to do wrong, shows less virtue, so far as this parti¬
cular case is concerned, than the man who, though strongly
tempted to turn aside from the path of rectitude, firmly
adheres to it from sheer love of rectitude. And so, gene¬
rally, in proportion as the inducements to evil are many and
strong, is the degree of virtue which enables a man to resist
them, to conquer them, and to pursue the good.
SECT. VII.—PRACTICAL RULE OF VIRTUE.
In the ordinary business of life it is impossible for men
to stop to adjust every action by the absolute standard of
rectitude, even when that is within their reach in an easily
consumable form. The desirableness, consequently, of some
compendious rule, which, if not scientifically exact, shall yet
be sound so far as it goes, and shall supply readily a prac¬
tical test by which actions may be tried, has been felt by
all men, and various attempts have been made to supply it.
Of these, none approaches in value to that which has re¬
ceived the sanction of the Author of Christianity, and which
He thus enunciates: “Whatsoever ye would that men
should do unto you, do ye even so unto them.”2 This rule
is not peculiar to our Lord’s teaching; heathen as well as
Jewish moralists have before Him inculcated the same prin¬
ciple ;3 but He has not only enunciated it more distinctly
than any other; He has, by enunciating it, given it an autho¬
rity which it would not otherwise have had. Than this rule
no better could be suggested. It is alike simple and com¬
prehensive ; a rule for men in all circumstances, capable of
being instantly and easily applied, and such as cannot be
followed honestly and intelligently without exercising a
most wholesome influence on the whole of a man’s conduct.
Of morality as embodied in this rule it may be justly said,
“It is not hidden from thee, neither is it far off. . . . It is
very nigh unto thee; in thy mouth and in thy heart, that
thou mayest do it.” 1
Obs. Kant’s rule, “Act so as if the maxims of thine acting
should, through thy will, come to he general laws of nature” (Mot.
d. Sitten, c. 2, and in many other places of that treatise, and the
Kr. d. Pr. Vern.), has been sometimes cited as if it were identical
with the rule of Christ, only presented in a somewhat more scientific
form. But the identity is in appearance only. Kant’s rule is really
the old Stoic rule, “ Live conformably to nature for, if we are to
act only so as that our subjective grounds of acting might become
general laws of nature, it seems very plain that the general laws of
nature are the norm or standard to which our subjective principles
of acting must be conformed.
Fichte’s rule, “ Act always according to the best conviction of thy
duty ; or act according to thy conscience” (Sittenlehre, p. 195), is
unimpeachably sound; but before it can be acted on, one must
possess all that knowledge to compensate for the want of which, in
whole or in part, a short practical rule is desiderated.
Virtue.
PART III.—OF DUTIES.
L Our previous inquiries have possessed chiefly a spe¬
culative interest; we now turn to investigations of a prac¬
tical kind. When we have determined wherein rectitude
consists and what constitutes virtue, we are prepared for,
and urged upon, the question, What practical courses are
right, and such as a virtuous man will pursue ?
2. This question may be answered generally by affirming
that a virtuous man will do his duty ; or, what comes to the
as one of his disciples has explained it, “ the practical rule which determines the free-will of any being.” (Kiesewetter, Darstellung
der wichtigsten Wahrheiten der Kr. Phil, i. 160.)
1 Active and Moral Powers, vol. i., p. 306. 2 Matt. vii. 12.
bee Grotius and VVetstein on the place; Price, Comment- in Varios N. T. libros on the passage, &c. 4 Deut. xxx. 11, 14.
MORAL P HI L O S O P H Y.
same thing substantially, will exemplify the practical virtues.
This, how'ever, leaves still open the question, What are
the practical virtues ? what are men’s duties ?
3. In answering this question we shall follow the me¬
thod and classification most commonly adopted in this
country,—that, viz., which arranges our duties according to
our relations. This we prefer as the one which most natu¬
rally falls in with the tenor of our previous speculations,
and at the same time affords the best scope for a clear and
satisfactory discussion of the subject.
Obs. Of other methods we may notice the following:—
1. Some have taken the leading or cardinal virtues, and showed
what is peculiar to each of them, and to what practical courses
each of them tends. This is the course followed by most of the
ancient ethicists, though declined by Aristotle.
2. Some have inquired whether all the virtues may not he
generalized into one, of which the rest are the forms or manifesta¬
tions; and having ascertained this, as they believe, have proceeded
to show how all the practical duties of life flow out of this one
magistral and reginal virtue. So Plato.
3. Some have arranged duties according to their relation to
each other. With this view, some have distinguished between
duties of perfect and duties of imperfect obligation,—a distinction
recognised by the Stoics (see Cic. De Fin. iii. 7, 9, 17, 18; De Off. i.
3), and adopted by some modern writers; while others prefer dis¬
tinguishing between determinate duties and indeterminate, or
duties of primary and duties of secondary obligation. This latter
distinction may be admitted as valid; but it comes to be of use
chiefly as a guide in Casuistry, and cannot form an adequate basis
of general classification.
4. Kant has adopted a somewhat complicated classification. He
first divides duties into Duties of Right (officio, juris), i.e., such as are
capable of being prescribed by law; and Duties of Virtue (officio,
virtutis s. ethica), for which no such prescription is possible, and this
because they are directed to an end, to attain which is equally a
duty, and the contemplation of which is an inner act of the mind,
so that it cannot be effected by any outward legislation. He then
distinguishes between man viewed simply under the peculiarity of
his faculty of freedom,—simply in his manhood, as a personality
independent of physical conditions,—man as a noumenon, and man
as a, phasnomenon, or as subject to these conditions, and affected by
them ; and in relation to this he distinguishes duty as it respects—
(1.) The right of manhood in our own person, from (2.) The right of
men; and (3.) The end of manhood in our own person, viz., our own
perfection, from (4.) The end of men, viz., their happiness. Of these,
1 and 3 are duty to ourselves, 2 and 4 are duty towards others;
and 1 and 2 are perfect duty, 3 and 4 imperfect. He distinguishes
also according to the subjective relation of the binding and the
bound, and concludes that there is no relation of right between
man and a being that has neither rights nor duties, nor between
man and a being that has simply duties and no rights, nor between
man and a being that has simply rights and no duties. The only
relation that can be subjected to formal law is that of man to a
being who has both rights and duties.1
. 5. Fichte has adopted a simpler classification. He distinguishes
(\.)Mediate and conditioned duties, from immediate and unconditioned
or absolute; meaning by the former, duties which terminate upon
ourselves, and by the latter, duties which we owe to the universe;
and (2.) General from special duties, denoting by the former, those
which arise out of positions which cannot be conferred on men, and
by the latter, those which arise out of positions that can. Combin¬
ing these two distinctions, he divides his subject into general and
special conditioned duties, and general and special absolute duties;
and the latter more particularly into duties determined by one’s na¬
tural condition, and duties determined by one’s special vocation.2
This classification has the merit of simplicity, but some of the dis¬
tinctions on which it is based are of very questionable soundness.
Why, for instance, should the one class be pronounced conditioned
and the other absolute? The former, says Fichte, are conditioned
because “ they can be derived only through this position, that if the
moral law wills the conditioned,—the realization of the mastery of
Reason over me through me,—it wills also the condition that 1 be a
fitting and adapted means to this end.” But is not the duty I owe
to others, in so far as it is due by me, conditioned by the same
requirement, viz., that 1 am fitted and adapted to render it?
4. The relations which man sustains have been deter¬
mined for him by God ; and man enters upon them as part
of the constitution of things under which he has to exist.
In a sense, therefore, these relations are arbitrary ; they are
the result of the Divine volition and appointment. But in
another sense they are not arbitrary; for God, in constitut¬
ing things as they are, had reference to the inherent and
essential attributes of his own nature, so that all the rela¬
tions in which man finds himself placed are such as fall in
w ith perfect rectitude, and such as could not but be if God
was to create man at all. In like manner, the duties which
flow out of these relations are fixed and necessary: having
established the relations, God could not but make such and
such duties to flow out of them.
o. Duty is a debt (debitum), something which we owe
to some being. But we do not owe this to all being, nor
even to all being of the existence of which we are aware ;
we do not owe anything, for instance, to angels, though we
are assured of the fact of their existence: our duty begins
where our relations begin; and it grows in extent and
urgency as our relations become more numerous and close.
6. The correlative of Duty is Right. Wherever one
person owes a duty to another, that other possesses a corre¬
sponding claim of right over the former. His claim is called
a right, because wherever a duty is owing, rectitude dictates
that it should be paid. It may be needful to remark in
passing, that we are discoursing at present only of natural
moral duties and rights, not such as may be created artifi¬
cially by human legislation or arrangements.
7. The relations which man sustains are distributable
into three classes: 1. Those which he sustains to himself;
2. Those which he sustains to his fellow-creatures; 3.
Those which he sustains to God. Corresponding with these
three classes of relations are the three classes of duties to
which man is bound. These we now proceed to specify,
though our limits forbid our entering into this part of our
subject with any fulness.
SECT. I. DUTIES WHICH MAN OWES TO HIMSELF.
At first sight it may appear as if something of a contra¬
diction were involved in the assertion that a man owes duties
to himself; for how, it may be asked, can a man be both
giver and recipient in respect of one and the same object ?
or how can he be the holder of a right which binds, and the
subject of a duty by which he is bound, in reference to one
and the same thing? We may meet this difficulty by
remarking, that man may be viewed under a two-ibld aspect:
either simply as a phenomenon—a concrete being existing
in the world; or as a noumenon—a conceived personality
endowed with freedom of will. In the latter capacity he is
capable of being bound to duties; and it is this inner per¬
sonality which is contemplated as so bound to the concrete
phenomenal man, when we speak of man’s owing duties to
himself.3
Viewed in his aggregate existence, man may be regarded
as 1. A being having life; 2. An intellectual being; ami
3. A moral and religious being. In all these respects he
owes duties to himself.
1. As a being having life, man owes it to himself to pre¬
serve and nourish the life he has received. For this pur¬
pose he must supply himself with necessary food, and
clothing, and shelter ; he must avoid whatever would injure
his health, impair his strength, or shorten his life ; and he
must use means when his health has been injuriously affected
to have it restored. This duty involves that of self-defence
against the assault of another, even to the extent of taking
the assailant’s life should that be necessary for the preser¬
vation of our own. It also forbids self-murder, and all those
practices, such as intemperance, debauchery, or excessive
labour, which tend to shorten life.4
565
Duties.
1 Rechtslehre und Tugendlehre, in vol. ix. of his collected works, p. 43 ff., p. 245. 2 System der Sittenlehre, p. 326, ff.
3 See Kant, Tugendlehre, b. i., Einleit. 4 Comp. Xenoph., Memorabilia, b. ii„ c. i.
566 M O R A L P H
Duties. 2. As an intellectual being, man owes it to himself to
v v-, J cultivate his mental faculties, to store his mind with useful
knowledge, and to endeavour constantly to regulate his opi¬
nions and conduct by the free and impartial exercise of his
intellectual powers. The gift of intellect should he prized
for its own sake as well as for the uses to which it may be
put; and means should be wisely and steadfastly employed
to effect a catholic development of all the mental faculties
and susceptibilities. Hence the duty of being educated
a duty which is incumbent not only on children and young
persons, but which should be felt as a constant duty, to be
attended to by all through life, so long at least as mental
vigour is continued.
3. As a moral and religious being, man owes it to him¬
self to cultivate his moral susceptibilities, to accustom him¬
self to attend promptly and faithfully to the dictates of
conscience, and to seek so to educate conscience as that its
dictates shall be in accordance with what is right and good.
Without culture the moral powers become feeble, and are
irregular in their action ; whereas, by due cultivation they
are strengthened and directed, and may be brought to con¬
trol with a supreme but not offensive sway the whole con¬
duct. As a moral being, further, man owes it to himself to
abstain from the indulgence of all polluting, degrading, or
demoralizing passions and pursuits. He owes it to himself
to be chaste, not in act only, hut in imagination and pur¬
pose ; to be truthful even when no other person is to be
injured by his indulging in falsehood; to be moderate in his
desires, not giving way to covetousness, to ambition, or to
a vain love of display; to be humble, not merely in relation
to others, but within his own soul; and to avoid all indo¬
lence, sloth, and apathy. As a religious being, man owes
it to himself to cultivate piety, to habituate himself to a
constant acknowledgment of God, to be assiduous in all
religious duties, and to make the attainment of God’s favour
and preparation for heaven the supreme objects of his life.
SECT. II. DUTIES WHICH MAN OWES TO HIS FELLOW-
CREATURES.
Of creatures to which man sustains relations there are
only two classes, his fellow-men and the lower animals.
I. Beginning with the latter as the less important, the
duties which man owes to the animal creation around him
are either general or special. To all animals he owes
benevolence, to the extent of the avoidance of whatever
would give needless pain to any of them; not that he may
not pursue them and kill them either to free himself from
those that are noxious, or to supply himself with food and
other necessaries from those that are useful, but that in
either case he is not to act cruelly by giving pain beyond
what is necessary for the destruction of life. I o those
animals which he has domesticated man owes protection,
provision, and all needful care to preserve them in health
and vigour, as well as kindness in the treatment of them,
not exacting of them more or severer labour than they can
render, or subjecting them to pain and terror for mere
amusement or for the sake of gain. All such barbarous
amusements as bull-fights, bull-baiting, bear-baiting, dog¬
fighting, cock-fighting, are to be repudiated as wicked ; and
though some excuse may be pleaded for what are called
field sports, on the ground that they promote health, keep
down the numbers of noxious animals, or furnish a supply
of food which could not be obtained in a way less painful
to the animals slain, there can be no apology for such
amusements as horse-racing and steeple-chasing, where a
noble animal is subjected to “ a pace that kills,” merely to
afford idle men and women a little excitement, and un¬
principled men and women an opportunity for gambling.
[ L O S O P H Y.
II. The duties which man owes to his fellow-men are Diu^
also either general or special; the former being such as he
owes to all men indifferently, the latter such as he owes to
those in peculiar circumstances, and those to whom he
himself sustains special relations.
1. Duties owing to our fellow-men generally.—“God
hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on
the face of the earth.”1 This fact, for the knowledge of
which we are indebted to the Bible, establishes a bond of
relationship between all the members of the human race
simply as such. Hence we owe to all men certain duties.
These are—
(i.) Goodwill.—This implies not only the absence of all
malevolent feelings towards others, such as envy, vindic¬
tiveness, malice, &c., and abstinence from all the acts to
which such feelings lead, but also a propensity to be inter¬
ested in the well-being of our fellow-men, and a readiness
to do them good by the promotion of their bodily, their
intellectual, their moral, and their eternal welfare. This is
that <£dW0pamd which the sacred writers ascribe to God
(Tit. iii. 4), and which by various precepts they inculcate
upon us.2
(ii.) Respect.—We are to “ honour all men.” This does
not mean that we are to render to all an equal tribute of
approbation, for some men we are bound to condemn, and
in general the degree of approbation which we bestow on
men ought to be measured by the degree of their moral
worth. The precept means that we are to recognise the
worthiness that is in man as man, and to render him corre¬
sponding respect; not despising any because of adventitious
circumstances, not treating any with discourtesy however
lowly, and not regarding as outcasts or unworthy of our
notice even the most abandoned and base. In man as man
there is a worth and a dignity that make it the duty of
every man to honour all men.
(iii.) Truthfulness.—We owe it to all men, in conveying
to them knowledge concerning any person or thing, to com¬
municate to them exactly such a conception of the fact as
we ourselves have. That conception may not be physically
true, i e., the thing as conceived by us may not answer ex¬
actly to the thing as it is ; but if we convey to another our
own conception of it, neither more nor less, all the require¬
ments of moral truthfulness are satisfied thereby. This im¬
plies that neither by w ord, nor look, nor hint, nor act, do we
lead another to think of the matter of communication other¬
wise than it really is as contemplated by our minds. This
forbids—(1.) All intentional falsehood, «.e., all communica¬
tions by word or deed designed to convey to anotheraconvic-
tion which we know to be false in fact; (2.) All uttering as
true what w'e do not know to be true, or as false what we do
not know to be false ; (3.) All prevarication and shuffling by
which we may seek to evade the truth, and, without directly
telling a lie, may virtually do so by leaving a false im¬
pression on the mind of another ; (4.) All equivocation and
mental reservation, i.e., the use of words which have an
ambiguous meaning, for the purpose of leading the party to
whom we speak to understand them in the sense which we
know not to be the one consistent with the fact, and the
use of words which only express part of the truth, the rest
being kept back so as to mislead those to whom we speak;
and (5.) All exaggeration or extenuation, so as to convey to
the mind of another a stronger or a weaker impression of
the fact than we ourselves entertain. In all these respects the
command, “ Speak every man truth with his neighbour,” is
binding upon us. It must, however, be kept in mind heie,
that it is the intention to deceive that constitutes a lie or
gives guilt to falsehood ; if the speaker is himself mistaken,
or-if he uses forms of speech which, though not correspond¬
ing exactly to the fact, are yet so understood as not to con-
1 Acts xvii. 26.
Comp. Matt. v. 33, 47, Lev. xix. 18, Jam. v. 9, Tit. iii. 3, Eph. iv. 31, Gal. vi. 10.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
>s. vey any wrong impression, he cannot be charged with
having violated the duty of truthfulness.
(iv.) Fidelity.—This has respect to promises and con¬
tracts. A promise is a declaration that we will do some¬
thing to or for another. It may be made either condition¬
ally or unconditionally. In an unconditional promise we
bind ourselves by what we give the recipient of the promise
to understand is our intention in reference to the thing
promised. We are not bound by whatever our words
may be made to mean, or by whatever the promisee may
imagine them to mean ; we are bound in foro conscientice
by what our w'ords, fairly interpreted, express as to our in¬
tention at the time of making the promise, or what we
meant them to convey to the mind of the promisee. A
conditional promise is one, the fulfilment of which both
parties agree to suspend on the happening of something
doubtful. Thus, if A promises to give a sum of money to
B, provided something B has told him shall turn out to be
true, the promise is conditional, and no breach of promise
ensues if, on its being found that what B said was not
true, A should refuse to pay the stipulated sum. It may be
added, that there is a sense in which all promises are con¬
ditional, inasmuch as all are suspended on the presumption
that it is possible and lawful to do the thing promised ; but
in ordinary language, it is only when the possibility or law¬
fulness of the act is doubtful, that this is understood to im¬
pose a condition on the promise.
A contract is a species of conditional promise in which
one party binds himself to another in consideration of
something which that party has done or binds himself to
do in return. Such a contract to be valid must be made
voluntarily and intelligently ; if either force has been used
to compel to the contract, or one of the contracting parties
is not of sound mind, or incapable of forming a just estimate
of the obligation he is incurring, the contract is void. Ab¬
stracting from such cases, all contracts are to be faithfully
kept according to the understanding which it was the in¬
tention of the contracting parties to convey to each other.
If, however, the party who accepts the contract fail to
fulfil his part of the engagement, the other party is ipso
facto absolved from the obligation resting on him, and may
even be entitled to compensation at the hands of the other
for loss or injury he may have sustained. Under the head
of contracts are included buying and selling, borrowing and
lending, hiring and service, partnership in business, and
such like.
Obs. The Roman jurists, who have studied all questions affect¬
ing what may be called commercial Ethics with the utmost minute¬
ness, have been specially successful in describing the nature and
law of contract. The following extract presents in a condensed
form their teaching on this subject:—“ Contractus est conventio
sive consensus plurium in unum placitum, habens causam, civile
aliquid negotium dandi aut faciendi. Contractus vero nomine
venit non tantum ea obligatio quae synallagma habet, i.e., quae
ultro citroque obligat, cujusmodi est emtio, venditio, locatio, con-
dueiio ; verum et ea quae ex altera tantum parte, veluti mutuum,
itipulatio ; sive etiam in suo stet nomine sive transeat in pro-
prium nomen contractus. Quibus verbis insinuatur nova con-
tractuum divisio in Nominatos et Innominatos. Nominati dicuntur
quibus certum et proprium a legibus nomen est attributum ut emtio,
locatio, societas ex quibus certa nominataque actio datur veluti
actio emti, &c. Innominati vero qui certum et ligitimum nomen
non habent quique non ita juris vinculo continentur, cum in iis locus
sit pcenitentise, re Integra, seu quamdiu alteruter tradendo non
implevit a sua parte; suntque contractuum ejusmodi quatuor genera
•Do ut Dei f Do u( Facial ,* Facio ut Facial; Facio ut Dei; ex
quibus certa et proprii nominis actio non datur sed actio prsescriptis
verbis, ita dicta quod ex prsescripto conventionis datur. ’ (Perezius,
Institutioncs Imperiales erotematibus distinctce, b. iii., tit. 14, p.
325, 8th edit. Comp, the more copious comment of Vitriarius,
Universum Jus Civile, p. 439, ff.)
(v.) Justice.—Justice, as an attribute of a voluntary agent,
567
is the habit of mind which disposes such an one to leave Duties,
all other men in the undisturbed enjoyment of whatever
possessions, advantages, and privileges they may rightfully
have. Self-love naturally prompts us to seek for ourselves
whatever we see to be desirable; but justice teaches us
sacredly to refrain from depriving our neighbour of aught
that belongs to him (unless it be something which he has
the power to give, and which we take with his free consent),
howrever much the possession of it might benefit or delight
us. It teaches us also not to take from our neighbour (or,
what is in principle the same thing, to injure or diminish in
value) anything that he prizes, even though we do not or
cannot transfer it to ourselves. More specifically, justice
requires us—
(1.) To abstain from injuring another man’s person.
This may be done in various ways. It may be done by
inflicting wounds or blows upon him to the dismemberment
of his limbs or to the interruption of the healthy action of
his organs. It may be done by withholding from him
necessary food, or by giving him unwholesome food, or by
exposing him unnecessarily to pestilential vapours, or by
preventing him from needful exercise, or by exacting from
him undue and exhausting labour. It may be done also
by exerting painful or depressing influences over his spirits,
by which his general health is affected. When such treat¬
ment is not the result of pure accident, or of causes not
subject to our will, but is to be traced to evil intention
against another, or to careless indifference about another’s
welfare, it is to be condemned as a breach of what justice
to our fellow-men demands.
(2.) To abstain from taking away the life of another.
When this is done with deliberate and malicious intention,
from revenge or for some sinister end, it is murder, by
whatever means perpetrated, whether by blows, or by poison,
or by some subtle agency the operation of which cannot be
made obvious to the senses, and whether directly by our
own agency or indirectly by that of others. A mitigated
form of this offence is when life is sacrificed through our
carelessness or thoughtlessness, without evil design on our
part. This the law discriminates as culpable homicide.
Where pure accident has caused the death of others, the
instruments of this calamity are to be exempted from
blame. In cases also where life has been taken in self-
defence, the party must be held guiltless; for where an
assailant has forced on us the alternative of either taking
his life or allowing him to take ours, a duty higher than
any we owe to him requires us to adopt the former of these
courses. This plea, however, will not cover the practice
of duelling ; for we have no right voluntarily to place our¬
selves in such an alternative; and if it be said that the
usage of society forces this alternative upon us as the only
course by which, when we have been insulted, we can
retain our place in society, the question then comes to be,
whether the retaining of our place in society be of equal
obligation with the duty of refraining from imperilling our
own life or that of another—a question which the moralist
can answer in but one way, in the negative.1 It may be
added, that the law which holds of the taking away of life
holds equally of the preventing of life. If that be done by
violent means, a crime of a very flagrant nature is perpe¬
trated. Hence the Roman law enacted, “ Si mulierem
visceribus suis vim intulisse, quo partum abigerit, constiterit;
earn in exilium prasses provinciae exiget.”
(3.) To abstain from injuring another’s property. A
man’s property is that which, by his own labour or by gift
from others, has so become his own that an abstract right
belongs to him to do with it as he chooses. Hence, if he
chooses to give it to others, they violate no duty in accept¬
ing it, according to the maxim of the civil law, “ Volenti
1 See a full and able discussion of duelling in Wardlaw's Systematic Theology, iii. 517.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
568
Duties, non tit injuria.” But so long as he chooses to retain it,
y rv-m-/ others have no right to appropriate it, in whole or in part.
To do so is to be guilty of robbery, which may either be
perpetrated by violence, as in highway robbery and house¬
breaking, or by cunning and artifice, as in pocket-picking,
pilfering, and swindling. Justice to our neighbour also
requires that we shall not take advantage of his ignorance
to over-reach him in business or defraud him of gains which
ought to be his ; and also that in all transactions where we
profess to transfer a portion of his property to ourselves, on
the ground of giving him an equivalent for it, there shall
be no deception practised with a view to make him regard
as an equivalent what is not such, no fraudulent abstraction
of any part of the offered equivalent after it has been ac¬
cepted, and no substitution of something else in the place
the very thing agreed on.
(4.) To abstain from injuring the reputation of others.
This may be done either by saying of them what is false,
or by saying of them what is true. In the former case the
offence is forbidden alike by the law of veracity and the
law of justice ; in the latter case the law of justice prescribes
that we are not to propagate what would injure our neigh¬
bour’s reputation, unless some higher obligation than what
we owe to him in this respect compel us to do so. Thus,
if we have reason to suspect or believe that a person is dis¬
honest, it may become our duty to give information of this,
that others may be protected from his attempts ; or if we
know a party to have committed an offence, and are called
to bear witness against him in a court of law, it will be our
duty to do so ; but all gratuitous and malicious tale-bearing,
vituperation, or slander, whether openly uttered or con¬
veyed by means of hint and inuendo, are direct violations
of what justice to others demands.
(5.) To abstain from injuring the virtue of others. We
may injure their virtue by misleading their judgment as to
what is right and what is wrong ; by tempting them to think
lightly of what is immoral; by recommending vice to them
through means of seductive stories or attractive represen¬
tations ; by appealing to their passions, or placing them in
circumstances where these are appealed to ; by provoking
them to evil by our own example, or by using force or ridi¬
cule to constrain them to do what is wrong. Such conduct
is highly criminal. It robs our neighbour of his most
precious possession, a good conscience ; it destroys his
self-respect and mental tranquillity ; it may lead to courses
which end in ruin and suicide j1 and it endangers the safety
of his immortal soul. Surely, if those who maim the body
or destroy life are held guilty, much deeper is the guilt
of those who do their endeavour to pollute, degrade, and
utterly and for ever ruin the soul.
2. Duties Giving specially to Particular Classes and
Individuals.—These may be enumerated thus :—
(i.) Duties arising out of the Difference of Sex.—The
great duty binding on the sexes in their relation to each
other is that of chastity. The law of chastity forbids not
only all promiscuous and licentious intercourse between
persons of different sex, but also all carnal connection be¬
tween parties nearly related by blood to each other, whether
under the tie of marriage or not; all polygamy, concubinage,
and marriage dissolvable at the pleasure of either or both
parties. It forbids also all practices tending to licentious¬
ness ; the indulgence of impure thoughts or feelings; the
publication or use of obscene songs, descriptions, jests, or
pictures; indecent conversations, looks, or gestures; and, in
short, whatever tends to inflame the sexual passion and putjes
loosen the restraint which should be imposed upon it.2
(ii.) Duties arising out of the Domestic Relation.
(1.) Of Husband and Wife.—Marriage is the perpetual
union of one man with one woman for their mutual solace-
ment and benefit, and with a special view to the procrea¬
tion and education of children. This union is to be based
on the mutual affection and free choice of the parties ; all
marriages formed without mutual affection, for purposes of
mere convenience, for the sake of gain, or through the ad-
hibition of force or fraud, are immoral in their nature, and
seldom, if ever, are productive of happiness to the parties.
This primary law of marriage is violated where polygamy
is tolerated. By such a practice all the advantages which
marriage is designed to promote are precluded; woman is
degraded from the companion and helpmate of man into a
mere slave of his lusts;3 the happiness arising from the
consociation of hearts, united by affection, is prevented;
all the benefits of sympathy and united counsel are super¬
seded ; constant jealousies and quarrels invade the domestic
circle ; and the children, deprived of proper care and dis¬
cipline, often perish in infancy, or grow up with untamed
passions, jealous and hateful of each other, and without any
just sense of the duties or responsibilities of life.
The law of marriage is also violated when the union of
the parties is treated as dissoluble, or when it is actually
dissolved, without sufficient cause. By “sufficient cause”
is meant such conduct on either side as virtually destroys
the consociation implied in marriage. Such is adultery,
and such also, as it appears to us, is cruelty used by the
one party towards the other to such an extent as renders
cohabitation impossible. In such cases the marriage is
really at an end, and consequently the formal separation of
the parties may legitimately follow. But to dissolve a mar¬
riage for any inferior reason is immoral and mischievous.
Of the parties united in marriage the common duties are—
(1.) The cultivation of mutual affection; (2.) Fidelity to
their conjugal engagements, not in deed only but in thought
and word; (3.) Care for each other’s health, honour, and com¬
fort; (4.) Mutual helpfulness, both as respects duties and
sorrows, both as respects this life and that which is to come;
and (5.) Mutual confidence, leading to an entire community
of knowledge and interest. The special duties of the
parties arise out of the modifications which that love which
is the basis of their union receives from their respective
constitutional and social differences. The husband is to
give scope to his love for his wife by protecting her; pro¬
viding for her maintenance and comfort; acting as her head
and guide with all wisdom, patience, and gentleness; giving
her honour, not only before others, but when alone, and that
not in word only, but in deed; and nourishing and cherish¬
ing her as his own flesh. On the part of the wife, love is to
show itself not only in the caresses of a womanly tender¬
ness, but still more in consulting for her husband’s comfort
at home and for his reputation abroad ; in revering him and
submitting to him as her head; in taking care of his pro¬
perty ; and in saving him from all household cares that do
not properly fall to his lot.
(2.) Of Parent and Child.—The duties which parents
ow-e to their children are those of nurture and education ;
including under the former all that is required for the
physical welfare, and under the latter all that is required for
the intellectual, moral, and religious up-bringing of theii
offspring. In their intercourse with their children, also, it
1 Aristophanes makes iEschylus charge on Euripides the guilt of having brought many ladies, the wives of honourable men, to drink
hemlock, in consequence of being brought to shame through the effect of his immoral representations. (See The Frogs, 1. 10 o.J is i
but one of many instances in which the drama has had to answer for domestic misery and disgrace, ruin and suicide. .
2 “ Nos autem,” says Cicero, “ naturam sequamur, et ah omni quod abhorret ah oculorum auriumque approbatione fugiamus. a us,
ncessus, sessio, accubitio, vultus, oculi, manuum motus, teneant illud decorum.” (Be Off., i. 35.)
3 Animus multitudine distrahitur, nullam pro socia obtinet, omnes viites sunt. (Sallust., Be Bello Jugur , c. 80.)
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
569
is requisite that the law of kindness should ever be on their
lips, and that their own example should be such as to com¬
mand and enforce the precepts they inculcate. In the
matter of discipline, the extremes to be avoided are undue
laxity and indulgence on the one hand, and undue severity
on the other. “ A child left to himself bringeth his mother
to shame;”1 but when fathers correct in a passionate or
tyrannical spirit, they are apt to increase the very evil they
desire to allay; they “ provoke their children to wrath,”
and discourage them from the path of obedience and love.
The duties of children to their parents are those of grati¬
tude, reverence, and obedience. They are to honour their
father and mother, to listen to their instructions, to avoid
wounding their feelings, to be careful of their reputation,
and to obey promptly and cheerfully all their commands.
It is their duty also to solace the declining years of their
parents by every means in their power, and, if necessary, to
repay the care which nourished them in early life by sup¬
porting their parents in as much comfort as their means
will allow.
(3.) Of Brothers and Sisters.—The duties of the fraternal
relation are chiefly those of mutual goodwill; and they
differ from those of the same kind which we owe to men in
general only in the priority of their claim and the intensity
ot the affection. Goodwill to the race must be learnt in
the nursery and around the domestic hearth by the exer¬
cise of goodwill and kindness between the children of the
family. And all through life this, which was the first lesson
to be learnt, ought to remain the strongest in its influence
upon us. Other things being equal, a brother or a sister
has a prior and a stronger claim on our sympathy, our kind¬
ness, and our aid, to any one standing without the family
circle. “ Quis amicior quam frater fratri ? aut quem
alienum fidum invenies si tuis hostis fueris.”2
(4.) Of Master and Servant.—The relation of master and
servant arises, except where slavery prevails, out of a con¬
tract formally ofvirtually made between the parties, and the
duties devolving on each must be, to a considerable extent,
determined by the terms of their contract. Besides these,
however, there are duties of a purely moral kind which no
contract can determine, and which no human legislation can
enforce. It is the duty of servants not only to do what
they have contracted to do, but to do it cheerfully, and with
scrupulous integrity, so as to give their masters the full
benefit of their time and powers. It is their duty also to
show all respect to their masters, to be courteous in their
manners and speech towards them, and to be always
ready to vindicate their reputation as well as to pro¬
tect their property. The master, on the other hand, must
take care not to be unreasonable in his demands on his
servants’ energies, nor to treat them otherwise than with
that kindness and respect which is due to his fellow-men,
avoiding all overbearing deportment, all harsh and hurtful
speeches, all contemptuous treatment, and all passionate
threatening, in his intercourse with them. The master who
not only gives his servants “ that which is just and equal,”
but treats them respectfully and kindly, will find his own
interest greatly promoted thereby; whereas “ he that
troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind.”3
(iii.) Duties arising out of Difference of Condition and
Circumstances.—Of these the most important are those
created by differences of rank and of property. In most
states some persons are raised to an artificial dignity, which
is symbolized by a title or by some personal decoration ;
in all states where order prevails some are invested with
official rank; and everywhere the distinctions of rich and
poor, prosperous and suffering, obtains. Out of these arise
certain moral obligations, resting on one or both parties.
The duty of the great and wealthy is to show kindness to
their inferiors in society, and especially to employ their in- Duties,
fluence and resources to alleviate the sufferings of the un- v^-v—
happy, and to provide for the support of the destitute. In¬
stitutions for the cure of disease, for the education of the
ignorant, for the reclaiming of the profligate, and for the
comfort of the aged and the indigent, are entitled to look
for support to those whom Providence has blessed with
plenty ; and the duty of charity to the poor is one of con¬
stant obligation on all who have anything to spare. On the
other hand, those who are in possession of rank and dignity
are entitled to expect from their inferiors in society that
respect and homage which belong to their station ; honour
is to be given to whom honour is due. The poor also owe
to their benefactors the duty of gratitude for benefits re¬
ceived, and the duty also of scrupulously abstaining from
unnecessarily taxing their generosity, or laying a burden
on their resources.
(iv.) Duties of Teacher and Taught.—The duty of the
teacher is to use every endeavour to make himself thoroughly
master of the subject which he has to teach, to divest
himself of all prejudices and interests that would preclude
his seeking after and embracing truth, to aim at clear¬
ness and precision in all his communications with his
learners, and to use the influence he possesses under a con¬
stant sense of responsibility, and with a sacred regard to
the cause of morality and religion. This applies not only
to the professed teacher, but to all who by tongue or pen
seek to influence the opinions or conduct of others. To
his teacher the learner owes respect, docility, deference,
and gratitude, but not abject submission to his dogmas,
nor an acceptance of his ipse dixit in lieu of all reason or
argument.
3. Duties connected with the Relations of Civil Society.—
Civil society is the ordinance of God,—not that He has in
any code enacted that men shall live in such society, or
anywhere prescribed any particular form of civil polity as
alone accordant with His will; but that He has so consti¬
tuted man that to live in society is not only natural to man,
but necessary for’the full development of his capacities and
for his well-being. “ Man by nature,” says Aristotle, “ is a
political animal (^>vcrct ttoXltlkov £o>ov), and if any one lives
out of society by choice and not by misfortune, he is either
a bad man or better than man;” and again he says, “ If
any man is incapable of associating, or through self-suffi¬
ciency needs it not, he is no part of a state,—such an one
is either a beast or a god.” “ By nature,” he adds, “ there
is a propensity in all to such association; and he who first
instituted it became the author of the greatest benefits.”4
It should consequently be esteemed a privilege to be a
member of a state ; for even in the worst ordered states the
condition of the people is better than it would have been
had there been no civil society at all; and in proportion as
the constitution under which we live is wisely and right¬
eously ordered, in that proportion does it demand the rever¬
ence, the support, and the love of the citizens. The body
of the citizens, indeed, constitutes the state, and it is for
their benefit, and theoretically by their will, that it exists;
but the state, as an organic whole, may be thought apart
from the individuals that compose it, and thus two parties
may be represented to the mind as owing civil duties to
each other,—the ttoAis or state, and its citizens (-n-oAIrai).
Practically this distinction resolves itself almost wholly into
that of rulers and ruled.
(i.) Duties of States to each other.—These are analogous
to those of individuals to each other. States, in their deal¬
ings with each other, are bound not merely by artificial
compacts and accidental treaties, but by the dictates of
that great moral law which, as Cicero sublimely says, “ is
not one at Rome and another at Athens,—one now and
1 Prov. xxix. 15.
VOL. XV.
2 Sallust, Jugur., c. 10.
3 Prov. xi. 29.
4 Politics, b. i., c. ii.
4 C
570
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
Duties.
another afterwards; but it is one and the same eternal and
immortal law which holds together all nations through all
times; and one God, the common master, as it were, and
commander of all, who is the discoverer, the umpire, the
enacter of this law; and the man who obeys Him not is
untrue to himself, and contemns the nature of man, and on
this very account shall endure severest punishment, even
although he may escape other penalties, as they are con¬
sidered.”1 Hence nations are morally precluded from
making aggressions on each other’s territory, or doing aught
gratuitously, avariciously, or vindictively, to damage the
prosperity of each other. Instead of this, there ought to be
a firm alliance among the nations, binding them to respect
each other’s rights, to refrain from in any way seeking each
other’s injury, and to refer all disputes that may arise be¬
tween any to the arbitration of some common tribunal. In
the present state of the world, however, especially where
states in very different stages of civilization are placed in
close contact with each other, such a state of things can at
the best be only approximately reached, and in many cases
not at all. Hence aggressions will be made by the stronger
on the weaker, by the more restless and needy on the
more civilized, industrious, and wealthy; and constantly
cases will be arising of misunderstanding and conflict be¬
tween even those states which are most devoted to the arts
of peace. In such cases the resort will in all probability be
to arms, as the only arbitrement to which the dispute can
be referred; and however horrible in many of its aspects
such an expedient may be, there does not appear to be any
ground on which the moralist can condemn it, apart from
circumstances. Nations as well as individuals possess the
right of self-defence; and if either their liberties or their
possessions are forcibly invaded, they not only are morally
at liberty to resist force by force for the protection of these,
but they are bound, by a duty higher than any they owe to
the invading power, to do their utmost to repel its assault.
It is only an extension of the same principle when nations
are justified in going to war for the purpose of restraining
the ambition or repressing the advances of some warlike
power, which, though it may not have directly attacked
them, is pursuing a course such as cannot but bring it into
collision with them, and that under circumstances less
favourable to them than if the collision took place now;
for if it be right to repel an attack when made, it is on the
same ground right to prevent, if possible, the attack fiom
being made when it might be impossible to repel it. It is
less clear whether nations are justified in going to war
for causes which do not touch upon either their liberties
or their possessions,—such as questions of commercial prei o-
gative, national honour, theoretical policy, or dynastic alli-^
ance. On a calm survey of such cases, the balance seems
to decline in favour of the negative side of the question,
and it can only be in very urgent cases that so frightful an
expedient as war can be justified for any such cause.
(ii.) Duties of States to their Subjects.—The prime duty
of a state to its subjects is that of affording protection to
their lives, liberties, persons, and properties; for which
ends laws must be enacted, courts of justice instituted, and
an efficient executive force maintained. In the enacting
of laws, sacred regard is to be had to the interests of the
community as a whole, as the end for which the law is made ;
and in the judicial administration of them impartiality is
scrupulously to be maintained, without any respect of per¬
sons, either through fear or favour. The supreme duty of
the executive consists in fidelity to the trust reposed in them,
to be shown by vigilance in the detection of offenders, and
unflinching performance of what the law enacts, and the
judge has determined, as due to the offence; but with this Duties,
should be united the utmost possible avoidance of all per- ^
sonal feeling against the culprit, and the exhibition of as
much of gentleness and forbearance as may be compatible
with the faithful discharge of official duty. But though pro¬
tection be the principal duty of a state towards its subjects,
it may legitimately extend its operations beyond that, and
make provision for the advancement of the commercial
prosperity of the community, for the prevention of influences
prejudicial to public health or morals, for the education of
the people, for the relief of the poor, and for the cure of
disease.
(iii.) Duties of Subjects to the State.— These are,—(1.)
Subjection to the constituted authorities—“ the powers that
be.” It is not implied in this that subjects are bound to
approve of every law or act of their rulers, nor that they may
not use means to obtain the repeal of oppressive or unwise
laws ; but simply that, in their capacity as citizens, they are
not to set themselves against their rulers, nor to refuse obe¬
dience to the laws which are in operation. To this obedience
there is but one limit, and that is, when the law requires
what it would be plainly a sin against God to perform. In this
case a higher law demands that the law of the human legis¬
lator should be disobeyed; only this must be done as quietly
and as respectfully to the authorities as possible. (2.) The
rendering of homage and respect to the magistrate as such,
to be shown in the avoidance of all impertinent familiarity,
all uncourteous language or deportment, and all severe and
railing censure. (3.) The prompt as well as honest payment
of all the taxes appointed to be levied by the proper authori¬
ties, regarding this as a debt due to government for the bene¬
fits it secures to society, and esteeming it a privilege that the
amount we have to pay for this is fixed, so that it neither de¬
pends on the caprice of individuals, nor is left to the dubious
and perplexing settlement of our own conscience. (4.) The
being ready to make sacrifice of personal ease, property,
and, if need be, safety, for the defence of our country, and
the being forward to promote, as we have the means, the
intellectual, moral, social, and political improvement of the
community.
SECT. HI.—DUTIES WHICH MAN OWES TO GOD.
Some German philosophers and theologians have ad¬
vanced the opinion, that it is incompetent for philosophy to
attempt to determine the duties we owe to God ; and some
have even gone so far as to assert that man owes no duties
to God distinct from those which he owes to himself and
his fellow-creatures. With those who hold pantheistic
views, such conclusions are unavoidable; for if God be not
personally distinct from the universe, it becomes absurd to
speak of our owing anything to Him as a being with "'j10111
we have special relations. But the opinion is not confined
to the pantheistic school; it is advanced also by some who
strenuously uphold the belief in an extra-mundane Deity.
Of these we may take Kant as instar omnium; and it may
suffice here to notice what he has said on the subject.
After asserting that, “ in respect of an essence which lies
entirely beyond the sphere of our experience, and yet is,
as respects its possibility, found in our ideas,—namely, the
Deity,—we have indeed a duty, which is called duty ot reli¬
gion, and this consists in the recognition of all our duties
as divine commands,” he goes on to say,—“ But this is
not the consciousness of a duty towards God; for since
this idea proceeds entirely from our own reason, and is ma e
by us with a theoretical view only to illustrate the con
formity to purpose of the universe, or to serve as a motive
1 Fragment of the 3d book of the treatise Be Republica, preserved by Lactantius. Inst. vi. . . . e(j . Tieftrunk,
3 See also Garve’s Philosophische Abhandlungen, appended to his translation of Cicero, Be O^cits, vo . ii., p. , , >
Grundriss d. Sittenlehre, vol. i., p. 272, if.; Niemeyer, Handbuch fiir Christliche Rcligionslehrer, p. bb, tt.
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
affecting our behaviour, it follows that we have here before
us no given being towards which our obligation binds us.
In order to this, his actuality must be first proved by expe¬
rience (or revelation); but it is a duty of man to himself
to apply this idea, which inevitably presents itself to the
reason, to the moral law in us, where it is of the greatest
moral fruitfulness.”1 Now, without adverting here to other
questionable doctrines taught in these sentences, let us con¬
fine ourselves to the argument they contain against the
possibility of our realizing duties towards God. This, it will
be seen, rests solely on the assumption that we can be under
moral obligation only towards beings whose actual existence
we know by experience. But is this assumption tenable ? Is
experience the only medium through which we may arrive
at a conviction of the actual existence of any being? And
provided we know a being actually to exist, and to exist in
relation to us, is it of the least moment how we acquire
that knowledge, in respect of the duties which our ascer¬
tained relation to this being imposes on us ? In the case
before us, if we have sufficient assurance that God exists,
and that He is a being with whom we have to do, we surely
know enough to enable us to go some length at least in
determining the duties we owe to Him. But it may be said,
as Kant has, in the passage quoted, distinctly affirmed, that
our knowledge of God does not amount to such assurance of
His existence and of our relation to Him, but exists merely
in the form of an idea or unavoidable conclusion of rea¬
son. Now, if the whole amount of what reason constrains
us to conclude on this subject were, that something is con¬
ceived by us as theoretically possible, and is assumed by
us to exist in order to complete our theory of the universe,
it must be granted that towards such a being we could have
no duties to perform. But we may appeal with confidence
to the consciousness of the race, whether this be the only
idea of God instilled into us by natural reason. At the
very least, the something which is conceived of as account¬
ing for the evidences of design and purpose in the arrange¬
ment of the universe is conceived of as a causal something,
as a being who has brought into actual manifestation what
previously existed potentially in himself, and must have been
contemplated as the object of purpose in his mind. Kant
himself admits this in another part of his writings. “ The
existing world,” says he, “ presents to us so immense a scene
of variety, order, adaptation, and beauty,.... that the uni¬
versal All must sink into the abyss of nonentity, unless we
assume something that, outside of this boundless realm of
the contingent, and existing primarily and independently for
itself, upholds it, and, as the cause of its origin, secures to it
also its continuance.”2 But if men know this much, they
know enough to enable them to perceive a relation between
themselves and this being, and enough consequently to en¬
able them to determine that they owe some duties to Him.
It is granted that the knowledge thus acquired is limited
and imperfect, but it is sufficient to lay the basis of duty
on the part of man towards God.
There is a sense in which all our duties are duties to God,
inasmuch as all are comprehended in obedience to His will.
But there are some duties of which He is directly the ob¬
ject, and it is to these we have now to attend.
(i.) It is our duty to seek earnestly to have just views of
the being and perfections of God. Such views lie at the
basis of all true piety : we are pious just in proportion as we
think worthily of God; all religious emotion which does not
spring out of just conceptions of God is mere superstition,
571
and is only offensive to Him. “ Primus est Deorum cultus Duties.
Deos credere,” says a heathen philosopher, “ deinde reddere v—*'2
illis majestatem suam.”3 Hence the duty binding on all to
followup the convictions which nature may have impressed on
them respecting the existence of God, by inquiring diligently
whether He have given any more precise and complete reve¬
lation of Himself, and the duty of candidly examining the evi¬
dence of that book which professes to contain such arevelation.4
(ii.) It is our duty to cherish proper affections towards
God. It behoves us to regard Him with reverence and holy
fear, and to speak of Him with awe ; to exercise constant
dependence on Him, trust in Him, and submission to Him;
to cultivate entire and cheerful resignation to His will; to
delight in Him as the All-Perfect and All-Holy; and to
gratefully love Him as our bountiful Father, from whose
favour a continual stream of benefits descends upon us.
(iii.) It is our duty to exemplify our devout feelings to¬
wards God by appropriate acts. We are bound to receive
with implicit belief whatever He makes known to us, assured
that He neither can deceive nor be deceived; and on the same
ground we are bound to have faith in that constitution and
order which He has established in nature, including those
natural sources of knowledge which He has opened in our
own souls. We are bound to offer Him formal worship as
an expression of internal love and reverence,—celebrating
His praises, commemorating His goodness, and “ speaking
of the glorious honour of His majesty.” We are bound to
pray to Him for what we need, with confession of our sins
and acknowledgment of His constant care and kindness.
We are bound to swear only by His name ; but we are not
to take that name upon any trivial matter, on any matter of
less than urgent importance; and having sworn by Him,
we must dread, as a sin of enormous magnitude, the violat¬
ing in the minutest particular of our oath. We are bound to
practice the most stedfast obedience to all His command¬
ments, and to use all our energies, and capacities, and oppor¬
tunities, so as to serve Him and manifest His glory.
(iv.) It is our duty to imitate God’s character and methods
of acting, so far as may be competent to us. Infinitely as
we are beneath Him in knowledge and power and goodness,
we yet find in Him not only the source of all moral excel¬
lence, but the perfect model to which we, as moral agents,
have to conform. All our studies, therefore, of his char¬
acter and ways should be directed towards an assimilation
of our characters to His, and our conduct to His. So im¬
portant a place does the imitating of God occupy in the
moral and religious life of man, that it is presented in Scrip¬
ture as the counterpart and complement of our filial rela¬
tion to God: “Be ye imitators of God, as dear children.”5
SECT. IV.—COLLISION OF DUTIES.
Strictly speaking, there can be no collision of duties: in
themselves, and viewed in the pure light of reason, all duties
are in perfect harmony with each other. Nor can there be
any real collision of duties practically ; for when two duties
appear opposed to each other, either the reasons in morality
urging to the one exactly balance the reasons urging to the
other, in which case the agent is placed in a moral lock, where
one of the conditions of virtue, liberty of choice, is denied to
him, so that neither of the two is a duty for him in the cir¬
cumstances ; or the reasons for the one overbalance the
reasons for the other, in which case the latter ceases in the
circumstances to be his duty. Cases, however, frequently
1 Tugendlehre, Works, ix., 300. See also Rechtslehre, p. 46 of the same volume.
3 Kritik d. Reinen Vernunft, p. 650. _ ^ > s » » u \ > . - / » e
3 Seneca, Ep. xcv. Comp. Epictetus, Ench., ch. xxxi.: rvj; w£g< rov; Seov; ivae^uxs, iadt oti to jcv^iutoitov tueho sanv wo.
tspI dvruv itfiv, &c. 4 See Chalmers, Natural Theology, ch. ii., Works, vol. i., p. 56.
® Eph. v. 1. Not far from the same thought is the sentiment of the heathen Seneca,—“ Satis illos (Deos) coluit quisquis imitatus est.”
(Ep. 95.)
572 MORAL PH
Happiness, occur in actual life, where of two duties only one can be
v'—performed by us, and it is in reference to such cases that the
phrase “ collision of duties” is used.
In all such cases the question which each man has to
determine is, on which side the overbalance of obligation
lies ; and this can be determined only by ascertaining which
of the duties is urged upon us by the greater force of moral
reasons. In pursuing this inquiry care must be taken to
abstract from all considerations of expediency or advantage;
for these do not enter into a moral calculation, and if allowed
to sway the judgment may lead to an immoral conclusion.
To lay down rules for the guidance of conscience in such
cases belongs to the science ot Casuistry, or, as Kant calls it,
“ The Dialectic of Conscience.” We can only here suggest
one or two rules of a general kind.1
(i.) We must distinguish duties of universal obligation
from duties 0$particular obligation, and assign to the for¬
mer a superior moral authority to that of the latter. Thus,
to speak the truth is a duty of universal obligation, whilst
the duties arising out of social or domestic relations are of
particular obligation 5 hence, it the latter cannot be pei-
formed without violating the former, they cease in such a
case to be binding.
Obs. A question has been raised and discussed by all casuists,
whether cases of necessity do not justify the telling of a lie—the
case, e.g., where, by telling the truth, we may cause serious injury,
perhaps death, to a friend or relative. On this point the following
remarks of Fichte are worthy of attention as going far to settle the
question :—“ The justification of a lie of necessity, or in general a lie
for the sake of some good end, is without doubt the most senseless
and the most perverse that can he heard among men. It is the most
senseless. Thou sayest to me, that thou hast convinced thyself that a
lie of necessity is permitted. Now, if I am to believe this, I must no
less disbelieve it; for I cannot know whether thou, even whilst thou
art speaking, mayest not, for the sake of some praiseworthy end—
who can know all thy ends ?—be making use of thy maxim against
me, and whether, consequently, thine assurance that thou boldest a
lie of necessity allowable, may not be itself a lie of necessity. Who¬
ever really holds such a maxim can neither declare that he holds
it, nor wish to make others hold it! he must carefully shut it up
in himself, and wish it to be held only for himself; communicated,
it destroys itself. . . . Without doubt, then, it is pure nonsense to
demand belief for what, if it is believed, annuls itself. The jus¬
tification of such a lie is further the most perverse that is possible
for man : the justifier thereby discloses his thoroughly corrupt
mode of thought. That the lie should have occurred to you as a
possible means of escape from certain contingencies, and that you
ILOSOPHY.
can seriously deliberate whether one may avail himself of such, is IIappinegs
the true seat of your corruptness. In nature there is no instinct ^
toward lies; the ethical mode of thought knows not the lie; there
needs for this thought something positively evil, a reflective search¬
ing after some crooked way, and desire not to follow the straight
path which offers itself to us. To the virtuous man this expedient
does not occur ; and were it left to him, the concept of lying would
not be brought into the system of human concepts, nor the question
as to the morality of a lie of necessity into ethics.” 2
(ii.) We must distinguish duties of primary from duties of
secondary obligation, and give the former the preference in
cases of apparent collision. Thus, to do justice is a duty
of primary, to be generous a duty of secondary obligation;
and hence we can be generous only when we have fulfilled
the requirements of justice.
(iii.) As our duties arise out of our relations, their compara¬
tive urgency—i.e., the degree in which w'e are morally
obliged to perform them—varies according to the number
and closeness of these relations. Hence our duty to God,
to whom we sustain the most numerous and intimate rela¬
tions, far transcends any duty we may owe to creatures, and
must be allowed, consequently, to take precedence of all
such duties : we must obey God rather than men, and love
and honour Him above all beings. On the same principle,
our relations and friends and fellow-countrymen have a
claim upon us which is strong in proportion to their proxi¬
mity to us, and in that order must the calls of duty in rela¬
tion to them be obeyed.
(iv.) We must distinguish between what is simply right
and what is meritorious. As a mere matter of rectitude,
for instance, no man is required to prefer the interests of
others to his own; but when a man chooses to sacrifice
what he owes to himself for the good of others, he not only
does no wrong, but he acquires merit and deserves reward.
Hence, if my duty to myself requires me to follow one
course, and the duties I owe to others require me to follow
another, no one can justly blame me if I follow the former,
but as little can any commend me unless I follow the latter.
(v.) Sometimes mere circumstances may determine us in
our choice of duties. Thus, if I see several persons in
danger of drowning, all equally indifferent to me, and of
whom I can save only one, the question, Which one ? may
be best determined by circumstances, such as proximity of
position, ease or certainty of success, &c.
PART IV.—OF
1. Happiness is the repose of an intelligent being in the
full enjoyment of all that, according to its nature, it seeks.
The term describes a purely subjective state, which must
not be confounded with the objective possession of what is
desirable ; for a being may have everything that he can de¬
sire, and yet not be happy. Of happiness it has been
justly said,—“ Its home is within us rather than without us;
to be happy depends less on what is possessed, than on how
one regards and uses the possession.”3
Obs. Kant defines happiness thus : “ Happiness is the condition
of an intelligent being in the world, to whom, in the whole of
his existence, everything happens according to will and wish; and
it rests, consequently, on the accordance of nature with his whole
aims, by implication with the essential determining motives of his
will.” (Kritik. d. Prakt. Vern., b. ii., chap, ii., sect. 5 ; vol. viii.,
p. 264, of his collected works.)
“ Actual or formal felicity,” says Leighton, “ is the full posses¬
sion and enjoyment of that complete and chief good [that, namely,
which most perfectly supplies all the wants and satisfies all the
cravings of our rational appetites]. It consists in a perfect tran-
HAPPINESS.
quillity of the mind; not a dull and stupified indolence, like the
calm that reigns in the Dead Sea, but such a peace of mind as is
lively, active, and constantly attended with the purest joy; not a
mere absence of uneasiness and pain, but such a perfect ease as is
constantly accompanied with the most perfect satisfaction and
supreme delight; and if the term had not been degraded by the
mean uses to which it has been prostituted, I should not scruple to
call it pleasure.” (Theological Lectures, p. 18, Eng. tr., Lond. 1763.)
2. To aim at the attainment of happiness is inseparable
from the constitution of man, or, indeed, of any intelligent
agent; for it would be absurd to suppose a being, capable
of happiness and endued with intelligence, who should be
indifferent whether he was happy or not. Hence, as the
schoolmen were wont to say, “ in beatitudinem fertur vo¬
luntas, non ut voluntas sed ut natura,”—the will is borne
towards happiness, not as will, but as nature. Happiness is,
indeed, as Pope calls it, “ our being’s end and aim,”—
“ That something still which prompts tho eternal sigh,
For which we bear to live, or dare to die.”4
1 See Ames, Be Conscientia et ejus jure vel casihus, Amst. 1630; Perkins, Cases of Conscience, 4to, Lond. 1635; Sanderson, Casus Con
ecientice, Cant. 1688; Taylor, Buctor Bubitantium, &c., fol., Lond. 1660; Kant’s Tugendlehre, &c. 3 System der Sittenlehre, pp. 371- .
3 VVeizsacker in Herzog’s Real-Encyclopddie. 4 Essa'J on Man> EP- iv-> L 3> 4‘
iappess. But though universally sought, happiness is not always or
—generally wisely sought by men. It is too often after a
“ confused manner,” as Barrow expresses it, that they pur¬
sue their quest; “ they rove through all the forest of crea¬
tures, and beat every bush of nature for it, hoping to catch
it either in natural endowments and improvements of soul,
or in the gifts of fortune, or in the acquists of industry,—in
temporal possessions, in sensual enjoyments, in ludicrous
divertisements and amusements of fancy, or in gratification
of their appetites and passions. They all hunt for it, though
following a different scent and running in various tracks;
.... but all search in vain, or without any considerable
success; finding at most, instead of it, some faint shadows
or transitory flashes of pleasure, the which, depending on
causes very contingent and mutable, residing in a frail
temper of fluid humours of body, consisting in slight touches
on the organs of sense, in frisks of the corporeal spirits, or
in fumes and vapours twitching the imagination, do soon
flag and expire ; their short enjoyment being also tempered
with regret, being easily dashed by any cross accident, soon
declining into a nauseous satiety, and in the end degenerat¬
ing into gall and bitter remorse.” 1 Besides being true to
the life, this passage suggests some of the causes, natural,
and resulting from acquired habits, by which men are mis¬
led in their pursuit of happiness, or prevented from attain¬
ing it2
3. The simple psychological law of happiness is, that
the conative energies of our nature should terminate on the
object to which they are directed. Thus happiness, so far
as dependent on the appetites, is secured by the gratifica¬
tion of these; and so in respect of all our desires and pas¬
sions, happiness, in so far as dependent on them, is secured
by the attainment of the object by which they are excited.
It is evident, however, that this psychological law will not
cover all the requirements of the case; for unless there be
some power to control and regulate our conative energies,
man may enlarge his desires so as to render the supply of
them impossible, or he may so fix his affections on un¬
worthy objects as to do violence to his own higher nature.
To this psychological law, therefore, must be added an
ethical one that shall prescribe the order in which the vari¬
ous objects of human affection are to be sought, and the
degree in which each is to be desired.
4. This ethical law may be presented under two forms:
either we may determine among things desirable that which
is most worthy of human pursuit, and enjoin upon man the
attainment of this as his supreme end, and of other objects
in the degree of their relative importance as compared with
this; or we may analyze man’s own nature, and making an
estimate of the relative value of each of its parts, exhort
him to cultivate and satisfy them, in the order and degree
of their relative value.
The former of these methods was that chiefly affected by
the ancient philosophers, whose ethical speculations termi¬
nated on the determination of the summum bonum or chief
good of man. Their success, however, was not such as to
prepossess us in favour of this method of prosecuting the
inquiry; for their researches plunged them in endless
diversity and controversy,3 and tended ultimately rather to
give a handle to the mockeries of the sceptic than to guide
the sincere inquirer. Besides, if happiness depend rather
on the mental condition of the individual than on the actual
attainment by him of any outward good, it would seem
altogether the more rational and hopeful course, in attempt-
573
ing to lay down rules for the attainment of happiness, to Happiness,
survey the subject in relation to man’s own tendencies and
capacities.
5. To man there may be said to belong two natures,—a
higher and a lower. Of these, the latter embraces his
animal functions, and tl\p appetites and desires pertaining
to these; and to the former belong his intellectual and
moral capacities, with the desires and affections connected
with them. In virtue of the one, man is connected with
the brutes that perish, however much he may surpass them
in excellence and beauty ; in virtue of the other, man
is assimilated to God, however far below Him in majesty
and perfection ; and hence there can be no doubt that the
one is properly denominated the higher, i.e., the more
dignified, the more important, the more precious; the other
the lowrer, that is, the less worthy and estimable. On this
distinction, then, would we erect the ethical law of happi¬
ness. It may be enunciated thus:—So live as to secure
primarily the full development and free activity of the
higher powers, tendencies, and desires of your nature, and let
the lower be attended to, ever as in subordination to these.
But in the higher nature of man there are also degrees.
Embracing as it does the moral and intellectual being of
man, it contemplates him as a creature made for religion,
for virtue, and for intelligence. Now these do not stand on
the same level either in dignity or worth. However pre¬
cious be intelligence, it is not equal to virtue ; and virtue,
which falls short of religion, fails to provide for man’s
loftiest susceptibilities and most weighty interests. The
order, then, in which these claim the attention of man is
that in which we have named them. Religion occupies
the highest place, and demands his supreme attention;
virtue next; and knowledge, as subordinate to these.
6. When, then, religion and virtue predominate in
man’s nature, when his intellectual powers are exerted in
the pursuit of knowledge as in subordination to piety and
morality, and when all his animal propensities are kept
under the control of reason and conscience, he obeys the
great ethical law of happiness, and cannot fail to secure
that measure of it which is attainable in the present life,
and the fulness of it in that life which is to come.
7. If these remarks are just, it will not be difficult to
answer a question which sometimes has perplexed inquirers,
viz., In how far the pursuit of pleasure, as pleasure, is con¬
sistent with morality ? On this question it is possible for
the moralist to take much too high ground, and, by de¬
nouncing too vehemently and unqualifiedly all pleasure¬
seeking, to place his teachings in antagonism with the
natural constitution of man and the obvious will of God.
For man is made to seek pleasure as an end ; and it is to
be inferred that God wills it to be so, inasmuch as He has
bestowed upon us so many susceptibilities of pleasurable
enjoyment, has opened for us so many sources of pleasure,
and has impressed upon us so strong a tendency to seek
pleasure for its own sake. But there are limits to this
pursuit within which alone it can be legitimately indulged.
These limits are transgressed—]. When men make mere
enjoyment the sole or the supreme end of life ; when they
make nothing a study, nothing a duty, nothing a work,
but are solely or chiefly occupied in flying from amusement
to amusement; when, whether they are intellectually
amused or sensually amused, they find in the mere amuse¬
ment their end, and never rise beyond this in either case.
2. When men pursue pleasure to the neglect of duty;
MORAL PHILOSOPHY.
1 Barrow, Sermon xliii., Works by Hughes, vol. iii., p. 136.
9 Mr Stewart has treated, with his usual sagacity and at length, the same aspect of the subject in his Philosophy of the Active and Moral
Powers, vol. ii., p. 376, ff.
_ 3 Alii in animo, alii in corpore, alii in utroque fines bonorum posuerunt et malorum. Ex qua tripartita velut generalium distribu-
tione sectarum, M. Varro in libro de Philosophia tam multam dogmatum varietatem diligenter et subtiliter scrutatus advertit ut ad
ducentas octaginta et octo sectas, non quse jam essentsed quae esse possent, adhibens quasdem differentias facillime perveniret. (Augus¬
tine, De Civ. Dei, b. xix., c. i.
moral philosophy.
574
Happiness, whether the duty neglected be one owing to themselves,
such as temperance and moderation, or one owing to others,
such as equity and honesty, or one owing to God, such as
worship and obedience. 3. When men pursue pleasure so
as to enervate their intellectual faculties, to blunt their
moral susceptibilities, and to create a sensitiveness of the
nervous system or the aesthetic faculty which unfits for the
actual business of life. In all such cases pleasure is pur¬
sued immorally and to the permanent injury of the party ;
so that what our bountiful Creator gave us for a blessing is
perversely turned into a curse; and what was intended to
add to our happiness becomes a source of misery.
8. It only remains that we should advert to the question
touching the relation to each other of goodness and happi¬
ness as supreme ends of human effort. As man is boun
to both, they cannot be antagonistic to each other. But
how are they connected with each other ? Is the one to be
absorbed in the other, or are they distinct and independent
of each other ? ....
By the ancient philosophers, with whom this question was
one much discussed, the former of these positions was uni¬
versally maintained ; they differed only as to which of the
two was the superior and absorbing power. On this point
the Epicureans and the Stoics occupied the antipodal posi¬
tions ; the former of whom held that virtue was an acci¬
dental element of happiness, the latter that happiness was
an accidental element in virtue. “ To be consciously in¬
fluenced by maxims that lead to happiness is virtue,” ex¬
claimed the Epicureans. “ To be conscious of virtue is
happiness,” rejoined the Stoic. Kant, however, has shown1
that such a connection of the two is untenable ; that they
are so different in kind, that identity cannot be sought be¬
tween them. He maintains, further, that the connection
between them is not causal; for experience shows us that
neither is the desire for happiness a motive to virtue, nor
is virtue an immediate cause of happiness, otherwise all
virtuous persons would be happy in proportion to their
goodness. He would, therefore, keep the two distinct as
mdependent ends for man. There thus emerges what, in
the peculiar phraseology of his school, he calls “ the anti¬
nomy of the practical reason ;” i.e., not a case where two
assumptions contradict each other, so that if one of them be
true, the other must be false ; but a case in which two pro¬
positions are both known to be true, yet cannot be con¬
strued in their harmony to the mind. Man is bound to
pursue virtue; man cannot but pursue happiness; and
yet neither are these identical, nor does the one lead
directly to the other. This antinomy can be resolved only
by taking into account the whole extent of man s being
as destined for immortality, and spending now a proba¬
tionary life for the future ; and along with this his relation
to God, in whom perfect holiness and perfect happiness Happiness,
are eternally conjoined ; and who, having all things under
his control, not only can reward the obedience of his ser¬
vants here by a futurity of blessedness, but can make even
present sufferings and sorrows conducive to future felicity.
It is by living at peace with Him, through that reconcilia¬
tion which He graciously offers to us, and by constantly-
serving Him, that virtue and happiness are to be united.
Though we cannot directly command happiness, we shall
thus follow a course which shall secure for us, along with
the pleasure that springs from doing what is right, the
prospect of perfect felicity above, and the consolation amid
present ills which such a prospect, and the assurance that
these ills will themselves be made conducive to a higher
measure of felicity, cannot but communicate.
9. The conclusion at which we thus arrive is that in
which alone the mind can rest. If we confine our view to
the present state, it becomes impossible to show whether
happiness or virtue should be the supreme object of pursuit.
“ When disputing with my friend,” says Augustine, “ con¬
cerning the ends of good and bad, I would have given the
palm to Epicurus in my own mind, had it not been for
my belief in the soul’s life and the reach of deserts after
death.”2 The natural conclusion of the majority of men,
when the moral government of God and a future state
of rewards and punishments, consequent upon our conduct
in the present, is denied or overlooked, is that expressed by
the words, “ Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.”
On the other hand, to the cultivated few the beauty of
virtue, and the advantages of it, may appear such as to in¬
duce them to prefer it to all sensual indulgence; and they
may loudly and eloquently commend the same course to
others. But if, after all, the decision is to turn merely on
which course produces the largest amount of present en¬
joyment, the majority will still be on the side of pleasure;
and rightly, for if there be no futurity and no final retri¬
bution, a life of careless ease and sensual enjoyment is on
the whole to be preferred to one of self-denial, toil, and
struggle. It is only when the mind realizes man’s true
condition, as the subject of a moral government which is
administered on a scheme of rewards and punishments,
consequent on the desert of conduct, that the supreme im¬
portance of virtue and holiness is perceived ; and men are
disposed to count nothing a loss by which these are secured,
and nothing a gain by which they are forfeited or missed.
“ Si ergo quaeratur a nobis quid civitas Dei de his sin¬
gulis interrogata respondeat, ac primum de finibus bonorum
malorumque quid sentiat, respondebit aeternam vitam esse
summum bonum, aeternam vero mortem summum malum:
propter illam proinde adipiscendam, istamque vitandam recte
nobis esse vivendum.”3 (w.l.a.)
1 Kritik d. Prak. Vernunft, b. ii., c. ii., vol. viii., p. 246, ff., of his collected works.
3 Augustine, De Civ., Dei, b. six., c. iv.
2 Confeu., b. vi., c. xvi.
r
M O R
Monies MORALES, Ambrosio, a Spanish historian and anti¬
quary, was born at Cordova in 1513. After studying at the
Most in. university of Salamanca under his uncle Fernan Perez de
Oliva, he assumed the garb of the Dominicans at the age
of nineteen, and became a strict and zealous ecclesiastic.
At the same time his literary abilities were raising him to
notice. He was afterwards appointed a professor at Alcala,
and his learning as an antiquary procured for him in 1570
the office of historiographer to Philip II. It was at this
period, when he was sixty-seven years of age, that he began
to write his continuation of Ocampo’s Chronicle of Spain.
He had brought down the narrative as far as the union
of the crowns of Castile and Leon, when he died in 1591.
The best edition of Morales’ Chronicle is that of Madrid,
6 vols. 4to, 1791. To this are generally added his Spanish
Antiquities, 2 vols., 1792, and his miscellaneous works,
3 vols., 1793.
Morales, Luis, surnamed El Divino, from his character
as a painter of sacred subjects, was born at Badajos in 1509.
He made himself a proficient in his art by visiting the prin¬
cipal cities in Spain, and studying carefully the works of the
different masters. His pictures of the “Saviour” and of
“Magdalene” became especially famous for their faithful
representation of intense bodily suffering blended with
serene meekness. Morales was dragging out his old age in
severe poverty, when Philip II., passing through Badajos
in 1581, sought him out, and conferred upon him a pension
of 300 ducats. He died at his native city in 1586. The
masterpiece of Morales is his picture of “ St Veronica,” in
the church of the Bare-footed Trinitarians in Madrid.
MORANO, a town of Naples, in the province of Cala¬
bria Citra, picturesquely situated on a conical hill on the
western slope of Monte Polino, 5 miles W.N.W. of Castro-
villari. The summit of the hill is occupied by an ancient
Gothic castle; and the town has some manufactures of silk
and woollen stuffs. Pop. 8352.
MORAT (Germ. Murteri), a town and lake of Swit¬
zerland, in the canton of Fribourg. The town, which is
situated on the eastern shore of the lake, stands on a rocky
eminence surmounted by an ancient castle. The lake is
about 5 miles in length by 3 in breadth, and is 60 fathoms
in depth. It discharges its waters by the River Broye into
the Lake of Neuchatel. This place is celebrated as the
scene of the victory gained by the Swiss in 1476 over
the troops of Charles, Duke of Burgundy, in which the
latter lost 15,000 on the field of battle, besides many others
drowned in the lake. The bones of the dead remained for
three centuries piled up in a building called an ossuary;
but this was destroyed, and most of the bones carried away,
in 1798, by the soldiers in the Burgundian legion of the
French army. The few bones that remained were buried,
and an obelisk raised over them on the spot where the
ossuary formerly stood.
MORATIN, Leandro Fernandez, a celebrated Span¬
ish dramatist, was the son of the poet Nicolas Fernandez
Moratin, and was born at Madrid on the 10th March 1760.
Under the tuition of his father he evinced a strong devo¬
tion to poetry and painting; but it was thought a part of
parental duty to divert his thoughts from such profitless
aspirations towards some lucrative calling. He was there¬
fore apprenticed at an early age to a jeweller. His poetical
studies, however, were continued; and at the age of eighteen
he appeared before tbe world as the gainer of the second
prize awarded by the Spanish Academy for a heroic poem
on the conquest of Granada. The winning of another prize
in 1782 for a satire against poetasters, entitled Leccidn
Poetica, encouraged him to abandon his trade, and to hope
lor some more congenial calling. At the recommendation
of the famous statesman Jovellanos, he was appointed secre¬
tary to Cabarrus in 1786. Attending his master in the
following year at the court of Versailles, he acquired that
M o li 575
intimacy with the French drama which formed so important
an element in his dramatic education. On his return to
Spain in 1789, the minister, Florida Blanca, presented him
with a benefice in the archbishopric of Burgos, and Moratin
had only to take the tonsure to become the occupant of a
sinecure of 300 ducats annually. Thus fortified against
all pecuniary anxiety, he turned with enthusiasm to the
prosecution of the drama. His first comedy, El Viejo y la
Nina, was produced on the stage in 1790. Strongly marked
with that regularity of plan, liveliness of dialogue, and ele¬
gance of style which afterwards became the chief basis of
Moratin’s fame, it called forth great applause. His El
Cafe, or La Comedia Nueva, acted in 1792, was equally
successful, and may be said to have completed that refor¬
mation of the Spanish theatre which had been begun sixty
years before. In the same year Florida Blanca was dis¬
graced ; but Moratin immediately found another patron in
Godoy, who bestowed upon him a pension of 600 ducats,
and even supplied him with money to gratify his desire for
foreign travel. He accordingly visited in succession Eng¬
land, Holland, Flanders, Germany, and Italy, studying the
dramatic literature of each of these countries, and extending
his knowledge of men and manners. On his return he
began to translate the Hamlet of Shakspeare, the Medecin
Malgre lui and the Ecole des Maris of Moliere. His most
popular comedy, El Si de las Ninas, appeared in 1806.
It was acted to crowded houses for twenty successive nights,
ran through four editions in one year, and was afterwards
translated into many languages. Moratin was now in the
noonday of his prosperity. He was among the wealthiest
of poets; he was a frequent guest in the mansions of the
great, and he could retire at pleasure to indulge his
aesthetic tastes in a luxurious country retreat. In 1808,
however, his good fortune began to wane. His patrons
were forced to flee before the French invasion, and relin¬
quish the throne of Spain to Joseph Bonaparte. It was in
vain that Moratin bartered his patriotism for the continua¬
tion of his pensions, that he temporized with the invaders,
and that he allowed himself to be appointed chief librarian
to the usurper. He saw himself compelled in 1812 to
abandon the sinking fortunes of the French, and to take
refuge in the camp of the patriots. He was received with
cold distrust, his private property was sequestered, and his
revenues and pensions were withheld. Even after he had
been pardoned and restored to his privileges by Ferdinand
VII. in 1814, his dread of official assassins would give him
no rest until he had crossed the Pyrenees, and had taken
up his abode at Paris. In 1821 Bordeaux became his
settled residence; and there his learned work, Origenes del
Tedtro Espahol, was elaborated. He returned to the
French capital in 1827, and died there in June of the fol¬
lowing year. Moratin also wrote the three dramas of El
Baron, La Lugarena orgullosa, and La Mogigdta, and
several lyric poems. There are several editions both of his
lyrical and of his dramatic works.
Moratin, Nicolas Fernandez, an eminent Spanish poet,
was descended from an old Biscayan family, and was born
at Madrid in 1737. He became at an early age a convert
to the opinions of those who were attempting to drive the
romantic drama off the Spanish stage. His friendship with
Montiano, a cultivator of the classical tragedy, confirmed
his zeal; and his earliest efforts were devoted to the cause
of theatrical reform. In 1762 he published a comedy, La
Petimetra, written in accordance with French models, and
three discourses against the old drama and the Autos Sac-
ramentales. The comedy did not succeed. The discourses
were so far successful, that the Autos were condemned
by a royal edict in July 1765. His ultimate measure in
behalf of the reformation of the drama was taken in 1770,
when he produced on the stage his tragedy of Hormesinda,
written in entire obedience to the canons which governed
Moratin.
M 0 R
Corneille and Racine. It was received with favour. Mean¬
while Moratin had been displaying his finish of diction and
his harmony of versification to greater advantage in several
poetical works. He had published in 1764 a collection of
short pieces, under the title of El Poeta, and in the follow¬
ing year a diadactic poem on the chase, entitled Diana.
In 1765 had appeared his greatest work, the spirited histo¬
rical epic styled Las Naves de Cortes Destruidas. Although
intimate with several of the chief courtiers, Moratin dis¬
dained to cringe for promotion by hanging on the skirts of
some great man. He chose rather to live in retirement,
and to drudge at the uncongenial pursuit of law for the sup¬
port of his wife and son. At length his appointment to
succeed Ayala in the chair of poetry in the Imperial Col¬
lege placed him in his proper sphere. He directed his
professorial instructions to that life-long aim of his, the im¬
provement of the taste of his fellow-countrymen. To
further the same project, he gathered around him the prin¬
cipal literary men of the capital. A club was formed, and
met regularly in the “Fonda de San Sebastian,” to discuss
contemporaneous literature, both native and foreign ; and,
above all, to devise methods for reviving the decaying spirit
of the country. Moratin died in 1780. A collection of
his poems, with a Life, was published at Barcelona in 1821
by his son, the dramatic poet Leandro Fernandez Moratin.
He was also the author of several prose works.
MORAVA, the principal river of Servia, formed by the
confluence of the East and West Morava, about 30 miles
W. of Nissa. The united stream flows northwards to the
Danube, into which it falls at Kullica, 6 miles N.E. of Se-
mendria, after a course of 115 miles, and the upper branches
are each about 150 miles in length.
MORAVIA. See Austria.
MORAVIANS. See Bohemian Brethren.
MORAY or Elginshire, a maritime county of Scot¬
land, on the Moray Firth, bounded N. by the same, W. by
Nairnshire, S.W. by Inverness-shire, part of which severs
it into two parts, and S.E. and E. by Banffshire. The northern
portion of it, lying between Inverness-shire and the sea, is
26 miles in length by 23 miles in breadth; the southern
portion, inclosed by Inverness-shire, 14 miles long by 12
miles in breadth; while both together have an area of
340,000 statute acres. In its physical aspects Morayshire
presents the characteristics of the Lowlands as well as those
of the Highlands of Scotland. The former constitute the
maritime section of the county, and the latter the interior.
A light, gravelly soil, resting on a Devonian bottom, cha¬
racterizes the surface of the maritime portion of the county,
extending from 4 to 6 miles from the sea-coast. Undula¬
tions spread through this district, and in the parishes of
Duffus and Elgin become hills of slight elevation. South¬
ward, in the interior, the land becomes always more and
more mountainous, until, on the borders of Inverness-shire
and Banffshire, it attains a very considerable elevation.
The geologic system of this, the highland section, is pri-
marv, with here and there strata of mountain limestone.
Gneiss is the most prevalent rock among the hills, but
it frequently approaches to granite in its structure, espe¬
cially on the borders of Banff and Inverness shires. The
climate of the county is generally considered healthy. On
the coast, where the soil is gravelly, and consequently of a
dry nature, the temperature is mild; but on the uplands it
is more changeable and more subject to extremes. W esterly
winds prevail in Morayshire for nearly three-fourths of the
year ; but most of the heavy gales that visit this county are
irom the N. or N.W. Easterly winds, however, are pre¬
valent in spring, to the great injury of vegetation. The
annual fall of rain upon the N.E. part, near Speymouth, is
stated to be little more than 25 inches, and the mean tem¬
perature of the year to range from 45° to 50°. In the hilly
region, however, the winter is long and often severe, and
M 0 R.
the harvesting is generally late in being brought to a close.
Moray, however, has the other advantages of an extended
sea-coast, and large rivers traversing its valleys. The
former stretches for about 30 miles along the Moray Firth,
from the mouth of the Spey to beyond the Findhorn. It
presents to the sea several bold headlands, such as Burgh
and Stotefield Heads, and has likewise considerable inlets
at the mouths of the Findhorn and Spey rivers. The
harbours on the coast are, however, few and insecure. The
principal streams of Morayshire are the Spey, on its eastern
boundary; the Findhorn, on the W.; and the Lossie, in the
centre of the county. The first of these rises from Loch
Spey in Inverness-shire, and has about one-half its entire
course in that county, after which it enters Moray at To-
machrochri. It then bounds the parish of Abernethy on
the W. for about 3 miles, and afterwards separates it from
the parish of Duthil. After traversing the detached part
of Inverness-shire, the Spey again enters Morayshire, and
forms its boundary on Banffshire for the greater part of its
course downwards. The stream at last reaches the sea,
below the town of Speymouth, by means of a wide mouth
studded with islands, after a course of about 110 miles. It
has a very rapid and tortuous course; and, after the Tay,
discharges the largest volume of water of any stream in
Scotland. No part of it is navigable, but it is much used for
floating down timber. From the great bends in its course,
together with the rapidity of its flow, the strath or valley
has been long subject to very destructive inundations. The
scenery on the banks of this river is frequently of a highly
picturesque character. The Findhorn, which enters Moray
on the west, is next in importance to the Spey. Rising
among the mountains of Badenoch, it takes its meandering
course north-eastwards through Inverness, and entering
Nairnshire a little above Balknockan, traverses that county
in the same direction. It enters Moray at Kilmoney, when
it gradually turns to the N., and after receiving the waters
of the Dorbas and other smaller tributaries, falls into Loch
Findhorn, an inlet of the sea. Its total course is about 50
miles, for 10 of which it flows through Moray, but its waters
are not navigable. Valuable salmon-fisheries pertain to the
stream. Like the Spey, it is noted for sudden and destruc¬
tive inundations. The “ Moray floods” of 1829 were caused
by a great outbreak of the Findorn. The only other river
worthy of mention is the Lossie, which, rising from a loch
of the same name, traverses the centre of the county by an
irregular N. by E. course, receives the Lochty on its left,
and, after passing the town of Elgin, empties itself into the
Moray Firth after a course of 25 miles, all within this
county. The surface of Morayshire is otherwise diversified
by several small lakes. In regard to its soil and agricul¬
ture this county may be divided into the maritime or low¬
land and the highland districts. Of the first, the soil is open
and well suited for both wheat and oats. The highlands,
on the other hand, are, with the exception of some parts ot
the valleys, exclusively devoted to pasture, especially for
sheep. The breeds that are fed on the hills are mostly
Cheviots and black-faced, while crosses with the Leicester¬
shire and South Downs are generally confined to the low¬
lands. Most of the cattle are crosses between the native
breed and those of Teeswater or Aberdeenshire. The
great stimulus given to the agricultural interest in the pro¬
duction of stock, corn, and other commodities for the me¬
tropolitan markets, by the ready communication obtained
either by sea or railway, has been the cause ot many im¬
provements in farming, as well as of a steady rise in t e
price of land. In 1857 there were 82,401 acres in the
county under rotation of crops, against 80,413 acres in the
preceding year ; and the following statistics for the 5 ear
1857 give the acreages as returned:—Ihere weie in t lat
year 28,560 acres under grass and hay, 17,213 under
oats, 12,737 turnips, 9522 barley, 8749 wheat, 3190 po-
M O R
Man. tatoes, 776 rye, 481 here, 409 tares, and 284 under
j bare or summer fallow. Of live stock in the same year
there was an aggregate of 88,916, against 90,982 in the
preceding year. In 1857 the following were tne specified
numbers :—56,336 sheep, 23,231 cattle, 5024 horses, and
4325 swine. The number of occupants of arable lands
was in the same year 1146, or 1 to every 72 acres of arable
farmage. In 1856 the valuation of the county (excepting
the two burghs) amounted to L.116,851, against L.113,954
in 1855, and L.62,312 in 1811. Morayshire is not rich
in mineral resources; excellent sandstone, however, and
limestone are to be had in the county, which latter is
shipped in considerable quantities. Peat is plentiful among
the hills, and is much used for fuel. Large plantations of
fir, larch, and other trees, supply the county with plenty of
timber, which is generally floated down the streams in rafts.
The manufactures are insignificant, and consist chiefly of
beer, whisky, woollens, and ropes. The Great North of
Scotland Railroad traverses the lowland part of the county,
and sends off a branch line from Elgin to Lossiemouth on
the coast. Regular communication with the south is also
kept up by means of steam-packets. Moray unites with
Nairnshire in returning a member to Parliament. It be¬
longs to the northern circuit, and the assizes are held in
Aberdeen. Ecclesiastically the county pertains to the
synod of Moray; and in 1851 it contained 62 churches,
with 28,293 sittings. Of the former, 24 belonged to the
Established, 20 to the Free, 8 to the United Presbyterian, 4
to the Independent, and 2 each to the Episcopal, Baptist, and
Roman Catholic denominations. For educational purposes
there are 65 public schools and 31 private seminaries. The
county shares with those of Banff and Aberdeen in the
Dick Bequest, left for the purpose of increasing the salaries
of teachers in these three counties. The number of poor
relieved in the year ending May 14, 1856, was 1472, out of
a population of 39,494 (in 1851) ; and the total amount col¬
lected for this purpose was, in the same year, L.8904,
against L.8659 expended. The present Morayshire for¬
merly occupied the middle district of the old county of
Moray. Its earliest reliable history commences with the
invasion of its territory by the Danes in 1008, when Mal¬
colm II. of Scotland marched against them, but was de¬
feated near Forres. They afterwards brought over their
wives and children, and established a settlement here ; but
their possession of the country was disturbed by defeats
which they sustained on three different occasions at the
hands of the Scots, who ultimately forced them to leave the
country. Moray was then incorporated in the kingdom of
Scotland. There are many antiquities in this county, one
of the principal of which is Pluscardine Abbey church, on
the Lossie, near Elgin, a fine cruciform edifice, with a square
tower of hewn stone. It was founded in 1230 by Alex¬
ander II., and bestowed upon the monks of Valles Cau-
lium, a reformed order of Cistercians. Darnaway Castle,
in the parish of Dyke and Moy, is likewise a building of
great antiquity, and has been the seat of the Earls of
Moray, of the Randolph, Douglas, and Stuart families. Be¬
sides other interesting reliques, some remains of Danish
monuments and fortifications are still extant. Of the for¬
mer, the most remarkable is Sweno’s Stone, near Forres, a
large slab covered with representations of beasts, &c., 23 feet
in height by about 4 in width, and said to reach into the
ground for more than 10 feet. The aggregate population
of the whole county was, in 1821,31,398; in 1831,34,498;
in 1841. 35,012 ; and in 1851, 38,959. Of the last, 20,768
were females, and 18,191 males. Of towns containing more
than 2000 inhabitants there were only two here in 1851,—
viz., Elgin, the capital (6337), and Forres (3468), both of
which are parliamentary and municipal burghs.
MORBIHAN, a department in the W. of France,
bounded on the N. by that of C6tes-du-Nord, E. by Ille-
VOL. XV. /
m o R
577
et-Vilaine, S. by Loire-Inferieure and the Bay of Biscay, Morbihan.
and W. by Finistere. It lies between 47. 27. and 48. 15.
N. Lat., and 2.1. and 3. 38. W. Long.; and its length from
E. to W. is 72 miles, by 52 in extreme breadth. Area, 3627
square miles. The coast is very much indented, and con¬
tains one remarkable inlet called the Morbihan, from which
the department takes its name. The entrance is narrow,
but it spreads out to a large extent inland, and contains
numerous islands. To the west of the entrance of the Mor¬
bihan is the peninsula of Quiberon, extending southwards
into the sea for 10 miles, and connected with the mainland
by a narrow isthmus, which is covered with water at the
highest tides. The bay to the east affords excellent an¬
chorage, and is capable of containing a large number of
vessels. It is protected by a fort built on the peninsula.
Several islands lie off the coast of the department, the
largest of which is Belle-Isle, to the south of Quiberon.
The surface of Morbihan is rugged and hilly. In the north
there is a range of hills covered with barren moors and
heaths; but in the lower grounds there are many fertile
valleys. The soil is not deep, except near the coast. The
rocks of the department belong principally to the primary
formation, but in some places stratified and crystalline de¬
posits occur. There are numerous rivers, but none of any
great size : they flow generally from N. to S., and some are
navigable for a short distance from their mouth. The most
important are,—the Blavet, Oust, Auray, and Vilaine. Mor¬
bihan is traversed by two canals, one of which follows the
course of the Blavet; the other, connecting Nantes with
Brest, crosses the department from S.E. to N.W. The
climate is mild, but foggy; and the principal wind is from
the S.W. Agriculture is not in a very advanced state,
and the cultivated land is comparatively small in extent,
amounting to about 666,500 acres. The pasture land
occupies 170,637 acres; woods,88,372 acres; and the moors
and heaths, 720,415 acres. The department produces corn
in greater quantity than is necessary for the supply of the
inhabitants, so that a considerable part is exported. Rye
and buckwheat are the kinds principally grown. Maize,
potatoes, hemp, flax, and apples for cider, are also among
the productions of Morbihan. It is further estimated to
contain 295,000 horned cattle, 255,000 sheep, 10,000 goats,
60,000 swine, and 42,000 horses. Bees are kept in large
numbers, and produce a very excellent quality of honey.
The department contains iron and tin mines, which are
worked to a considerable extent, besides quarries of granite
and other building stones, slates, clay, &c., and salt-pans at
various places on the coast. The manufactures of Morbi¬
han consist chiefly of iron, linen, cloth, leather, paper, and
porcelain. Ship-building is carried on to a great extent,
especially at Lorient, where many of the best men-of-war
in the French navy are constructed. The fisheries, espe¬
cially of sardines, in which branch alone 500 boats are en¬
gaged, give employment to a large number of the inha¬
bitants of the coast, and yield annually more than L.60,000.
The principal articles exported are horses, cattle, corn, rye
bread, honey, wax, fish, salt meat, &c. Morbihan is divided
into four arrondissements, as follows:—
Cantons. Communes. Population (1851).
Vannes  11 74 132,171
Pontivy  7 45 105,984
Lorient.,  11 49 148,779
Ploermel  8 61 91,238
37 229 478,172
In 1856, however, the department contained 234 com¬
munes and 473,932 inhabitants. The capital is Vannes ;
but the most populous town is Lorient, which has nearly
twice as many inhabitants. The people of Morbihan, like
those of the other parts of Brittany, are of Celtic origin,
and speak a language similar to the Welsh and Cornish
dialects of our island, which have the same origin. They
4 D
578 ■ M O R
Morcelli are very much behind the rest of the French in civiliza-
I tion, and preserve almost unchanged the dress, manners,
M or daunt anj superstitions of their ancestors. Morbihan forms the
bishopric of Vannes, and has two tribunals of commerce at
Yannes and Lorient.
MORCELLI, Stepano Antonio, a learned antiquary,
was born at Chiari in 1737. While attending school at the
neighbouring city of Brescia he attracted the notice of the
Jesuits, was drawn by them within their society, and was
sent to study at Rome. The chair of eloquence in that city
was conferred upon him in 1771. In this situation he con¬
tinued zealously to advance the cause of learning, both by
his teaching and by his works on antiquarian subjects, until
the suppression of his order in 1773. He was then re¬
ceived into the house of Cardinal Albani, where, in the
magnificent library of his patron, he passed several years of
literary leisure, composing his chief work, De Stilo Inscrip-
tionum Latinarum, Libri III. It was published at Rome
in 1780. In 1791 Morcelli was recalled to Chiari to be
provost of the chapter. The rest of his life was charac¬
terized throughout by self-denying benevolence. He re¬
fused the archbishopric of Ragusa, through a desire to end
his days in his native town. He founded and endowed an
institution for the education of young females, restored the
schools, repaired the churches and other public edifices, and
presented his library to his fellow-citizens. His death took
place in 1821. Some of Morcelli’s other works are,—In-
scriptiones Commentariis Subjectis, 4to, Rome, 1783 ;
Kalendarium Ecclesice Constantinopolitance, 2 vols. 4to,
Rome, 1788; and Africa Christiana, 3 vols. 4to, Brescia,
1816.
MORCONE, a town of Naples, province of Molise, is
situated on a hill 15 miles S.S.W. of Campobasso. It has
a fort, and is surrounded by walls. The manufacture of
woollen stuffs is carried on here. Pop. 5000.
MORDAUNT, Charles, Earl of Peterborough and
Monmouth, celebrated for his extraordinary exploits both
by sea and land, was the son of John, Lord Mordaunt, Vis¬
count Avalon, and was born about the year 1658. He was
brought up at the profligate court of Charles II., where he
learned early to advocate scepticism and play the libertine.
Sated with court pleasures and longing for adventure, he
joined Sir John Narborough’s fleet in his seventeenth year,
and set out for the Mediterranean waters to strike a blow at
the Algerine corsairs who then preyed upon the industry of
the British trader. On the night of the 14th January 1675
he witnessed the destruction of the corsair ships in the har¬
bour of Tripoli, and fought gallantly by the side of Lieu¬
tenant Cloudsley Shovel, who had the command of that
daring expedition. On his return to England in 1677 he
succeeded to the titles and estates of his father, who had
died during his absence; and before he had attained to
man’s years he married a daughter of Sir Alexander Fraser
of Dotes in Kincardineshire. This marriage had not the
effect of improving his character: the quiet of domestic life
did not suit his temper; and his wild, restless spirit burned
for adventure either by flood or field. In 1678 we find him
once more engaged in some fierce scuffles with the Algerine
rovers; and during the following year he saw much hard
fighting at the siege of Tangier. He had no sooner re¬
turned to England than he entered Parliament, and as¬
sumed his first political position as a “ peer of the realm”
by offering a determined opposition to the royal proposal to
remove the Parliament to Oxford. From that hour he
employed all his influence to thwart the royal race, against
whom he had cherished a bitter hatred from his very boy¬
hood. He had qualities in him, moreover, which rendered
him a formidable opponent. He had already a reputation
as a daring soldier and a bold sailor, and was well known
to be an accomplished scholar and a ready wit. His mind
had ever been as active as his body. Whether he was
MCE
occupied in “ nayling up his hangings” on Sabbath, and Mordaunt
shocking the chaplain with his profanity while tossing about wL,
in the Bay of Biscay, or hotly engaged in boarding an
African rover in the Mediterranean, he never neglected to
snatch a quiet hour for reading and culture. Despite the
dark menace of Judge Jeffreys and his infamous supporters,
this enthusiastic young lord became an earnest partisan of
Lord Russell and Algernon Sidney. He stood by those noble
men to the last, and accompanied Sidney to the scaffold.
Yet these ennobling associations could not wean him from
indulging in occasional bursts of mad frolic and wild eccen¬
tricity. He delivered his first speech in Parliament on the
19th November 1685, in opposition to the keeping up of a
standing army. It was characterized by great power and
boldness, and was full of impetuous, fiery eloquence.
Among his friends it excited great hopes, and among his
enemies it rendered him a marked man.
His prodigal generosity, combined with a limited income,
had led him into pecuniary embarrassments, and he resolved
to seek that employment abroad which was denied him at
home. He had a hearty hatred of Popery and despotism;
and in 1686 he quitted England for Holland, then the home
of liberty and Protestantism. After vainly urging the Prince
of Orange to an immediate invasion of England, he took up
his abode in Holland, and remained there till the Revolu¬
tion. Here he formed an intimate friendship with John
Locke, who was then meditating his great Essay in exile.
Mordaunt accompanied the Prince to England in 1688,
received a lieutenant-colonelcy, and did good service dur¬
ing that critical period. On the 9th of April 1689 he was
made first commissioner of the Treasury, and on the day
following was created Earl of Monmouth. He stood by his
royal patron in his signal defeat in the matter of the Test
Act; but many months had not elapsed before he became
jealous of his Majesty, and assumed a position of hostility
which cost him his office. Monmouth formed one of the
council of nine appointed by the King to aid Queen Mary
in directing public affairs during the absence of her royal
husband in Ireland. <£ The nine kings,” disliked and sus¬
pected each other, and Monmouth strove sedulously to
damage his fellow-councillors in the eyes of the Queen.
He was accused of writing the notorious lemon letters, and
intrigued hard for the sole command of the fleet. The
restless ambition and immoderate vanity of the man here,
as elsewhere, proved his greatest snares. He was obviously
getting tired not only of the existing government, but of
the royal family itself. The campaign of 1691 gave scope
to his activity; and after serving with distinction on the
Continent at the head of his regiment, the Royal Horse
Guards, he returned to England and went into retirement.
Here he sought the society of men of letters, cultivated
his mind and his garden, made a boast of his immoralities,
and sneered at religion. His Majesty did not seem dis¬
posed to recall him to power, and the Earl’s growing dis¬
like to royalty continued. In 1696 he got involved in
Fenwick’s plot, which deprived him of all his employments,
and sent him to the Tower. Here “ he was as violent as
a falcon just cagedbut William, with his accustomed
leniency, gave early orders for his release. In the midst
of his disgrace he found that he had inherited the earldom
of his house ; and with an undaunted front and character¬
istic energy, he resolved to atone for the tarnished scutcheon
of Monmouth by adding fresh lustre to that of Peter¬
borough. The way was not yet clear before him, however,
and he found time to visit the pious Fenelon. On coming
away, the sceptic remarked, “ If I stay here another week,
I shall be a Christian in spite of myself.” The King died
in 1702; and Marlborough had no sooner come into power
under Queen Anne, than Peterborough, with his graceful
flattery and brilliant wit, was by the side of Lady Marl¬
borough, and had already conquered her dislike, and won
M 0 R
IT dannt. her esteem. The war of the Spanish succession had now
W ' to be engaged in, and the Low Countries and Spain were
the chosen battlefields for the arms of England. Marl¬
borough reaped fame and fortune on the one, Peterborough
amazed all Europe on the other.
Early in 1705 an English fleet and army were equipped
for the Mediterranean shores of Spain, and Peterborough
was named commander of the troops, and joint commander
of the fleet with his old fellow-soldier, Sir Cloudsley Shovel,
who long years ago had fought by his side in that fiery
midnight exploit among the corsairs of Tripoli. The ge¬
nerous Earl well nigh beggared himself in fitting out his
raw and undisciplined army of 5000 men. After much
fruitless manoeuvring on the Spanish coasts, he at last be¬
sieged Barcelona, and by a series of dexterous movements,
characterized by unparalleled boldness and transcendant
military skill, he succeeded in making the city his own.
Having left King Charles III. to the protection of his Ca¬
talan subjects, Peterborough turned his attention to the
reduction of Valencia and Catalonia. This, with the means
at his disposal, would have appeared to any other man an
absolutely hopeless undertaking. Before him lay an enemy
many thousands strong and well disciplined, commanded
by able officers and secured by strong positions ; while he,
instead of an army, had only a small escort, imperfectly
equipped, and in a hostile country beset with incredible
difficulties. Against such fearful odds this audacious gene¬
ral, with his gallant little band, undertook to reduce the
Spanish Peninsula, and commenced one of the most extra¬
ordinary campaigns to be found in the annals of warfare.
What he could not effect by material strength and valour,
he resolved to accomplish by superior sagacity, and, if need
were, by the most unblushing deceit. He magnified his
numbers by every fanciful artifice, circulated the most men¬
dacious intelligence respecting his strength and movements,
scoured the sierras with the most incredible swiftness, and
swept down upon the affrighted foe with the speed and
nimbleness of a falcon. He frightened his enemies by the
incomprehensible mystery which the rapidity of his move¬
ments cast over all he did. All their calculations were at
fault: ordinary military skill was of no avail against this
wild reckless adventurer, whose very folly proved wiser
than the concentrated wisdom of the enemy’s council. The
most successful exploits were not unfrequently achieved
“ without money and without men while his opponents,
many thousands strong, with all Spain at their back, could
not succeed in keeping him out of their strongest cities.
“ A skeleton in outward figure,” as Swift says of him, he
was capable of the most incredible physical endurance,
and seldom indulged in a moment’s rest, except when the
dark-eyed senoras of Spain lured him for a short hour from
his prey. His military daring, his gallantry to the fair sex,
and his courtesy to the priesthood, made him a universal
favourite with the Spaniards. If they showed resistance,
he made them quail by the very wind of his stroke; and
once within their gates, he put up his sword, and won the
rest by the smoothness of his tongue and the light of his
eyes. He relieved Barcelona when greatly harassed by the
French by sea and land, and drove the Duke of Anjou out
of Spain, with his 25,000 Frenchmen at his back. He soon
gained possession of Catalonia, of the kingdoms of Valen¬
cia and Aragon, with part of Murcia and Castile, and had
prepared the way for Charles making a safe entry into
Madrid, which would in all probability have put an end
to the campaign, and have secured him his throne. His
Majesty, however, put more confidence in his dull German
advisers than in the brilliant Earl, who, it must be said,
was less obsequious to royalty than those jealous and stupid
councillors from beyond the Rhine. Peterborough, who
saw that this silliness would cost Charles his kingdom, and
undo all that had been already achieved, urged with un-
M o R 579
common patience and devotion the necessity of pursuing Mordee
an opposite course. But it proved of no avail. The Earl’s Bay
immoderate vanity had combined with his success in making 0
him be heartily hated by the mean and incompetent; and
the foulest lies regarding his conduct had found their way . /
to the ears of his royal mistress in England. Dissensions
at length arose among the allied generals. Lord Galway
claimed the sole command of the armies in Spain ; Stan¬
hope insisted upon offensive measures, Peterborough on
defensive; and the disastrous battle of Almanza subse
quently proved that the latter was right. Peterborough’s
counsel was neglected, however, and the prince for whom
he had well nigh won a crown, treated him with careless
ingratitude. The proud warrior turned his back on the land
of his romantic career, and with bitterness in his heart, and
a “God preserve any country from the best of German minis¬
ters” on his lips, he embarked at Valencia on the 14th May
1706, and bade adieu to Spain. He made his way for
Turin, where he remained for some time; but his recall
being urgently repeated, he returned to England on the
20th August 1707. Public opinion ran high in his favour on
his arrival. Anonymous authors penned extravagant pam¬
phlets in eulogy of him, grave pulpits sounded his praises,
and Swift wrote quaint doggrels in honour of “ the rambling-
est lying rogue on earth.” The House of Lords, after much
jealousy and a great parade of ceremony, condescended pub¬
licly to thank him for his “ wonderful and amazing success.”
The war, which enriched Marlborough, well nigh beggared
Peterborough. The latter hated the Whigs almost as
heartily as he did the Tories; and it was considered a
great relief to get him despatched for a time to the court
of Vienna on some piece of imaginary diplomacy. On his
return to London he retired to his residence at Parson’s
Green, where he gathered round him the leading wits of
the day, and gave many “ a jovial supper,” cooked by his
own hands, to Pope, Prior, Lewis, Gay, Friend, and the gruff
Dean of St Patrick’s, who “ loved the hang-dog dearly.”
In 1709, and a very short time after the death of his two
brilliant sons, Peterborough lost his wife, “ a lady of admir¬
able wit and judgment,” whom he seems to have neglected
much more than was meet. After her death he consoled him¬
self for his loss by marrying Anastasia Robinson, a sweet
dramatic singer of unblemished reputation, who cherished his
declining years with much care. To vary the monotony of
married life, he engaged in a sort of Platonic correspond¬
ence with Mrs Howard, the mistress of George II., and
afterwards Countess of Suffolk, which is still preserved, and
is full of much solemn nonsense and lamentably poor verses.
His iron constitution had for some time been rapidly giv¬
ing way, and having undertaken a voyage to Lisbon for the
benefit of his health, he died on reaching that city on the
25th of October 1735.
The character of Peterborough, with all its faults and
excellences, has not had justice done it. Samuel Johnson
said of him once, “ he is a favourite of mine, and is not
enough known ; his character has been only ventilated in
party pamphlets.” Sir Walter Scott seems also to have
taken an interest in his history, as it is known that he was
engaged on a Life of the Earl, which he never lived to
complete. A highly interesting Memoir of Charles Mor-
daunt, Earl of Peterborough and Monmouth, with selec¬
tions from his Correspondence, 2 vols., appeared in 1853,
from the pen of Eliot Warburton.
MORDEE BAY, on the east coast of the island of
Bombay, in Hindustan. The site having been pointed out
as an eligible locality for the terminus of the Bombay Rail¬
way, a project has been sanctioned for its reclamation from
the sea. Lat. 18. 56., Long. 72. 54.
MORE, Sir Anthony. See Moro, Attoni.
More, Hannah, an eminent writer of religious and moral
works, was born in 1745 at Stapleton in Gloucestershire,
580 M O R
More, where her father held the humble situation of village school-
v annah,/ master. Being afterwards appointed to the parochial school
of St Mary Redcliff at Bristol, his daughter gained the inti¬
macy and patronage of Dr Stonehouse, who enabled her to
set on foot a flourishing school for boarders and day pupils,
which continued to be conducted with great success by her
sisters. Her first literary efforts were some poetical pieces,
and amongst them was a pastoral drama. Manuscript
copies of these effusions were seen and admired by several
persons of literary taste and discrimination at Bristol, who
strongly recommended their publication. They accordingly
appeared; and the drama, which was entitled the Search
after Happiness, soon became very popular. This flattering
reception induced the author to try her strength in the
highest walk of dramatic poetry; and she successively
brought upon the stage her tragedies of the Inflexible
Captive, Percy, and the Fatal Falsehood. Garrick was
warmly attached to her ; and it was owing in no small de¬
gree to the talents of that distinguished player that the
second of these compositions was enacted at Drury Lane
during fourteen successive nights. Soon after the produc¬
tion of her first tragedy she published two legendary
poems, entitled Sir Eldred of the Bower and the Bleeding
Rock, founded upon popular traditions current in Somerset¬
shire. These pieces had very great success, as had also her
volume of Essays for Young Ladies, which she afterwards
expunged from the edition of her works published in 1801,
on the ground that the book was superseded by her
Treatise on Female Education.
In 1782 Hannah More greatly added to her reputation
by the publication of a volume of Sacred Dramas, to
which was annexed a poem called Sensibility, much
commended by Dr Johnson. In 1786 this indefatigable
writer gave to the world two poems—Florio, a Tale,
and Bas Bleu, or the Conversation. The first is a re¬
spectable and not ill-natured satire on the frivolous man¬
ners of the young gentlemen of the period. The second,
also a satire, is directed against the Blue-Stocking Club,
which met at Mrs Montagu’s in Portman Square, and was
so called from one of the members, Mrs Jarningham, always
wearing stockings of a blue colour. Other works suc¬
cessively proceeded from her pen. Of these the principal
are,—a Poem on the Slave Trade, printed in 1788 ; a tract
entitled Thoughts on the Manners of the Great, which ap¬
peared the same year; An Estimate of the Religion of the
Fashionable World, published in the year 1791, and
esteemed one of her best productions; Remarks on the
Speech of M. Dupont in the National Convention on Reli¬
gion and Education ; and further, with the view of op¬
posing the propagation of sedition and infidelity, she, in
1795, commenced at Bath the Cheap Repository, which
was published in monthly numbers, and contained several
very pleasing tales. This periodical obtained a very wide
circulation, and was said to have had considerable effect in
calming the public mind, then agitated by the doctrines so
prevalent in France.
Hannah More now removed from Bristol to Cheddar,
where the ignorance and destitution of the place having
deeply affected her, she opened a number of schools for
educating the poor children and alleviating their misery.
Her benevolent designs were at first strenuously opposed ;
but she ultimately succeeded in establishing a number of
schools, not only at Cheddar, but all round the Mendip
Hills ; and the good effects which they produced soon be¬
came apparent. In 1799 appeared her Strictures on the
Modern System of Female Education, three editions of
which issued from the press during the same year. This
work was censured by some of the critics as too austere ;
but notwithstanding this circumstance, she was called upon
by the highest personages in the realm to put her senti¬
ments in writing on the proper course of instruction to
M 0 R
be adopted for the infant heiress to the British throne More
She set diligently to work at the command of royalty, and Henry,
produced in 1805 a work in two volumes, entitled Hints
towards forming the Character of a Young Princess. It
gave high satisfaction generally; but offence was taken in
one quarter, and much abuse was in consequence poured
upon it. In the year 1809 was published Ccelebs in Search
of a Wife ; two years afterwards appeared Practical Piety
and Christian Morals ; in 1815 came out an Essay on the
Character and Writings of St Paul—an attempt more
ambitious than successful; and in 1819 her literary career
terminated with the publication of Modern Sketches. She
was now aged and infirm, but still continued to take a great
interest in the welfare of charity schools, bible and mission¬
ary societies, and other benevolent and religious institutions.
Her piety supported her in her later afflictions; and she
expired with the composure, and full of the hope and faith,
of a Christian, on the 7th of September 1833. She is said
to have realized L.30,000 by her works, a very considerable
proportion of which she bequeathed to religious and bene¬
volent societies.
The works of Hannah More have always been highly
esteemed by the religious world, and she is generally con¬
sidered as one of the most distinguished of that class of
writers who unite great piety with considerable literary ta¬
lent, and dedicate the creations of fancy as well as the de¬
ductions of reason to the service of religion. Her poetry is
not much prized, except by a select few, for the piety and
sound judgment which it displays. Her prose is justly ad¬
mired for its sententious wisdom, its practical good sense,
its masculine vigour, and the dignified religious and moral
fervour which pervades it. Ccelebs passed through six edi¬
tions in one year; and since its first appearance it has fre¬
quently been reprinted, besides being translated into several
foreign languages. A collected edition of her works has
been published in 11 vols.; and The Memoirs and Cor¬
respondence of Mrs H. More, by W. Roberts, were pub¬
lished in 4 vols. 8vo, 1834. A new and abridged edition of
this Life, with selections from her correspondence, 12mo,
appeared in London in 1856.
More, Henry, an eminent English philosopher and
divine, was born at Grantham in Lincolnshire on the 12th
October 1614. His father, Alexander More, a gentleman
of property in that county, was a staunch Puritan, and
educated his family in the strictest principles of Calvinism.
At the age of fourteen, Henry was sent to Eton, with many
affectionate charges to stand fast to the principles of his
hereditary creed. Young More, however, who had always
been of a retiring and thoughtful disposition, had already
secret misgivings as to the soundness of the predestinarian
doctrine ; and now that he no longer breathed the Calvinistic
atmosphere at home, he gave freer scope to his speculative
tendencies. While the Eton boys bounded after the ball,
Henry More “ with his head on one side, and kicking now
and then the stones with his feet,” was dimly working his
way to the bold conclusion that the doctrine of predestina¬
tion was inconsistent with the justice and goodness of God.
He was, moreover, prepared to maintain this position at all
hazards; and with characteristic ardour and genuine specu¬
lative courage, he stoutly disputed the question with his
elder brother, who, in company with his uncle, shortly after¬
wards visited him at Eton. This uncle of his, who was a
blunt, matter-of-fact sort of man, and who believed more in
the rod than in the reason, threatened the young heretic
that if he did not give over these immature philosophizings,
he would subject him to a wholesome course of corporal
punishment. Henry of course did not give over his
speculations, but continued to vex his young brain with
quite insoluble problems. He seems, however, even in
those boyish years, to have been remarkable for sincerity
and humble purity of heart. At the advice of his uncle—■
M 0
who seems to have monopolized the direction of his educa¬
tion—he was, after a three years’ residence at Eton, removed
to Christ Church, Cambridge, in 1631, just a year before
John Milton left it. Here the young philosopher displayed
an extraordinary thirst for knowledge, and read eagerly the
works of Aristotle, Cardan, Julius Scaliger, and other
thinkers of that class. But such writers could not satisfy
his longings for higher light. They made him more scep¬
tical than when he began ; and renouncing the guidance of
the logicians for ever, he directed his attention to the
Platonic writers and mystic divines, and discovered the
long-looked for treasure in the dreamy pages of Marsilius
Ficinus, Plotinus, and Trismegistus. “ That golden little
book,” ascribed to John Tauler, the Theologia Ger-
manica, “ pierced and affected ” him more than all the rest.
The simple knowledge of phenomena no longer had any
charm for him; he sought for the proper food of the soul
among those archetypal ideas which were believed to lie
behind all sensible objects. He learned to think away all
objects of sense, and strove with his “ illuminated” teachers
to live alone with God in a supersensible world. The
earthly body, however, clogged the upward progress of the
spirit; and what he gained in fancied illumination he lost
in bodily strength. After a few years practice of this
course, the poor youth found himself reduced to a very
skeleton, and from his strange talk about “ particular expe¬
riences,” his friends began to charge him with enthusiasm.
Some idea may be formed of his state of mind during this
period from his philosophical poem called Psychozoia, or the
Life of the Soul, published in 1640. He took the degree
of Master of Arts in 1639; and on being chosen a fellow of
his college, he became tutor to several persons of distinc¬
tion, and among others to the brother of Lady Conway. At
the request of this lady, who was a noted disciple of William
Penn, More wrote, among other treatises, the Conjectura
Cabalistica, and the Philosophies Teutonicce Censura ; and
if he did not succeed in converting her from Quakerism, he
at least secured her friendship, and at her death a legacy of
L.400, which the benevolent mystic devoted to purposes of
private charity. If ever man strove to be true to the light that
was in him, it was Henry More. He repeatedly declined
the most flattering offers of church preferment, choosing
rather to linger about the quiet halls of Christ Church, and
muse as he listed, than enjoy the honours of a bishopric at
L.1500 a year. The rectory of Ingoldsby, which had been
purchased for him by his father, he resigned in 1642, and
afterwards presented it to his college. He even declined
the mastership of his own college in 1654, when the cele¬
brated Cudworth was appointed ; and if he accepted a pre¬
bend in the church of Gloucester in 1675, it was only to
make it over to his friend Dr Fowler. Not that he lightly
regarded the wants of his country. He is said to have wept
over its miseries. But he believed himself to be more in
his proper sphere using his pen in studious retirement, than
mingling with the busy turmoil of the world. He was no
doubt a little of the “ intellectual epicure,” as Norris of
Bemerton called him ; but yet his pen was constantly occu¬
pied in behalf of what he judged the cause of religion and
virtue. He engaged in a correspondence with Descartes
during 1648-9; and three of More’s letters, with the replies
of the French philosopher, are still to be read at the end of
most editions of Descartes’ works. More had a great
esteem for Descartes, and judging from those letters, the
admiration must have been mutual. Not that the English
Flatonist began with Cartesianism and ended with mysti¬
cism, as Cousin in his hasty generalization {Cours de
VHistoire de la Philosophic, Le^on 12me) seems to convey.
On the contrary, while More always admired the Cartesian
philosophy as “a fine, neat, subtle thing,” he constantly
maintained that “for the true ornament of the mind, it
bears no greater proportion to that principle I told you of
RE. 58i
[viz., the divine sense], than the dry bones of a snake made More,
up elegantly into a hat-band is to the royal clothing of Henry.
Solomon.” More pursues a still more passionate and unjust v'—‘v—-''
strain of invective against Cartesianism in his Enchiridium
Metaphysicum, published in 1671. In this work we obtain
a more profound and methodical view of More’s metaphysical
system—if system it can be called—than in any of his other
writings. Metaphysics, according to him, is the science of
incorporeal existence, and admits naturally of a two-fold
division. The one demonstrates the existence of other
substances than bodies; the other determines the essence
and principal attributes of those substances. His proof of
the existence of immaterial things is threefold : first, space,
which contains all matter, cannot be itself material; se¬
condly, matter is contingent, for it is possible to think it
away, while space is necessary, no such abstraction being
possible for it; thirdly, the general series of natural pheno¬
mena come and go, begin and end, ceaselessly change, in a
word, are contingent; but this supposes some necessary
existence beyond the sphere of the sensible world, from the
bosom of which the contingent emerges. In attempting to
demonstrate the latter position, More ranges over all the
sciences with the ease of a master, displaying a knowledge
at once extensive and profound. As a speculator, More
was perhaps more of the eclectic than the mystic, but his
thoughts always gravitated towards mysticism, and found
their last expression there. After his own doctrines, More
preferred Descartes’ to all others; just as Hobbes is said to
have preferred More’s system to every one but his own.
Indeed, the extravagant admiration which More always
showed for his own conceits and fancies, no matter how
groundless, stood in marked contrast with his acknowledged
learning, charity, and humility. His allusions to himself
and his own productions in the prefatio generalissma to
the Latin edition of his works, and elsewhere, betray more
than a mere amiable egotism,—they savour much more of
personal vanity. More, however, while sometimes extra¬
vagant, seldom falls into the rude fervour or weak senti¬
mentalism of the ordinary mystics, and has always the good
sense and proper feeling to avoid the gross profanity which
often characterized the English mystics of that age. He
even wrote an express treatise in 1656, entitled Enthusi-
asmus Triumphatus, in which he traces the nature, causes,
and cure of enthusiasm, and concludes by ascribing this
abnormal state of mind mainly to bodily causes. If he was
sometimes credulous, he was very generally shrewd and saga¬
cious ; and with all his defects, he unquestionably occupies a
high place among that bright though small constellation of
thinkers known as the English Platonists of the seventeenth
century. Some of his books seem to have met with an
extensive sale. The Mystery of Godliness was said by a
London bookseller to have “ ruled all the booksellers ” for
twenty years. Yet the appreciation which they met with
did not quite satisfy their author, and he seems to have
occasionally appealed to that “ perspicua et pacifica posteri-
tas”—that wise and peaceful posterity—which is to remodel
the temple of fame. The young could not understand him,
and the old thought him mad. Yet his merits were duly
appreciated by such men as Cudworth and Norris. Three
hundred pounds were left by an admirer to have some of
More’s pieces translated into Latin; a circumstance which
induced the author to publish the whole of his works in
Latin in three folio vols. in 1679. After completing this
task, he does not seem to have written any work of import¬
ance. His last work was the Medela Mundi, or Cure of the
World, which he did not survive to finish. His health had
never been robust, and in 1686 he was seized with a fever,
from the effects of which he never recovered. He died on
the 1st September 1687, in the seventy-third year of his
age. Besides the complete Latin edition of More’s works
already referred to, the greater number of his productions
582
MORE.
More, appeared in English, under the title of A Collection of seve-
Sir Thomas rai Philosophical Writings, folio, London, 2d ed., 1662,
and 4th ed., 1712. The Life of the Learned and Pious
Dr Henry More, 8vo, London, 1710, was written by the Rev.
Richard Ward, an enthusiastic and not very discriminating
partisan of More’s system. (See also the Biographia Bri-
tannica, the Dictionnaire des Sciences Philosophiques, and
Hours with the Mystics, by R. A. Vaughan, 2 vols.
London, 1856. A detailed list of Dr More’s works will be
found in Watt’s Bibliotheca Britannicai)
More, Sir Thomas, the greatest Englishman of his day,
was the only son of Sir John More, one of the judges of
the King’s Bench, and was born in 1480 at Milk Street in
the city of London. His first lessons were received from
Nathaniel Holt, an eminent schoolmaster of that day in
Threadneedle Street. It was at that time a custom with
genteel parents to allow their sons, for the benefit of their
training, to serve as pages to the nobility or to the high
dignitaries of the church. More was accordingly placed,
about his fifteenth year, in the family of the aged Cardinal
Morton, a man of great wisdom, learning, and virtue. His
residence there seems to have been both pleasant and pro¬
fitable. He daily heard, as he waited at table, the conver¬
sation of the noble and learned guests that frequented his
master’s board. During the merry-makings of Christmas,
when the household was assembled to witness the rude
plays peculiar to the season, he was wont to step up among
the players, form a character for himself on the suggestion
of the moment, and delight the audience by his extempore
jests. The old cardinal was charmed with the lively and
ingenuous wit of his young ward. He was fond of point¬
ing him out to his visitors, and of remarking that “ that
child would prove a marvellous rare man.”
In 1497 More entered the university of Oxford as a
student of Canterbury, a college which was afterwards
abolished to make room for Christ Church. His whole
appearance and bearing at that time were peculiarly fitted
to prepossess men in his favour. He had a well-propor¬
tioned figure, of a middle stature; his small gray eyes
twinkled with innocent pleasantry; and his countenance
beamed with good nature and benevolence. In a short time
Grocyn, Linacre, and William Latimer, three of the most
learned men of that day, had drawn towards him. Erasmus,
too, who was then sojourning at Oxford in the height of
his fame, would often leave the company of his eminent and
aristocratic admirers to visit the young student of seventeen,
in his solitary rooms in St Mary’s Hall. The heart of the
great scholar was touched with an affection almost womanly
for the youthful Englishman, and a friendship sprung up be¬
tween the two which all the toils and troubles and wander¬
ings of after years could not impair. In the society of such
men the susceptible nature of More could not fail to catch
a noble ardour for learning. The scanty means of support
to which he was restricted by his prudent father kept him
back from the haunts of idle indulgence and dissipation.
All his time was therefore devoted to his intellectual cul¬
ture. He became an enthusiastic student of the Greek
language, which was then slowly forcing its way amid much
opposition to a place among the regular studies at Oxford.
He composed Latin epigrams, both witty and sentimental.
He also resolved his hard and rugged mother-tongue into the
soft and flexible forms of poetry, and wrote many English
verses sparkling with harmless quips and merry conceits.
After completing the ordinary curriculum at Oxford,
More studied law first at the New Inn and then at Lincoln’s
Inn. He was subsequently appointed to lecture at Furni-
val’s Inn on jurisprudence, and at St Lawrence’s church
on Augustine’s De Civitate Dei. About this period a bitter
remorse for his youthful sins began to haunt and torment
his soul. That he might take refuge, as it were, in a holy
atmosphere, he fixed his abode near the great Carthusian
monastery called the Charterhouse, and daily attended the More
spiritual exercises of the priests. Every form of penance Sir Thonsj
was also employed for mortifying the flesh. He kept Fri-
days and high fasting-days with severe austerity, and began
to wear a shirt of hair next his skin. He often flung him¬
self down to sleep on the cold floor, or on a bare settle, with
a hard log under his head, and woke up after four or five
hours’ repose to watching and prayer. As the last stroke
in this process of self-crucifixion he was meditating to con¬
secrate his life to the priesthood, when an event occurred
which diffused a sunshine over his gloomy condition and
still gloomier prospects. A certain Mr Colt, a hospitable
country gentleman, and the father of a family of daughters,
was wont to invite the young lawyer to spend his holidavs
at the mansion of Newhall in Essex. More became fasci¬
nated with the artless and pious conversation of the youno-
ladies, and thought of making one of them his wife. His
taste would have led him to choose the second of the sisters;
but his sympathetic heart shrunk from seeming to slight her
who had a claim to his preference by her priority of birth,
and so he married the eldest.
Towards the close of the reign of Henry VII. More had
risen into professional eminence. There was scarcely an
important case brought before the courts in which he did
not appear as one of the counsel. He also held the
honourable office of judge of the Sheriff’s Court in the city
of London. His merit was recognised about the same time
by his being appointed a burgess in the Parliament which
the King had summoned in order that he might obtain a
grant of three-fifteenths for the marriage of his eldest
daughter with the King of Scotland. It was then that
More became, as Sir James Mackintosh asserts, the restorer
of political eloquence. For this noble achievement the
qualities of both his head and heart peculiarly fitted him.
A moral courage unsurpassed for its serene dignity was
supported by a ready power of thinking, an equally ready
command of language, a polished wit that could wound
deeply but not harshly, and a tone of speech that could
conciliate an opponent without sacrificing a single opinion.
Accordingly, no sooner was the royal demand laid before
the House, than he stood forth to oppose it in a vigorous and
eloquent speech. The silent and timorous burgesses, while
astonished at the unwonted voice of opposition that sounded
so boldly through the Parliament-hall, responded to the
appeal of the orator, and refused the request of the King.
Henry heard with indignation that “ a beardless boy had
disappointed all his purpose.” He resolved to be revenged.
But as the young offender had no possessions upon which
the avaricious King might seize, old Sir John More, on
some pretext, was cast into prison, and fined L.100.
About 1509, the year of the accession of Henry VIII.,
all the available time of More was engrossed with his pro¬
fessional avocations. Yet in the few hours stolen from
sleep his studies were diligently prosecuted. His attention
was chiefly directed to the composition of The Life and
Reign of King Edward V. This was the first history of
England written in the vernacular, and it was also the first
specimen of real classical English prose. It therefore
forms no ordinary landmark in the annals of the literature
of England. One of its more marked characteristics is the
easy, sweet, and spirited flow of the narrative,—a striking
type of the author’s own disposition. More had scarcely
finished this work in 1510, when he was appointed under¬
sheriff of London. In the same year he received a visit
from his friend Erasmus. The household scene which the
eminent scholar then saw, and which he afterwards de¬
scribed, was a perfect picture of domestic felicity. Mores
first wife had died, leaving one son and three daughters.
A widow—elderly, shrewish, and worldly—had succeeded
to her place. Yet even she proved no obstruction to the
well-ordered domestic routine. In the morning the inmates
MOKE.
jjrcn’e of the house knelt together round the family altar. Then
'fhoEis they busied themselves with studies, reading, or the quiet
and cheerful discharge of more special duties. In the
evening the head of the house returned to chat with his
family round the hearth. His very presence diffused har¬
mony and good order. The impatient exclamations and
worldly saws of “ Mistress Alice,” as he called his wife,
were drowned in a flood of merry jests; the studies of his
children were stimulated by an overflowing kindness ; and
the lessons of virtue and piety were inculcated by quaint
and pleasant similes. He also spoke a kind and fatherly
word to his servants, and saw that they were maintaining
their good character. The day was then closed, as it had
been begun, with family devotion,
j Such domestic felicity filled the soul of More, and ex¬
pelled from it every hankering after political preferment.
There was also a wariness fitting in exactly with the other
r parts of his well-balanced character, which kept him back
from climbing the unsteady ladder of ambition. Accord¬
ingly, the attempts which were made at the beginning of
the reign of Henry VIII. to entice him into the service of
the state were all in vain. Even after he had been em¬
ployed in two embassies to the Netherlands, in 1514 and
1515 respectively, he returned immediately to his privacy,
: and refused the pension by which the King sought to buy
his services. At length, in 1516, More was persuaded to
c venture into the arena of politics, and was elected a mem-
r ber of the Privy Council. The favours with which he was
i immediately loaded prevented his speedy retreat. The
11 King became excessively fond of the company of his new
1 councillor. On days of council he consulted with him, and
on holidays he jested with him. In his grave moods he
r conversed with him on theology. When the nights were
clear he took him up into the leads to observe the courses
1 of the planets, and to discourse about astronomy. Then he
would take him down to a private supper, and would crack
jokes with him far on into the night. Even when the
t courtier had contrived to throw off these encumbering
v favours for a while, and thought himself safe in the bosom
of his family at Chelsea, the King would drop unexpectedly
in to dine. After dinner he would walk in the garden
in deep consultation, with his arm round his favourite’s
neck. These great honours would have completely in¬
toxicated the majority of men; but they did not even affect
the strong head of More. His clear eye detected the bloated
selfishness from which they all proceeded. “ If my head,”
ii said he at that time to his son-in-law Roper, “ would win
ii the King a castle in France when there was war between
us, it should not fail to go.” Therefore, instead of dwelling
p upon the preferment which the royal kindness portended,
his mind was quietly engaged in the composition of his
Utopia. This work, written in good Latin, was published
at Basle in 1518, became speedily popular among the
scholars of France and Germany, and was soon afterwards
< translated into French, Italian, Dutch, and English. It is
a description of the laws and customs of an imaginary
1 island of America, feigned to have been discovered a short
i time previously. Of the principles of polity described
i many are wildly chimerical, some are plausible, and others
r are just. At first sight the book appears to be nothing else
i than a freak of the author’s fantastic and exuberant fancy.
1 here is a likelihood, however, that it has a hidden cha-
a racter. At this time the large mind of More cherished
e several wide and catholic opinions—such as the principle
( of religious toleration—which were obnoxious to the spirit
I of the age. To profess these sentiments openly would have
ii been to dare the unscrupulous vengeance of Henry. It is
i „ probable, therefore, that in accordance with his ordinary
a custom of uttering a grave truth in the garb of a gay jest,
i ij he employed the cunningly-devised romance of Utopia for
i a cover to his earnest political opinions.
583
More had entered on the road to preferment, and he More,
was now carried rapidly forward. A knighthood and the Sir Thoina3
office of treasurer of the exchequer were conferred upon ^ • v^
him in 1521. About the same time, greatly against his
taste and home-feelings, he was employed in the artful ne¬
gotiations which Wolsey carried on with France. In 1523
the Parliament that was then convoked elected him to be
their speaker. On this occasion he stood forth once more
as the restorer of political oratory and the champion of
parliamentary freedom. The grant of a very heavy subsidy
had been demanded from the House by the government.
That the members might be awed into compliance, Cardinal
Wolsey appeared with all his attendants and insignia, and
made a solemn speech in support of the subsidy. The bur¬
gesses replied to it by a dogged silence. At length the
speaker was demanded to return an answer for the rest.
After calmly vindicating the ancient liberty of the Parlia¬
ment to speak or to be silent, Sir Thomas More, with all
due reverence, said, that though the members had entrusted
him with their voices, yet they had not entrusted him with
their heads, and therefore he could not answer his grace in
so weighty a matter. The cardinal hurried from the House
in a great rage against the speaker ; yet the King, in spite
of this thwarting of his wishes, continued his favour toward
Sir Thomas, and in 1526 appointed him chancellor of the
duchy of Lancaster. It was about this time that More began
to occupy himself specially with the controversies against
the Reformers. His attachment to that old form of religion
through which he had derived so much pious comfort, and
his natural love of peace and good order, made him cling
fast to the sinking cause of Popery. Accordingly, muster¬
ing all his learning, wit, and acuteness, he set himself in¬
dustriously to wage a war of pamphlets against Luther,
Tindal, and other Reformers. The excitement of debate
hurried him into an exaggeration of statement, and a bit¬
terness of feeling, into which he had never fallen before ; yet
perhaps he was as fair and as charitable as any other writer
that ever ventured on this same irritating controversy.
In 1527 Henry VIII. began to search for reasons for
divorcing Queen Catherine. The opinion of Sir Thomas
More, who stood so high in the estimation of the country
and of Europe in general, was especially desirable. He
was therefore sounded on the great subject that was per¬
plexing the public mind. To advocate the divorce would
have been to offend his conscience; to condemn it would
have been to offend his liberal benefactor the King. He
therefore evaded returning a direct answer. But Henry
was not to be diverted, and resolved to overwhelm the
scruples of his favourite by a great benefit. Accordingly,
on the 25th October 1529 More was raised to the position
of lord chancellor, that high and giddy seat from which
Wolsey had just fallen. The duties of his new office were
performed with all his native benevolence and unpreten¬
tious industry. He sat daily in his own hall to receive the
petitions of the poor; he kept his hands clean from bribes;
and, without being cruelly intolerant, he did his utmost to
suppress heresy. But this conscientious performance of
duty was not all that was expected by his royal master.
His opinion on the divorce was repeatedly demanded.
Again and again did More reply that he was neither worthy
nor willing to be his Majesty’s adviser. At length, fore¬
seeing that he would soon be required, in his official capa¬
city, to countenance the King’s marriage with Anne Boleyn,
he resigned the great seal in May 1532.
Sir Thomas More laid aside his robes of office as poor a
man as when he had put them on. The establishment at
Chelsea, in which, like a patriarch of old, he had gathered
all his children and grandchildren under one roof’ was im¬
mediately broken up. His sons and daughters went to
their several homes. Fie himself retired to the chapel in
his garden to prepare his soul by meditation and devotion
584 M 0 R
M O R
Morea for the storm that was coming in the distance. It soon
II came. Commissioners arrived to exact from him an assent
Moreau. to King’s recent marriage. They first tried to wheedle
him, by reminding him of the royal favour towards him.
But his conscience accused him of no ingratitude. They
then tried threatenings. “ Terrors are arguments for child¬
ren, not for me,” replied he, placidly. At length, in 1534,
the act of succession for securing the throne to the issue of
Anne Boleyn was passed. More was demanded to assent
to it by an oath. He refused to swear, and declined to give
any reasons for his refusal. Four days afterwards he was
lodged in the Tower. There he lay for more than a year,
resisting calmly every attempt to break his resolution, re¬
ceiving0 the visits of his friends with his usual outflow of
quaint°and pious apophthegms, and writing devotional trea¬
tises and letters to his favourite daughter, Margaret Koper,
with fragments of coal. On the 1st July 1535 his trial came
on. He was indicted under the act of supremacy passed
towards the close of 1534, for constituting the King supreme
head of the church. His refusal to swear to this act was
declared high treason, and he was condemned to death.
On the 6th July he appeared on the scaffold in that same
jesting humour which was a part of his nature. His head
was already on the block, when he desired the executioner
to stop until he had removed his beard, “ for that,” said he,
“ hath committed no treason.” The next moment the fatal
blow fell.
The bestEnglish translation of the Utopia is thatof Bishop
Burnet. More’s English works were published at London,
1557, and his Latin works at Louvain, 1556. There are
Lives of More by his son-in-law Roper, 8vo, 1626; Hod-
desden, 8vo, 1652; his great-grandson Thomas More, 4to,
1726; and Sir James Mackintosh, 1844.
MOREA (anc. Peloponnesus) forms the southern part of
Greece, and one of the three great divisions of that king¬
dom. It extends in N. Lat. from 36. 23. 20. to 38.26. 4.,
and in E. Long.from 21.5. to23.29., being7920 square miles.
(See Greece.)
MOREAU, Jean Victor, one of the greatest generals
of the French revolution, was born at Morlaix in 1763.
He was the son of an advocate who had destined him for
the same profession, but having early contracted a decided
predilection for the army, he enlisted in a regiment, in which
he served for a short time, until his father purchased his
discharge, and sent him to resume his studies. He did so
with considerable success, and at length became prevot de
droit at Rennes, where he exercised a sort of supremacy
over the students, by whom he was greatly beloved. In
1787, when the ministry wished to effect a revolution in the
magistracy, he joined in resisting the attempt; and having
figured in the early troubles as chief of the youth of Rennes,
he was called “the General of the Parliament.” At the
commencement of the revolution he raised a company of
volunteer gunners, of which he became captain ; and having
organized and instructed it, he continued to serve in the
same capacity until the year 1792, when he enrolled himself
in a battalion of volunteers which was then setting out to
join the army of the north. He made his first campaign
under Dumouriez, as commandant of a battalion. In 1793
he became general of brigade, and the following year he
was promoted to the rank of general of division, on the
recommendation of Pichegru, who immediately confided to
him a corps destined to act in maritime Flanders. Moreau
took possession first of Menin, then of Bruges, Ostend,
Nieuport, the island of Cassandria, and lastly of Sluys,
which capitulated on the 26th of August. At the moment
when he made this conquest for the republic, the revolu¬
tionists of Brest were sending his aged father to the scaffold
as an aristocrat. This venerable old man, whom the people
of Morlaix called the “ father of the poor,” had undertaken
to manage the property of some emigrants; and this was
employed as a pretext to destroy him. Moreau had already jfor
become disgusted with the revolutionary system, and such ei11'
an event naturally increased his detestation. He conceived
that he had no longer any country but the camp, nor any
home but his tent in the field.
He commanded with great distinction the right wing of
the army of Pichegru during the celebrated winter cam¬
paign of 1794 ; and when that general assumed the com¬
mand of the army of the Rhine and Moselle, Moreau was
promoted to the command of the army of the north. After
the retreat of Pichegru, he placed himself at the head of
the army of the Rhine and Moselle, and in the year 1796
opened that campaign which became the foundation of his
military fame. Having driven back Wurmser towards Man-
heim, he effected the passage of the Rhine near Strasburg,
attacked the Archduke Charles at Rastadt, forced him to
abandon the course of the Necker, and on the 11th of August
fought a battle near Heydenheim, which lasted seventeen
hours. The Austrians having retired on the Danube, Mo¬
reau advanced and soon found himself opposed by General
Latour, who was daily receiving reinforcements; but be¬
lieving himself supported by the diversion, or rather the
parallel invasion of Jourdan towards Ratisbon, he continued
his forward movement. The discomfiture and retreat of
Jourdan, however, disconcerted all his combinations, and
leaving his flank completely uncovered, obliged him to re¬
tire. This retreat commenced on the 11th of September,
and though severely criticized by Napoleon, is unquestion¬
ably one of the finest operations of the kind recorded in the
history of war.
At the opening of the next campaign in 1797, Moreau
effected the passage of the Rhine in the face of the enemy
ranged in order of battle upon the opposite bank. The
immediate consequences of this brilliant action were, the
surrender of the fort of Kehl, and the capture of nearly
40,000 prisoners, besides several standards. Owing to some
misunderstanding with the executive directory relative to
his old friend Pichegru, Moreau was obliged, on the 7th
September 1797, to resign, and to shelter himself in retire¬
ment. He remained comparatively unemployed until April
1799, when the misfortunes which had attended the recom¬
mencement of war rendered his talents necessary. Moreau
was therefore sent to Italy, where he superseded Scherer
in the command of the army. On the 11th of May he
repulsed the Russians near Bassignano, and then passed
the Bormida ; but being assailed by the greater part of the
forces under Suwaroff, he was obliged to evacuate Yalentia
and Alessandria.
Moreau had just been appointed to the chief command
of the army of the Rhine, when Joubert arrived to replace
him in that of Italy. Being on the point of fighting a battle,
—which, by the fall of Mantua and the junction of Kray
with Suwaroff, had become inevitable,—Joubert wished to
leave the direction of it to him ; but he refused, and begged
permission to combat under the orders of the new chief of
the army. At this battle, which was fought at Novi, and
in which Joubert fell, Moreau ran the greatest risks, having
had three horses killed under him, and his uniform pierced
by balls. After a fierce conflict, the French army was
defeated; but Moreau conducted his retreat with so much
superiority that he almost nullified the victory which the
allies had gained.
On the arrival of Bonaparte, who had escaped from Egypt,
Moreau consented to serve under the orders of that general,
and by his influence and means to promote the revolution
which was then preparing. But scarcely had it been ef¬
fected at St Cloud, on the 9th of November 1799, when
he saw reason to appx-ehend that he had concurred in giving
a tyrant to his country. Being almost immediately calle
to assume the command on the Rhine and the Danube, he
introduced several important changes into the constitution
M O R
H'Jp- of the army. His plan was not approved by Bonaparte,
—V"' who, thinking only of reconquering Italy, wished to make
the army of the Rhine merely an army of observation.
But Moreau stuck firmly to his plan, and resisted. Napo¬
leon felt greatly offended; and this dispute as to the co¬
operation of the two armies proved the germ of that mutual
hatred which sprung up between these celebrated rivals,
and which was probably one of the causes of their common
ruin. Napoleon saw it necessary, however, to yield, and
to leave to Moreau all the honour of the conception of the
plan of campaign, and all the means for carrying it into
t execution.
The success of the campaign which ensued was through¬
out decisive. He encountered the enemy, first at Stockach,
where he defeated him, and then fought successively the
battles of Engen, Moeskirch, and Biberach, in all of which
he was victorious. Those victories gained by Moreau
facilitated the conquest of Italy; and he even detached a
corps of 12,000 men to reinforce the army of the First Consul.
Finding, however, that neither his demonstrations nor his
rapid incursions into Bavaria, could induce Marshal Kray to
quit his unexpugnable position at Ulm, Moreau advanced
beyond the Lech, attacked the Austrians along their whole
line, crossed the Danube at Blenheim, and in the plains of
Hochstadt, obtained, by similar manoeuvres, on the 19th
of June, an advantage similar to that which Bonaparte had
gained at Marengo only three days before. Kray having
at length abandoned his position at Ulm, Moreau marched
1 in pursuit of the marshal, whom he once more vanquished
at Neuburg; he then entered Bavaria, again defeated the
Austrians at Landshut, and only suspended his operations
after having caused them to sign, on the loth of July, the
1 armistice of Parsdorf.
This suspension of arms continued until the end of No¬
vember, when Moreau was attacked by the Archduke John
» with an army of Austrians amounting to 120,000 men.
Moreau retreated from the banks of the Inn, and continuing
his movement on Hohenlinden, succeeded in drawing the
e enemy into the defiles near that place. The moment for
striking a blow had now arrived. Accordingly, on the 3d
of December 1800 was fought that bloody and decisive
t battle, in which there was not a French corps that did not
come into action and cover itself with glory. Eleven thou¬
sand prisoners and 100 pieces of cannon fell into the hands
o of the victors. More than 6000 Austrians remained on the
field of battle, whilst the loss of the French did not exceed
2500 men killed and wounded. To the congratulations of
: his generals, Moreau replied by attributing to them the prin-
( cipal share in the glory of the day, adding at the same time,
“My friends you have conquered peace.”
The archduke having taking refuge behind the Inn,
Moreau pursued him without intermission, gained another
i victory at Lauffen, and having passed the Salza, occupied
Saltzburg; and, continuing his advance, carried terror to
t ' the gates of Vienna. Nor did he suspend his march until
t the Archduke Charles, who had been again placed at the
1 head of the imperial army, announced to him that the
] Emperor had resolved to make peace, whatever might be
t the determination of his allies ; and this declaration served
s ^ as the basis of the armistice of Steyer, signed on the 25th
i H of December. This campaign of twenty-five days placed
Moreau in the rank of the greatest captains, and entitled
1 him to the homage of public admiration, which was paid to
1 l! him on his return to Paris. Bonaparte presented him with
i a pair of pistols magnificently mounted, observing that he
1 had wished to have had his victories engraved on them,
1 but found that there would not be room. Despite this
(show of personal admiration, Napoleon could not forgive
the success of Moreau, and especially the affection with
which he was regarded by his officers. Moreau, who was
i deficient in civil prudence, acted in such a manner as to in-
vol. xv.
M O R 585
crease the suspicion with which he was regarded. His house Morecambe
became the rendezvous of persons avowedly inimical to the ^ay-
consular government; and he was by imperceptible degrees »v-—'
drawn into that fatal connection with Pichegru and his
associates which eventually proved the cause of his ruin.
(The particulars of this affair, wdth the arrest, imprisonment,
trial, and sentence of Moreau, will be found narrated in
the historical portion of the article France.) On the 10th
of June 1804 he was sentenced to two years’ detention,
which, by the influence of Fouche, was commuted into
permission to travel, on condition that he should retire
to the United States, and not return to France without
the leave of Bonaparte. He accordingly set out for
Spain, escorted by gendarmes, and in 1805 embarked
at Cadiz for the United States, where he resided for
about eight years, beloved and respected by all who knew
him.
After the disasters which befel the French grand army
in the retreat from Moscow, the Emperor Alexander, aware
that he had no general capable of contending with Napo¬
leon, made secret overtures to Moreau; and the latter
having decided to embrace the offers of the Czar, and
join him in the approaching contest, embarked on the
21st of June 1813 with M. de Svinine, chancellor of the
Russian embassy, and on the 24th of July entered the port
of Gottenburg. At Stralsund he passed three days with
his old companion in arms Bernadotte, then Crown Prince
of Sweden, and having concerted with him the plan of the
ensuing campaign, proceeded to join the allied sovereigns
at Prague, where, as might have been expected, he was
received in the most flattering manner.
The plan of the allies consisted in debouching from
Bohemia with their grand army, in order to turn and at¬
tack Dresden, which formed the pivot of Napoleon’s ope¬
rations. The attack commenced on the 26th of August,
and was resumed the following day, when Moreau, havino-
advanced to observe a movement of the French, was struck
by a cannon-ball, which fractured the knee of the right leg,
and, passing through, carried away the calf of the left.
He fell into the arms of Colonel Rapatel, exclaiming, “ I
am done for, but it is pleasant to die in so good a cause.”
Being removed to an adjoining house, he there underwent
amputation of the right leg, and the same operation was
performed on the left, which had been too much shattered
to admit the possibility of its being saved. In this horri¬
bly mutilated condition, the allied army being now in full
retreat, he was transported as far as Laun, where he lingered
in agony till the morning of the 2d of September, when he
expired. At the time of his death he had prepared for
publication a proclamation to the French, which the Em¬
peror Alexander had approved, and in which he explained
the object of his return to Europe,—the most questionable
act of his life,—namely, to assist the French in emancipating
themselves from the despotism of Bonaparte, and to sacrifice
his life, if necessary, to restore prosperity to his country,
all the true sons of which he invited to rally round the
standards of independence. As a warrior, Moreau was su¬
perior to all the generals of the Revolution, Napoleon ex¬
cepted ; he combined the caution of Fabius with the cool
determination of Turenne ; in every succeeding campaign
his genius shone forth with increased splendour; and
his last achievement at Hohenlinden exhibited a union
of scientific combination with precise and vigorous exe¬
cution which has seldom been equalled and never sur¬
passed. B—E )
MORECAMBE BAY, in England, separates Lanca¬
shire into two parts, and washes the coast of Westmoreland,
where it receives, by a wide estuary, the River Kent.
The bay is very shallow; and at low water a large extent
of sand is left dry, and may be crossed without danger or
difficulty. b
4 E
586
M 0 R
M 0 R
Morell
II
Morelli.
MORELL, Andke, an eminent antiquary, was born he was destined to attain to great eminence and dis- Moreri
at Berne, in Switzerland, on the 9th of June 1646. He tinction. In 1774 he printed his Dissertazione Storica ||
turned his attention early to the study of numismatics, and della publica Libreria di S. Marco. In 1785 he published
in 1680 he went to Paris, where his reputation procured his Latin version of the Oration of Aristides against Lep- '^bana-
him admission into the society of the learned, and where, tines, the Declamation of Libanius for Socrates, and frag- '
in 1683, he published Specimen Universes Rei Nummarice ments of the second book of the Harmonic Elements of
Antiques a second edition of which, corrected and en- Aristoxenes, all from Greek manuscripts. One of his
larked appeared at Leipsic in 1695. The encouragement most important publications is that of the Fragments of
which was originally held out to him in Paris was not con- Dion Cassius on Roman history, with new readings, which
firmed ; and after being imprisoned for three years in the appeared in 1798, and was followed by a great variety of
Bastile’for the heinous offence of claiming the remunera- other works and editions. In 1802 the Emperor Francis
tion promised him as joint-keeper of the Royal Cabinet of conferred on him the title of aulic counsellor ; in 1816 he
Medals he went to Germany in 1694, on the invitation of received the decoration of a knight of the iron crown. He
Count de Schwartzenburg-Arnstadt. Here he prosecuted died in 1819, at the advanced age of seventy-four. A list
the preparation of a great work on numismatics, but his of his dissertations on history, philology, literature, and the
labours were closed by death in 1703. Havercamp having fine arts, will be found in the first volume of his Opuscoli,
collected and arranged his scattered materials, published, in Venezia, 3 vols. 8vo., 1820, preceded by an interesting
1734 Thesaurus Morellianus, sive Familiarum Roman- notice of the author by Moschini.
arum Numismata Omnia, in 2 vols. folio; and, in conjunc- MORERI, Louis, author of the Dictionnaire Histo-
tion with Schlegel and Gori, published in 1752, from Mo- rique which bears his name, was born at Bargemont, in
rell’s MS., the Thesauri Morelliani Numismata Aurea, Provence, on the 25th of March 1643. He received the
Argentea JErea, cujusque moduli xii. priorum Imperato- elements of his education at Draguignan and at Aix, and
rum, Amsterdam, in 3 vols. folio. after studying theology at Lyons, where he acquired a
Morell, Thomas, an eminent classical scholar and edi- knowledge of the Italian and Spanish languages, he took
tor, was born at Eton, in Buckinghamshire, on the 18th of priest’s orders. At the age of eighteen he composed the
March 1703. Having graduated at King’s College, Cam- Pays <TAmour, a frigid allegory, and, under the title of the
bridge, he was appointed curate of Kew in 1731, and for Doux Plaisir de la Poesie, made a collection of pieces in
some time officiated in the same capacity at Twickenham, verse possessing but little merit. But the idea which had
In 1737 he was made rector of Buckland; and in 1775 long occupied his mind was the composition of his Diction-
we find him acting as chaplain to the garrison at Ports- ary, which appeared at Lyons in 1673, in one volume
mouth. He died on the 19th of February 1784. His folio, when he was only thirty years of age. The immense
principal works are,—H Collection of Theological Poems, erudition displayed in this work excited general admira-
original, and translated from the Latin of Vida, with notes, tion ; but, as might have been expected, it was found to
London, 1732-36, in 8vo; an edition of Chaucer’s Can- be very incomplete. The author, however, applied him-
terbury Tales, with modern imitations, London, 1737; self with great vigour to enlarge it; but was cut off by
an edition of the works of Spenser, 1747; the Hecuba, death at Paris on the 10th July 1680, at the premature age
Orestes, Phesnisses, and Alcestes of Euripides, with ancient of thirty-eight. The second edition, in two volumes folio,
scholia and notes, London, 1748; an English translation was printed at Paris in 1681, the year after his death. The
of the Hecuba, with annotations ; the Prometheus of Als- third edition, which appeared in 1683, is merely a reprint
chylus, with scholia, notes, and an English translation in of the second; but in 1689 a third or supplemental vo-
blank verse, 1767 ; Two Letters on Greek Inscriptions lume was published ; and the whole, revised, corrected, and
found upon an altar at Corbridge in Northumberland; enlarged by Leclerc, was afterwards printed at Amster-
' editions of the Greek Lexicon of Hederick, and of the dam, 1691, in four volumes folio. To the imperfections
Latin Dictionary of Ainsworth ; Thesaurus Gresces of this dictionary we are indebted for that of Bayle, who
Poiiseos, sive Lexicon Grceco-Prosodiacum, Eton, 1762, in at first proposed only to correct the errors or supply the
4to, an imitation of the Gradus ad Parnassum, since con- omissions of Moreri. The principal defect of Moreri s
siderably enlarged by Dr Maltby, Cambridge, 1815 ; and work consists in the inaccuracy of the geographical portion,
various other works, particularly Annotations on Locke’s in the awkward jumble of mythology and history, in his
Essay, 1793, 8vo. perplexed nomenclature, and the number and prolixity oi
MORELLA, a towm of Spain, in the province of Cas- his genealogies; but he has nevertheless the merit of
tellon-de-la-Plana, is situated on the S. slope of a moun- being the author of the first work in which are found
tain, 45 miles N. of Tortosa. It is surrounded by Moorish the names of all those personages who have any title to
fortifications, and on the top of the hill stands a strong celebrity. Moreri was also the editor of the Vies dss
castle, with a Moorish tower. The streets are steep and Saints, in three volumes, and of De Chinon’s Relation
irregular, and though many of the houses are handsomely Nouvelle du Levant, or treatise on the religion, govern-
andSsubstantially built, a great part of the town is in a ment, and customs of various eastern nations. Besides
ruinous state. The principal church of Morelia, built in collecting materials for an historical and bibliographical
1317, is remarkable for its internal architecture. There dictionary of celebrated Provencals, he had commenced
are also two other churches, three convents, several schools, a History of the Councils; and left in manuscript a treatise
a town-house, a theatre, and an hospital. The manufac- on New Year’s Gifts.
ture of blankets and sashes, which is carried on here, gives MORESQUE. See Arabesque, and Grotesque.
employment to 1500 hands; and these articles, together MORETO-Y-CABANA, Augustin, a celebrated Spa-
with wheat, form the exports of the place. Morelia was nish dramatist, flourished in the former half of the seven-
taken by surprise in 1838 by Cabrera, who kept possession teenth century. A few isolated facts are the only re^or,
of the town till it was retaken by Espartero in 1840. Pop. of his personal history. He shared in the patronage w ic
5180. Philip IV. extended to literary men, and he stood second
MORELLI, Giacomo, a celebrated librarian of Venice, to Calderon alone in the favour of the theatre. In wea t
was born in that city on the 14th of April 1745. He was of fancy, fertility of invention, and rapidity of composition,
educated by the Dominicans, and was in due time admit- he was inferior to the greatest of his contemporaries. e
ted to the priesthood. The subject, however, which his powder of depicting character was rivalled in few ot t e
chiefly interested him was that of bibliography, in which dramas of his predecessors. So strikingly life-like was is
M O R
M<J*;on picture of The Handsome Hon Diego, that the name in a
short time came to be used as a national synonyme for a
fop. He also showed an infallible dexterity in constructing
; itorggni. dramas on borrowed plots, which in course of time super-
se(Jed their originals in the public favour. The best of all
his plays, Disdain met with Disdain, was founded on the
great Lope’s Miracles of Contempt, and drove it off the
stage. But he was fated to be imitated as well as to imi¬
tate. The play last mentioned was copied, though unsuc¬
cessfully, by Moliere in his Princesse d’Elide ; and it has
since been translated into German, and altered to suit the
German stage. Some of Moreto’s dramas were religious,
such as The Most Fortunate Brothers ; and a few were
heroic, such as The Brave Justiciary of Castile. But the
i greater number were comedies of familiar life, or, as they
were called, “ comedies of cloak and sword.” A collec-
( tion of Moreto’s plays was published in three volumes,
1654 and 1681. Meanwhile their author, renouncing litera-
1 ture, had retired to a religious house at Toledo in 1657,
1 and had died there in 1669.
MORETON BAY, a bay of Australia, on the coast of
New South Wales, about 27. 15. S. Lat., and 153. E.
Long., is formed by the islands Stradbroke, Moreton, and
Bribie; and is about 60 miles in length, by 20 in breadth.
It may be entered by two navigable channels ; that to the
j N., between Bribie and Moreton Islands, being 8 miles
1 wide, and that to the S., between Stradbroke and More-
1 ton, being neither so broad nor so secure. The bay
! abounds in fish, and turtles and crabs are also obtained.
Moketon-Hampstead, a town of England, Devonshire,
situated on a hill on the borders of Dartmoor Forest, 11
miles W.S. W. of Exeter. It has an ancient parish church,
with a lofty tower ; also Independent, Baptist, Methodist, and
Unitarian places of worship ; and several schools. Leather
and ropes are manufactured here, and granite is quarried
in the neighbourhood. There are near the town some
Druidical remains, and the ruins of two castles. Pop. of
the parish (1851), 1858.
Moreton-in-the-Marsh, a town of England, Glouces¬
tershire, 28 miles E.N.E. of Gloucester. It has a parish
and an Independent church, and a national school. A
market formerly held here has been discontinued, but there
are still two annual fairs. Pop. (1851) 1812.
MORGAGNI, Giovanni Battista, one of the greatest
physicians of the eighteenth century, was born at Forli in
Italy on the 25th February 1682. He studied medicine
at Bologna, and subsequently proceeded to Venice and
Padua, where he pursued his investigations both in physics
and in comparative anatomy with great ardour. At the
age of twenty-four he published his Adversaria Anatomica
prima, a work of great originality; and in 1712 was ap¬
pointed professor of the theory of physic at Padua. He
then occupied himself with the continuation of his Epistolw
Anatomicce, in which he described the structure of a num¬
ber of organs which had been ill observed before his time;
refuted the criticisms of Bianchi, who had disputed some
of his views; and exposed the errors which had been
committed by Manget in his Thedtre Anatomique. I his
work, which was completed and published at Padua in
1719, was applauded by the greatest anatomists of the
time, amongst whom may be mentioned Ruysch, Boer-
haave, Heister, Winslow, Hoftman, Mead, Senac, and
Meckel. Morgagni was now promoted to the first chair
at Padua, and successively admitted a member of the
Royal Society of London, of the Academy of Sciences at
Paris, and of the academies of Petersburg and Berlin,
besides several learned Italian institutions. Morgagni con¬
tinued to labour till the close of his long and honourable
career, which terminated on the 6th of December 1771,
at the age of nearly ninety. The knowledge of Morgagni
was not confined to the medical art. His vast erudition,
M 0 R 587
embraced philology, criticism, history, and antiquities, as Morgarten
may be gathered from the following list of his works:— II
Adversaria Omnia, Padua, 1719, 4to; Nova Institutionum vMorgheil‘
Medicarum Idea, Padua, 1712, 4to; In Aurel. Cornelium
Celsum et Quintum Serenum Samonicum Epistolce qua-
tuor, Hague, 1724, 4to; Epistolce Anatomicce duce, Ley¬
den, 1728, 4to; Epistolce Anatomicce xviii., Venice, 1749,
2 vols. 4to; Miscellanea Opuscula, Venice, 1763, folio ; and,
finally, his most celebrated work, De Sedibus et Causis
Morborum per Anatomen indagatis, libri v., Venice, 1761,
2 vols. folio. This treatise is still a standard work of re¬
ference on pathology, and has been translated into most
of the European languages. The works of Morgagni were
collected and published by his disciple Antony Larber,
under the title of Opera Omnia, Bassano 1765, 2 vols.
folio; and his Life was written, first by Fabroni in the
Vitce Italorum, and next separately by Mossea, Naples,
1768, in 8vo.
MORGARTEN, a mountain slope in Switzerland, near
Lake Egeri, on the borders of the cantons of Schwytz and
Zug, memorable as the field of the earliest victory of the
Swiss in their struggle for independence. This happened
on the 15th of November 1315, when an Austrian army
of 20,000 men, being entangled between the mountains
and the lake, were totally defeated by 1300 Swiss moun¬
taineers, totally unaccustomed to war. A chapel was
erected on the battlefield, in which service is performed
annually on the anniversary of the battle.
MORGHEN, Raffaello Sanzio, Cavaliere, one of the
most distinguished engravers of the eighteenth century, was
born at Naples in 1758. His father followed the profession
of engraver, and from him young Morghen received his
earliest instructions; but in order more profoundly to initiate
him in the art, he was afterwards placed as a pupil under
the celebrated Volpato. He assisted this great master in
engraving the famous pictures of Raphael in the Vatican,
and the print which represents the miracle of Bolsena is
inscribed with his name. He married the daughter of his
master, and being invited to Florence to engrave the mas¬
terpieces of the Florentine gallery, he removed thither with
his wife in 1782. All the works which he produced on
this occasion were admirable; one in particular, the copy of
Raphael’s “ Madonna della Seggiola,” is considered not
only as the most excellent in the collection, but as a chef-
d’ceuvre of art. His reputation now became so great as to
induce the artists of Florence to recommend him to the
grand duke as a fit person to engrave Lionardo da Vinci’s
noble composition of the “ Last Supper,” which adorns the
wall of the refectory in the Dominican convent at Milan.
This picture is not only itself dilapidated, but the drawing
which was made for Morghen being unworthy of the great
original, the print, although an admirable production, fails
to convey a correct idea of the style and merit of Lionardo.
His fame, however, soon extended over Europe; and the
Institute of France, as a mark of their admiration of his
talents, chose him as an Associate in 1803. In 1812 Na¬
poleon invited Morghen to Paris, and paid him the most
flattering attentions. A list of this great artist’s works was
published at Florence in 1810; the number comprised 200
compositions; but subsequently to this period he produced
a considerable variety of admirable prints. Amongst the
most remarkable of Morghen’s productions, besides those
already mentioned, may be noticed the “ Transfiguration,”
from Raphael; a “ Magdalen,” from Murillo ; a “ Head
of the Saviour,” from Da Vinci; the “ Car of Aurora,” from
Guido; the “ Hours,” from Poussin ; the “ Prize of Diana,”
from Domenichino ; the “ Monument of Clement XIII.,”
from Canova; “ Theseus vanquishing the Minotaur ;” por¬
traits of Dante, Petrarca, Ariosto, Tasso, and a number of
other eminent men. Morghen died in 1833, at the ad¬
vanced age of seventy-five.
588
M 0 R
MGR
Morhof
II
Morland.
MORHOF, Daniel George, a learned German philo¬
logist, was the son of a notary, and was born at Wismar,
in the duchy of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, in 1639. From
the academy of Stettin he removed in 1657 to the uni¬
versity of Rostock to study law. His attention, however,
was also given to elegant literature, and his Latin and Ger¬
man verses introduced him to public notice. He was in
consequence appointed professor of poetry at Rostock in
1660; and after visiting the universities of Holland and
England, he commenced his new duties in the following
year. His zeal as a teacher, his extensive scholarship, and
his poetical talents, in a short time led to his further promo¬
tion. In 1665 he was chosen professor of eloquence and
poetry in the newly-founded university of Kiel. This chair
was exchanged in 1673 for that of history. The office of
librarian to the university was added in 1680, and was pe¬
culiarly acceptable to so eager a student and so voluminous
an author. Morhof fell into a dangerous malady in 1690,
and died in 1691 at Liibeck, on his way back from the
mineral waters of Pyrmont. Of his numerous works the
only one that is still valued is his survey of universal litera¬
ture, under the title of Polyhistor Literarius, Philosophi-
cus, et Fractions. The best edition is that of Albert Fa-
bricius, 2 vols. 4to, Liibeck, 1747.
MORIER, James, an eminent traveller and novellist,
was born in 1780. In his youth he made an extensive tour
through the East, of which he published an interesting ac¬
count, entitled Travels through Persia, Armenia, and Asia
Minor. He revisited Persia in 1810 as secretary to the
British ambassador; and during the six years of his resi¬
dence there he became thoroughly acquainted with the
character of the natives. The first and best of his eastern
novels, entitled The Adventures of Hajji Baba of Ispahan,
appeared in 1824 in three volumes. Its genuine oriental
tone, and its racy and truthful descriptions, soon secured a
wide popularity. The author was thus induced in 1828 to
publish a continuation in two volumes, containing an ac¬
count of his hero’s adventures in England. Of the same
stamp, and nearly as successful as Hajji Baba, were his
two novels Zohrab and Ayesha the Maid of Kars. Mo-
rier died at Brighton in 1848.
MORLAIX, a town of France, capital of an arrondisse-
ment of the same name in the department of Finistere, is
situated at the head of the joint estuary of the rivers Jar-
leaux and Kerlent, which here unite their waters, 34 miles
N.E. of Brest. The valley in which it stands is entirely
occupied by the water, with only a line of quays and a single
street on each side; while the hills, covered with gardens
and woods, rise steeply close behind the houses. The
streets are irregular, and the houses antique and fantastic,
with the upper storeys overhanging the lower. The town
has a large square, surrounded by handsome buildings; and
the principal edifices are two churches and a court-house.
Linen, oil, and candles are the chief manufactures; and
there is a national tobacco manufactory, the tobacco of
which is said to be the worst in Europe. The harbour is
safe, but difficult of entrance ; and the trade is considerable
in live stock, hides, linen, paper, corn, wine, brandy, &c.
Pop. (1851) 11,698.
MORLAND, George, a famous painter, was a lineal
descendant of Sir Samuel Morland, and was born in the
Haymarket, London, on the 26th June 1763. Before the
age of six he had taken to the pencil as if by instinct, and
was producing drawings which were sold without any diffi¬
culty. His father, an ignorant man and an indifferent artist,
undertook the entire superintendence of his training. He
denied him every recreation, shut him up in a garret, forced
him to produce sketches for sale, and incited him to pro¬
gress in his studies by pampering his boyish appetites and
vanities.. Under such discipline the young artist simulta¬
neously improved in painting and degenerated in morality;
so that by the time he was sixteen he was alike precocious
in talent and in vice. In his seventeenth year he threw off
the paternal thraldom, and rushed with eagerness into gaiety
and dissipation. His facile and masterly pencil was inces¬
santly plied to defray the expenses of the most thoughtless
prodigality. Even in the very heat and excitement of con¬
viviality, he dashed off sketches of rural economy, notable
for their elegance and quiet truthfulness. His representa¬
tions of pigs and asses were especially unrivalled. He
might now have realized a handsome competence, and have
risen into the esteem of the learned and the great. But
his affections were perversely fixed, and his money was
freely lavished upon such companions as prize-fighters,
hostlers, and pot-boys. Even a virtuous and attractive wife,
and the pleasures of a comfortable home, failed to charm
him away from his haunts of gross gratification and up¬
roarious merriment. During all this time, when his painting
was supplying money for his pleasures, his pleasures were
supplying subjects for his painting. He was depicting tap-
rooms and hedge-alehouses with that delicate tact of genius
which, in handling an object, selects all those properties
that are essential and picturesque, and rejects all those that
are accidental and coarse. Such pictures as these raised his
fame without increasing his fortune. He was continually
infested by swarms of accomplished swindlers, who decoyed
him on in his giddy round of dissipation, supplied him with
money to pay for his prodigality, and exacted in return
sketches far exceeding in value the sums that had been
advanced. In course of time Morland became a squalid
debtor, skulking in obscure alleys, and straining all his
cunning to escape from tipstaffs. He was arrested; but
by the intercession of his friends he obtained the Rules of
the Bench. There his light-headed dissipation was indulged,
and his felicitous sketches were produced as incessantly as
ever, until he was set free by the Insolvent Debtor’s Act.
By this time his constitution was irrecoverably shattered. In
his thirty-ninth year he was struck with a palsy; an arrest¬
ment for debt followed, and he was lodged in a spunging-’
house in Eyre Street. He died there in 1804. (See Cun¬
ningham’s Lives of British Painters, &c.)
Morland, Sir Samuel, a skilful mechanist, was the son
of a clergyman, and was born at Sulhamstead-Bannister in
Berkshire about 1625. He was educated at Winchester
school and at the university of Cambridge. Several years
afterwards he became assistant to Thurloe, the secretary of
Cromwell. His exertions in behalf of the fund for the per¬
secuted Piedmontese first brought him before the notice of
the public. He acted as commissioner extraordinary for
the distribution of the collected money; and published in
1658 the History of the Evangelical Churches of Piedmont.
In 1659 he is said to have discovered and betrayed a plot
formed by Cromwell, Thurloe, and Sir Charles Willis, for
alluring Prince Charles over to England, and overthrowing
the royalist cause by one blow. His services in behalf of
the King were rewarded after the Restoration by several
honours and dignities. He was created a knight and a
baronet, was appointed master of mechanics to his Majesty,
and a gentleman of the royal privy chamber, and received
a pension of L.400. About this time he seems to have be¬
come thoroughly engrossed with his mechanical studies.
His invention of the speaking-trumpet was divulged to the
world in 1671, in a treatise entitled A Description of the
Tuba Stentorophonica. Two years afterwards he published
an account of an arithmetical machine which he had in¬
vented in 1666. He also improved the fire-engine, capstan,
and especially the pump and the water-engine. The cost
of these inventions and improvements ruined his fortune,
previously diminished by misfortune and imprudence. Blind¬
ness was added to his calamities; and he spent the last
three years of his life subsisting almost entirely on the be¬
nevolence of Archbishop Tenison, and giving vent to his
Morland,
‘Mown
iss.
M O R
serious reflections in a work entitled The Vrim of Con¬
science. He died about 1696. An unpublished autobio-
^ graphy of Sir Samuel Morland is in the library at Lambeth
Palace.
MORMONISM, the name given to that system of faith
maintained by the Mormons, or Mormonites, or Latter-day
Saints, a religious sect which has sprung up in the United
States of America during the present century, and whose
progress has been attended with surprising success. Mor-
monism is unquestionably one of the greatest religious im¬
postures of this or of any age ; and the evidence which has
been adduced of the unblushing effrontery and blasphemous
lies employed to give it currency is so cogent and over¬
whelming, that no one but a fanatical dupe of the delusion
could give credence for a moment to such a tissue of de¬
ceptions.
Ihe author of the Mormon imposture was one Joseph
Smith, who was born in the town of Sharon, Windsor county
Vermont, U.S., on the 23d December 1805. His father’
who was a small farmer, removed afterwards with his family
to Palmyra, New York, where they lived a sort of idle,
vagrant life, and were principally known as money-diggers.
The elder Smith was notorious for his incantations, delu¬
sions, and lies ; and he soon discovered that his son Joseph
concealed under a guise of dulness and sloth a decided
genius for “ second-sight.” Accordingly, when a money¬
digging excursion was projected, young Joseph was chosen
guide; and by looking through a peculiar stone, which
he placed in his hat. he tC saw into the depths of the earth,”
and decided where tne money-seekers should begin to dig.
Dig they did, but unfortunately always blundered in the
process; so that no gold was found, and yet the correct¬
ness of Josenh’s vision remained unchallenged. Despite
the want of success which attended their ostensible profes¬
sion of money-digging, the Smiths contrived, by whatever
means, to be nearly always idle and very generally drunk.
In addition to those accomplishments, they practised that
of lying. A number of the most respectable residents in their
neighbourhood solemnly declared upon oath that “ no credit
can be given to any one member of the Smith family.” These
general traits of the family character were all to be met
with in the person of Joseph Smith junior, only in fuller
development and richer growth. Indeed, these early per¬
sonal vices were afterwards publicly admitted by “ the Pro-
pliet,” and dexterously turned to his own advantage. In
short, the founder of Mormonism had, at the period of his
finding the Golden Bible, a well-authenticated character for
dexterous knavery, astute lying, and gross drunkenness: a
very limited moral capital certainly on which to commence
business as a founder of a new religion. Nor were his lite¬
rary qualifications of a much higher order. He could read
tolerably, write imperfectly, calculate with difficulty, and,
as his inspired productions afterwards showed, blundered
sadly in spelling, and held all grammar in abhorrence. Yet
to a man who sees “ remarkable visions,” and is favoured
with an occasional visit from John the Baptist, what may
not be possible ?
According to the testimony of Mr Peter Ingersoll, who
was a. neighbour of Smith’s from 1822 to 1830, taken under
oath in 1833, the future “Prophet” came in one day with a
joyful countenance to the deponent, and communicated to
him the following piece of information :—“ As I was passing
yesterday across the woods after a heavy shower of rain, I
tound in a hollow some beautiful white sand that had been
washed up by the water. I took off my frock, and tied up
several quarts of it, and then went home. On my entering
the house I found the family at table eating dinner. They
were all anxious to know the contents of my frock. At that
moment I happened to think of what I had heard about
a history found in Canada, called the Golden Bible; so ~
M 0 R
very gravely told them it was the Golden Bible. To my
surprise, they were credulous enough to believe what I said.
Accordingly, I told them I had received a commandment
to let no one see it; for, said I, no one can see it with the
naked eye and live.” The deponent then goes on to state:
—“ Notwithstanding he [Smith]-told me he had no such
book, and believed there never was any such; yet he told
me that he actually went to Willard Chase to get him to
make a chest in which he might deposit his Golden Bible.”
In September 1827, after this interview with Ingersoll,
Smith went to Chase and asked him to make him a chest’
for he expected soon to get the Golden Bible. Shortly
after, Smith returned to the workman, and said that he had
been directed to a hill in the neighbourhood, where he
found the book deposited in the ground, and hid it in a tree-
top. The elder Smith’s tale of this wonderful discovery
was highly embellished with the marvellous, and was at
the same time perfectly characteristic. The book was mar¬
vellous ; it had been found in a marvellous way; it required
marvellous qualifications to obtain it; and it was marvellous
to an unparalleled degree in the influence it had exerted
over the faith of the family of Smith. No one had seen
the book, indeed, but the inspired Joseph; but then its
disclosure to the eye of mortal was prohibited by a special
revelation of the book itself. The origin of the Golden
Bible, however, is a genuine historical fact, and is briefly
explained.
In the year 1809 one Solomon Spaulding, a graduate of
Dartmouth College, and who had for some time been a
clergyman, having relinquished his profession in favour of
mercantile pursuits, removed first to Cherry Valley, New
York, and subsequently to Conneaut in Ohio. Being a man
possessed of a sort of literary taste, he occupied his leisure
hours in writing a fabulous account of the origin of the North
Ameiican Indians, who at that time were alleged by some
to be the descendants of the lost ten tribes of Israel. He
laboured for three years upon this religious fiction, which
he entitled The Manuscript Found. Two of the leading
characters in the book were Mormon and his son Moroni,
who figure so largely in Joseph Smith’s Book of Mormon!
To give the work a fictitious origin, he resolved to bring
it forward as having been found in a cave; and, to lend it an
air of antiquity, he adopted the style employed in the com¬
mon translation of the Scriptures. Spaulding made no
secret, moreover, of the curious task on which he was
engaged. On the contrary, as his work progressed, says
his widow, “ the neighbours would come in from time to
time to hear portions read, and a great interest in the work
was excited among them;” which, among other things,
showed how exceedingly easily the honest folks were pleased;’
for in point of dreary dulness and stupidity a more notable
MS. never came from the pen of man. Solomon’s brother
John was “perfectly familiar with the work,” and afterwards
recognised it at once when it had been converted into the
Golden Bible. “ He was amazed and afflicted that it should
have been perverted to so wicked a purpose.” The evi¬
dence of Spaulding’s brother, and that of Lake his partner,
as to the identity of the Book of Mormon and The Manu¬
script Found, was given publicly upon oath, and is thus far
conclusive. (See Expose of Mormonism, by John Bennett,
Boston, 1842.) Spaulding completed his volume about 1813;
and there appeared an announcement in the newspapers of
the day that it consisted of a translation of the Book of
Mormon, recently discovered, containing a history of the
lost tribes. The manuscript was placed in the hands of a
printer or bookseller, named Patterson, at Pittsburgh, Penn¬
sylvania, who was much pleased with the work; but before
any definite arrangements could be come to respecting its
publication the author died. The manuscript remained in
the possession of Patterson, who lent it to one Sydney
Higdon, a compositor in his employment, and who combined
with his calling of printer the functions of preacher to some
539
Mormon-
ism.
mormonism.
sect of religionists. Whatever may have been Itrgdon’s
ultimate design, it is at least alleged that he deliberately
copied out the manuscript of Spaulding. How Joseph
Smith and this person became connected is not known;
but at all events, by taking advantage of the rage for reli¬
gious excitement then current in various parts of the
the idea originated between them of making a new 13i e
out of Solomon Spaulding’s historical novel. But how was
the imposture to be palmed upon the world . This require
considerable address; and a consummate amount ot cratt
and brazen-faced impudence were brought to the task. In
the authorized Mormon chronology of the most important
events which have transpired in their church we find the
first three entries as follows1820. Early in the spring,
J Smith iun. had his first vision. 1823. September 21,
J Smith iun. had a second vision, in which was revealed
to him the existence of the plates from which the Book of
Mormon was translated. The next day he opened the
place where the plates were deposited, and saw them. 1827.
September 22, J. Smith jun. obtained possession of the plates
of the Book of Mormon, the Urim and Thummim, and
Breastplate.” Now, this is skilfully done: there is no
undue haste or precipitation displayed; the mind of Joseph
had to undergo a gradual preparation before he could be
deemed worthy to be made the vehicle of a new revelation.
The progress of events have also another aspect. Nothing
could be made of Spaulding’s manuscript during Patterson’s
life; and hence “ the plates” could not be obtained posses¬
sion of till 1827, a few months after the worthy printer
died. All this falls in admirably, the one part with the
other. The way is now clear, and Joseph’s long-expected
Golden Bible makes its appearance. He found it deposited
in the ground, the characters beautifully engraved on plates
of gold, fastened together by rings of the same metal. J oseph
was a mean scholar, but he was inspired to execute the task
of translating this mysterious language into English. He
set to work accordingly, in conjunction with Rigdon and
one Oliver Cowdery, who acted as scribe, and interpolated
at judicious intervals in Spaulding’s manuscript certain reli¬
gious maxims, prophecies, &c., garbled from the sacred
Scriptures, and engrafted upon the original romance—not
itself a miracle of correctness—-in a manner so illiterate and
clumsy as at once to betray the ignorance of the interpo¬
lator. But all errors are admitted by the Mormons. With
them no amount of anachronisms or contradictions can in¬
validate the plenary inspiration of the Book of Mormon.
Joseph Smith was a chosen vessel, and it was not necessary
that he should write correct English. The inspired trans¬
lator, however, despite all his money-digging, was a poor
man, and his coadjutor Ridgon, printer and preacher, was
little richer. Money must be had to carry on the divine
task; for Joseph was only inspired to translate Egyptian
hieroglyphics, not to discover the philosopher s stone.
Martin Harris, a farmer, more wealthy than wise, and a man
who had already gone through all the phases of faith within
his reach, was fixed upon as a fit subject on which to ope¬
rate. Simple Martin proved an easy prey: the revelation
which said, “impart it [i.e., thy property] freely to the
printing of the Book of Mormon” (sec. 44 of Doctrines
and Covenants of the Latter-day Saints, Nauvoo, 1846)
he could neglect only at his peril; and so the dollars of the
honest farmer began gradually to slide through his fingers,
with little immediate prospect of recovering them. His
faith began to diminish as well as his purse, and something
required to be done to increase it. He was accordingly
despatched by Joseph Smith, with what the credulous far¬
mer was led to believe to be a fac-simile of a portion of the
golden plates, to Anthon of New York, the well-known
editor of various classical works, to test the learning of the
professor on the Golden Bible. The scholarship of the
classic was at fault: the Book of Mormon was beyond his
comprehension. “ It consisted,” Anthon afterwards wrote
to Mr Howe in 1834, “of all kinds of crooked characters, ism,
disposed in columns, and had evidently been prepared by
some person who had before him at the time a book con¬
taining various alphabets, Greek and Hebrew letters, crosses,
flourishes, &c.” “ I began to regard it,” he says, “ as part
of a scheme to cheat the farmer of his money, and I com¬
municated my suspicions to him, warning him to beware of
rogues.” Harris returned to “ the Prophet,” who doubtless
turned the professor’s apparent ignorance to good account.
The printing of the Golden Bible commenced, and Harris
was loud in his praises, to the printers, of the wonderful
wisdom of the translators of the mysterious plates. The
printers had their suspicions, however, and they were not to be
duped. To bring this vaunted wisdom to the test, after put¬
ting one sheet in type, they laid it aside, and told Harris it was
lost, and must be replaced. “ After two or three weeks,”
says Mr Tucker, who was connected with the office, “an¬
other sheet was produced, but no more like the original
than any other sheet of paper would have been, written
over by a common school-boy after having read, as they did,
the manuscripts preceding and succeeding the lost sheet.”
The Book of Mormon was ultimately published ; and among
other revelations of the will of God, Smith was declared to
be his “ Prophet,” with all power, and entitled to all obe¬
dience. He soon found himself at the head of a small but
rapidly-increasing body of ardent followers. The first con¬
ference of the sect as an organized church was held at
Fayette on the 1st June 1830, when the numbers of the
“ Saints,” including the family of the Smiths, amounted to
thirty. During the same year a revelation was made to
Joseph, styling him “ Seer, Translator, Prophet, Apostle of
Jesus Christ, and Elder of the Church,” and enacting that
“ the church shall give heed to all his words and command¬
ments which he shall give unto you; for his word shall ye
receive as if from mine own mouth, in all patience and faith.”
(Doc. and Cov., &c., sec. 46.) Joseph began boldly and
openly to baptize his disciples in a neighbouring stream;
but the inhabitants of Fayette knew too much of the swin¬
dling money-digger and his fraternity to tolerate such a
pitch of blasphemous audacity, and accordingly employed
language and threw out hints by no means flattering to
“ the Prophet.” He judged it prudent to transplant his
new religion elsewhere, and accordingly removed to Kirt-
land in Ohio, a revelation having been duly promulgated to
that effect. This place continued to be the residence of
“ the Prophet,” and the ecclesiastical seat of the sect, till
1838, when they migrated to Missouri. In 1831, after their
removal to Kirtland, a revelation was promulgated that they
should consecrate all their property to God. Joseph
accordingly set up a mercantile house and a bank, appoint¬
ing himself president, and Rigdon, the fidus Achates,
cashier. This speculation had only a temporary success,
however. Joseph had perhaps forgotten, or not sufficiently
considered, the revelation of his earlier career—“ In tem¬
poral labours thou shall not have strength, for that is not
thy calling.” (Doc. and Cov., sec. 9.) At all events, in
1837 the bank stopped payment, and “the Prophet was
induced to depart secretly in the night for Missouri, leaving
his creditors to their own shift. He probably had a re¬
velation” for this movement also. Kirtland did not Prov^
a Zion to the Mormonites: “the Prophet” was tarred an
feathered by the mob ; and his followers had to submit o
numerous indignities at the hands of the “ Gentiles. . e
history of the sect for the next three years after their re¬
moval to Missouri is one of strife and contention with t ei
unrelenting enemies. Not a few of the “ Saints themse ves
showed signs of disaffection and declension, and a grea
schism broke out in 1838, when Joseph found it necessary
to denounce his chosen confederates, Cowdery, Harris, an
Rigdon. The Mormons presumptuously claimed the en i
J '
MOR MONISM.
‘ormii- country as theirs by spiritual right, and the people of the
1 isnu neighbouring districts, not fully appreciating the validity of
the claim, and dreading the fanatical ambition of the
“Saints,” commenced a series of outrages upon them, which
( ended in sheer massacre and bloodshed, and the final ex-
1 pulsion of the Mormons from Missouri. It must be ad-
r mitted, however, that they were most cruelly treated by
1 the Missourians; and, considering the slight causes of ag-
§ gravation, the conduct of the people of Far West was alto-
§ gether reprehensible.
A few months after their compulsory departure from
Missouri, the Mormons, amounting in all to 15,000, found
refuge in Illinois, where they founded the city of “ Nau-
voo,” and appointed Joseph Smith mayor. The recent
reverses which the sect had undergone had tended, if pos¬
sible, to exalt “ the Prophet ” still higher in their estimation.
His unflinching courage in the most perilous circumstances
commanded their admiration ; and his constant reliance on
1 the ultimate triumph of his cause inflamed their fanaticism,
and inspired them with the most extravagant hopes. The
organization of the sect was gradually becoming more com-
* plete, and the Mormons had already begun to display that
1 steady industry and judicious frugality on which their
1 subsequent success has so much depended. New converts
' or wandering adventurers flocked from all parts of the
Union, and even from England, to cast in their lot with
1 the followers of “ the Prophet,” and add a stone to the
< temple of the “Holy City.” The darling dream of the
1 impostor’s ambition was now becoming realized. His
supremacy was undivided, and his word was law. He was
) both temporal and spiritual head of his people, and not only
enjoyed the titles of “ Prophet,” “ President,” and “ Mayor,”
but also rejoiced in the military distinction of “ General ”
Smith, in virtue of his command over the Nauvoo Legion,
i a body of militia which he had recently organized. The
period of the “ Saints’ ” residence in Missouri was not at
i all rich in “ revelations.” Their hold upon the territory
" was too insecure to warrant any likelihood of success in the
prophetic art. Joseph thought, with Epimenides and
1 Bacon, doubtless, that in these circumstances it was safer
1 to prophesy after the thing had happened. Affairs had
c now assumed a more settled aspect in Illinois; and a
“ revelation ” was made known to the faithful of “ Come ye
with all your gold and silver,” &c., to build a “ boarding-
li house and “ let it be built in my name, and let my name
be named upon it, and let my servant Joseph Smith and
1) his house have place therein from generation to generation,
f for ever and ever, saith the Lord.” Joseph was always
c ^ duly provided for in all the revelations. In this “ boarding-
i'** house,” it is said, the “revelator” kept a tavern, which
[ • proved a very successful speculation. But the great un-
(• dertaking of Nauvoo was the building of the Mormon
t temple, on which it is said the sect expended nearly a
i million of dollars. The foundation of this splendid edifice
i was laid with great pomp on the 6th of April 1841. Ihe
i rapid growth of the “ Holy City ” was quite surprising; and
t the spiritual pride of the “ Saints ” kept pace with their pro¬
sperity. In 1843 Joseph aspired to the presidency of the
United States, and published a statement of his views. He
i did not succeed ; but he soon discovered that all his presi-
( dential authority was required among his own disciples at
i home. Their former presumption towards the “ Gentiles,”
i I and their own private dissensions, were again renewed.
Sidney Higdon, who had been re-admitted into the confi¬
dence* of “ the Prophet,” introduced a novelty called the
“ spiritual wife ” doctrine, which led to great scandal, and
ultimately to an unexpected catastrophe. Smith, though
he discountenanced the practice in public, seems to have
been himself a warm patron of polygamy, and is said to
have rivalled Mohammed in the number of his favourites.
But Rigdon outdid “the Prophet” here, and had “revela-
591
tions ” of his own, in which he blasphemously claimed the Mormon-
sanction of Heaven for systematic seduction. Whether ism-
justly or unjustly, Smith himself was charged by certain of
his own followers with countenancing and even practising
this abominable doctrine ; and in attempting to extinguish
this alleged scandal by violent measures, “the Prophet”
brought himself within the power of the legal authorities of
the county. He was imprisoned, with his brother Hyrum
and certain of his confederates, in Carthage, to take their
trial for riot. The governor pledged his word to protect
them against threatened violence; but on the evening of
the 27th of June 1844, “ nearly two hundred men with
blackened faces” rushed into the prison where the obnoxious
sectaries lay, and instantly fired upon them. Joseph and
Hyrum were both shot dead on the spot, but the rest
escaped.
Thus fell this singular character, who, from a position of
poverty, ignorance, and vice, had, in the short space of
twenty years, raised himself, by the most unblushing im¬
position and blasphemous fraud, to be the acknowledged
head of 100,000 ardent followers, and the author of a creed
which had already found zealous teachers and ready be¬
lievers over half the globe. Whether in his later years
he continued the vulgar and ambitious impostor of his
earlier career, it is difficult to say. There are not a few
incidents in his later life which would favour the supposition
that he really believed what he asserted. It would seem
that, by a whole life of falsehood and deception, he had so
habituated himself to assumption and imposition, that a lie
became the only possible truth for him. But however this
may be, he was certainly one of the most notorious men
of modern times.
On the death of Smith, addresses and proclamations were
issued to the “ Saints;” and Brigham Young, an English
Mormon, succeeded, after expelling Rigdon, in securing
the leadership of the sect. After a short period of transient
prosperity, new troubles and hostilities arose between the
“ Saints ” and the “ Gentiles.” A battle ensued between
the Mormon forces and the state militia, which ended in
the final expulsion of the former from the “ Holy City ”
and the Illinois territory. Some went to the western
border of Iowa, and formed a temporary settlement on the
Missouri River. A large body sought a permanent refuge
in the Great Salt Lake Valley, between the Nevada and
the Rocky Mountains,—“ a remarkable pilgrimage,” says
Dr Mackay (The Mormons, or Latter-day Saints, 1856),
“ which has not been paralleled in the history of mankind
since Moses led the Israelites from Egypt.” The pioneers
of this great and perilous expedition entered the Great
Salt Lake Valley on the 24th July 1847. Their persecu¬
tions, which they had suffered manfully and with surprising
patience, being now over, they devoted themselves to the
labours of the field with extraordinary industry and success.
Since the period of their arrival, a large and flourishing
city, called the “ Great Salt Lake City,” has arisen at the
foot of the splendid mountains which surround the valley;
and the long arable reaches of land in the neighbourhood
are skilfully cultivated, and are yielding rich and abundant
crops. A “ perpetual emigration fund ” was organized in
1849, to enable the poorer converts to Mormonism to reach
the promised land. From all parts of Britain, and from
many cities of the Continent, and especially from Germany,
thousands of proselytes to the new faith are annually
flocking to the land of Utah. Polygamy, which was at
first concealed under the doctrine of the “ spiritual wife,”
is now openly practised, and even inculcated as a Christian
duty, and is leading to the worst of consequences. (See
Patriarchal Order, or Plurality of Wives, by Orson Pratt,
Liverpool, 1853.) The inequality of the sexes is at once
a religious doctrine and a rule of life among the “ Saints.”
Women must obey their husbands in all things, whether
592 M 0 K M 0 N I S M.
Mormon- right or wrong. Numerous cases of desertion are said to
i8m. ke (|aiiy occurring; and from an account given of the state
of Mormon affairs at head-quarters, by twenty-six of their
number who had escaped in June 1857 to San Francisco,
it would appear that instant death is the doom of all apos¬
tates. A band of blood-thirsty ruffians, called the “ De¬
stroying Angels,” has been instituted for the extermination
of all deserters and apostates from the faith. So utterly
are many of their deluded adherents disgusted with the
bestiality practised in the Holy City, that it is confidently
alleged, that if the government of the United States were
to afford them protection from the persecution consequent
on desertion, one-half of the inhabitants of the Great Salt
Lake Valley would seek a residence elsewhere. Brigham
Young, a clever, audacious blackguard, is the political as
well as the spiritual head of his people ; and he has recently
preached open rebellion against the United States, of
which Utah since 1850 has formed a territory. Such
a system is a virtual treason against the laws of human
society; and the government of the United States is at
present (Nov. 1857) contemplating an armed expedition to
Utah to reduce the “ Saints ” to sounder views of territorial
obedience. Lieutenant Gunnison, however, affirms that,
with their 8000 militia, who are under excellent discipline,
the Mormons could defy the whole 10,000 of a standing
army possessed by the United States. {History of the Mor¬
mons, by Lieutenant Gunnison, Philadelphia, 1852.)
The first Mormon mission to England was begun in
1837; and in 1843 the converts throughout different
parts of Britain amounted to upwards of 10,000. They
were almost entirely drawn from the illiterate among the
working-classes,—Wales furnishing a larger proportion than
any other part of Great Britain. From authentic returns
published by an American paper in August 1856, it appears
that the Mormons number in America 68,700; of whom
38,000 are in Utah, 5000 in New York, 4000 in California,
5000 in Nova Scotia and Canada, and 9000 in South
America and the Sandwich Islands. Europe contains
39,000; of whom 32,000 are in Great Britain and Ireland,
5000 in Scandinavia, 1000 in Germany and Switzerland,
500 in France, and 500 in the other countries of Europe.
In Asia they are said to number 1000; in Australia and Poly¬
nesia, 2400 ; in Africa, 100; on travel, 1800. There are in
addition 8500 schismatics, including Strangites, Rigdonites,
and Wightites. Their aggregate amount is above 120,000;
and it is supposed that the whole sect cannot exceed
126,000. These statistics are considerably below those
published by the “ Saints” themselves; but it is alleged by
those who have visited the Great Salt Lake, that, from some
cause or other, the faithful are greatly given to exaggeration
on this point. Their number, as at present estimated by
themselves, is upwards of 300,000.
The precise religious creed of the Mormons cannot be
easily ascertained. They profess to believe in the word of
God recorded in the Bible, also in the Book of Mormon,
and the Book of Doctrine and Covenants, which in their
opinion completes the Scriptures, and forms the fulness of
the gospel. Their mode of interpreting Scripture, how¬
ever, is often somewhat peculiar. They describe God in
their symbolic books as “ a material, organized intelligence,
possessing both body and parts.” They maintain that the
gift of prophecy and the power of working miracles have
not ceased, and that many of their number can work
miracles and cast out devils. They hold that the end of
the world is near, and that they are the “ saints” mentioned
in the Apocalypse, who will reign with Christ in a tem¬
poral kingdom in this world. The seat of this kingdom,
they allege, will be either Missouri or their present location
in Utah. They hold, that in order to be saved men must
comply with four conditions:—They must believe in Christ’s
atonement; they must repent of their sins; they must
receive baptism by immersion, administered by an apostle Homo
of Christ’s appointment; they must receive the laying on ism.11
of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost, by duly author-
ized apostles. They recognise two orders of priesthood,
called the “ Aaronic” and the “ Melchizedekand are
governed by a prophet, twelve apostles, “ the seventies,”
bishops, high-priests, deacons, elders, and teachers. (See
A Compendium of the Faith and Doctrines of the Church
of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, by F. D. Richards,
1857, passim.)
The first cause of the rapid and vigorous growth of Mor-
monism which strikes the attention is the alleged posses¬
sion of a living visible prophet, and a direct and permanent
inspiration. Its votaries are thus saved the trouble of
wrestling with those problems of life which demand solution
from all earnest minds who do not pin their faith to any
outward authority. They accordingly inform us in their
authorized organ {Millennial Star, vol. xiv., p. 444), that
“ Latter-day Saints know that the Lord has spoken in this
age; they know that angels do now converse with men;
they know that the gifts of the Holy Ghost are manifested
in these days by dreams, &c.” In the second place, the
skilful organization of the sect has enabled it to direct the
energies of its votaries to the best purpose. They have
made a very religion of industry. Thirdly, we may as¬
cribe very much of the success of Mormonism to the dis¬
content which prevails among the working-classes against
the rich. To many such the voice of the Mormon apostle
sounds like that of Moses to his oppressed brethren in
Egypt, inviting them to fly from oppression and slavery to
that promised land where the poor are lords of the soil,
where social equality is the rule, and universal brotherhood
the grand maxim of life. This cause has doubtless ope¬
rated more extensively in making converts to Mormonism
among our operatives in this country than is generally
supposed. Another cause, which cannot be overlooked, is
the premium held out upon sensualism by elevating some
of its grossest practices into direct Christian duties. But
while these causes may serve in some degree to explain the
rapid extension of the Mormon delusion, have we any rea¬
son to suppose that any or all of them will be sufficient to
secure its permanent stability ? While any answer to such
a question must be to a great extent conjectural, it is never¬
theless tolerably obvious that Mormonism contains within
itself more than one element of weakness and decay. The
present zeal for proseiytism must to some extent pass away
when the necessity for increasing the population has ceased,
by the requisite 60,000 elevating the present Utah terri¬
tory into a state of the Union. Secondly, the rooting of
the sect to a single spot will tend—if future “ revelations”
prevent not—by localizing it, to limit its ultimate exten¬
sion, and neutralize its vaunted catholicity. Thirdly, the
theocratic and democratic elements, which are at present
merged together, will be in constant danger of being con¬
founded. The death of a president may lead to a violent
disruption any day. And, in the last place, it is alleged by
those who have resided in Deseret that the rising genera¬
tion of the “ Saints” is growing up faithless and false,—the
younger citizens laughing in their sleeve at the “ martyr
Joseph with his plates and prophesyings. If this be so, we
shall have the old cycle of the world’s history again re¬
peated (si licet parva componere magnis), ot an age of
scepticism succeeding a generation of credulity,—of lazy
luxury and gross sensuality following in the wake of earnest,
manly industry and honourable prosperity. (Conybeares
Essays, p. 280.)
(For further information respecting the rise, progress, and
present state of Mormonism, consult the Prophet of the
Nineteenth Century, and the City of the Mormons, by Pro¬
fessor Caswall of Missouri, London, 1843; Census of the
Religious Worship of Great Britain, 1851, by Mr Plorace
M O R
nay
cco.
Mann; The, Mormons or Latter-day Saints, with Memoirs
of the Life and Death of Joseph Smith, the “ American
Mahomet,” London, 1852 ; The Mormons, or Latter-day
Saints, a Contemporary History, by Charles Mackay, LL.D.,
London, 1856; Olshausen’s Geschichte der Mormonen, Got¬
tingen, 1856, 8vo ; A Visit to Salt Lake, being a Journey
across the Plains, and a Residence in the Mormon Set¬
tlements at Utah, by William Chandless, London, 1857.
MORNAY, Philippe de, Seigneur du Plessis-Marly,
was born at Buhy or Bislmy in Upper Normandy, in
France, in 1549, and was educated at Paris. He made
rapid progress in the belles-lettres, in the learned lan¬
guages, and in theology, which was then thought a pro¬
digy in a gentleman. He was destined for the church by
his father, who was a zealous Roman Catholic; but the
principles of the Reformation, which he had imbibed from
his mother, effectually excluded him from the ecclesiastical
preferments to which, by his interest, abilities, and birth,
he would have been entitled. After the horrible massacre
of St Bartholomew, he travelled Italy, Germany, England,
and the Low Countries; and after his return joined the
King of Navarre, at that time leader of the Protestant
party, and since so well known by the name of Henri IY.
I his prince sent Mornay,—who employed his whole abilities,
both as a soldier and a writer, in defence of the Protestant
cause,—to conduct a negotiation with Elizabeth, Queen of
England. He was left wholly to his own discretion in the
management of that business, and was successful in almost
every negotiation. He tenderly loved Henri IV., and
spoke to him upon all occasions as to a friend. When he
was wounded at Aumale, he wrote to him in these words:—
“ Sire, you have long enough acted the part of Alexander;
it is now time you should act that of Caesar. It is our duty
to die for your Majesty. It is glorious for you, Sire, that I
dare venture to tell you it is your duty to live for us.”
This faithful subject did everything in his power to raise
Henri to the throne; but when he deserted the Protestant
faith he reproached him in the bitterest manner, and retired
from court. Yet Henri still loved him, and had occasion
afterwards to give evidence of his continued attachment to
this tried servant. Mornay’s knowledge, probity, and va¬
lour made him the soul of the Protestant party, and pro¬
cured him the contemptuous appellation of the “ Pope of the
Huguenots.” He defended their doctrines both by speech
and writing. One of his books, Un Traite de VInstitution
de VEucharistic, published in 1598, having stirred up the
Catholic divines, he refused to make any reply to their
censures and criticisms except in a public conference. This
was accordingly appointed to be held in the year 1600 at
Fontainebleau, where the court then was. The two cham¬
pions were Duperron, Bishop of Evreux, and Mornay. After
a great many arguments and replies on both sides, the vie-
M O R 593
tory was adjudged to Duperron. He had boasted that he Moro
would point out to the satisfaction of every one five hundred II
errors in his adversary’s book, and he partly kept his word. Morocco-
The Calvinists did not fail to claim the victory on this oc-
casion, and they still continue to do so. But this confer¬
ence, instead of putting an end to the differences, was pro¬
ductive of new quarrels amongst the controversialists, and
of much profane wit amongst the libertines. When Louis
XIII. was making preparations against the Protestants,
Mornay, who was governor of Saumur, wrote him a letter,
full of enlightened freedom, dissuading him from such a
measure. But these remonstrances produced no other effect
than the loss of the government of Saumur, of which he
was deprived by Louis XIII. in 1621. He died two years
afterwards, on the 11th November 1623, aged seventy-four,
in his barony of La Foret-sur-Seure in Poitou.
His principal works are,—Un Traite de VEucharistie,
1604, folio; Un Traite de la Verite de la Religion Chre-
tienne, 8vo ; La Mystere d'Iniquite, 4to; Un Discours
sur le Droit pretendu par ceux de la Maison de Guise,
8vo ; curious and interesting Memoirs, from the year 1572
to 1629, 4 vols. 4to; Letters, written with great spirit and
good sense. David des Liques published a Life of De
Mornay, in a quarto volume ; and additional information re¬
garding him will be found in the Lives of the Ancient
Seigneurs of Mornay, by R. de Mornay de la Villetertre,
1689, 4to. The greater number of his works were trans¬
lated into English during his own time.
MORO, Attoni, or Sir Anthony More, an eminent
portrait-painter, was born at Utrecht in 1512, according to
some, but in 1525 according to Van Mander, in his Het
Leven der Schilders. He studied his art under Jan Schoo-
reel; and after making a professional visit to Italy, he com¬
menced to paint portraits in the style of Hans Holbein.
His rise to eminence was rapid. In 1552 he was invited
to Madrid by the Emperor Charles V. to execute a like¬
ness of Prince Philip. Two years afterwards he was in
London painting the portrait of Queen Mary. For this
picture an annual salary, and, as some suppose, the honour
of knighthood, were conferred upon him. He was also
employed to sketch the likenesses of several of the English
nobility. On the death of Mary in 1558 Moro returned
to Spain, and lived there for two years in great honour
with the Emperor Philip. He then repaired to the Nether¬
lands, and was received into the service of the Duke of
Alva. His death took place at Antwerp about 1581.
“ Moro’s style,” says Stanley in his Dutch and Flemish
Painters, “ so much resembles that of Holbein as to fre¬
quently create a doubt to which of them a portrait is to be
attributed; but he is not so clear and delicate in his colour¬
ing (perhaps from having painted so much in Spain) as that
master.”
MOROCCO.
Morocco, or Morocco, an empire in the N.W. of Africa,
called by the natives Moghrib-el-Acsa, or the Extreme
West, lies between 28. and 36. N. Lat. and between 1. 20.
and 11. 30. W. Long. It is bounded on the N. by the
Straits of Gibraltar and the Mediterranean, E. by Algeria,
S. by the Sahara, and W. by the Atlantic. Area estimated
at 222,560 square miles.
iins. The natural features of this extensive country present
mountains, plains, and valleys in the utmost variety. The
country is traversed from N.E. to S.W. by the Atlas Moun¬
tains, which consist of several parallel chains rather than of
a single range. The southern portion of these mountains
is known by the name of the Greater, and the northern by
that of the Lesser Atlas. The north-eastern extremity of
VOL. xv.
the latter approaches the Mediterranean at Cape dell’ Acqua
to the W. of the mouth of the Mulwia; and a branch called
the Er-Riff Mountains stretches westward, and terminates
at Ceuta, opposite to Gibraltar. The most celebrated of
these is the craggy limestone mountain known by the
modern name of Apes Hill, the Mons Abyla of antiquity,
and one of the Pillars of Hercules. Towards the Atlantic on
the S.W. the Greater Atlas consists of two ranges, one of
which ends at Cape Gher and the other at Cape Nun. On
the N.W. of the main ridge there is a plain stretching towards
the Atlantic, and on the S.E. another stretching towards
the Sahara. The whole of Morocco consists of two moun¬
tainous and two lower regions. Of the mountainous re¬
gions, the most extensive, though not the most elevated,
4 F
m
594 MOROCCO.
Morocco, is that of Er-R:ff. which lies along the coast of the Medi-
v'—terranean. consisting of barren, rocky heights, with narrow
Talleys. The other mountainous region consists ot the
Atlas itself, with the adjacent table-lands and inferior ridges.
The mountains of this chain present in general a broad
and rounded appearance; but the extreme summits are
often bold, steep, and inaccessible. The highest point is
believed to be Mount Hentet. which is about 13,000 feet
above the sea; and Miltsin. which is situated to the S. of
the town of Morocco, attains the height of 11,200 feet.
Of the geolosv of the Atlas Mountains little is known, ex¬
cept that the lower portions, as far up as 3000 or 4000 teet,
consist of secondary limestone, and no traces of volcanic
agencv haye been obsenred. The north-western plain is
for the most part level, and slopes gradually towards the
sea. The soil is naturally rich and fertile; and although
there are in some places large forests of underwood, and
tracts of undulating ground, the uniformity of the surface
is in general broken by few trees or eminences. The low¬
lands. which he to the S.E. of the Atlas, are of a quite
different character from those of the N.W.; for the plains
and valleys here are rocky and barren; but there are in
many places large clumps of date palms, so that the re¬
gion to which these districts belong has obtained the name
of BUud-uI-Gerid, or the ‘‘country of palms.” The coasts of
Morocco present as much variety of appearance as the sur¬
face of the interior. On the Mediterranean, along which
this country extends, for 230 miles, the coast is bold and
rocky, corresponding to the mountainous character of the
inland regions in this part. The most remarkable promon¬
tories are those of Ceuta, opposite Gibraltar in Europe,
which rises to a considerable elevation ; and Cape Spartel, a
little further west. The same sort of coast continues be¬
yond the Straits, as far south as the 35th degree of latitude;
but about that point a remarkable change takes place. The
coast here consists of low sand-hills, behind which there
are two lakes, the larger being about 20 miles in length by
in breadth. Further to the south the coast is again bold
and rocky; but between the extremities of the two branches
of the Atlas it is generally low and sandy. The principal
headlands on the Atlantic coast of Morocco are Cape Nun
in the extreme S., and Cape Blanco in X. Lat. 33. 8., \\.
Long. 8. 40.
EiTers. The mountain range of Atlas separates those rivers of
Morocco which enter the Atlantic from those which water
the south-eastern lowland, and either fall into the Mediter¬
ranean or are lost in the sands of the’Sahara. The furthest
north of the Atlantic rivers is that of El Khos, which rises in
the mountain of Er-Riff. and has a length of about 100 miles.
The Seboo rises in the Lesser Atlas, flows westward
through a rich and fertile plain, and after a course of 230
miles, falls into the Atlantic. From the same mountains,
and in the same direction, flows the Bu-Regreb. a small river
only 100 miles in length. The Oom-er-Begh, which flows
in the same direction farther to the S., is the largest of
the rivers that fall into the Atlantic, being supposed to be
upwards of 300 miles long. The Tensift and the Sus also
far. into the Atlantic. The Draha, which rises on the E.
of Mount .Atlas, and was formerly supposed to lose itself
in the Sahara, is now believed to fall into the Atlantic, 32
miles S.W. of Cane Xun. On the same side of the moun¬
tains rise three rivers.—the Fileli, Ziz, and Ghir, which flow
southwards into the Sahara; and the Mulwia. which, rising
in the south of the Lesser Atlas, flows northward into the
Mediterranean, and has a length of 400 miles. The last
of these forms in the lower part of its course the boundary
between Morocco and Algeria, but comparatively little is
known of the character of the country through which it
flows. " “
Tr.e western part of Morocco enjoys a very temperate
climate, and the heat does not vary more than from 40°
to 90 in the course of the year. This arises on the coast Morocco
from the cooling sea-breezes, which blow here with great
regularity; while in the interior the mountains shelter it Climate
from the hot winds of the desert. The year consists of a
w et and a dry season; the former of which nearly corre¬
sponds to our winter, and continues from November till
March, during which time showers frequently fall, with
short intervals of dry weather. The other part of the year,
on the contrary, is generally dry, showers being unfrequent.
Towards the south, also, less rain falls than in the rest of
Morocco. On the south-east side of the mountains it is not
so well known what is the nature of the climate; but it is
probably more extreme in heat and cold, especially the
former, on account of its proximity to the Sahara. On this
account, also, no rain falls in the south-eastern part of Mo¬
rocco.
The mineral resources contained in the Atlas Mountains Produc-
are believed to be great. Of these, copper forms the prin- tions.
cipal part, and is obtained near Teseleght, on the southern
slope of the mountains. Gold and silver are also found in
some parts, but not in any great abundance. There are
said to be iron mines in the interior; and sulphuret of anti¬
mony, which is used by the native ladies for painting their
eyebrows, is obtained from Tedla. Lead, tin, and rock-salt
are the chief of the other minerals of Morocco. The soil
produces many useful and valuable vegetables; but agri¬
culture is in a very backward state, so that the full advan¬
tage is not derived from the fertility of the soil and the
mildness of the climate. Wheat, barley, rice, maize, and
durra grow in the level regions in great abundance, and
the last of these forms the chief article of food to the people.
Besides these, pulse of various kinds, cotton, tobacco, hemp,
saffron, and sesamum are also grown; and in the neigh¬
bourhood of the towns vines are raised, but only for the
sake of their grapes and raisins. The trees of Morocco
comprehend most of the fruit trees of Southern Europe,
such as figs, pomegranates, lemons, oranges, &c. The
forests of Er-Riff contain many kinds of oak, among which
are the cork oak, and that which bears edible acorns. The
north-western slopes of the Atlas are covered with forests of
cedar, pine, juniper, olive, walnut, and other trees; while
the onlv trees found on the slopes looking towards the
desert are the date and dwarf palm.
Of wild animals there are in Morocco a great number,
especially in the southern parts. Lions, panthers, hyenas,
wild boars, gazelles, and antelopes abound, especially among
the mountains; and ostriches are hunted on the southern
borders of the country. Morocco is also sometimes laid
waste by locusts. The domestic animals are numerous;
and the inhabitants are more extensively employed in rear¬
ing cattle than in the culture of the ground. The Moorish
horses were formerly highly esteemed; but the breed has
now much degenerated^ as the best of them are always
appropriated bv the Sultan, and the exportation of them is
prohibited. The number of horses is estimated at 400,000.
Horned cattle are more numerous, amounting to 5,000,000
or 6.000,000; and bulls are largely employed in field labour.
The sheep amount in number to 45,000,000, and are highh
valued on account of their wool. The goats are very
numerous; and camels, mules, and asses are also reared.
The population of Morocco consists of many different Inh^a it
races, which have never amalgamated or united, but remain 411
quite distinct from one another. The most ancient race
seems to be that of the Amazighis or Mazighis, a nation
widely spread over the north of Africa, and believed to be
the descendants of the ancient people mentioned by Hero¬
dotus under the name of Mazyes. Ihose who ^
Morocco occupy the mountainous regions, and are divi e
into tw o tribes,—the Berbers, who live in the mountains o
Er-Riff, and the Shelluhs, in the Greater Atlas. The former
are middJe-sized, well-proportioned, strong, and fair in com-
H
MOROCCO.
\rc |)CCO. plexion, and live by hunting and rearing cattle. Their
'sjL-*'-' habitations are tents or caves in the mountains. Those on
the coast are also much addicted to piracy. The Shelluhs
are less robust than the Berbers, and have a sallow com¬
plexion resembling the Portuguese. They live in houses
built of stone, and employ themselves in agriculture and
various handicrafts. Altogether they are more civilized
than the Berbers. It has been questioned whether the
languages of these two tribes are distinct, or merely differ¬
ent dialects of the same. The latter opinion seems the
more probable; and it is believed that these are dialects of
one language, which is spoken throughout the north of Africa,
from the Nile to the Atlantic. The level portions of Mo¬
rocco are chiefly inhabited by Arabs, of which there are two
races,—the Arabs proper, and the Moors. The Arabs, pro¬
perly so called, are the descendants of those who settled
here on the first spread of the Mohammedan religion, and
they retain the manner of life of their forefathers in the
deserts of Arabia. They live in tents, follow pastoral avo¬
cations, and speak a corrupted form of the language of the
Koran. The Moors form the most numerous and the domi¬
nant race in Morocco. They are sprung from the Moham¬
medan conquerors of Spain, who were expelled from that
country after the conquest of Granada in 1492. These
people originally consisted of Arabs, mingled with the
aboriginal Amazighis and with the Vandals. When they
returned to Africa, however, after their expulsion from
Spain, their kinsmen refused to have any intercourse with
them, regarding them merely as foreign invaders. The
Moors now inhabit the towns and villages, and the country
near the coast, so that it is with them only that the Euro¬
peans have any intercourse. They are of middle size and
very stout; pride and indolence are their chief character¬
istics ; and their manners and customs resemble those of
the Egyptians. They speak a dialect of the Arabic, mingled
with many words from the Amazighi and Spanish languages.
Among all these tribes many Jews are to be found, espe¬
cially in the places of trade. They are oppressed and
despised by the other races, but notwithstanding this, they
frequently amass great riches. Their condition, however,
is somewhat better among the Berbers than among the
other tribes. There are also Negroes, who are brought as
slaves from Soudan, and are very numerous in the southern
districts. They are treated with considerable mildness, and
frequently obtain their liberty.
Go®m- The empire of Morocco is divided into four territories,
11,61 which were formerly independent kingdoms, but are now sub¬
ject to the sultan. These are,—Fez, occupying the north¬
ern portion, between the Oom-er-Begh and the Mediter¬
ranean ; Morocco, occupying the centre, between this river
and the Atlas; Suse, occupying the south; and Tafilet,
occupying the country to the east of the Atlas. The sub¬
divisions of these are not at all distinctly marked, though
they were formerly believed to consist of several pro¬
vinces, the names of which were derived in some cases
from the natural features of the country, and in others from
the tribes that inhabit it. For administrative purposes, Fez
and Morocco are each divided into fifteen ammala or dis¬
tricts, while three more are made up by the other territories.
These districts sometimes comprise no more than a single
town, and sometimes extend over a large tract of country.
Each is under the dominion of a kaid, who collects the
taxes from his subjects. The Sultan of Morocco, over
those tribes which are really subject to him, has unlimited
power. He is supreme both in civil and ecclesiastical
matters, and has titles which signify “ Lord of the Faith¬
ful,” and “ Viceroy of God on earth.” His power is not
limited, as in Turkey, by councils or ministers, but he is
himself the sole lord of the life, liberty, and property of his
subjects. There is no law in Morocco but the will of the
sultan and his subordinates; the inferior officers plunder
595
the people, and are in their turn plundered by the sultan. Morocco.
V herever he happens to reside, he gives audience person-
ally four times a week, for the administration of justice,
and sentence is always pronounced without any delay. The
dominion of the sultan, however, only extends over the
plains ; for the Amazighis, who inhabit the mountains, have
never been brought into subjection to the Moors, and
have a sort of republican government among themselves.
The only standing army in Morocco consists of 5000 Ne¬
groes, who form the sultan’s body-guard. There is also a
sort of militia, who are oecasionally called out, but receive
no pay, except a horse, and a small present when they visit
the capital. They are good horsemen and marksmen, but
quite undisciplined, and therefore not very effective. The
empire is hereditary, and confined to males; but it is not
always the eldest son who succeeds, and the succession is
frequently disturbed by bloodshed and civil war. The
revenue is chiefly derived from taxes on corn and cattle,
which are paid in kind, and a poll tax on the Jews; but
it is very fluctuating, and has often to be raised by force of
arms from the Arab tribes.
The religion of the country is for the most part Mo- Religion,
hammedan, and the rites and ceremonies of that creed are
observed with the most rigorous strictness; the Jews are
everywhere despised, and the only Christian establishment
in the country is a Franciscan convent at Tangiers.
The number of elementary schools is great, and in them Education,
the children, who go at the age of six, are taught reading
and writing, and learn by rote passages from the Koran.
There are also upper schools preparatory to entering the
university, or “ House of Science”, as it is called, at Fez. In
that institution the principal branches taught are grammar,
theology, logic, rhetoric, geometry, and medicine. The art
of printing is unknown; but many persons are employed in
transcribing the Koran and other books; and writing is
much cultivated and esteemed. Arts and sciences are in a
very low state ; and the only musical instruments are a rude
pipe and drum. The people have, however, some taste for
music, and among the Shelluhs some plaintive melodies
are sung.
In the country districts of Morocco manufactures do not Manufac-
form a separate branch of employment, but each family is tores,
supplied with the necessaries of life by the labours of its
own members. All the women are able to spin woollen
and cotton thread, which is woven into cloth by the men.
More extensive manufactures are carried on in the towns,
and among these tanning occupies the most important place.
In this art the workmen of Morocco surpass those of Eu¬
rope ; for they are able, by means of two plants found in
the mountains, and not known to Europeans, to render the
skins even of the lion and panther extremely soft and white.
They have also the art of producing very brilliant colours
in leather, which are believed to be inimitable in Europe.
Of the fine leather known by the name of Morocco, the
yellow kind comes from Morocco proper, the green from
Tafilet, and the red from Fez. Fez is also remarkable for
the woollen caps known by that name, which are manu¬
factured here, and dyed of a bright-red colour by means of
a berry found in the neighbourhood. Silk stuffs and girdles
are also made at Fez; and the inhabitants are very skilful as
goldsmiths and jewellers. In the city of Morocco silks
and embroidered goods are also manufactured; and in that
province, and the province of Suse, those carpets are made
which are called in Europe Turkey carpets Besides the
articles already mentioned, gun-barrels, pottery, and ropes
are manufactured at various places, but not to anv great
extent, nor of good quality.
The commerce of Morocco is carried on chiefly through Commerce,
three channels,—viz., 1. By sea, with Europe ; 2. Bv means
of caravans to Mecca, with the shores of tne Levant; and 3.
Across the Great Desert, with Soudan and the other states
596
M O K O C C O.
Morocco, of Central Africa. The trade with Europe by sea is be-
lieved to have been begun in 1551 by an Englishman named
Thomas Windham; and at the present day two-thirds of
the entire trade is in the hands of Great Britain. It is car¬
ried on in the seaports along the coasts of the Mediterranean
and the Atlantic. The following table shows the amount
of the exports and imports of the chief ports of Morocco,
from the most recent returns :—
History.
Laraiche, 1856 
Dar-al-Baida (average
of five years) 
Mogadore, 1855 
Rabat (average of five
years) 
Tangier, 1856 
Tetuan (average of five
years) 
Exports to
228,112
63,580
9,000
L.
55,965
13,683
L.
21,736
62,174
284,077
34,770
77,263
Imports from
Foreign
Forts.
L.
31,223
33,793
136,496
101,773
19,000
L.
76,591
’167,719
135,'566
The exports consist principally of wool, hides, skins, grain,
pulse, wax, cattle, sheep, leather, ostrich feathers, &c.; and
the principal imports are,—cotton, linen, muslin, sugar, tea,
coffee, hardware, &c. The means of inland communication
in Morocco are very defective, as there are no roads except
in the neighbourhood of the towns, and wheeled vehicles
are entirely unknown. Goods have therefore to be con¬
veyed by means of mules, horses, and camels. Few of
the rivers have any bridges, and the fords are often im¬
passable in the rainy season. The trade with the East is
carried on chiefly by means of the annual caravans, which
proceed to Mecca at the time of the great festival there.
They leave Fez seven months before the time of this
festival, and the length of time thus spent in the journey
affords ample opportunities for traffic at the various towns on
the way. The principal articles exported by these caravans
are,—cochineal, indigo, leather, wmollen cloth, and ostrich
feathers; while the imports are Persian and Indian goods,
spices, &c. Another way of performing the pilgrimage to
Mecca is by a coasting voyage from Tangier to Egypt,
which is also favourable to commerce. From 1500 to 2000
pilgrims annually embark at Tangier for Mecca by this
route. The commerce with the interior of Africa is also
carried on by means of caravans, which cross the desert
from 1 afilet to 1 imbuctoo. 1 he principal articles exported
are,—salt (which is obtained in the desert), woollen cloth,
sashes, Turkish daggers, &c.; and they import by this chan¬
nel ivory, ostrich feathers, gold-dust, indigo, and slaves.
1 he profits of this branch of trade are enormous, being
sometimes as much as ten times the capital laid out; but
the cost of carriage across the desert is very great.
The present empire of Morocco, along with part of
Algeria, was knowm to the ancients under the name of
Mauretania. The authentic history of the country begins
from the time when the Homans first became acquainted
with it, an event which did not take place till toward the
end of the second Punic war. But though they then be¬
came acquainted with Mauretania, it was a long time before
they conquered that country; and its monarchs were of
considerable importance in the foreign and domestic wars
of the Romans during the intermediate period. At the
time of the war with Jugurtha, the throne of Mauretania
was occupied by Bocchus, who, under the pretence of
friendship, betrayed Jugurtha to the Romans, and in re¬
turn for this treachery, was confirmed in his kingdom and
received into alliance with Rome. On his death, the
kingdom was divided between his two sons, Bogudes and
Bocchus. In the first civil war of Rome, both these monarchs
supported the party of Caesar, who allowed them to retain
t en power; but in the war between Octavius and Antony,
(Ocdms assisted the former, and Bogudes the latter. Boc-
elms in consequence, usurped the whole kingdom while his
brother was absent in Spain, and retained possession of it Morocco,
till his death in 33 b.c., when Mauretania passed into the ^—'v~*-y
hands of the Romans. In the year 25 b.c. Augustus gave.
Mauretania to Juba II., King of Numidia. in exchange for
his own country, which was then made a Roman province;
and that prince seems to have raised the country to a high
degree of prosperity, and to have introduced among the
natives much of the civilization of Greece and Romei In ^
the year 40 a.d. Mauretania came for the second time under
the power of the Romans, and in 42 a.d. was divided bv
Claudius into two provinces,—Mauretania Tingitana, nearly
corresponding with Morocco ; and Mauretania Csesarienses,
comprising part of the modern Algeria. Numerous Roman
colonies were founded here, among which Tingis, the
modern Tangier, was the most important, and gave its
name to the western province: but the Roman power was
never firmly established here; and the Moors joined with
the Vandals on their invasion in 429. The power of the
Vandals was destroyed by Belisarius in 534; but the
Moors still continued independent, and made continual
inroads on the more civilized portions of the country.
In the latter part of the seventh century the Arabs first
penetrated into Mauretania as far as the ocean and the
Great Desert; and the natives of the country were either
driven to the mountains, or joined with their invaders,
and adopted their religion, language, and manners. For a
long time after this conquest the country remained in a
state of great confusion, and was not united under a single
government. After the lapse of a century, however, Edris,
a descendant of Mohammed, obtained so much influence
over the Moorish tribes as to be recognised by them as
sovereign of the northern part of Morocco; while the south¬
ern was still occupied by independent chiefs. This monarch
was succeeded by his son of the same name, who founded
the city of Fez in 807. In 1055 Abu Bekr, the chief of a
sect of warlike fanatics, first assumed the title of sovereign of
Morocco, and his grandson and successor founded the city
of Morocco, and made it the royal residence. This dynasty,
however, came to an end in 1202, when Fez and some of the
other provinces asserted their independence. The Moham¬
medan conquerors of Spain w-ere driven back to Morocco in
1492 ; and in the next century the territory was again united
under a single emperor. This empire, however, which was
extended, under A1 Mansor, as far as the confines of Tim-
buctoo, fell to pieces in the beginning of the seventeenth
century. Another dynasty was established in 1648 by
Mulai Sherif-el-Fileli, King of Tafilet, whose descendants
are still the reigning family. In 1844 Abd-el-Kader, the
ameer ol Algiers, stirred up the Moors to a war with France,
which led to the bombardment of Tangier and the occupa¬
tion of Mogadore; but peace was concluded, and that town
evacuated, in the same year. In more recent times the
tranquillity of the empire has been disturbed, and the
power of the sultan weakened, by internal disorders. The
depredations of the Riff pirates have been recommenced ;
and Prussian and French vessels, as well as a Spanish
establishment on the coast, suffered in 1855 and 1856 from
their outrages. The French government, however, ob¬
tained in 1856 compensation from the sultan ; which was
the first instance of such redress being peaceably granted.
The population of Morocco is variously estimated, but it
does not probably exceed 6,000,000.
Morocco (Arabic Marakash), the capital of the em¬
pire of that name, is situated on the northern side of a
rich plain, 4 miles S. of the River Tensift, the principal
mosque standing in Lat. 31. 37.40. N., and Long. 7. 36. W.
It is surrounded by a strongly-built machicolated wall of
tapia-work, 30 feet high. The foundations are of strong
masonry; square towers are placed at intervals of fifty paces;
there are eleven strong double gates; and the whole is 6
miles in circumference. This area, however, is far from
M 0 E
Moron.
being entirely occupied with buildings; it also comprehends
large gardens and open spaces from 20 to 30 acres in extent.
Of the eleven gates of the city, that called Beb-el-Rom
which conducts to the palace, is by far the best in point of
architecture. It is a Moorish horse-shoe arch, richly sculp¬
tured m arabesque work, and is said to present a very fine
appearance. T he streets of Morocco are narrow and irregu¬
lar, seldom wider than the lanes of European cities ; ancfin
many cases the lines of houses on either side are connected
by arches with gates, possibly intended for defence in case
ot attack. Several open spaces, which scarcely deserve the
name of squares, are used as market-places, and for other
purposes. 1 he houses, which are generally one storey high,
have flat roofs and terraces, the side towards the street beino-
plain and whitewashed. As an apology for windows, there
aie hei e and there narrow unglazed openings ; but the in¬
terior disposition of the tenements is much in the Spanish
style. Many of the doors are of cypress wood, and highly
scu ptured. The rooms, which are long and narrow, open
into a court surrounded in some cases with arcades, and
having a fountain in the centre. With the exception of a
mat and a cushion or two, they are destitute of furniture.
On the outside of the southern wall of the city, and facing
the Atlas, stands the palace of the sultan. It is encircled
by a wall equal in strength to that which surrounds the city,
and occupies an area 1500 yards in length by 600 in breadth.
1 he whole is portioned into squares laid out in gardens
round which are detached pavilions, forming the imperial
residence. The floors of the rooms are tessellated with
variously-coloured tiles, but otherwise they are quite plain,
t ic furniture consisting only of a mat, a small carpet at one
end, and some cushions. The walls are painted in the
arabesque style, inscribed with numerous verses of the
Koran in Arabic, and hung round with arms. Within the
city there are nineteen mosques, two emdrasas or colleges
and one hospital. El Koutubia, the principal mosque!
stands in an open place of 20 or 30 acres, and is conspicu¬
ous above al the others by its lofty square tower, which
rises to the height of 220 feet without diminishing, and
thus produces a striking and singular effect. It is divided
into seven storeys, and its height is apparently about seven
times its diameter. This tower resembles two others, which
au? behoved to have been built towards the end of the
twelfth century,—the Sma Hassan at Rabat and the Giralda
at Seville. Next in height, and coeval in erection, although
modernized and well painted, is the mosque of Beni Yussuf.
it has a college of talebs—that is, seekers or students—at¬
tached to it; and a saint’s tomb stands opposite its southern
door, formed of three arches, and surmounted by a cupola
delicately wrought with rich Saracenic tracery. El Moazin,
said to be the most ancient sacred edifice, is very laro-e’
and has several courts opening into each other. The Moor¬
ish horse-shoe arches intersect each other in various direc¬
tions, and have a very rich effect. The mosque of Bel
Atlas, the patron saint of Morocco, is surmounted by a
cupola covered with green tiles. It contains the tomb of
M O R
597
the saint, and has an hospital attached to it for 1500 patients iu„ • •
The college and mosque, called Emdrasa del Em“Csta„ds
near the south wall of the city.
The Great Bazaar called El Kaisseria, is a long range
of buildings, protected from the weather, and divided into
numerous shops or stalls. The articles exposed for sale are,
silk scarfs, shawls, and handkerchiefs from Fez; clothes
and carpets from Ducaila; cloth, linen, hardware, tea, and
sugar, from London; almonds, raisins, and cosmetics, from
Suse; corn, beans, and the like, from Shragna; dates from
ablet; and boots, slippers, saddles, coarse pottery, mats,
cord, &c., of domestic manufacture, together with embroi¬
dery in gold and silver, in which the inhabitants particu-
(;!rly,ex)ceL . \ lere are two or three markets, the principal
of which is held near the north gate of the city, and is well
supplied with home manufactures. There is another for the
sa e of horses, camels, mules, horned cattle, sheep, and
other animals. There are several tan yards in the city,
T?f M-nhi13 belTleved to employ 1500 persons.
Ihe MiJlah, or Jewish quarter, which is situated at the
• E. corner of the city, is a walled inclosure of about U
miles in circumference. It is densely peopled, but filthy
in the extreme. All the Jews pay a capitation tax to the
ultan, and are treated with the greatest contempt. The
eTCIfe SeVTa artf and Passions, and are the only
goldsmiths, tinsmiths, and tailors in Morocco. The Moors
however, are the shoemakers, carpenters, masons, black¬
smiths, and weavers. , ^ ^
an3!wUy iScS,ipplicd,with Water by several subterranean
aqueducts. Some of these are 10 or 12 feet in depth, and
stretch aci oss the plain to the foot of the Atlas, but the
most of them are in rums, and consequently out of use.
1 his is the strongest evidence which can be produced in
support of the fact, that the population of this country was
at greater foimerly than it is at present, and also that the
arts were then more cultivated than they are now. Ceme-
enes extend beyond the walls, both north and south; and
there is one to the east of very considerable dimensions,
ihe city was formerly surrounded with gardens and planta¬
tions extending to a great distance, but these have now for
the most part disappeared. A few, however, still remain ;
and the sultan has three of about 15 acres in extent within
fifrrTtT’ and tm) of about 20 acres each 2 miles distant
from the walls. Every variety of fruit-tree enriches these
gardens, olive, orange, pomegranate, citron, mulberry, wal-
nut peach, apple, pear, vine, fig, date, apricot, and the like;
whilst trees of beautiful texture or foliage,-the cedar, poplar,
acacia, the solemn cypress, and the stately palm,—together
with a profusion of flowers and flowering shrubs, form a
picturesque scene, where the unchecked luxuriance and
beautiful wildness of nature add a charm to the studied
elegances of the more regular ornaments of art. The
grounds are well supplied with water by means of the con-
uits already mentioned. The population is variously esti-
mated atfrom 30,000 to 100,000, but it is probably about
. MORON, or Moron de la Frontera, a town of Spain
in the province of Seville, is situated on an irregular slope
near the Guadaira, 32 miles S.E. of Seville. The town is
irregularly built, for in some parts the streets are narrow
crooked, and lined with low buildings ; and in others they
are wide and straight, and the houses lofty. It contains a
handsome church, several monasteries and nunneries, nine
schools, three hospitals, and a town-house. The inhabitants
are chiefly employed in agriculture; but there are manu-
actones of hats, soap, oil, earthenware, linen, &c. The
chalk of Moron is much used for making whitewash, for
which the town is famous throughout Spain. There is also
some trade carried on in wool and oil. To the east of the
town stand the remains of an old Moorish castle of <rreat
strength, which was blown up by the French on then- re¬
treat in 1812. Pop. 10,192.
MOROSINI, Francesco, Generalissimo and Doee of
Venice, was born in that city, of an illustrious family, in
i618. At the age of twenty he signalized himself in an
attack upon the pirates that infested the Archipelago. Then
began his series of services against the Turkish fleets which
raised him gradually and steadily to the highest offices. He
was appointed commander of the naval force in 1651 and
generalissimo not long afterwards. In this latter capacity
598 M 0 E
Morpeth he was sent in 1667 to defend the island of Candia against
II the Grand Vizier Coprogli. For twenty-eight months his
Morpheus. skiU? prudence, and valour repulsed the overwhelming
hordes of the Turks, and rendered the siege renowned
throughout Europe. At length, when his force had been
wasted and weakened by pestilence and the repeated on¬
slaughts of the enemy, he accepted honourable terms of
capitulation. This treaty, concluded without the authority
of the senate, w'as the cause of his arraignment on his
return to Venice in 1669. His honour, however, was
triumphantly vindicated; and on the renewal of the Turkish
war in 1684 he was appointed generalissimo for the third
time. He captured the island of Santa Maura at the end
of sixteen days, and subdued the Peloponnesus after two
campaigns. Landing at the Piraeus, he took Athens, but
not until the Parthenon had been partially destroyed by
the explosion of a powder-magazine. Such signal success
raised him to the highest honours in his native republic.
The title of Peloponnesiacus was added to his name ; his
statue was erected in the hall of the Council of Ten ; he
was elected Doge in 1688 ; and he was welcomed to Venice
in 1689 by the acclamations of the assembled populace. A
decree of the Senate created him generalissimo for the
fourth time. In 1693 he once more led the fleet of the
republic against the Turks. The enemy retired before
him ; and ere he had an opportunity of winning fresh laurels,
he died at Nauplia in January 1694. His remains were
interred at Venice, in the church of San Stefano. The Life
of Francesco Morosini was written by Graziani, in 4to,
Padua, 1698; and by Arrighi, in 4to, Padua, 1749.
MORPETH, a municipal and parliamentary borough
and market-town of England, county of Northumberland, on
the north side of the River Wansbeck, 15 miles N. by W. of
Newcastle. It is irregularly but not ill built, and is nearly
surrounded by the river, which is here crossed by a hand¬
some stone bridge of three arches, and also by a suspension-
bridge. The two principal streets meet in the market¬
place, in the centre of the town, where there is a square
tower with a clock and a chime of bells. The parish church,
which stands on the side of the Wansbeck, half a mile out
of the town, is a fine old building of the fourteenth century.
There are also churches belonging to Presbyterians, Inde¬
pendents, Wesleyan Methodists, and Roman Catholics.
Morpeth has a free grammar school, founded by Edward
VI. in 1552, which had 80 pupils in 1853; besides national
and infant schools, and two others which are supported by
subscription. There is a town-hall, erected in 1714 by the
Earl of Carlisle, after designs by Sir John Vanbrugh; and
the county jail, a large and handsome building on the south
of the river, was built in 1829, at the cost of L.70,000.
Near the latter building the gateway and a few other re¬
mains of the old castle of Morpeth are still to be seen. The
town has a public library, a mechanics’ institution, a dispen¬
sary, and a union poor-house. Tanning, iron-founding,
brewing, and the manufacture of woollen stuffs are carried
on here ; and five annual fairs are held. Morpeth was
burned by its inhabitants in 1215, in order to harass King
John in his operations against the insurgent barons; and it
was again injured by fire in 1689. It is remarkable as the
birthplace of Turner the botanist, and of Morrison the
Chinese missionary. The borough is governed by a mayor,
3 aldermen, and 12 councillors; and formerly returned
2 members to Parliament; but by the Reform Act the
number has been x*educed to one. Pop. (1851) of the par¬
liamentary borough, 10,012; of the municipal, 4096.
MORPHEUS, the god of dreams, is represented as the
son of Sleep. His office, as his name (a derivative of the
Greek word [xop^r/) implies, was to construct visions in the
brain of the sleeper. He is painted in a reclining posture,
with a crown of poppies around his head. Ovid (Met. xi.
635) was the first who mentioned him.
M O R
MORRIS DANCE, a peculiar kind of dance practised Morris
in England and other European countries during the middle Dance,
ages ; and which, while varying considerably in the manner
of its performance, was usually executed with castanets,
tambours, &c., by young men in light dresses, with bells
fixed to their feet, and parti-coloured ribbons or streamers
tied round their arms and shoulders. The English morris-
dance is generally supposed to have had its origin in the
morisco or Moorish dance, adopted by the Spaniards from
their conquerors the Moors, and which still delights the
natives of the Peninsula under the title of the fandango.
Strutt, in his Sports and Pastimes, See., contends that the
English morris-dance is not of Moorish origin ; but Douce
succeeds, in his “ Dissertation on the Ancient English Mor¬
ris-dance,” appended to the 2d vol. of his Illustrations of
Shakspeare, in turning the argument against Strutt, from a
passage cited by the latter from the play of Variety (1649),
in which the Spanish morisco is mentioned. According to
Junius [Du Jon], in his Etymologicum Anglicanum, the
Spanish morisco was also danced at puppet-shows by a
person dressed like a Moor, with castanets, the dancers
usually blackening their faces with soot to make them
look like Moors. Peck, in his Memoirs of Milton, p. 135,
supposes that the morris-dance was first brought into
England during the reign of Edward III., on the re¬
turn of John of Gaunt from Spain; but Douce, who is
unquestionably the highest authority on the subject, thinks
it much more probable that we had it “ from our Gallic
neighbours, or even from the Flemings.” (Vol. ii., p. 439.)
It is' doubtful whether any vestiges of it can be traced be¬
yond the time of Henry VIL, during whose reign and that of
his immediate successor, as we can gather from the accounts
of the churchwardens, this pastime played a very import¬
ant part in the rustic festivals of the parishes of England.
In some places the May-games of Robin Hood, which were
principally instituted for the encouragement of archery, were
accompanied by morris-dancers, as a subordinate part of the
ceremony. In like manner, other festivals had their morris
—as Holy Thursday, the Whitsun-ales, the Bride-ales or
Weddings, and the pageant called the Lord of Misrule.
Laneham, in hhs Letter from Kenilworth,\x\ his usual quaint
fashion, speaks of “ a lively moris dauns, according to the
auncient manner : six dauncerz, Mawdmarion, and the
fool;” and the Puritan Stubbs (Anatomic of Abuses, p. 107),
whose “loud ravings against the fashionable excesses of
his countrymen,” have at once scandalized with their bitter¬
ness, and delighted with their minuteness, the antiquarian
mind of Douce, gives a rough and ready picture, possibly
as one-sided as it is graphic, of “ those execrable pastimes ”
the morris-dances, and of the “ terrestrial furies” who in¬
dulged in them. A similar tirade by Fetherston (Dialogue
agaynst light, lewde, and lasciviousDauncing, 1582) is valu¬
able from its minute description of “ your morice dauncers,”
who, if they occasionally practised all the abuses laid to
their charge by this old worthy, “ of dauncing naked in
nettes,” and other unmentionable doings, on May-day morn¬
ings, it was little wonder that they excited the hostility of
the honest Puritan. It is to be observed, however, that the
charges here introduced against it are not directed against
the simple ceremony of the morris-dance, but against other
hilarious festivities to which it w'as occasionally attached.
The genuine morris-dance was, in Warner’s days (Albion s
England, 1612, p. 121), celebrated about the time of Easter
and before the May-games; for he tells us,—
“ At Paske begun cure Morrise, and ere Penticoste cure
Tho’ Roben Hood, liell John, Friar Tuck, and Marian deftly
play.”
Douce, however, is of opinion (vol. ii., p. 445) that, when
the practice of archery declined, and the May-games ot
Robin Hood were discontinued, the morris-dance was
transferred to the celebration of Whitsuntide.
M 0 K
orrison
The oldest as well as the most curious and complete re-
—^ presentation of' an English May-game and morris-dance is
given by Douce. The dresses and costumes of' some of the
figures are supposed to belong to the reign of Edward IV.
(Steevens’s Shakspeare, note to King Henry IV., pt. i.)
Another curious print of a morris-dance, executed about
1460-70, is given by the same writer. The May-ffames
and morris in those days consisted of Robin Hood, Little
John, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, the Queen or Lady’of the
May (sometimes personated by a boy in female attire), the
fool, the piper, and several morris-dancers, habited in va¬
rious modes, with handkerchiefs in their hands. A hobby¬
horse, constructed of pasteboard, and a dragon, were subse¬
quently added. With respect to the collective number of
the morris-dancers, it seems to have constantly varied. In
one print they are nine ; in another, eleven ; in a third,
twelve; and from different accounts it appears that they
were not unfrequently limited to five. All that is known
respecting Robin and his friend Little John will be found
in Ritson s Robin Hood; and as for “ Tuck, the merry
fiiar, which many a sermon made,” as Drayton has it
{Polyalbion, song xxvi.), his history is very uncertain.
The origin of the epithet Tuck may be guessed at from
Chaucers Reeve—for “tucked he was, as is a frere
aboute. The Maid Marian is said to have represented
Robin Hood’s mistress ; but there is no mention of the
alleged prototype of the May Queen in any authentic record
of the outlaw. There can be no doubt, however, that the
Queen of the May existed long before the games of Robin
Hood ; and when he received a place in these merry-mak-
mgs he was in all probability assigned the most honourable
position of protector of the fair lady. The fool, with the
exception of the bells tied to his arms and ankles, was in
point of dress the same as the English domestic fool of the
fifteenth century. Morris-dancers are now unknown in
England. Waldron informs us that he saw in 1783, at
Richmond in Surrey, a troop of morris-dancers; and Rit¬
son alleges that during his time they were annually seen in
Norfolk and Lancashire. About the beginning of the pre¬
sent century a company of them was seen at Usk in Mon¬
mouthshire, where they professed to have kept up the cere¬
mony for 300 years. (In addition to the works already
specified, the reader may consult Brand’s Popular Antiqui¬
ties, vol. i., and Gifford’s Ben Jonson, vol. ii. The fullest
discussion of the subject, however, is that of Douce ap¬
pended to his Illustrations of Shakspeare.)
. MORRISON, Robert, D.D., the first Protestant mis¬
sionary to China, was born of Scottish parents at Morpeth
in January 1 782. After receiving an elementary educa¬
tion from his maternal uncle at Newcastle, he was ap¬
prenticed at an early age to his father’s trade of lastmaking.
But his predilection was for the office of the ministry, and
his spare hours were devoted to the eager perusal of’ reli¬
gious books. In 1801 he began a regular course of study
under a 1 resbyterian minister, and in 1803 he was received
into the Independent theological academy at Hoxton.
It was in 1804 that he was seized with the desire of pro¬
ceeding on a mission to the Chinese. His services were
immediately offered to the London Missionary Societv, and
were accepted. After attending the Mission College of
Gosport, and studying the Chinese language under a native
teacher, he set sad for China in January 1807. On his
arrival at Canton in September of the same year, he com¬
menced to perfect his knowledge of the language of the
country with an intense application, which for some time
imperilled his health. At the same time he was living in
the dullest solitude, maintaining the strictest economy,&and
guarding with incessant circumspection against exciting the
unreasonable jealousy of the natives. His domestic^dis¬
comfort was relieved in 1808 by his marriage, and by his
simultaneous appointment to the office of translator to the
M 0 E
599
,E*t*nd;a Company’s factory at Canton. By this time Mors
e had constructed a Chinese grammar, was compiling a II
Chinese dictionary, and was preparing for his oreat work Mortaf?°e.
of translating the Scriptures. He did not sufferhis official V ^
duties to divert him from his studies. In 1814 his trans
lation of the New Testament and his Chinese Grammar
were punted. He then commenced to translate the Old
1 estament, with the assistance of Mr Milne, who had been
sent out by the London Missionary Society. Separate por¬
tions of the Bible, and several small devotional treatises
were in the meantime printed, and were secretly distributed
among the natives. He also published in 1817 an Ewdish
treatise entitled A View of China for Philological Pur¬
poses In the same year the university of Glasgow reco<r-
nised his services in the cause of learning by conferring upon
urn the degree of D.D. He completed his translation of
the Bible m the following year. His next enterprise was
the establishment of an Anglo-Chinese college at Malacca
l01f 1 „ ™?I.Proca! cultivation of Chinese and European lite-
lature. 1 his institution was founded in November 1818, was
n.-fU u vi , * J^uveuiuer joif),was
furthered by liberal contributions from Great Britain, India,
and America, and was opened in 1820. In 1821 the
Chinese Dictionary was published by the East India Com¬
pany at an expense of L.15,000. Dr Morrison, worn out
ly long and continued mental exertion, now proposed to
visit his native country for the sake of his health. He
accordingly left China at the close of 1823, and arrived in
London in the following March. He was greeted by the re¬
spect and esteem of all classes. George IV. honoured him
with an interview; the Royal Society elected him one of
then number; and wherever he went to advocate the cause
or tne Chinese mission he was received by large and
enthusiastic audiences. After spending two years in at¬
tempting to interest his countrymen in the project to
7eho«h u lad devoted .his Iife> he returned to China in
I8wb. He now set himself to promote education, to
write a commentary on the Scriptures in Chinese, and to
superintend the distribution of books and tracts. These
labours were beginning to yield some visible fruit,
when they were brought to a close by his death, at Canton
Macao ^ AugUSt 1834‘ reraains were interred at
His Memoirs, compiled by his widow, were published in
2 rols. 8vo, London, 1839.
MORS, an island of Denmark, in the province of Jut¬
land, the largest of those in the Lymfiord, being 24 miles
long by 11 broad, and 283 feet above the sea in the centre-
area 120 square miles. It is for the most part fertile, except
in some sandy and rocky parts where the ground is covered
with heath, and in some marshy places. There are, however
very few trees. The capital is Nykjobing, with about 1000
inhabitants, and the population of the island is 13,500.
MORSHANSK, a town of European Russia, capital
of a district in the government of Tambov, is situated on
the right bank of the Tsna, 805 miles S.E. of St Peters¬
burg, 358 S.E. of Moscow, and 58 N. of Tambov. It has
manufactories of linen, sail-cloth, tallow, vitriol, and paper:
besides a ropework, and fulling and saw-mills. An active
trade is carried on in grain, honey, and live stock. Pop.
(1851) 10,638. I he district has a fertile soil, rich pastures
and is well wooded.
MORTAGNE, a town of France, capital of an arron-
dissement of the same name in the department of Orne is
situated on the summit and sides of a hill, 20 miles E.’by
N. of Alenpon. It is well built, with a square in the centre ;
the principal buildings being the church, court-house, and
prison. Linen, pottery, and leather are manufacturedand
a considerable trade is carried on in linen, hemp, grain, and
live stock. Mortagne was formerly the capital of Perche
Pop ('l851)14848>ng a pIaCe °f some importance!
600
MORTALITY, HUMAN.1
or tali ty, e shall consider this very important, as well as curious
v 1 S ^ ‘y subject, under two distinct heads; the first of which will
■ treat of the History and Formation of Bills of Mortality ;
the second, of the Law of Mortality.
I. MORTALITY, BILLS OF.
Bills of Mortality are abstracts from parish registers,
showing, as their name imports, the numbers that have died
in any parish or place during certain periods of time, as in
each week, month, or year ; and are accordingly denomi¬
nated weekly, monthly, or yearly bills. They also include
the numbers of the baptisms during the same periods, and
generally those of the marriages.
Objects of The objects of the present article are these :—First, to
this article, give a brief history of the principal things that have been
done in this way, which may suffice for such as are not dis¬
posed to go further into the subject, and may at the same
time indicate the best sources of information.
As both mortuary registers and enumerations of the people
are much more valuable when combined than when sepa¬
rate, we shall also notice some of the principal enumera¬
tions, the results of which have been published. We shall
then point out some of the principal defects in most of the
published registers and enumerations ; and, lastly, shall sub¬
mit some forms for registers which will be easily convertible
to useful purposes.
History. The ancients do not appear to have kept any exact mor¬
tuary registers, at least no account of any registers of that
kind, with the ages of the deceased, have come down to us;
and although in the Roman census, first established by
Servius 1 ullius, both the ages and sexes of the people were
distinguished, we have no exact account of these particulars.
Indeed the principal object of the census among that war¬
like people, was the levying of men and money for the pur¬
poses ot conquest; the duration of human life appears to
have occupied very little of their attention, and their profi¬
ciency in the science of quantity was not sufficient either
to show them the necessary data, or to enable them to draw
t just inferences from them. A good account of what the
ancient Romans did in this way, with references to the
original authorities, may be found in the Italian translation
of M. Demoivre’s Treatise of Annuities on Lives, by Gaeta
* and bontana, Milan, 1776. [T)iscorso Preliminare, parte 2.)
The keeping of parish registers commenced in England
in 1538, in consequence of an injunction issued by Thomas
Cromwell, who, after the abolition of the Pope’s authority
in this kingdom, in the reign of Henry VIII., had been
appointed the king’s vicegerent in ecclesiastical affairs.
Some parish registers in Germany appear to have com¬
menced with the sixteenth century; and in the Gottliche
Ordnung of Siissmilch (t. iii., s. 23), we are informed, that at
the time of Lord Cromwell’s injunction, they had already
old registers of that kind both at Augsburg and Breslau.
However, the extracts there given from the Augsburg re¬
gisters do not go back further than the year 1501, nor those
for Breslau beyond 1555. About the beginning of the
seventeenth century, such registers appear to have been es¬
tablished in most parts of Europe ; but it was not until the
year 1662 that they began to attract public notice, and to
be considered as the sources of valuable and interesting in-
Mr Graunt. formation. In that year John Graunt, a citizen of London
(afterwards an officer in the trained bands of the city, and Mortalit'
a fellow of the Royal Society), published his Natural and Bills oi
outical Observations on the Bills of Mortality, principally
those for London. The London bills, or accounts of bap¬
tisms and burials, appear to have been occasioned by the
plague, and to have been begun in the year 1592, a time of
great mortality. They were afterwards discontinued, but
were resumed in 1603, after the great plague of that year.
la)e ever since been continued weekly, and an annual
bill also has been regularly published. In 1629, the num¬
ber of deaths by the different diseases and casualties, were
first inserted in them, also the distinction of the sexes; and
these have been continued ever since. But it is in the totals
only of the baptisms and burials that the sexes are distin¬
guished in these bills. Fhey do not shew how many of
each sex died of each disease, neither have they, since 1728,
when the distinction of the ages of the dead was first intro¬
duced, shewn how many of each sex died in each interval
of age, but only the total number of both sexes.
This book of Graunt’s, although the first, is also one of
the best that have been published on the subject. It con¬
tains many judicious observations on the imperfections of
the bills, on the proportions of the deaths from different dis¬
eases and casualties, and on their increase and decrease, with
the probable causes of such fluctuations. He also observed,
that “ the more sickly the years are, the less fecund or
fruitful of children also they be.”
- Besides the London bills, he gave one for a country pa¬
rish in Hampshire, in the first edition of his book ; and, in
an appendix to the later editions, two others, one for Tiver¬
ton, the other for Cranbrook in Kent, with a few observa¬
tions on foreign bills. He almost always reasons justly from
his data; but, as these were very imperfect, in his endea¬
vours to draw more information from them than they could
supply, he has sometimes fallen into error.
Even in this enlightened age, when a much greater pro¬
portion of the people devote a portion of their leisure to the
acquisition of knowledge than in Graunt’s time, subjects of
this kind have but few attractions for the generality even
of reading men, who cannot endure the fatigue of thinking
closely for any length of time. The author, accordingly,
expected his readers to be rather select than numerous, and
was ambitious of that distinction, as appears by the motto
he prefixed to his w^ork,
 Non, me ut miretur turba, laboro,
Contentus paucis lectoribus.
The book was, how ever, favourably received by the pub¬
lic, and went through five editions in fifteen years, the two
first in 4to, the three others in 8vo ; the last of them, pub¬
lished in 1676, two years after the author’s death, was edited
by his friend Sir Milliam Petty, who, in consequence of
having sometimes spoken of this edition as his own, has by
some wTiters been erroneously considered as the author.
Graunt’s observations, like all others of a similar kind, by
shewing the usefulness of parish registers and bills of mor¬
tality, contributed to form a taste for these inquiries amongst
thinking men; and, consequently, to improve both the regis¬
ters and the bills derived from them; so that, from his time,
the subject has been continually cultivated more and more.
Parish registers, in most parts of Europe, have been kept
with more care; and a succession of works of considerable
merit have been published on the subject, containing an
The present article on Human Mortality, written for a previous edition of this work by the late Joshua Milne, has been allowed
o ^an<l in the present edition, from a regard to the high authority of the writer on the subject, and from the acknowledged excellence
0 e article itself. The principle, moreover, which is followed in the article, of giving the relative proportion of mortality to the
ac ua population, renders the following discussion of the subject as valuable still as when it was written. The more recent statistics on
mortality are given in an Appendix.
Dr- Dave
nant and
Gregory
King.
Mortality, important part of the natural and political history of our spe-
j^iiis ot. cies, and affording valuable materials for the science of poli-
tical economy. r
The principal of these works we shall proceed to give a
short account of, in the order of their publication.
As the ages at which the deaths took place were not in¬
serted m the London bills till 1728, Captain Graunt could
not avail himself of that important information, but made a
Dr Hallev ru^ess^ttemPt ^ determine the law of mortality without it.
Di. Halley. The Breslau bills appear to have been the first wherein
t e ages at which the deaths took place were inserted, and
the most important information which bills of mortality can
afford was first drawn from them by Dr. Halley; who, in
1592, constructed a table of mortality for Breslau from these
bills for the five preceding years, and inserted a paper on
the subject in the Philosophical Transactions, (No. 196.)
7i ^99, Dr. Davenant, in An Essay upon the probable
Methods of making a People Gainers in the Ballance of
Prade, published some extracts from Natural and Political
Observations and Conclusions upon the State and Condition
of England, by permission of their author, Mr. Gregory
King, Lancaster herald, who had completed them in 1696,
though they still remained in manuscript; and the whole of
this very curious production was published by Mr. Chalmers
at the end of his Estimate in 1802. Mr. King derived his
information from the poll-books ; from actual observations
in particular places; from the assessments on marriages,
births, and burials ; and from the parish registers. Many
of his conclusions agree surprisingly well, considering the
time he wrote, with those which are the results of a hun¬
dred years of further observations and inquiries. He had
access to much better data than Graunt, and his conclu¬
sions are more accurate; but he does not explain so fully
how he arrived at them.
From the publication of Davenant’s essay, above men¬
tioned, nearly forty years had elapsed without any thing
urther being done in this way, when M. Kersseboom pub¬
lished an essay, in the Dutch language, on the probable
number of people in Holland and West Friesland, which he
deduced from the Bills of Mortality, Hague, 1738, 4to;
and two others in 1740 and 1742. (See Law of Human
Mortality.)
In 1742 was published the first edition of the celebrated
mortality, human.
601
Chalmers.
M. Kersse
boom.
J- P. Siiss-
milch.
work, entitled Die Gbttliche Ordnung in den Verdnderun-
gen des menschlichen Geschlechts aus der Geburt, dem Tode
und der Fortpflanzung desselben erwiesen von Johann Peter
Siissmilch. The second edition appeared in 1761, en¬
riched with the materials which had been laid before the
public through various channels in the interim; the third
t! o 1' and in 1775 a fourth edition of the two volumes of
J.lSaumann Siissmilch was published by Christian Jacob Baumann, to
which this editor himself added, in 1776, a third volume,
consisting of additions to the other two, and remarks upon
them, with many new tables, and a copious index. The
last edition of this work was published in 1798, but it does
not appear to have been augmented or improved since 1776.
It contains long dissertations on every thing not mathema¬
tical connected with the subject, and, besides original infor¬
mation, includes the substance of all the other publications
on it previous to 1776; with an immense collection of ma¬
terials, which, when borrowed, are often better arranged and
rendered more convenient for reference, than they will be
found to be in the works they were extracted from; be¬
sides, the original sources of information are always referred
to, and these advantages, with that of a full index, render
it a valuable work for occasional reference. The three thick
octavo volumes contain upwards of two thousand three hun¬
dred pages, closely printed with a small type, and the tables
alone occupy three hundred and thirty pages.
In 1746 was published ihzEssai of M. Deparcieux, which
has been already mentioned in the historical introduction to
VOL. xy.
Depar.
ieux.
the article Annuities. Information much wanted on this Mortality,
subject, was there given in a very clear and popular man- Bills of.
ner, and the work no doubt contributed greatly to the ad-v
vancement of the science. It probably had some influence
in promoting the establishment of what is called the Tabell-
v'drket in Sweden, which took place in 1749, and of which
we shall have occasion to take further notice presently.
In 1750 appeared, in octavo, Nevj Observations natu- Dr. Short
ra.l, moral, civil, political, and medical, on City, Town, and
Country Bills of Mortality ; to which are added, large and
clear Abstracts of the best Authors who have written on that
subject; ivith an Appendix of the Weather and Meteors,
by Thomas Short, M.D. which he had “had on the anvil”
for eighteen years, as he informs us in the preface to his
History of Air, Weather, &c. This author, with incredible
labour collected extracts from the mortuary and baptismal
registers in a great many market-towns and country parishes
in England, chiefly in the northern counties, in almost every
variety of soil and situation, and reduced them into tables
in various ways, so as to enable him to draw useful infer¬
ences from them.
He informs us that Lord Cromwell’s injunction in 1538
was but little regarded in many places till the year 1559,
when another was issued for the same purpose by Queen
Elizabeth; nevertheless, he had procured several exact coun-
try registers, commencing with 1538, and continued with¬
out one chasm, for more than two hundred years ; and the
registers before 1644, he considered to be much more valu¬
able than afterwards, on account of the increase of dissent¬
ers from that time. He likewise procured both the num¬
bers of families and of souls in seven of the market towns,
and fifty-four of the country parishes, for which he had re¬
gisters ; and thus arrived at satisfactory information on se¬
veral points, which, till then, had been very imperfectly un¬
derstood. But the sexes were not distinguished in his enu¬
merations ; neither were the ages, in any of the enumera¬
tions or registers he has given accounts of, except in the
London Bills of Mortality, and what he has taken from Dr.
Halley, respecting those for Breslau.
Although Dr. Short took so much trouble in collecting
materials, and has generally reasoned well upon them, he
has shown but little skill, and does not appear to have taken
much pains in communicating his information to his readers;
so that it costs them considerable labour to find what they
want, especially in his tables; and when found, to under¬
stand it.
• iInj1 ^ w1 WaS fil St Printed a tract by Corbyn Morris, en- Mr Morris,
titled, Observations on the past growth and present state of
the City of London, with the most convenient and instruc¬
tive tables of the London bills that have been printed; they
contained the annual baptisms and burials from the year 1603,
the number of annual deaths by each disease from 1675,
and of each age from 1728 ; all brought down to the year
1750. This tract was reprinted in 1758, with a continua¬
tion of the tables to the end of 1757 ; these also contain
useful annual averages and proportions. Mr. Morris’s ob¬
servations are generally very judicious, but he was one of
those authors who appear to have laboured under much mis¬
conception with regard to the evils to be apprehended from
the mortality of London, and what they considered to be
its baneful effects in drawing recruits from the country.
These writers did not perceive, or did not sufficiently con¬
sider, that the natural procreative pow er is much more than
adequate to supply any waste of that kind, and that the real
obstacle to the increase of the people, is the limited means
of subsistence. This had been observed by Dr. Halley in
his Further Considerations on the Breslau Bills of Mor¬
tality, (Phil. Trans. 1693,J though it there also appears,
that he had not sufficiently considered the mode of its oper¬
ation : this was first fully illustrated by Dr. Franklin in big
excellent Observations on the Increase of Mankind, Peop-
4 ft
602 MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, ling of Countries, &c. written in Philadelphia in 1751, the
ih'ls of. same year ;n which Mr. Morris’s pamphlet was first pub-
lished. The author also pointed out in that pamphlet, ma¬
terial defects in the Bills of Mortality, and proposed a bet¬
ter method of keeping them, not only in London, but through¬
out the kingdom. This gave occasion to a paper by Mr.
Mr. Dodson James Dodson, which was inserted in the Philosophical
Transactions for that year (1751,) wherein he showed the
importance of their being so kept as to afford the means of
valuing annuities on lives, and proposed other alterations
which appeared to him calculated to fit them for the purpose.
Nicolaas Nicolaas Struyck of Amsterdam, who, in his Introduction
Struyck. to General Geography, published there in 1740, had inserted
(Gissingen over den staat van ’t Menschelyk Geslagt,) Con¬
jectures on the State of the Human Species ; published at
the same place in 1753, a quarto volume, the first half of
which is astronomical, the other (216 pages) is entitled
(Nader Ontdekkingen noopens den staat van het Men¬
schelyk Geslagt,) Further Discoveries concerning the State
of the Human Species. It contains statements of actual
enumerations of the people in many Dutch villages, prin¬
cipally in North Holland, wherein the sexes are distinguished,
and the numbers in childhood, celibacy, marriage, and widow¬
hood ; but w ith respect to their ages, it is only stated for
each sex, how many were under ten years, and how many
of the unmarried were above that age ; except in two in¬
stances, wherein the number of each sex is given in each
interval of five years of age, from birth to the extremity of
life : they amount altogether to 2728, of whom not one was
above the age of eighty-five, and only four above eighty.
He generally gives, for each place, the names and pro¬
fessions or occupations of the persons who made the enu¬
meration, and the precise day on which it was made ; or if
it occupied the parties more days than one, those on which
it was commenced and completed are given ; a practice
which shows a laudable solicitude about particulars, and a
title to our confidence, the want of which we have great
cause to lament in too many other writers.
Extracts from many parish registers are also given; in
these, too, the ages are seldom noticed ; but in a few cases
they are given very minutely, especially in that of West-
zaandam, for which, the numbers who died in each interval
of five years of age, from birth to the extremity of life, are
given ; also the number in each year of age under fifteen,
the number in each month of the first year of age, even the
number that died in the first hour from birth, in the first
twenty-four hours, and in each day of the first week of their
age. During a term of nineteen years, the whole number
of deaths thus registered was 3328 ; but the sexes were not
distinguished under fifteen years of age, which Struyck him¬
self lamented. The work also contains much information
respecting the population and parish registers of Amsterdam,
Haarlem, &c. with some accounts of other countries, and of
other works on the subject.
Dr. Birch. 1759 was published at London, in 4to, A Collection
of the yearly Bills of Mortality, from 1657 to 1758 inclu¬
sive, together ivith several other Bills of an earlier date ;
to which were subjoined Captain Graunt’s Observations;
Another Essay in Political Arithmetic, by Sir William
Petty ; the Observations of Corbyn Morris, Esq. ; and A
Comparative View of the Diseases and Ages, with a Table
of the Probabilities of Life for the last thirty years, by J.
P. Esq. F. R. S. This is a valuable compilation, and has
been generally attributed to Dr. Birch, the Secretary and
Historian of the Royal Society ; the preface is very judici¬
ous, and contains a good deal of information. For the fol¬
lowing history of this publication, the author of the present
article is indebted to the kindness of Dr. Heberden :—
“ The bills were collected into a volume by his father,
the late Dr. Heberden. He procured, likewise, observations
from several of his friends, rectors of some large parishes, or
others likely to give him information ; particularly from Mortality,
Bishop Moss, Bishop Green, Bishop Squire, and Dr. Birch. Bills of.
These, together with some of his own remarks, were thrown '
into the form of a preface; and the whole was committed
to the care of Dr. Birch. To make the calculations which
appear at the end of thebook, Dr. Heberden employed James
Postlethwayt, Esq. a very distinguished arithmetician.”
In the year 1766, this branch of knowledge was enriched M. Me
with new materials, of more value than all that had previ- sance.
ously been laid before the public. These were contained
in three publications, of which we shall first notice the Re-
cherches sur la Population des generalites dAuvergne, de
Lyon, de Rouen, et de quelques Provinces et Villes du Ro-
yame. Par M. Messance, Receveur des Tallies de 1’Elec-
tion de Saint Etienne.
Most of the political writers in France, for some years
previous to the date of this publication, had asserted confi¬
dently that the kingdom was depopulated, but without pro¬
ducing any proofs. The object of M. Messance was, to en¬
able his readers to judge of the merit of such assertions, and
to pronounce less vaguely on a subject in itself so interest¬
ing, the knowledge of which can only be obtained by a great
number of facts and actual observations. The work, ac¬
cordingly, is filled with tables, exhibiting the results of ac¬
tual enumerations of the people, and of extracts from the
parish registers. They show, for each sex, how many were
under fourteen, or in celibacy above that age ; those in the
states of marriage and of widowhood ; and the number of
domestic servants. The numbers of families are also stated ;
and the enumerations of the ecclesiastics, properly classed,
are given separately ; but no other information respecting
the ages of the living is given than that mentioned above.
A great many statements are also inserted of the numbers
that died in different parishes and more extensive districts,
under five years of age, between five and ten, and in each
interval of ten years, from thence to the age of one hun¬
dred ; during different periods of from ten to forty years or
more, generally ending about the year 1760; but in these
the sexes are not distinguished.
In all cases, he has given the general results of his tables,
and the proportions they afford, very distinctly stated ; and
among these results, the increase of the population during
the preceding sixty years, to which his researches were ge¬
nerally limited, is clearly ascertained.
The work also contains many interesting tables, in which
the rate of mortality and the produce of manufacturing la¬
bour, are compared with the contemporaneous prices of
grain, in various places, generally for periods of twenty years
each.
In the same year was published, at Yverdon, in octavo, the y.j, yjUret.
work entitled Memoire sur VEtat de la Population, dans le
Pays de Vaud, qui a obtenu la prix propose par la Societe
Economique de Berne. Par M. Muret, premier Pasteur a
Vevey, et Secretaire de la Societe Economique de Yevey.
The Pays de Vaud contains 112 parishes, and the popu¬
lation at that time was about 113,000 souls. M. Muret
wrote for information to all the clergymen in the country,
who made him returns of the numbers of baptisms and
burials in their respective parishes, for different periods,
from ten to forty years, in many of which both the ages and
sexes were distinguished; and from about two-thirds of them
he obtained also the numbers of mamages and families ac¬
tually subsisting ; also the number of souls, “ or at least of
communicants,” in their pai’ishes : but neither the ages nor
sexes were distinguished in any of the enumerations of the
living.
This performance does much credit both to the author’s
industry and judgment, but it has also material defects. He
gave upwards of fifty tables, by which he intended to show
the probabilities and expectations of life till five years of
age, and at every fifth year after that, in different parishes
Mortality, and places, under various circumstances of soil and situa-
,tl0n> and for People of different habits and occupations ;
also for the two sexes separately. These must have cost
him a good deal of labour, and would have been extremely
valuable had they been correct; but, unfortunately, he did
not understand the construction of such tables, and they
are not to be depended upon. He also took considerable
pains to determine the rates of mortality among married
and single women, considered separately, and thought he
had proved that it was less among the married; but the
proofs he adduced were not conclusive. Some of his ob¬
servations on the state of the population, and the plans he
recommended for encreasing it, also show, that he did not
understand the principle on which its progress depends.
It is with much reluctance that we make, on so respec¬
table an author, remarks which apply equally to almost all
Ins predecessors in these inquiries ; but this we consider to
be rendered necessary, by the Memoir generally, and the
Tables in particular, having been praised for their extreme
accuracy, in a very good abridgment of them, inserted in
the second volume of a book, entitled De Re Rustica, or
the Repository, Lond. 1770, 8vo.
The disadvantages of her soil and climate necessarily keep
Sweden thinly peopled in comparison with the countries
u hich, in these respects, are more happily circumstanced ;
and since the year 1748, the state of the population has
been an object of anxious solicitude with the government;
which, in 1749, established what, in this country, would pro¬
bably be called a Board of Population, but is there deno¬
minated Tobeli- Vurket, that is, Table-Establishment, for re¬
ducing into convenient forms the extracts from the parish
registers, and the returns from the magistrates of the num¬
bers of the people, which the governors of the different pro¬
vinces are required to state to the commissioners appointed
for these purposes. The extracts from the registers are made
and transmitted annually, but the enumerations only once in
three years.
Printed forms, with proper blanks, distinguishing the ages
and sexes, both of the living and the dead, with the diseases
the deaths were occasioned by, are distributed throughout
the country, to enable the people to make these returns
correctly and uniformly; and the information thus acquir¬
ed, respecting the state of population and mortality, is much
more correct and satisfactory than what has been obtained
m any other place of considerable extent; but from causes
which we have not room to explain here, the results were
not laid before the public until some years after the returns
were made.
M. Wargentin who was one of the Royal Commissioners
of the Tabell-Varket, inserted in the Transactions of the
Royal Academy of Sciences at Stockholm for the years
1754 and 1755, six papers on the usefulness of annual re¬
gisters of births and deaths in a country; which, like all
his other productions, were written with much judgment
and modesty ; but, to illustrate the subject, he was general¬
ly under the necessity ofborrowing materials from the writ¬
ings of others ; as, at that time, he was only in possession
of the results of complete Swedish returns for the years
1749 and 1750. In the same Transactions for the year
1766, he inserted a paper on the mortality in Sweden, in
which he gave Tables exhibiting the number of the Living
of each six in each of the following intervals of age : be¬
tween birth and one year completed, between one and three,
between three and five, and then in each consecutive period
of five years of age till ninety, the last including all those
above ninety years of age; at the three enumerations of
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
603
Wargen-
the people which were made in the years 1757, 1760, and Mortality,
1663 ; with the annual average number of still-born chil- Rills of.
dren and of those born alive, also the number of deaths that'
took place in each of those intervals of age^ during each of
the periods of three years, which ended at the times of these
three enumerations, the sexes being always distinguished.
These particulars he gave both for all Sweden and Finland,
and foi Stockholm separately; with other interesting re¬
sults of the registers and enumerations, and many judicious
observations on them. The ages of the living at the differ¬
ent enumerations, and those at which the deaths took place
in all the subsequent publications of them, have been given
for the intervals of age stated above.
This paper of M. Wargentin is more valuable than all
that had previously been published on the subject; it is also
to be found in the French abridgment of the Stockholm
transactions, in the eleventh volume of the Collection Aca-
demique (partie etrangere), which abridgment was also pub¬
lished separately in 4to at Paris, in 1772.
Condorcet in his Eloge of M. Wargentin states, that he
had collected the results of his labours as Commissioner of
the l abell-Yerket in a great work which he had not time
to publish ; but in that statement, there is probably some
mistmce. In the Stockholm Transactions for the first quar¬
ter of the year 1801, M. Nicander informs us, that M. War¬
gentin at his death, left in manuscript a continuation of the
observations published in 1766, consisting of four state¬
ments similar to those just mentioned; the first for the
years 1765, 1766, and 1767, the second for the two foliow-
ing years, the third for the year 1772 alone, and the fourth
tor 1774, 1775, and 1776; and having taken the mean of
all the seven, he sent it a little before his death to Dr.
Price, who published it in the fourth edition of his “ Ob-
servatwns on Reversionary Payments,” which appeared in
1783, the same year in which Wargentin died.
In 1 i 67, Dr. Short published, in quarto, A Comparative
History of the Increase and Decrease of Mankind, in which
the tables are printed more intelligibly, and there is more
information respecting foreign Bills of Mortalitv, than in
his New Observations.
The first edition of Dr. Price’s Observations on Rever- r)r pr:_»
sionary Payments appeared in 1771, and contained “ Ob-
servations on the expectations of lives, the increase of man¬
kind, the number of inhabitants in London, and the influ¬
ence of great towns on health and population,” which had
been published in the Philosophical Transactions for 1769,
and added considerably to the information on those subjects
which had been previously before the public ; also obser¬
vations on the proper methods of constructing tables of
mortality.
In the Philosophical Transactions for the years 1774 and j)rs w
*775, were inserted two excellent papers by Dr. Haygarth garth anT
of Chester, in which he gave the Bills of Mortality for that Percival.
city, for the years 1772 and 1773 respectively, in a form
calculated to exhibit, at one view, the most useful and in¬
teresting information such bills can afford without calcula¬
tion, and presenting to the calculator data that are essen¬
tial to the solution of the most important questions respect¬
ing the state of the population. Three papers by Dr. Per¬
cival (also of considerable merit) appeared in the same
Transactions about this time, relating principally to the
population of Manchester and its neighbourhood.
The second part of Dr. Moehsen’s “ Collection of Ob- t,
servations for the better illustration of the great usefulness g Moeh'
and value of Inoculation for the Small-pox,”1 was publish- Se,1‘
ed in 1775 ; in which he gave a good historical account of
die den Werth und grossen Nutzen der Pocken-inoculation. Erstes Stuck, Lubeck 1774 • Zweitex W
mdLetrf!S 177i\ The third pert, ho.ever, eppe.rs never te have been publ.ahed, though st."d in the tWe L ™
be nontS „ d “rpr ,be.“coni «t the end of the second part he gave notice that his remarks on his third table wouU
, and explanations of the lemaining ones would be given, in the following part; which, however, is wanting.
604
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, the first institution of Registers of Births, Marriages, and
Bills of. Deaths, and of their gradual progress and useful applica-
tions down to his time; also twenty-six tables derived from
the Berlin Bills of Mortality for a period of seventeen years,
commencing with 1758, and ending with 1774.
For each of the seventeen years he gave in the text what he
called a Year Table, shewing for that year the number of deaths
by small-pox, which took place during each month, in each of
the first five years of age separately, and also in each interval
of five years of age above that, with the number during the
whole year in each of those intervals of age, the total num¬
ber in each month of the year and also in the whole year;
so far without distinction of sex or condition. But he added
in each of those tables, the distribution of the number who
died in the year by the small-pox into the civil and mili¬
tary population, shewing for each of these classes how many
of each sex were children and how many adults, taking the
age of fifteen years as the limit between them, without no¬
ticing the month or the interval of age in which the deaths
took place. And in an 18th table he gave the same infor¬
mation for the first half of the year 1775. At page 152,
he gave a table shewing the number of deaths in Berlin
during each of those seventeen years, from all causes with¬
out distinction, but distinguishing the civil from the mili¬
tary population, and the sexes in each case. Amongst
these deaths the still-born are included, which it is impor¬
tant to notice here, as he did not mention it. At the end
he gave seven other which he called Principal Tables;
the three first are summaries of his Year Tables; the first
exhibiting at one view the number of deaths by small-pox
in each month of each of the seventeen years, also those in
each month during the whole term, with the whole number
during each year, and the total during the whole term of
seventeen years, without distinction of age, sex, or condi¬
tion. The second shews the number of those deaths in
each year, and the sum of them in all the years, disting¬
uishing the sexes, the civil from the military population,
and children from adults. The third shews the number of
those deaths in each interval of age that took place in each
year, and also during the whole term, without noticing the
particulars given in the two first tables. In the fourth ta¬
ble he gave the numbers of male and female children se¬
parately which were born in each month of each of the
seventeen years, with the total number in each year, and
the total number born in each month during the whole term
of seventeen years, but without mentioning whether the
still-born were included in these statements or not; it seems
probable that they were, as he included them in the deaths.
Taking the numbers of births and deaths, as stated by
Dr. Moehsen, without attending to the still-born, it appears
that
The whole number born dur¬
ing the seventeen years was
While there died of the civil
population 
Of the military 
Total 
Exceeding the births by 
Males. Females. Both
sexes.
33,915 31,718 65,633
30,473 30,153 60,626
11,166 9,341 20,507
41,639 39,494 81,133
.~7724 7776 15,500
His fifth table shews how many children were still-born,
and how many died during each of those seventeen years,
also during the whole term, by each of thirteen different
diseases which are the most prevalent amongst “ children
and others,” but without distinction of age, sex, or condi¬
tion, and without including the small-pox, respecting which
the same information was given both in his first and third
tables; that makes fourteen, of which he has given this
information. But two of them, Hittlen and Maseru, appear
to be only different forms or varieties of what we denomi- Mortality,
nate measles, whilst of some other heads or denominations Bdls of.
in the Berlin bills, probably each included several distinct
diseases ; as disease of the chest and consumption, both dis¬
tinguished from phthisis (Swindsucht) which is given se¬
parately. But these Dr. Moehsen could only give as he
found them in the Weekly Bills of Mortality, from which
he states that he formed his Tables.
His sixth table shews the number of suicides that took
place in each month of those seventeen years, and also dur¬
ing the whole term, in the five different divisions following,
viz., by shooting, hanging, cutting the throat, drowning,
and otherwise ; also the number of deaths by accidents in
forty-nine different ways, the whole number being 447 ;
distinguishing the civil from the military population, males
from females, and children from adults, but without stating
the months in which the deaths took place. Amongst
those causes of death, except drowning and sudden death,
the numbers by which were ninety and one hundred and
thirty-one respectively, the greatest number, thirty-nine,
was of those who died by hunger and misery in the year
1772. Always excluding the still-born ; the number of
deaths in 1772 was 8314, whilst the annual average num¬
ber of the remaining sixteen years was only 4339 ; so that
in 1772 the mortality was nearly twice as great as on the
average of the other sixteen years of the term, which shews
how small a number of deaths is imputed in the bills to
hunger and destitution in comparison with those which, al¬
though ascribed to other causes, were hastened and chief¬
ly produced by want and misery.
The seventh table shews for the year 1774 alone, the
number of the still-born, the number of deaths by unknown
diseases, and the number of them produced by each of
seventy-three different diseases and casualties according to
the Berlin Weekly Bills, which took place in each month
of that year and during the whole year, with distinction of
the civil from the military population, males from females,
and children from adults. The whole number of deaths,
including the still-born in that year, was 4401 ; still-born
259, deaths by unknown diseases 276.
Dr. Moehsen states that the diseases wrere first introduc¬
ed into the Bills of Mortality at Berlin in the year 1721.
The sexton of every parish had some years before been or¬
dered to leave at the senate-house, at the end of every
week, a list of the names of all who had been baptized,
married, or buried during that week; and in the case of
the buried, the age at which, and the disease by which,
each death took place, were also to be stated. But these
orders were not properly attended to until 1733 ; from that
year he made and preserved abridged extracts from them
until 1753, when these were destroyed by fire. In 1757,
he resumed his labours which we have here given an ac¬
count of, more minute than in most other cases, but not
more so than their value appears to entitle them to, whe¬
ther for their useful applications or as examples worthy of
being followed.
In 1778 was published at Paris, in octavo, the work entit- M.Moheai
led Recherches et Considerations sur la, Population de la
France, par M. Moheau. This book is agreeably written,
in a way entirely popular, and will probably be perused
with more pleasure by the generality of readers than most
others on the subject of population. It contains a great
number of tables, for many of which he was indebted to
other writers, especially to M. Messance ; but he has also
given many that are original, derived from the Bills of Mor¬
tality and actual enumerations of the people, though with¬
out explaining in a satisfactory manner how he obtained
his information, which, if it be correct, must have cost great
labour. In his preface he says, “ il est tel page de ce li-
vre qui a coute necessairement deux mois de travail, et un
volume de ch iff res.”
4
Dr. Hey-
1mm.
"? BW, if ’ ■ The f<Srlh ed“,0n °f Dr' .Price’s Observations on Rever-
t appeared in 1783, and contained much
if&Xr"', 'l'i Va '!a’ e. on these subjects, as has al¬
ready been stated above, and in the historical introduction
to the article Annuities.
,h h\ 17f was Published, at Petersburgh, in the Acts of
hteMCjfe7f °f S!?ences there’ for the year 1782, an essay
by M. Krafft on the marriages, births, and burials, at St.
. e5lrQ!jurgh’ d!ir^ a Perioclof seventeen years, from 1764
to 1780, preceded by a general exposition of the uses such
tables might be applied to, if the observations they record
were extended over entire governments in Russia This
paper contains seventeen tables, which shew the number
of deaths at each age, and by each of the principal diseases,
together with the numbers of marriages and baptisms ; the
numbers in each case, being given for each of the seven¬
teen years separately, as well as for the whole term : and
the sexes are always distinguished ; as are likewise foreign¬
ers from the native Russians.
These tables would have been rendered very valuable,
had they been accompanied by statements of the numbers
of the living of each sex in the different intervals of a<m ;
but for want of this information, it is difficult to apply them
to any useful purpose, and many of the inferences M. Krafft
has drawn from them are very uncertain.
During a period of nine years, commencing with 1779
and ending with 1787, Dr. Heysham of Carlisle kept accu¬
rate registers of the births, and of the deaths at all ages, in
the two parishes which comprehend that city and its envi¬
rons ; also the diseases or casualties which the deaths at
each age were occasioned by; and the sexes were in all
cases distinguished. These excellent registers were kept
with great care and skill on the plan of Dr. Haygarth above
mentioned, and included all dissenters within the two par¬
ishes. Dr. Heysham published them from year to year as
they were made, and accompanied them with valuable ob¬
servations on the state of the weather and diseases in each
year.. Iheir value was greatly enhanced by two enumera¬
tions of the people within the two parishes, one made in
January 1780, the other in December 1787, in both of
which the ages were distinguished, but not the sexes of
each age, though the totals of each sex were. These do¬
cuments, printed in convenient forms, with further informa¬
tion respecting them, and many useful tables deduced from
em, may be found in Mr. Milne’s Treatise on Annuities.
r. Barton In the third volume of the Transactions of the American
Philosophical Society, published in 1793, were inserted
Observations on the probabilities of the duration of human
life, andon the progress of population in the United States of
America, contained in a letter from Mr. Barton, which had
been read to the Society in March 1791 ; also a postscript
to that letter, read in December following; the returns of
an actual enumeration of the people of the United States
having been made in the meantime. The information there
given from the parish registers is of little value. In the
enumerations the sexes were distinguished but not the a^es
except the numbers of free white males under and above
sixteen ; but even that information with regard to the po¬
pulation of America is very interesting, whether we con¬
trast the early with the more recently settled counties, or
the whole of the United States with the population of Eu¬
rope.
M; Wargentin having died in 1783, M. Henrich Nicander
was in the following year appointed his successor as astro¬
nomer and secretary of the Royal Academy of Sciences at
Stockholm ; and m 1791 as one of the royal commissioners
It _|abe11-Verket, and their secretary. After the death
ot M. yVargentin, and perhaps for some time before, ow¬
ing to his infirmities, the Tabell-Verket would appear not
to have been duly attended to ; no communications of the
results having been made to the public for fifteen years
mortality, human.
605
after his decease. But other new commissioners were ap- Mortality
pointed at the same time as M. Nicander, and he com- Bills of
menced the performance of the duties of his office by form-'
mg a catalogue of the acts and tables in the archives of the
commissioners, when he found so many deficiencies in the
returns from different parts of the kingdom, and so little
assistance was afforded him, that it was not until the year
1799 that he was enabled to commence the publication of
the most important results for the term of twenty-three
years ended with 1795, and he continued to insert papers
on that subject in the same transactions for the remainder
of his life; he died in 1815. The following statement will
facilitate reference to those papers, eighteen in number.
in the
vol. for
the year.
No.
of
papers
1799
1800
1801
1805
1809
1813
1814
Stating the results of obser¬
vations made during the
term of
23 years.
8 ..
5 ..
5 ..
2 ..
1773—1795.
1796—1803.
1801—1805.
1806—1810.
1811 and 1812,
■ Nican-
The most valuable information contained in these papers
is the mean number of persons living of each sex, in each
interval of age during a certain number of years, and the
annual average number of deaths of persons of each sex it
the same intervals of age which took place during the same
time ; as these data are sufficient for determining the law of
mortality for each sex separately, and also for the whole
popu ation without distinction of sex. That information
M, Nicander has given for all Sweden and Finland in his
first paper in the transactions for 1801, both for the whole
period of twenty years, 1776-1795, and for each of the four
consecutive periods of five years contained in the same
term; also derived from these, the proportion of the annu¬
al average number of deaths to the mean number of the
living of each sex in each interval of age. And in the vol¬
ume for 1809, (tab. B,) he gave the same information as
to the population and mortality during the term of five years
ending with 1805. In the volume for 1813, he gave the
number of deaths of persons of each sex, which took place
!no^ac!o11ntervf1 °^age during every one of the five years,
1800-1810 ; also the number of living persons of each sex
in each interval of age at the end of the year 1810. In the
volume for 1814, he gave the number of deaths of persons
of each sex in each interval of age which took place in
each of the two years 1811 and 1812. And in all cases the
numbers born alive and still-born of each sex were also given
separately, but the still-born were never included amon<>'
the deaths. &
Sweden having lost Finland by the war with Russia in
1808, the observations recorded by M. Nicander in the vo¬
lumes of the Stockholm Transactions for 1813 and 1814,
were made in Sweden alone. The operations of the Tabell-
Verket never extended to Swedish Pomerania, the Isle of
Rugen, or the town of Wismar.
In the sixth and last paper of M. Wargentin, in the
Stockholm Transactions for 1755, he gave a table shewing
the proportion of the whole number of deaths produced by
each of about thirty of the principal diseases; in all Swe¬
den, in Stockholm alone, within the London bills of mor¬
tality, and in Berlin. But at that time complete returns
from the whole of Sweden had only been received for the
two years 1749 and 1750; and from Stockholm for the five
years 1749-1753. Forty-six years from that time had
elapsed without any thing further having been published on
the mortality from different diseases in Sweden, when M,
606
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, Nicander resumed it in his second paper in the Stockholm
Bills of. Transactions for 1801, where, in table T, he gave for each
of the twenty-one years 1775-1795, the number of deaths
produced by each of thirty-seven different diseases, besides
these four other causes, child-bearing, the infirmities of
age, unknown diseases, accidents and other violent deaths ;
with the annual average number by each cause, and the
proportionate number produced by each cause, out of a total
number of 10,000 deaths.
In table U he gave for each diocese in the kingdom, for
Stockholm and for Carlscrona, each separately, also for the
whole of the kingdom, the annual average number of deaths
during the same period of twenty-one years, produced by
each of the causes above mentioned, without distinction of
the sexes, except for the whole kingdom taken together;
for which the average was given from each cause for males
and females separately, and also for the whole population,
without distinction of sex. M. Nicander continued his pa¬
pers on the mortality produced by different diseases in Swe¬
den, in thesame Transactions for the years 1805,1809,1813,
and 1814, which appears in the tabular statement of his papers
given above, for the term of years there set against their
respective dates of publication. But in these four papers,
the mortality produced by several kindred diseases taken
together was given, without distinguishing that which was
produced by each disease separately. In his paper pub¬
lished in 1809) besides the number of deaths produced in
each of the five years 1801-1805, by each disease or class
of diseases, the annual average number produced by each,
in every month during the same term, was given, so as to
shew the effects of the seasons in increasing or diminishing
the mortality from each.
M. Nicander’s papers contain much valuable information
which, not coming within the scope of this article, it may
suffice merely to mention here. Besides the statements
above mentioned, of the births and deaths in the whole of
the kingdom taken together, the numbers of them which
took place in the city of Stockholm, and in each of the Ians
or governments the country is divided into, are given sepa¬
rately for the period between each two consecutive enu¬
merations of the people, with the excess or defect of the
births in each case, as compared with the deaths; and the
difference is compared with the increase or decrease of the
population in the same period, determined by actual enu¬
merations at its extremities. The number of marriages
contracted, and the number dissolved by death during given
periods, are also stated ; with the number of pregnant wo¬
men delivered in each interval of five years of age, from
fifteen to fifty, and those above fifty; the number of those
women who were married, and who were single ; the num¬
bers of double, triple, and quadruple births, distinguishing
those born alive from the still-born, the legitimate from the
illegitimate, and males from females. In the enumerations,
the number of married persons of each sex, the numbers of
widowers and widows, and the numbers unmarried above
fifteen years of age, of each sex; also the number of child¬
ren of each sex under that age, were given.
The numbers of the people, classed according to their
ranks, conditions, and employments, were stated, with dis¬
tinction of the sexes, and the number of children vaccinated
in each year, from 1804. In the volume for 1813, the num¬
ber of families in each of the four following classes was
given :—1. the opulent; 2. other persons of property; 3.
those subsisting by their labour; 4. the destitute poor;
which consisted of two persons, from two to five, from five
to ten, from ten to fifteen, and of more than fifteen persons;
with the whole number of families of each of those five mag¬
nitudes, and also the whole number of families of each class
or condition. In addition to these, tables were given for
1802, and the subsequent years, shewing how many Swedish
tons were sown of each kind of grain, also of pease, and of
potatoes put into the ground, with the produce derived from Mortalitj
each ; the quantity of live stock of each kind; and the quan- Billls of.
tity of land under cultivation for each government of the
kingdom separately.
Some of the most valuable parts of these papers of M.
Nicander, with deductions from them, will be found under
the second section of this article.
After the death of M. Nicander, which took place in 1815,
no reports on the state of the population and mortality were
inserted in the Stockholm Transactions, where they had
always appeared previously; and as books, or any informa¬
tion concerning them, can hardly ever be obtained from
Sweden through the London booksellers, it was not till the
summer of 1836 that the author of this article learnt from
Professor Nilsson of Lund, who was then in London, in what
way they had been published; and to that gentleman and
Mr. Charles Tottie, consul-general in London for Sweden
and Norway, he is indebted for a manuscript copy of the
1st, 2d, and 3d tables, at the end of this article, which give
the most important information on the subject; their au¬
thenticity he considers to be sufficiently guaranteed, by his
having received them through Mr. Tottie, from M. John Ad.
Leyonmarck, the successor of M. Nicander, as the secretary
to the Tabell-Verket, or Registry Commission; also by com¬
paring them with the printed tables under mentioned.
The principal printed documents on the progress of popu¬
lation in Sweden, since the death of M. Nicander, which the
author has yet succeeded in obtaining are the following: 
1. An oblong folio pamphlet, consisting of forty leaves,
(each twenty-one inches by eighteen), and containing forty-
two lithograph tables, most of the pages being very much
crowded with small figures, shewing all the particulars above
stated with respect to M. Nicander’s tables, not only for the
whole of Sweden, but also for the city of Stockholm, and
each of the Ians or governments separately, which the king¬
dom is divided into, for the five years 1821-1825. The
number in each of the usual divisions of age, at the enumer¬
ation of 1825, is given, with distinction of the sexes, and of
the country people from those residing in towns. The fol¬
lowing were the numbers for the whole of the kingdom: 
Country people, 
Inhabitants of towns,
Total,
Males.
1,202,989
129,981
1,332,970
Females.
1,287,984
150,298
1,438,282
Both s
2,490,973
280,279
2,771,252
The numbers of the people in that year, classified accord¬
ing to rank or condition, profession or occupation, are also
given. And the number of deaths in each of the five years
(1821-1825) by childbirth, also those of each sex separ¬
ately, by eleven different diseases, including the principal of
those prevailing among children, and those by seven differ
ent kinds of violent deaths or casualties, are stated for the
city of Stockholm, and each lan in the kingdom separately.
For that city, and each of those Ians separately, the num¬
bers of the people in 1805 and 1810, without distinction of
age or sex ; and the numbers in 1815, 1820, and 1825, both
with and without that distinction are given ; with the num¬
bers of births and deaths during the two quinquennial periods
1816-1820, and 1821—1825. The divisions are indeedmuch
more minute than these; the population of the city of Stock¬
holm is given for nine different districts separately, and the
births and deaths for twenty ; this arises from the popula¬
tion being divided into those districts for the purposes of
taxation, and the twenty others are the different congrega¬
tions or places of worship, where the registers of births,
deaths, and marriages, are kept. But every lan in the king¬
dom being divided into several districts, and each district into
its separate parishes; the particulars above mentioned, are
^orta%, given for each parish separately, and also the sum of those
^•in each district, which shows the same things for it.
This is a very imperfect statement of the contents of these
valuable tables, but sufficient it is hoped, to show those who
take interest in such subjects, that they are worth being
consulted and studied. The title is as follows : The hum-
Me Report of the Royal Registry Commissioners to his
Royal Majesty, on the Proportions of the Births and Deaths
during the years 1821-1825, to the Population of the King¬
dom in the last mentioned year ; also on the observed In¬
crease of the population of the Kingdom, during the last
elapsed compared with the next preceding Decennium.
Dated the \0th of May 1828. Printed by the gracious
command of his Royal Majesty.1
. 2- A Tiart0 of sixtY pages, with the same title, contain¬
ing an abstract of the above, printed with types in the usual
way, and observations and remarks which were absent from
the lai ger tables. . In it, the results of the observations made
in that quinquennium (1821-1825) are compared with those
o the preceding, by placing the corresponding numbers on
/ io iS^ ’ t^°Se of'the next Preceding quinquennium
(lolb—18L.0) on the left; and those of the present (1821—
1825) on the right of the page, with the explanation of their
import between them.
. These contain almost all the more important information
in the larger tables, at least to persons residing out of Swe¬
den, and are much more convenient to use. But this is de¬
fective in giving only the numbers of violent or sudden
deaths, and those without distinction of sex, with hardly any
information as to the numbers by different diseases, except
stating in what parts of the country they produced the great¬
est mortality in different years.
3. A similar quarto of seventy-four pages for the quin¬
quennium 1826-1830, with a similar title, was in 1833, hand¬
somely printed with much larger and more beautiful types,
especially the figures, which is important. The contents of
the tables in possession of the Commissioners, twenty-five in
number, are here stated, and then very satisfactory extracts
from them are given. The number of deaths from child¬
birth and twelve different diseases are given ; for the pre¬
ceding quinquennium, the annual averages only; but for this,
1826-1830, they are stated for each year separately; but the
annual average only for violent deaths, casualties, and un¬
known causes. As each of these gives the results of the
preceding quinquennium, the two together give them for fif¬
teen years, 1816—1830; and M. Nicander’s papers in the
Stockholm Transactions, gave the observations to the end
of 1812; those for the years 1811 and 1812 being contained
in the volume for 1814. So that only the observations for
the three years, 1813, 1814, and 1815, are wanting to com¬
plete the series ; and the most important parts of these and
others are contained in the tables above mentioned, which
are given at the end of this article. Whether two other
quartos similar to those above mentioned, were published,
with the observations made in the two preceding quinquen-
niums, 1811-1815, and 1816-1820, the author had not been
able to ascertain when this article was printing, (in Febru¬
ary 1837 ;) nor whether any other large folio tables, similar
to those above mentioned, have been published; but it is
probable there have not; for in the German translation of
the second edition of ForselVs Statistics of Sweden, by the
Rev. A. G. F. Freese, preacher to the royal court of Swe¬
den, and rector of the German National Lyceum at Stock¬
holm, (8vo, Lubeck 1835,) it is stated in a note at page
sixty-seven, on entering upon the subject of the Swedish
tables, that they are often quoted by foreign authors, and
mortality, human.
607
that the very large and instructive tables published in 1829, Mortality,
eserve much attention. There can be no doubt that these Bills of-
were the tables ordered by the king to be printed in 1828 ; ’
although they might not have been published before 1829
Had there been any others of the kind, those probably
would not have been so noticed, and as the translator must
have had the best information on the subject, the obvious
inference is, that no others existed in 1835.
4. A folio pamphlet of three sheets extracted from the
iabell- Verket, showing the number of persons carried off
by epidemic cholera in Sweden in the year 1834.2 It
contains five tables, but we shall only notice the first and
most important of them here ; it shows the number of deaths
which were produced by that disease in the year 1834, in
every lan in the kingdom, and in every town and every sub-
deanery in each lan, in each of the usual intervals of a^e
till twenty-five, those between twenty-five and fifty, and the
number above fifty years of age ; also the number in each
month, without distinction of age. The estimated number
o ic people in each place at the commencement of that
year, and the proportion of them who died of the disease
are also given, the sexes being distinguished throughout.
This appears to be the first publication of the number of
deaths in Sweden classed according to the ages of the de¬
ceased, as well as, and together with, the causes of death.
i ™fir assistance in procuring the last mentioned and other
valuable books from Sweden, the author makes his grateful
acknowledgments to Mr. George Warde Norman, and Mr.
H. James Prescott; also to Mr. Norman, for a manuscript
table showing the number of children of each sex born
alive, and the number of the still-born, without distinction
of sex ; with the number of deaths of persons of each sex,
winch took place in each of the intervals of age there men¬
tioned, in every one of the ten years 1824-1833, in the kino--
dom of Norway, the authenticity of which, that gentleman
has no doubt of, and therefore, neither has the author of
this. In the fourth table at the end of this article, the
total ot those numbers for the whole term of ten years are
given. J
It is gratifying to see this table from Norway, so similar
to the excellent form of the Swedish. In every point in
which they differ, the Swedish is entitled to preference •
especially in the smaller intervals of age, in which the num¬
bers of children are given in the Swedish ; and it is to be
regretted, that in giving the numbers of the still-born, the
sexes were not kept distinct; as the great excess of still-
born males above still-born females, is an interesting sub-
ject of inquiry. It is much to be desired that these should
be continued in Norway, and that periodical enumerations
of the people on the Swedish plan should also be made re¬
gularly. But the author has not yet succeeded in his en¬
deavours to ascertain whether those have been made, or are
intended or not.
In the year 1800 was published, at Paris, in octavo, under
the title of EssaideStatistique, a memoir by J. A. Mourgue,
on the births, marriages, and deaths, that took place in
Montpellier during a period of twenty-one years, ending
with 1792, with the ages at which the deaths happened, the
sexes are also distinguished, and the population of the place
appears to have been nearly stationary. The tables and
observations of M. Mourgue appear to be more valuable than
any others relative to the population of France, that had
previously been published, except those of M. Deparcieux,
which related only to select orders of the people. This me¬
moir was read at a meeting of the French National Insti¬
tute in 1795, and printed in the Mem. des Sav. Etr. an. 14.
182^med'l825^Rike™ Fuffimangc^sktbe'riiSe Ar^samrFolkm0^' Maj : T; anSa.flde Nativitetens och Mortalitetens forhallande Aren
nastforutgangna decennium. Daterad den 10 Maji’l828. Pa KoLj^MaL tTnadi^Tf iT^1" nf slst[)il'fl'lnta’iamnfiirelsevis emot det
* Utdrag af Tabell-Wercket ofver He i piiniora ^ r’ MaJ: ts nadiga befallmng till trycket befordrad.
g ar a aoeii wercket otver de i Cholera-Farsoter. uti Swenge afledne personer Ar 1834. Stockholm 1836
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
608
Mortality, An enumeration of the people in Spain was made by
Bills of. royal authority in the years 1768 and 1769, and again in
1787 ; a minute account of this last was printed at Madrid,
showing for each province separately, the numbers of pa¬
rishes, cities, towns, villages, &c. &c. with the number of
people in each class according to their ranks, professions,
occupations, &c. and the monastic orders of both sexes were
particularly distinguished: to these was prefixed a summary
of the census of 1768 and 1769- In these two enumera¬
tions, the ages of the people were not distinguished with
sufficient minuteness ; they only showed how many were
under seven, between seven and sixteen, sixteen and twenty-
five, twenty-five and forty, forty and fifty, and above fifty.
In both enumerations, together with the ages, the distinc¬
tion of the sexes was given ; in the first, the married were
only distinguished from the single; but that of 1787 show¬
ed how many of each sex, and in each interval of age, were
in the states of celibacy, marriage, and widowhood.
A third enumeration of the people in Spain and the Span¬
ish possessions in Europe and Africa, including the Canary
Islands, was made in 1797 ; and a full account of it, occu¬
pying nearly fifty large tables, was printed at Madrid in
1801. The distinction of the ages in this enumeration was
still not sufficiently minute ; under forty it was the same as
in the two preceding ; but after that age, the number of the
living in each interval of ten years to one hundred was given,
and the number above one hundred.
No information from the parish registers in Spain was
given in any of these cases; although satisfactory extracts
from them all, distinguishing the ages and sexes of the de¬
ceased, or even from those only which could be most de¬
pended upon, during the ten years that intervened between
the two last enumerations, would have rendered the results
of these incomparably more valuable, provided that the po¬
pulation of the places for which correct registers were given,
could be distinguished from the rest. Those to whom the
superintendence of these measures were entrusted in Spain,
seem to have been well aware of this, and to have actually
entered upon the formation of these necessary supplements
to the enumerations, as appears by the following passage
extracted from the introduction to the primed statement of
the last census :
“ Interin que se forman las tablas necrologicas, las de
nacidos y casados, en que entiende el ministerio de Estado,
y que son muy utiles para valuar casi geometricamente el
total de la poblacion del Reyno, debemos contentarnos con
las noticias que nos proporcionen los censos executados por
el metodo que el presente.” But these tables of births,
-deaths, and marriages, have not yet (in the year 1836,) been
published, neither does it appear probable that they were
ever formed.
In 1801 were published, in quarto, Observations on the In¬
crease and decrease of Different Diseases, and particularly
of the Plague, by William Heberden, junior, M.D. F.R.S.,
containing some tables, chiefly deduced from the London
bills. In the advertisement prefixed to this valuable tract,
we are informed that it had been intended to be subjoined
to a new edition of the Bills of Mortality ; which edition,
however, was not published. We are also indebted to the
same ingenious physician for other interesting observations
on the mortality in London, inserted in the Philosophical
Transactions of the Royal Society (for 1796,) and in those
of the London College of Physicians, vol. iv.
In the same year (1801) was published another valuable
work, entitled, Reports on the Diseases in London, particu¬
larly during the years 1796, 1797, 1798, 1799, and 1800, Mortal
in 12mo, by Robert Willan, M.D. F.A.S. part of which had Bills (
been previously inserted in some periodical publications. '
The author’s observations were made both on the Bills of
Mortality, and on the cases that occurred in his own prac¬
tice.
Dr. Bateman commenced a series of similar observations
and reports on the diseases of London with September 1804,
which he continued till the end of August 1816. The sub¬
jects of those reports were, the cases that occurred at the
Public Dispensary in London, in which he was a physician ;
they were first published quarterly in the Edinburgh Medi¬
cal and Physical Journal, but the author collected them
into a separate octavo volume, which he published in 1819,
with an introduction, in which he gave a Historical Survey
of the Diseases of London.
All of the three works last mentioned, are very interest¬
ing and instructive ; but it 'would not be consistent with the
objects of this article, to notice them further here.
By art. 1, sect. 2, of the constitution of the United States
of America, it was provided that the representatives and di¬
rect taxes should be apportioned amongst the several states
which should be included within the union according to their
respective numbers. The first actual enumeration to be
made within three years after the first meeting of the Con¬
gress of the states, and within every subsequent term of ten
years, in such manner as they should by law direct.1 In
consequence of this, five enumerations of the inhabitants of
the United States have been made, viz. in 1790, 1800,1810,
1820, and 1830 ; statements of the first four are given in
the American Almanac for 1832, and of the last in the same
Almanac for 1833. In the first, as was stated above, no at¬
tention was paid to the ages, except the distinction of the
numbers of free white males under and above sixteen years
of age. In the enumerations of 1800, 1810, and 1820, the
numbers of free white persons of each sex in five different
intervals of age were ascertained ; but three of the intervals
were much too long to admit of the enumerations being
available for determining the law of mortality; the first of
those long intervals being all under ten years of age ; the
second, those between twenty-six and forty-five years ; and
the third, all above that age. Of these three enumerations,
it was in that of 1820 only, that the free coloured persons
and the slaves were classified according to their ages and
sexes; and the intervals of age into which they were dis¬
tributed, were longer than those for the free whites.
In 1830, the numbers of free white persons of each sex,
in thirteen different intervals of age were determined ; the
four divisions under twenty years of age being of five years
each ; the eight between twenty and a hundred, of ten years
each ; and the thirteenth division included those of a hun¬
dred years of age, and upwards. The numbers of each sex,
of free coloured persons, and of slaves separately of each
sex, in each of the following divisions of age, were ascer¬
tained. Between 0 and 10, 10 and 24, 24 and 36, 36 and
55, 55 and 100, and above 100. These particulars were
given for each state and territory separately, and also the
totals for the whole of the United States. Statements ot
all the five enumerations from that of 1790 to that of 1830,
both inclusive, may be seen in the American Almanac for
the year 1832. That of 1830, with the ages of the living
for each state and territory will be found in the same Al¬
manac for 1833. No general returns of the numbers of
births, marriages, and deaths, appear to have been required
or made throughout the United States ; and previous to the
1 Dr. Seybert, in his Statistical Annals of the United States of America, published in 1818, (p. 17) makes the following statement:
“ The United States of America alone require an actual enumeration of the inhabitants to be made at regular intervals; as .ar as our
knowledge extends, no other instance can be furnished from the history of mankind; our practice is worthy of being followed by other
nations.” And a statement to the same effect is made in the American Almanac for the year 1832, (p. 136) by which it wculd appear,
that the writers were not aware of Sweden having set a still better example of that kind more than thirty years before.
rtalj ■'fortality’ year 1820> but few births were registered there. Many
’ ^ marriages were till then, and probably still are, contracted
belbie niagistiatcs, whose records of them were seldom pre-
' served.1
In the city and liberties of Philadelphia more attention
appears to have been paid to these subjects than in almost any
othei pait of the Pnited States. In the first number of the
American Journal of the Medical Sciences, published at
Philadelphia in November 1827, in octavo, there is an ex¬
cellent article (the 8th), entitled, Medical Statistics: be¬
ing a series of Tables, showing the Mortality in Philadel¬
phia, and its immediate causes, during a period of twenty
years, by Gouverneur Emerson, MD. Dr. Emerson
states, that the subject of the diseases and mortality of Phi¬
ladelphia, was first made one of regular record in the year
1807, through the influence and exertions of Professor
James, and that “ their authenticity may be regarded as
resting on very solid grounds.” From authority vested in
the Board of “ Health, this municipal power makes it obliga¬
tory upon physicians to give certificates designating the
name, age, and sex, of all who die under their care ; and
sextons are bound by still heavier penalties, not to per¬
mit the interment of any dead bodv, until such certificate
is obtained, which he returns to the* health office on the last
day of every week, for publication. The accuracy with
which the diseases are designated in these certificates, rests
chiefl y upon the general intelligence of the medical profes¬
sion in that city, the members of which are very much in
the practice of testing their pathological opinions by autop-
sical examinations. For the purpose of ascertaining the
number born, the various practitioners of midwifery are re¬
quired to render an account at the health office of all births.
With regard, however, to this department, there is some
reason to suspect a deficiency in the returns, especially from
the outskirts of the city and liberties. But the registry of
the dead has, for the most part, been kept with a care and
fidelity creditable to those w ho have had its superintendence.”
Dr. Emerson after making some general observations on
the topography and climate of Philadelphia, proceeds with
his observations on the eleven valuable tables which are in¬
serted at the end of the article.
The first shows the results for each calendar month of
thermometrical observations made at Philadelphia, during
the term of ten years, which commenced with March 1811,
and ended with February 1820. The secoTZGHs an abstract
of the census of the city and county of Philadelphia, taken
by order of the general government in 1820.
All the observations on the Mortality were made within
the period of twenty years, which commenced with 1807
and ended with 1826 ; the still-born being always, as they
should be, given separately, and not included amongst the
deaths; except in I able I*V., which shows the number of
deaths in each month of each of the twenty years ; the
Board of Health having found it impracticable to make an
accurate monthly estimate of them for deduction.
In the number staled in the Philadelphia bills to be still¬
born, the abortions are included. The fifth and eleventh
of these tables are the most valuable. In the fifth are stated
the numbers of deaths from the principal diseases during
the whole period of twenty years in the following intervals
of age, viz. between birth and one year completed, between
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
609
one and two years, between two and five, between five and Mortality,
ten ; then in each interval of ten years of age io a hun- Bills of.
dred and twenty ; fifty-five deaths having happened be-'
tween the ages of a hundred and a hundred and ten, and
six between a hundred and ten and a hundred and twenty.
After the columns set apart for those fifteen different in¬
tervals of age, in a sixteenth the number of deaths produc¬
ed by each disease at ages not ascertained, is given ; and
the seventeenth and last column, the total number of
deaths produced by each of those diseases. The total num¬
ber of diseases in the table is sixty-six, and the number of
causes of death, old age being included, is sixty-seven.
A few cases of deaths occasioned by accidents and dis¬
eases of vague character, Dr. Emerson omitted, as tending
rather to perplex than to elucidate the subject; and adopt¬
ed the alphabetical arrangement in this table, as the most
convenient.
The total number of deaths registered during the term
of twenty years was 53,004, whilst the number included in
this fifth table was 50,614 ; so that 2390 were excluded for
the reason just stated.
Di. Emersons other tables and his observations on the
whole of them, will be found w^ell worth the attention of
those who take interest in the subject.
In Hazard's Register of Pensylvania for July 30,
1831, (No. 5, vol. viij.) there is an elaborate paper en¬
titled, Comparative Views of the population of the city
and county of Philadelphia, from the time of the first cen¬
sus in 1 /90, till that of the last in 1830 ; in which the num¬
ber of white persons of each sex in that city and county at
the time of the census of 1830, in each of the thirteen in¬
tervals of age, stated above to have been adopted through¬
out the United States at that census, is given ; and the
same information is given as to the coloured population at
that time, but distributed into the six intervals of age only,
above stated to have been adopted for them. The number
of whites was 173,345 ; of coloured persons, 15,595 ; total,
188,940. ’
A statement of the deaths which took place within the
Bills of Mortality during the term often years 1821-1830,
is also given for the whole population w ithout distinction of
colour or sex, and distributed into the following sixteen in¬
tervals of age in which they happened, viz. under one year,
between one and two, between two and five, then in each
of the three intervals of five years each to twenty, and the
remaining ten intervals of ten years each between twenty
and a hundred and twenty ; thirty-two persons having
died between a hundred and a hundred and ten years of
age, and five between a hundred and ten and a hundred
and twenty. The whole number of those deaths, which
did not include the still-born, was 37,914.
The number of births of each sex in each of the ten
years 1821-1830, is also given, including the still-born, but
without distinction of colour ; and the number of still-born
for each year separately, but without distinction either of
colour or sex.
Ihe number of deaths in each of the ten years is stated
separately, both with and without distinction of sex, but
always without distinction of age ; and it is only where the
whole number of deaths of both sexes without distinction,
in each of the ten years is stated, that the division of it into
'J" consequence of the notice which was taken in the first edition of this article, published in the Supplement to the Encyclopaedia Bri-
’ .^Une I-8 ■7’ t^le e”u™eratl0»s of the people, and the published extracts from the parish registers in the United States, with
nf tl? SUpeSt.IOns p j’.lml)r°vin^ best of them, those of Philadelphia, and increasing their usefulness, John Vaughan, Esq , the Librarian
e American Philosophical Society, had the goodness to communicate to the author in June 1818, most of the information dven
icne, as o t le state of things down to that time, both in the United States generally, and in Philadelphia in particular ; with eight of the
annual statements (all he could procure and part with,) of the Board of Health in Philadelphia, showing the number of deaths at every ace
'sease or other cause, in that city and its liberties; and several American newspapers, showing the number of deaths in each of the
nt wii 'l t rVd !i°f a.ge’ the uu.'uhfr in each month of the year, and the number of deaths by each cause, without in this last case, stating
it in 3 ey happened, in Baltimore, Boston, Charleston, New York, Philadelphia, Salem, and Washington; for which the author feels
»t meumbent upon him to acknowledge his obligations, and express his gratitude in this place.
VOL. XV.
4 H
610
MORTALITY, H U M A N.
Mortality, the numbers of white and coloured persons is given ; in
L ^ls ^ J these numbers of deaths without distinction of age, the still-
born are included. So that these documents do not enable
us to determine out of how many persons of each sex, one
died annually during the ten years 1821-1830.
Taking the limits of the Bills of Mortality from Dr.
Emerson’s second table, where he stated the wards and dis¬
tricts from which the returns of interments were made, and
the population of each at the census in 1820, amounting in
all to 121,980 ; and assuming the limits of the bills to have
been the same in 1830, the population within them at the
census of that year, was, according to Hazard’s Register,
171,212; and the mean number of the people during the
intervening ten years, appears to have been 146,596.1 The
number of deaths in the same time, exclusive of the still¬
born, was, according to the statement with the ages,
37,914 ; according to that without the ages, 37,814 ; tak¬
ing 37,864, the mean between these for the true number,
we find that there died annually on an average of those ten
years, one person for every (38-7165 or nearly) thirty-nine
in the whole population. The number of persons in the
city and county at the census of 1820 was 137,097, at that
of 1830, 188,961, mean number during the intervening ten
years, 163,029.
The following statement of the progress of population in
the city alone of Philadelphia, appears to be sufficiently in¬
teresting to deserve a place here.
In the
year
No. of
the
people.
No. of
square feet
for each
person.
No. of
persons
to a sq.
mile.
1790
1800
1810
1820
1830
28,522
41,220
53,722
63,802
80,458
1755
1216
933
786
623
15,885
22,926
29,880
35,469
44,749
The three first columns are taken from the article above
mentioned in Hazard’s Register; but since the numbers in
the third are proportional to the rarity of the population at
the five enumerations, those in the fourth have been add¬
ed, as they measure its density at the times of those enu¬
merations.
The whole population of the city and county of Phila¬
delphia, without distinction of age, sex, or colour, was dis¬
tributed as follows, at the times of the enumerations in 1820
and 1830.
In the city 
In the suburbs.
Total within the bills of )
mortality /
In the rest of the county
Total within the city)
and county  )
In the year
1820.
63,802
58,178
121,980
15,117
137,097
In the year
1830.
80,458
90,754
171,212
17,749
188,961
(Hazard’s Register, vol. viii. p. 65.)
Here the inhabitants of Blockley, amounting
in 1820 to 2655,
in 1830 to 3401,
are included within the suburbs and bills of mortality. It Morfalitj
is much to be regretted that in the census of 1830, the Bills of.
coloured population were not distributed into the same in-
tervals of age as the whites ; also that the colours and sexes
of those who died within the bills of mortality during the
ten years, 1821-1830, were not distinguished in the pub¬
lished statements, as well as the ages. Dr. Emerson was
of opinion that the rate of mortality amongst the coloured
population was much greater than amongst the whites.
It is equally to be regretted that, while the bills of mor¬
tality extended only to the city and suburbs, of which the
mean population during the ten years, 1821-1830, was
146,596, the enumeration of that portion of the population
of the city and county distributed into the different inter¬
vals of age, with distinction of the colours and sexes, was
not given separately. For with such documents as are be¬
fore us, even if the enumeration of 1820 had been made
exactly in the same manner as that of 1830 ; in attempt¬
ing to determine the rate of mortality in any interval of age,
we should only have the means of comparing the annual
average number of deaths which took place in that interval
within the bills of mortality, with the mean number of the
people in the same internal of age in the whole of the city
and county. But the mean population
within the bills of mortality was only  146,596
while that of the whole city and county was  163,029
that is  16,433
or about one-ninth greater.
The difficulty arising from this would not be great, if the
population without the bills were known to be distributed
into the different intervals of age in a manner similar to that
w-ithin them ; but there is no doubt of the distribution in
the two cases being very dissimilar; for, excluding the still¬
born both from the numbers of the births and of the deaths,
during the ten years ended with 1830,
The total number born within the bills of mor¬
tality was  61,945
Total number of deaths in the same time  37,814
Increase of population, within the bills, by pro¬
creation  24,131
While the increase from all causes during these
ten years, was  49,232
So that the increase by migration must have
been  25,101
within the bills of mortality; that is, one twenty-fourth part
greater than by procreation. The part of the county with¬
out the bills certainly could not have been increased in a
like proportion in the same way; therefore the population
without the bills must have been much more dense at early
ages, and more rare at the advanced ones, in comparison
with the population within them, than in proportion to the
mean number of the people of all ages, without and within
the bills respectively. Whence it is manifest that nothing
but enumerations of the people in each interval of age,
within the limits of the bills, at each extremity of the pe¬
riod for which the annual deaths at the different periods of
life are given, can make either those enumerations or the
registers of deaths, available for the most important purposes
they can be applied to.
In pursuance of an act of Parliament (41 Geo. III. cap.
15), an enumeration of the people in Great Britain was made
in 1801; also returns of the baptisms and burials in Eng¬
land and Wales, during the year 1700, and every tentii year
after that till 1780, then for every year to 1800 inclusive,
with the number of marriages in each year, from the com¬
mencement of 1754 to the end of 1800. Large and clear
abstracts of the answers and returns to this act were printed
1 Including the township of Blockley in the limits of the bills according to Dr. Emerson, although in the register it is removed from
them and placed in the rest of the county. If the interments in or from Blockley were not included in the bills, the annual average mor¬
tality must have been one of 37'9167.
by °rdfr °f the House of Commons in 1802, and occupy
J^^more than one thousand pages folio. In 1811, another act
'-^—(51 Geo. HI. cap. 6), was passed, “for taking an account
of the population of Great Britain, and the increase or di¬
minution thereof;” in consequence of which, returns were
that year made to Parliament, of the number of persons in
every part of Great Britain ; also of the numbers of bap¬
tisms, burials, and marriages in England and Wales, during
each of the preceding ten years; very satisfactory abstracts
of these were also printed by order of the House of Com¬
mons, in 1812, with some preliminary observations, in which
corrections of the preceding returns are given.
The sexes were distinguished both in these enumerations
and extracts from the registers, but the ages in none of
them; and the proportions of males to females among the
living are not to be depended upon, a number of males in
the army and navy, which it is difficult to estimate, not being
natives of Great Britain, nor usually resident there. The
returns of baptisms and burials wrere also defective, but few
registers of Dissenters having been included in them.
These abstracts are, however, with respect to the objects
they extend to, more minute and satisfactory, than any other
accounts of the same kind that had previously been pub¬
lished ; and it was very desirable that such returns should
have continued to be made, and abstracts of them to be
printed at regular intervals; for nothing is so well calcu¬
lated to shew the influence of different causes on the pros¬
perity of a nation, as the comparison of the different states
of the population, and the rate of its progress or declension,
under different circumstances; besides, the value of the ab¬
stracts, once obtained, will be much enhanced by the pub¬
lication of others of a similar kind thereafter.
It is much to be regretted, that no information as to the
ages of the living, or those at which the deaths took place,
wras required by either of the acts above referred to, nor any
encouragement or facility afforded to those who might be
disposed to collect such information; and, consequently, that
none^ was given in the returns.
Without better regulations for the keeping of mortuary
registers than those heretofore in force, without such as
should extend to dissenters of every denomination, it wrould
probably be better not to require returns of the ages of the
deceased from all parts of the kingdom ; for defective or in-
-cu-te returns would only mislead; and, not to mention
the difficulty and expense of procuring returns of the a°-es
of all the living, they would be comparatively of little use
where those of the dead were wanting
But if government were to print forms for making returns
both of the numbers of the living and of the annual deaths
in proper intervals of age, throughout the extent of life;
only sending these forms along with those now in use, to
such as should apply for them; then persons who take an
interest in such inquiries, and have the means of making
coirect returns, might do so with advantage. And a sum¬
mary of all of that kind made from different parts of the
kingdom, would convey much important information. Re¬
turns also, from such places only as were similarly circum¬
stanced, might be collected into as many summaries as
there were material varieties in the circumstances; and thus
would afford the means of determining the different modifi¬
cations of the law of mortality, which different circumstances
produce. If the diseases that occasioned the deaths were
also inserted, the greater prevalence of particular diseases
in some circumstances than in others, would be apparent
with their effects, and the probable means of preventing
them, or lessening their mortality.
But, the population enumerated must always he precisely
that which produces the deaths registered; the grand desi-
M O R T A L I T Y, H U M A N.
611
^ In the Supplement to former editions of this work.
tor the more recent statistics on mortality, see Appendix to the present article
deratum being, to determine the number of annual deaths Mortality,
at each age, which takes place among a given number of the Bills of.
living at the same age.
Mr- Milne s freatise on Annuities and Assurances was
published in 1815, and contains clear abstracts of the most
important statements of this kind that had been published
between Dr. Price’s time and the date of its publication ;
these will, we believe, be found to be much more valuable
than any thing of the kind that was extant when that re¬
spectable author wrote, whose work had long been referred
to for the best information on such subjects.
Since the first publication (in 18171') of what has been
stated above respecting the two first enumerations of the
people in Great Britain, and the extracts from the parish
registers of England and Wales, two2 other enumerations
have been made in 1821 and 1831; and abstracts of the
answers and returns under the acts that required them, (1
eo. IV. cap. 94, and 11 Geo. IV. cap. 30), have been
printed by order of the House of Commons, (in 1822 and
1833 respectively.) The extracts from the parish registers,
shewing in each case the numbers of births, marriages, and
burials, returned for each of the ten years next preceding
that of the enumeration. The principal difference between
the queries put at the two enumerations of 1811 and 1821
was, that m 1811 no inquiry was made as to the ages of the
people, while in 1821, after nearly the same questions had,
accoi ding to the act, been put to the overseers in England,
and to the schoolmasters in Scotland, the following instruc¬
tions as to the ages of the people were given: “ If you are
o opinion that in making the preceding inquiries, (as to the
number of families and persons), the ages of the several in¬
dividuals can be obtained in a manner satisfactory to your¬
self, and not inconvenient to the parties, be pleased to state
t e number of those who are under five years of age,” &c.
he thirteen intervals of age into which the persons of each
sex separately were to be distributed, being these: 4 of 5
years each from birth to 20 years of age; then 8 of 10 years
each to 100; the thirteenth including all those above 100
years of age. Thus it was left optional with the returning
officer whether this important question should be put, and
with the party interrogated, whether it should be answered
or not; from which it would appear that this part of the
inquiry was not intended to be made with much correctness,
and those whose onerous duty it was to put the question in
populous places, might easily lighten the burden ; accord-
Y’ *r01™ fuc^ Peaces the ages of a considerable part of
the population were not returned. None were obtained
from Manchester, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, or Sunderland.
I he proportion of the ages which were not returned was, in
Birmingham, about f gths, in Leeds, £th, in Bristol, £th of
the returned population. In Middlesex, j-th, York, east
riding, j-th, north riding, Ath, in Lancashire, ^th, in War¬
wickshire, |d, evidently owing to the large manufacturing
towns they contain, especially Birmingham, the population
of which is more than a third of that of the county of War-
wick. These deficiencies in the returns may reasonably be
ascribed to the option which was offered to the overseers,
who, however, performed the duty imposed upon them with
great good will and attention, as appears by the complete
return of ages where the obstacles were not too great.
That the people were not unwilling to state their ages,
may be inferred from the complete returns of them from
Hull, Liverpool, Portsmouth, Plymouth, and Great Yar¬
mouth, as well as from every city in England, if we mistake
not, except London, Canterbury, and Bristol. From the
counties of Bedford, Chester, Rutland, and Leicester, nearly
the whole were obtained; and from those of Lincoln, Nor¬
folk,^uffolVandWflts, the deficiency was only on an aver-
612
MORTALITY, H U M A N.
, %e about one-thirtieth, while from all Wales it was only other circumstances, in producing a more or less complete Mortality
^ JlLa f0^-f^0nd Part °f the whole.1 return of the ages of the people at that enumeration! It Bills of!
I he following table may throw some light on the influ- being borne in mind that from Glasgow the whole were re-
ence of large manufacturing towns, migration, and some turned.
Omitting the army, navy, marines, and seamen in registered vessels.
Both sexes,
100 ages
were not
returned
out of
In England, | 787
Wales, ! 4164
827
1531
1423
888
England and Wales,.
— Scotland  
— Do., omitting Glasgow,.
— Great Britain, 
For every million of each
sex, the number whose ages
were not returned, was, of
Males.
123,053
23,776
117,359
61,016
65,556
108,999
Females.
130,880
24,240
124,512
69,139
74,431
116,048
Excess
of Fe.
males.
7,827
464
7,153
8,123
8,875
7,049
Excess of Females for
every J 00 males.
In the
whole po¬
pulation.
5-36
4- 70
5- 32
12-85
11-55
6- 41
Among
those whose
ages were
not re¬
turned*
6-36
1-95
6-09
13-31
13-54
6-47
With regard to the extracts from the parish registers, the
principal difference between the questions put in 1831 and
at the three preceding decennial periods of enumeration,
was, that in these no inquiry was made as to the ages at
which the deaths happened, while in 1831 the officiating
minister of every church or chapel was requested to state
the ages of the individuals of each sex entered in his burial
register, during each of the eighteen years 1813—1830, in
consequence of which the ages of 3,938,496 persons buried
during those eighteen years were returned, 1,996,195 males,
and 1,942,301 females. The number of each sex separately,
and of both sexes, who died in each year of age during every
one of the eighteen years, in all England and Wales, ac¬
cording to the returns, were given in the preface to the
fcnumeration Abstract, (pp. 36-42); besides which, a simi¬
lar table was also given for each county separately, and
sometimes for its principal town, at the end of the returns
from that county, in the Parish Register Abstract.
Omitting the army, &c., as above mentioned, the whole
returned population in 1821 was 11,978,875 persons; but
the ages of 10,530,671 only were obtained, the number of
persons whose ages were not obtained having been 1,448,204.
As the ages withheld were generally those of residents in
large manufacturing towns, whilst those returned were from
the rest of the population, and a considerable proportiop of
the former class had migrated from the latter, many of them
probably about the age of puberty; there are good reasons
for believing that the ages returned and those omitted were
not similarly distributed, as to their numbers, into the dif¬
ferent periods of life; so that, although the total number
omitted be given, they cannot be interpolated in their pro¬
per places by calculation or otherwise, among the ages re¬
turned.
In the returns of burials at different ages, there are also
omissions, which can only be guessed at. Thus it appears
that these documents, after all the pains and expense they
have cost, do not afford the means of determining the law
of mortality, although that undoubtedly is the most import¬
ant purpose to which enumerations and registers of these
kmds can be applied.
The act 6 and 7 Wm. IV., cap. 86, passed in August
1836, is likely to secure satisfactory records of marriages,
births, and deaths, in England; but the abortive and still¬
born should be distinguished from the children born alive,
which does not appear to be provided for. They may, in¬
deed, be entered as abortive or still-born, under the cause
of death, in the register of burials; if that be done, they
should be carefully excluded from the number of deaths, in
making extracts or returns, and stated separately. And if,
at the future decennial enumerations, the ages of the people
be determined with corresponding accuracy, the values both
of the enumerations and registers will be greatly enhanced,
and the law of mortality, with much other important infor¬
mation, may be derived from them. The insertion of the
cause of death, in the register of it, is of itself a great im¬
provement.
As has already been observed in the article Annuities,
(in volume hi.), it is much to be regretted that in the popu¬
lation returns of 1831, the people were not classed accord¬
ing to their ages, as in 1821; but without giving any option
either to the party by whom or to whom the question on
that subject was required to be put, as to putting or answer¬
ing it. It appears highly probable that there would be no
occasion to impose any penalty for refusing to answer that
question, or for giving wilfully an incorrect answer; and in
the few cases where it might be so given, or altogether
withheld, if a memorandum were made of it, the desired in¬
formation might afterwards be obtained nearly enough from
other parties ; if it came but within the right interval of age,
that would be sufficient. It is true that in the present de¬
fective state of the returns of births and deaths, that would
not have enabled us to determine the law of mortality in a
satisfactory manner; but with the returns of 1821, and those
of a similar kind to be made at the future enumerations, it
would have been of great use. Indeed it must be obvious
to all, that one of the greatest uses of such periodical in¬
quiries into the state of the population, is to ascertain its
progress, by comparing the returns at the several successive
periods, which can only be done satisfactorily when the same
method of proceeding is adhered to at each, or as nearly so
as may be consistent with the introduction of improvements
into it.
Dr. Robert W att’s Inquiry into the Relative Mortality
o f the Principal Diseases of Children, and the numbers who
died under ten years of age in Glasgow during the thirty
years 1783-1812, forming the appendix to his Treatise on
Chincough, w as published with it, in 8vo. in 1813.
He states, (p. 336,) that, “ on inquiring into the state of
1 Those above mentioned are only a few rases, others may be easily found in the Population Abstract. The ages of the inhabitants of
London vrithin the walls were very nearly all returned; those of Canterbury were deficient by j'^th part of the whole.
, D MORTALITY, HUMAN. 613
Sy ™v0ennro™rCmdreni0ftl-,e ^ ^ ^ -es, seldom Mortality,
from the commencement of the year 1783 that the v had hpon nr nn ‘t a‘Ca ^ss.lsta"ce 5 and either from ignorance Bills of
kept in a regular manner.” The Bills extended o the do "ot ^fficently proteet the paUents from cold 
suburbs as well as the city and ho Sn L X i h if la!)?111nn^ under the disease,
the year 1798, more than half of the funerals were tvTthout Cleland,S Stafistical Tables re-
the city. With the most laudable zeaUnd unUL In TJi Clty- °f Gla*9™’ was published there (in 8vo.)
dustry, he collected from the different reo-isters of buriak ILImt wifTX & ^°0d afount of the population and
contained in fifteen folio volumer^/^ Xe wL flburbs d°W" ^ that time;
thirty years, the number of children under ten years of aL for tlX g b‘ S °f mortahty cf the city and suburbs
who died in each month of that year, by each of eiahtdff l l Y A W1hlch aPPears to have been the first pub-
ferent diseases, (counting fevers of L ^nds as onTdLase' y ars ’ tmXZt -fb theS6 ^ ^ four^
only, designated by the term fever, accordino- to the bills ^ ni.hli^b tW n ' great Care and attcntion’ and to
the number of the abortive and still-born and tb« n ill ^ l !- f m the Glasgow newspapers, with the appro-
of deaths under two years of age, between two and fiye, and ,on of the mag‘stracy-*ho cheerfully defrayed the ex-
between fivo and t»n . r,„A    . ,, , . . rc_c*
between five and ten ; and gave a separate table exhibiting
f°r,each of the thirty years ; shewing also
file total number of deaths during the whole of each year
trom each of the causes, and in each of the intervals of age
a ove mentioned ; with the whole number of deaths at all
ages, and from all causes that took place in each year.
1 hen, dividing the whole term of thirty years into five
periods of six years each, he gave a table (his 31st) shew¬
ing how many deaths took place in that period from each
of the causes and in each of the intervals of age above men
tinned, for every hundred inZ XKumb^rs 0riX ^ in & ^ to the
!"CAd:n?*e “ISr and 6till-b°m’ M *«* place dur: prehension’s that helS
• i j- i—V —.n me wnuie numoers or aeatns,
including the abortive and still-born, which took place dur¬
ing the same period. r
The following are four of the fifteen columns in that table
These bills were similar to those published by Dr. Hay-
fw llX .CbeSte,r’ a"d hy Dr* Heysham at Carlisle ; except
at the intervals of age the numbers of deaths were given
in under five years, were much less minute, and that the
causes of death were not stated in Dr. Cleland’s bills. That
gent eman was also appointed to superintend the two enu-
merations of the people in the city and suburbs of Glasgow
"L1®?1 d J83,,; a"d havinS been appointed on this last
occasion by the sheriff of Lanarkshire to superintend the
enumeration of the county also, in a letter to the author of
tins article, dafpfl 1001 ^ .
Period of six
years.
For every hundred in the
total number of deaths during
that period, there were caus¬
ed by
Small¬
pox.
1783—1788
1789—1794
1795—1800
19-55
18-22
18-70
-Measles.)
Stopping
or croup.
0-93
1- 17
2- 10
2- 54
3- 33
2-47
Gratuitous vaccination commenced in Glas¬
gow in 1801.
1801—1806
1807—1812
8-90
3-90
3-92
10-76
4- 93
5- 18
~ , jooi, ne expressed Ins ap-
tion nfStLnS- LhauVhe sh°?d not be ab,e to giye a classifica-
of the inhabitants of Glasgow and its suburbs according
at 1 uat- cnumeration ^ the same manner as in
oil Vh* in Up°^ hT§ 1"forrned’ in rcP1y> that in that case
a the labour he had bestowed upon the parish registers
swpi^H I6" year! then eIaPsed w°nld be fruitless, he an-
’ tria; ^withstanding the extra trouble, he would
p epare fresh schedules, and give the number of the people
o each sex m each of the same intervals of age as in 1821,
7bl.cb he dld accordingly ; and that is the only instance, ex-
Lf1yLCacISle,enU.mCrat,0nS in January 1780 and Decem-
De 1/87, of its having been done in this country.
In the year 1831, Dr. Cleland published, in a folio volume,
is, Enumeration of the Inhabitants of Glasgow and Lan¬
arkshire, including all the details of his labours above men¬
tioned, and, in 1832, a second edition of nearly twice the
tenk i821thie83nSt’-the-bi11 of,mortality for each year of the
fnr u c T183?’/3 1glVen 5 but in the second, only those
for the first and the last of them. *
The following is an extract from the folio volume, (first
edition, p. 11.) “ From my official situation I am enabled
to state, that the books of the church-yard wardens are kept
with such perfect accuracy that every reliance may be plac¬
ed on the number of burials in the city and suburbs.”
hmee the year 1834 the Glasgow bills of mortality have
en nrpnnrpii h\r t?—   ^
Dr. Watt, m common with almost all others who have
well considered the subject, was an advocate for vaccina-
tion ; and if he overrated the degree in which the reduction
of mortality effected by it was counteracted by the contpm  J 
poraneous increase of mortality from other diseases • he has Wn t ie L34 thti Glasgow bills of mortality have
given abundant proof that it was neither from the iof mlttee^rh lY C°nVener of theCcm-
an earnest desire to discover the truth, nor of perseverino- XL f (3hurches.and Church-yards, under the superin¬
industry in the pursuit of it. persevering tendence of a committee of the magistrates and town council,
At the conclusion of his work he recommended scarla- land TLTLf^ ™P"ovcments uPon th°se of Dr. Cle-
tina to be thenceforward carefully distinguished from other neral T? i I°r 1835 c1ontains S1X tables, besides Ge-
fevers in the bills, and expressed his opinion that it had been 3 f ^ he Pn"clPal improvements are in the third
a very considerable causi of mortality among chftten for bofh Xf H ^ WhlCh Were n0t given h? Dr‘ Cleland’ ^
some years previous to the date of hk publieftion S tl them ^ always distinguished ; in the
Medical men in general, both in London and in Glasgow dpaXs bf XT3 °f S1tllI;born ,chlldren> and the number of
dissent from the opinion of Dr. Watt, that the mortality ta ttaL p each interval of age that took place in each month
from measles had materially increased since the introdi^ 1 1 l 18 glven seParately ; and the sum of the month-
tion of vaccination ; but it is supported by the Bills 0^3 lar^B? ^ W each Case for the whole
tality both of London and Sweden, as wellTtW c \ I the, f°ur,th table’ vvhich is still more valuable,
Glasgow ; the increase has also been observed both in Corn- a'L'hvL °f deathS °f eacb SeX in each interval of
wall and at Plymouth, although the numbers there are small i ttp J % X 0 tbe c'ay.se8 most easily discriminated.
Perhaps this increase of mortality may take place principkll’y goIne^sTofZZ ml iftte
614
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, dian of the 3d of February 1837 ; but only the contents of
Bills of. the fjrst two of the tables above mentioned for that year had
been published when this article was put to press, and the
author acknowledges his obligations to Mr. Paul for the
copies sent him by that gentleman of the papers already
published. In these the intention of the council committee
is announced, to improve as they proceed, the statements of
the diseases by which the deaths were occasioned ; also their
intention to detail, in the future bills of mortality, the par¬
ticular trades and professions of those who have died ; and
to give a table exhibiting the mortality among children from
one month up to five years of age, with a statement of the
various diseases which have proved fatal at those ages ; all
of which improvements are very desirable.
It is much to be regretted that only about one half of the
births in Glasgow and its suburbs are registered, also that
certain registers in the Barony Parish burying-grounds con¬
tain no record of the cause of death. The act passed in
1836, for registering births, deaths, and marriages, extends
to England only; and the committee of the city council
express their opinion that these defects cannot well be sup¬
plied without some legislative enactment.
In the bills of mortality for London, Glasgow, and too
many other places, the still-born have been included among
the burials, as the numbers are obtained from the burial
registers; although, as was observed before, p. 525, col. 1,
they never should be, for in that case they are generally
included among the deaths in calculating the rate of mor¬
tality, in consequence of which, that rate comes out greater
than the truth in the ratio of the whole number of the re-
gisterial burials to the number interred who had lived and
breathed.
The Observations on the Mortality and Physical Man¬
agement of Children, by Mr. Roberton of Manchester, were
published (in 12mo.) in 1827 ; it is the first part only of that
valuable work, namely, the observations on the mortality
amongst children, which we have occasion to notice here; and
we consider that no gentleman of the medical profession has
treated it better, few, if any, so well. Mr. Roberton informs
us that no bill of mortality is published in Manchester, and
that, before the year 1812, the ages were not entered in the
registers. He extracted, with great care, the numbers of
deaths under ten years of age from the register of the col¬
legiate church of Manchester, for the term of eight years,
1816-1823 ; and from the valuable register at the Rush-
olme Road cemetry there, for the term of four years, ended
with April 1825. The results he has stated shortly, (p. 19-)
with the proportion in each interval of age under ten, to the
whole number of deaths in each register; and has given a
valuable table, shewing, without distinction of sex, the num¬
ber of children buried in the Rusholme Road cemetry dur¬
ing the four years 1821-1825, who died under one month
old, between one and two, two and three, three and six, six
and nine, and between nine and twelve months; also be¬
tween one and two years, two and three, three and five, and
between five and ten years old, with the total under ten ;
by each of forty-seven different diseases, and twelve other
causes separately. The total number of deaths under ten
having been 2056, and at all ages 3559-
We have already stated in the article Annuities, (vol.iii.
p 203,) that Mr. Finlaison’s Report to the Lords of the
Treasury, on the mortality among government annuitants in
this country, was printed by order of the House of Com¬
mons in 1829. Government having raised money at differ¬
ent times by the sale of life annuities, either by way of ton¬
tines, wfith benefit of survivorship, or otherwise ; a separate
register of the nominees or annuitants on whose lives the
annuities depended, was on each occasion kept; the name,
and consequently the sex, also the age, satisfactorily cer¬
tified, of each nominee at the time when the annuity
commenced, with the day of death, and the age attained,
were entered in the register. For each of these classes of Mortality,
nominees generally, but in some instances for two or three Bills of.
of the smaller ones combined, Mr. Finlaison has given a
table, showing for each sex, 1. The number enrolled at
each age last completed, during the observations; 2. The
number alive of each age when the observations terminat¬
ed ; 3. The number who died at each age during the ob¬
servations ; and, 4. The number who passed on from that
to the next greater age.
Mr. Finlaison calls each of his tables above mentioned an
observation, although each records several thousands of ob¬
served facts or occurrences. Of these tables he has given
twenty-one, but the recorded facts, which alone we have
occasion to notice here, are contained in six only of them,
the other fifteen being combinations of two or more of the
six, or of selections from them.
These six are the following:—
Table. Observations on the nominees of the
No. of
Lives. Deaths.
II.
Ill,
IV,
V.
VII,
I. EnglishTontine, which commenced
in July 1693, the last died in
1783 ...,., 
The observations in all the
other cases terminated in Janu¬
ary 1826.
Life Annuities issued at the Ex¬
chequer in 1745, 1746, 1757,
1766, 1778, and 1779  
Three Irish Tontines of 1773,1775,
and 1778  
Great English Tontine of 1789.
Selected by the contributors 
Prawn by lot, (Art. Annuities,
p. 207)  
Life Annuities chargeable on the
Sinking Fund, commenced in
1808 
1002
2552
3557
3518
4831
1002
2396
1993
1315
1823
6892j 1548
Totals,  22,352 10,077
In the article Annuities (pp. 202 and 203) we mentioned
the desire of the members of the Equitable Assurance So¬
ciety to ascertain the law of mortality which had obtained
among them ; and that the late Mr. Morgan, their then act¬
uary, had been able to form a table which had induced him
to alter his opinion on the subject; accordingly, in Febru¬
ary 1834, the Society printed for the use of the members a
folio pamphlet of “Tables showing the total number of per¬
sons assured in the Equitable Society, from its commence¬
ment in September 1762, to January 1,1829, distinguishing
their ages at the time of admission into the Society, and
exhibiting the number of years during which they have com
tinued members of it, the periods of life at which their as¬
surances have terminated, and the ages which the surviving
members had attained on the first of January 1829. To
which are added, Tables of tke Probabilities and Expecta¬
tions of the duration of human life, deduced from these docu¬
ments ; a statement of disorders (as certified to the Court of
Directors) of which 4095 persons assured have died, in thirty-
two years, ending December 31, 1832; and a Supplement,
showing the mortality of the Society for the years 1829,
1830, 1831, and 1832.” With an introduction by Mr. Ar¬
thur Morgan, who succeeded his father as actuary of the
Society.
By these documents it appears that, of the persons whose
lives were assured in the Society during the period of 661-
years from its commencement, till the end of the year 1828,
Mortality,
Bills of.
M O R T A L I T Y, H U M A N.
The number then surviving and continuing in¬
sured, was   0930
The number who went out of the Society during
their lives, the assurances on them having been
discontinued  9324
Carry forward 16254
Brought forward 16254
The number wno continued assured till death... 5144
And that the total number of lives insured was 21,398
The most valuable of these data are contained in a table,
marked A, of the following form, the ages stated being those
last completed:—
The number in each column on the extreme right and
left shows the age at which the lives in the horizontal line
passing through it were insured; and each large column,
with the age written over it, gives in its four subdivisions
the information there expressed for each age of admission
separately
1. The number of lives who attained that over-written
age.
2. How many of them were living of that age when the
observations terminated.
3. How many went out of the Society alive, by discon¬
tinuance of insurance at that age, during the observations.
4. How many of them died insured during the same time.
And as none of the last three descriptions of lives could
have entered into the next greater year of age during the
observations, while all the rest of the lives of the first de¬
scription must have done so; if the sum of the 2d, 3d, and
4th numbers be subtracted from the first, the remainder,
being the number who entered on the next greater age, is
inserted in the first division of the column for that greater
age.
The numbers in each horizontal line of the table always
begin with the number admitted during the observations
at the age of admission standing on the same line in the
marginal columns; and the number admitted is placed in
the first division of the column with the same age at its
head ; from which it necessarily follows that the number of
lives insured at any age, is always the last number in the
first division of the column with that age written over it.
Thus, the numbers admitted of the ages 29, 30, and 3lj
were 783, 762, and 785 respectively. 785, the number ad¬
mitted at 31, that is, in the 32d year of age, is greater than
the number admitted at any other age, which shows that to
be the time of life at which assurances were most frequently
effected in the Equitable Society previous to the year 1829,
and may be taken as a proof that they are most generally
wanted at that age, although no such inference could be
safely drawn from tbe records of that or any other office,
during a period of twenty years or more, commencing with
1829, on account of the great diversity in the rates of pre¬
mium required for life assurance by different offices, and in
the advantages held out by them, since about 1825 or 1830.
The numbers admitted at the four ages 29-32, vary but
httle. The three first are given in the above specimen of
the table, that for the age 32 was 780; they decrease gra¬
dually on both sides of that interval of age, so that from the
commencement of the 30th to the end of the 33d year of
age, appears to be the period of life in which most life as¬
surances are applied for; probably also that in which most
first marriages of men are contracted in this country.
^ hereareinthe table 7 Oages of admission, beginning with
/, and ending with 88; but only ten lives were admitted
after completing their 67th year. As the greatest age at¬
tained by any life assured, and that by one only, was 94 years
completed, there are 88 columns with the ages from 7 to
94 written over them, each divided into four.
Thus, it appears, that in this very valuable table, which
had long been wanted before it appeared, and is one of the
many important benefits derived by the public from the
Equitable Assurance Society; the progress of all the
21,398 lives through the different ages from seven to nine¬
ty-four, so long as they respectively remained insured, the
respective ages at which they entered the society, and at
which they went out of it, whether by death or discontinu¬
ance of assurance, are distinctly shewn, and the means of
determining the law of mortality amongst the lives are
given, even for determining it amongst those separately
which were admitted at any one age, so far as their limited
numbers will allow. Immediately after this, two other tables,
undistinguished for reference either by number or letter,'
are given ; the first exhibiting for each of the four divisions
of every column with the age set over it, that age standing
in the margin of this table on the same line, the sum of the
numbers in that division set against all the ages of admis¬
sion. The numbers in the first column of this table we
consider to be of very little importance in comparison with
those in the three other columns ; they shew the number of
observations of each kind obtained in each year of age, and
consequently the different degrees of confidence the rates
of mortality derived from them at different ages are entitl¬
ed to. It shews, that between twenty and seventy-four
years of age, the number of observations, or of lives passing
into, and in whole or in part through each year of age, was
always above 1,000 ; that number increased from the age
of seven where it was forty, to the age of forty-three, where
it attained its maximum of 7,725, and then decreased gra¬
dually to the age of ninety-four, where there was but one
life left which did not reach ninety-five. But the same
things were shewn, although not at one view, in table A,
where the sum of the numbers in each column standing
615
Mortality.
Bills of-
616
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, against all ages of admission were given ; therefore the
Bills of. numbers in that first column might well have been omitted,
and the number of admissions at each age substituted for
them ; or if the first were retained, a column for the num¬
ber admitted at each age should have been added, for then
that table would have exhibited at one view, and in small
compass, all the data necessary for determining the law of
mortality.
The other small table merely gives the same information
as the first, not for each year of age separately but for the
interval between seven and ten, and then for every interval
of five years of age between ten and ninety-five years.
A table marked B differs much from A both in its con¬
tents and value ; it is stated to shew “ the duration of the
lives of those persons only who became members of the
Equitable Society between September 1762 and January
1st 1829, and who either continued their assurances to the
latter date or died during the intervening period all those
lives the insurances on which were discontinued, having
been omitted. But all of those omitted lives were, while
insured in the society, subjected to the chances of mor¬
tality equally with the others which continued insured
till they either survived the period in which the observa¬
tions were made or became extinct. By the extract given
above from table A, it appears that 783 lives were ad¬
mitted at 29 years of age; but that table shews, that of
these, 379 went out of the society during the observations
by discontinuance of the assurances on them ; the remain¬
ing 404 only are inserted in table B, as having been expos¬
ed to the chances of mortality in that year of age during
the observations, and the three deaths which happened in
the same year of age, are assumed to have taken place out
of 404 instead of 783 persons admitted in the same year
of age. The same number, 379 of those admitted at 29
years of age, also went out after the age of 30, which num¬
ber being taken from 780, leaves 401 ; 334 of them went
out after the age of 31, which, taken from 729, leaves 395 ;
and in this manner table B has been formed from table
A. The following extract from table B corresponds with
that given above from table A.
Let us now consider those lives only which were twenty-
nine years of age when admitted, and since the number of
deaths among them at that and each of the greater ages
was the same according to both tables, whilst the number
attaining the age 29, 30, 31
was, according to table A, 783, 780, 729,
  B, 404, 401, 395,
it is manifest that the mortality, at each age according to
table B, will be greater than according to table A, in
the ratio of the number attaining that age according to
table A, to the number attaining the same age according to
table B that is, at these three ages nearly in the ratio of
two to one. But the younger the lives are at admission the Mortality,
greater is the proportion of them who leave the society by Bills of.
discontinuance of insurance ; and after the lapse of eight
or ten years from the age of admission, the number of lives
which leave the society in that wray diminishes rapidly as
the age increases, so that the two tables (A and B) approxi¬
mate closer and closer as old age comes on, and difier but
little after sixty.
It is also to be borne in mind that the numbers attaining
the age of thirty, and dying of that age, are obtained by
taking the sum of all the numbers in the first and last di¬
visions respectively of the column in table A with 30 at
its head, from seven, the least age of admission, to the age
thirty, the mortality in which is the object of inquiry; and
the higher in the column any number is, or the less the
age of admission, the longer have the lives then thirty years
of age been insured, both in table A and B. Hence it is
evident that the error in excess of the mortality according
to table B in any year of age (thirty for instance) will not
be so great as among those lives only which were admitted
at that age. And all that is shewn here, with regard to
lives admitted at thirty years of age, and attaining that age,
applies equally to those admitted at and attaining to any
other age.
Those marked C and D are tables of mortality derived
from A and B respectively; and twro other tables, marked
E and F, shew the expectation of life at every age from ten
to ninety-seven years according to tables C and D.
After these a valuable table is given, shewing the num¬
ber of deaths which took place amongst the persons insured
in the society during the term of thirty-two years, 1801—
1832, in each interval of ten years of age from ten to
eighty and those above eighty, by each of forty-three dif¬
ferent causes, as certified to the Court of Directors. The
whole number of deaths during that term was 4,095, of
which there were occasioned
By thirty-seven different diseases....3,449
Natural decay of age  566
Childbirth :  4
Accidents  40
Suicide  29
Murder  3
Being slain in war  4
4,095
This table shows the comparative numbers of deaths by
each disease at different ages, and from different diseases
in the same interval of age ; but not the rate of mortality
from each disease in each interval of age ; for this purpose,
the annual average number of insured lives existing in the
society in such interval of age during that term of thirty-
two years is necessary, but unfortunately wanting. Lastly,
as a supplement to Table A, a small table is given, showing
for the intervals of age between 7 and 10, 90 and 97, and
in each interval of 10 years between 10 and 90, the num¬
bers living and dying in each of those intervals of age dur¬
ing each of the four years. Upon comparing the numbers
living in the same intervals of age at the end of the year
1828 given in Table A, with those in this supplemental
table, w'e infer that it wras at the end of the year placed at
the head of the column in this table that the numbers
stated in that column were living in those intervals of age.
But the only information given on the subject, is the word
“ Living” placed at the head of the column of numbers.
In the year 1832 was published a compilation in 4to, by
Mr. Marshall, entitled, Mortality of the Metropolis, contain¬
ing the London Bills of Mortality to the year 1830 inclu-
1 Here \ye omit the deduction shewn in the section on the Law or Mortality to be necessary for the number of lives entering the society
remaining insured when the observations terminated, and leaving it by discontinuance of insurance at each age. To make and to explain
it here might perplex some readers, and the false views of the subject table B is calculated to give, are here, we trust, sufficiently ex¬
posed without it.
Mortality)
Bills of.
mortality, hum a
N.
617
meration and parish register abstracts ^f thisCountry with d^t^tW ^,ty'thr®e tables ; 11 is stated in the intro- Mortality,
a few short notices of a similar kind relating to SnJn nnrl u^tl0n’.that hthography was made use of by the adminis- -Bills of .
Portugal, Prussia, the Netherlands and sSen bTwfth- * ^ tableS in that to'
out any distinction of ages, except for Swprl^n ’ ^ ultiply the applications, and to encourage the exercise of
for that population, only the numbers of deltll"; fwT that,.nC‘W art! Pr°bJabl5'this S1™ »“asion to its being nstS
year 1820, under one year of age^een 01" d X™ S In”,;6 m“tl0ne,lin th,e large published
and those above fifteen. ’ .P t829« Three other volumes of this work have been pub-
Dr. Forbes’s very valuable Sketch nfthp Moj; i 'r Wished in quarto, with all the tables printed by types in the
graphy of the Hundred of Penwith, cLiprisin* tTe district Iw ^ 16 USn °f LabIeS for di&estin&r and presenting
of the Landsend in Cornwall, already miotcxAn this arti 1JJform.abon coI1®cted IS continued throughout the work,
cle, was published in the second and fourth volumes of the of rp^lf U °bs^ved’ a?mitS ^ an immense number
“Transactions of the Provincial Medical and SmWnl of ^uhs being brought together, excludes superfluous dis-
Association,” in the years 1834 and 183b It ^i i sertaJ10ns’ and facilitates all comparisons. Topography,
   i • • a S- and 183o. It is divided population, institutions, agriculture, manufactures^ coml
ot the second merce, and finances ; are all minutely detailed in so many
separate chapters ; but we have only occasion in this arti¬
cle to attend to the population ; and on that subject shall
notice principally those parts of the work, where the num-
bers of annual births, and the numbers both of the people
and of the annual deaths, with the ages of the living and
those at which the deaths took place, are stated.
An enumeration of the inhabitants of Paris was made in
February 1817, and in the first volume, where the results
ot that enumeration are given ; there is also given an ex-
tract from a report made to the minister of the interior, by
the Count de Chabrol, dated the 3d of July 1818, explain-
mg the manner in which it was effected. He states, that
attempts had been made on several previous occasions to
ascertain tnp nrymilafJnr% — _nr» . i
. ' T- Jp rooo. it is divided
into two parts ; and it is only the first chapter of the second
part, which is contomed in the volume of the Transactions
published in 1834, that we have occasion to notice here.
Ihe progress of the population is first treated of, and the
TuZZTZ 7 t]lat ,fbjeCt is taken frorn the Population
abstracts at the four decennial enumerations of 1801-1831 •
bu • keeping the mining parishes separate from the agricul-
tul 1. ihere are twenty-five small tables; in the first
sev ;n, the numbers of marriages, births, and deaths, are
gi^en, and compared with those of all England, and with
particular parts of it, without noticing the ages of the de¬
ceased ; but in the eighteen others the number of deaths
m each decade of age from birth to a hundred years, and
those above a hundred are given. On these Dr. Forbes
makes the following observation : “ Abstracts of ali thorp8 a^enpfS ad bee” made on several previous occasions t(
gisters in the hundred were made by myS with the ut Son but fh by an effeCtual enumera-
most attention to accuracy.” t ,’ tbat dlfferent circumstances had contributed to
The publication of bills of mortality in Paris commenced whirh'hpn^8?3 ^ i"accurat,e; He reasons for
during the administration of Colbert, an epoch rendered V con®lder! lt indispensable to obtain, not only for
memorable by so many useful establishments. That great with theZhrisS* foi\each seParate location, a distinct list
minister proposed to the king to issue an order that ? hill A cbnstlan and surname of each person of whatever
for that city should be printed and published at the end of agfl the Sex’ (sbown bY the Christian name), the state of
each month, containing in addition to what fs usuallp f ^ marriage. or ^i^hood, and the condition, pro-
where, the numbers admitted into the hospitals • there werp CSS1°n’ or occuPatlon of each ; he explains minutely the
also added short remarks on the characK ^ t0 ^ this int0 effect’ aild
and the principal diseases which had prevailed • with the avoir! • l* 1^0° enSure a ?reat degree of precision. To
prices and weights of different kinds of bread and some ni^ U<Jmg J6 same Person twice in the enumeration,
other objects of general consumption. The motive of this the °S res‘dence cbosen f°r that of inscription was
ordinance was thus expressed: “Estant important au nublic ^ which rule was always
pour la sante et pour la subsistance des habitans d’en eon ’ rl ?tly adhered to ’ to prevent the effects of changes it was
nnistre IWo* ^ *   ,, , uaoitans, den con- desirable to complete the work as quickly as well might be •
and in rmp mnni-li A. ..   ..   ’
- r ™ uco nitunans, aen con-
noistre lestat en tout terns, et d’observer soigneusement
ies causes qui augment ou diminue le peuple en chacqun
es quartiers de Pans, il sera fait, tous les seconds jours du
mois, une feuille qui contiendra le nombre des baptesmes
des manages et des mortuaires du mois precedent et de
cfiacune des paroisses en particulier.”
^Thisordinancewas attended to for fifteen years, 1670—.
1 >bUt afte!' tbei jeath °f Colbert> which happened in
t0«3, it w^negleetcddunrig twenty-four years, 1685-1708 •
tflG publication oF flip Hlllc "Uroo I1 >1 r\r\ i i ^
I   ^ as wen Iillgnc DC ;
ana in one month and ten days the enumeration of 657 172
persons was made at their places of residence in the man¬
ner stated above. This is called nominative enumeration.
But a part of the population from their continual change
of place, could not be enumerated so correctly. These
were foreigners, or native French subjects then resident in
the capital, but without any fixed habitation, travellers, the
inmates of twenty-seven hospitals,2 civil and military, often
prisons, of forty-three military establishments, of six hun-
the publication of the bills was resumed in 1709 and W ;.)ris®ns’ f forty-three mihtury estabhshments, of six hun-
been continued ever since, improvements havtoL ’nlS be “ t bl b furnish<!d hotels> of»ther es-
introduced into them from time to time. 8 b ^hments, and the persons with regard to whom the
This information is taken from a “ Memoire sur la Ponu mJs/ufficient 5 a11 °f these persons
tion de la ville de Paris depuis la fin du 17e siecle” in flJ 1 j ^1° be n!imbered collectively, and no distinction is
second volume of a great and important work printed Sv madef ^ther °f their ages or ^^s.
the French Government, but not for sale, entitled 7?/ « ?f U persons enumerated nominatively, the number of
cherches Statistiques sur la ville de Paris et le Denaru,,, \ seParately m eacb quinquennial interval of age
f Seine tRLeildeTabLZ Ms et fS jZt A;0” b‘rth‘“‘hirty years completed, then in each decen-
les ordres de Monsieur le Comte de Chabrol conseUler * mt5rVa t0 a bundred’ and those above a hundred
tf Hat, prejet du denartement. ’ conmller was given. The whole numbers of them of
The first volume was published in 1821, in small octavo, ageS "'ere ^1
1 As were also those for the three last months of the year 1684 • ^ ri, vn r ,
were twenty-seven years from the first publication of tijbills, irAvhich theiZi fhH r t 67^ and l6,77 are wantin^ 5 80 that> altogether, there
two missing bills were lost, which is probable. “ th Publlcation was either interrupted or neglected, unless the
VOL xvhlCh term here inClUde 1CS Hospices et les Hopiteaux.
4 i
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
618
Mortality,
Bills of.
Males.
Females.
Both Sexes,
Unmarried..
Husbands...
Widowers...
162,843
128,589
13,815
Unmarried..
Wives 
Widows 
175,210
129,596
47,119
338,053
258,185
60,934
Totals.... 305,247
351,925
Those enumerated collectively amounted to...
and made the total population within the walls,
Adding to this the population of the Hospice
de Bicetre, and of the Maison de Retraite de
Mont-Rouge, which, though situated without
the walls, belong to Paris 
657,172
56,794
713,966
3,246
we have  717,212
the whole population of Paris on the first of March 1817.
An attempt was made to class according to their ages the
persons who were only enumerated collectively, the ways
in which the different estimates were made, are explained,
and a table (No. 7.) of their results is given ; but we con¬
sider them to be so uncertain, that we are not aware of any
useful purpose they can be applied to, and therefore take
no farther notice of them here.
It is also observed that the number of the living under
five years of age, even in the nominative census, was much
less than it should have been in consequence of the very
great number of children which are sent to be nursed in the
neighbouring villages, both by their parents and by public
establishments, neither the mean number of them, nor the
mean duration of their absence from Paris, could be ascer¬
tained, and any estimates that could be made on the sub¬
ject were so uncertain that it would have been useless to
state them.
The nominative census was also deficient in numbers
after fifty years of age, on account of the number of aged
poor who die in the civil hospitals. The approximations to
the ages in these appear to be entitled to more confidence
than in the rest of the collective census, and for those with¬
in the walls of Paris they are given in column sixth, whilst
the numbers of the nominative census at the same ages are
given in column seventh of table seven ; and by them we find
that the numbers were
In the nominative census.
In the civil hospitals.
At all ages 657,172
Above fifty years of age, 134,104
12,596, about
6,037, about 2'2d part.
r2d part.
From what has been stated above, it will be evident to
those who understand the subject, or who read the next
article, that this enumeration, although performed with great
skill and labour, does not afford the means of determining
the law of mortality in Paris, even if we had the most sat¬
isfactory accounts of the numbers of births and of the deaths
that took place at all ages.
Paris being for municipal purposes divided into twelve
districts called arrondissements, distinguished by so many
numbers from one to twelve, and each of these into four
quarters, Table III. shows for each arrondissement and for
each quarter of it (giving also the names of the quarters),
the numbers of houses, of families,1 and of persons, that Mortal!
were ascertained by the nominative census to be in it on H'l'8 of
the first of March 1817 ; also for each of the six descrip-
tions of persons separately, mentioned above as those who
were numbered collectively, how many persons were so
numbered in each arrondissement and in each quarter of it.
And in the last two columns of that table, the total number
of persons in each arrondissement and in each quarter of it
on the first of March 1817, is given ; but there is no dis¬
tinction of age or sex in this table.
Table IV. exhibits the number of the living ascertained
by the nominative census to be then in each of the four¬
teen intervals of age above mentioned, with the distinction
of sex and condition as to celibacy, marriage, or widow¬
hood ; the totals of which, omitting the ages, we have stated
above.
Table V. shows for every 10,000 persons in each of the
twelve arrondissements, how many were in each of the same
intervals of age, but without distinction of sex or condition.
The following tables to the tenth inclusive, relating to the
numbers and proportions of the people, we do not think
necessary to notice here particularly ; the whole number of
the tables relating to the population and extent of Paris is
twelve, numbered from three to twelve, and including two
as first and second supplements to table ten.
We now proceed to those parts of the work which ex¬
hibit what the French denominate the mouvement, but we
call the progress2 of the population; which is shown by
statements of the numbers of annual marriages, births, and
deaths, during a series of years, with the ages at which the
deaths happened.
The volumes these documents are contained in, and the
years in which the events recorded took place, are as
follow :
No. of Vol.
1.8vo.
II. 4to.
III. 4to.
IV. 4to.
Published in
the year.
1821
1823
1826
1829
Years reported upon.
1817 and 1818
1819 — 1821
1822 and 1823
1824 — 1826
There are able introductions and memoirs prefixed to all
the volumes, which it would not be consistent with the ob¬
jects of this article to notice further here ; except the
memoir already mentioned on the progress of the popula¬
tion of Paris during the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries ;
which we now resume.
Before 1710 the numbers of foundling infants were, or
at least can only now be found, recorded, for the years
1670, 1680, 1690, and 1700; but the publication of the
bills of mortality having been resumed in 1709, the num¬
ber of foundlings was stated in them for 1710, and every
following year. The sexes were not distinguished either
in the numbers of births, deaths, or foundlings, till the year
1745 ; after which it was always preserved; it was only
from the year 1795 that the numbers of still-born children
were recorded separately, and we are not informed whether
they were previously included among the births or deaths,
or both or neither of them. 1806 was the first year in
which the illegitimate children were distinguished from the
legitimate ; they had previously been put together without
distinction. This information is taken from the table in
the second volume numbered 53, (and the notes that ac-
1 The French word is Menage, and to vender family synonymous, we have, we believe, only to extend its meaning to the case of a single
person residing and conducting all his or her domestic affairs alone ; whether occupying the whole of a house or only a part of it.
a The movement or motion of the population would be the better term if it were admissible in English, as it applies equally whether the
number of the people is increasing or decreasing.
mortality, human.
619
fi-t tab,e is so divided in this, as show h„w ma„y „fMor,a„9
bl“k’ ““ which was del fany^tht^T^^^
«heTie„ ^r.iit^r&hSrL^rof t
above mentioned, is contained in ten tables Tn tLp fi ^ ^ ^ both m the dlfferent months of the year,
there is no distinction of ages. " ’ efirstsix and in the different arrondissements within the walls of
The Jirst shows the numbers of hiriLc m • a t0 obt^m tota^ number of deaths in the city,
deaths, that took place in each month nf th arriaSes’an(‘ Tlie seventh table we consider as being the most valuable of
reference to nlL? 1" ^ Tnth 0,f tbe year’ wlthout the ten. It shows, for the city of Paris only, the numbers of
r» ^ ~ iiiuuui or me year, without
reference to place; and then those which took placeTn
each ot the twelve arrondissements of Paris, without refer¬
ence to the months of the year which they happened in •
the sexes being distinguished both in the births and deaths!
ihe second shows the same things in greater detail • thp
columns of the first table being subdivided" n this "o’as to
ho°nTe rdT15' •0f,,he bi,'l:hs and deaths took Pk“at
home, and how many ,n the hospitals; also, of each of these
IeW£.h?mT'P'Tn births’ h0'r many of tIle childre" were
legitimate and how many illegitimate.
(rqJrh,e ^*rd ^confined to natural children ; and with re-
fnd iLp hen\ihe SaTe mfbrmation is given as to the sexes,
and the months and arrondissements in which they were
wpr" ’ uUt addlt!on t(?thls’[t is sh°wn how many of them
were acknowledged at their birth, and how many were not;
also how many were acknowledged by celebration of mar-
nage, and how many after birth, before a magistrate.
Ihe fourth shows the number of still-born children of
arp, Se^,7 U^ing eaoh month, and in each arrondissement.
t shows the number of marriages in each month
and in each arrondissement, which were given without
urther particulars in the first table ; but here, the number
of marriages in each horizontal line of that table, is shown
to consist of four different numbers of so many different
kinds of marriages. Thus :
The totals in
the city of
Paris in the {>
year 1826,
were,
In the arron¬
dissement of
St. Denis,
Arrondisse
ment of
Sceaux,
GrandTotals 'l
in the capital f
or depart- j>
ment of the
Seine.
Between
Bachelors and
Maids. 'Widows.
6457
732
584
7773
368
60
44
472
8245
Between
Widowers and
Maids. Widows.
708
83
77
222
26
27
Total
as in
Table I
868 | 275
1143
9388
7755
901
732
9388
Hitherto for the sake of perspicuity, we have taken no
notice of the rural arrondissements of Saint Denis and
Sceaux ; but we add them here, to show the way in which
the numbers for them are introduced in all the first six
a k’ af ier the, t0tals for the city of Paris are obtained •
and by adding them to the totals for the city, the grand or
general total is also obtained for the whole of the5canital
or department of the Seine. The last four of the ten tables
relate to the city of Paris only.
The sixth shows the deaths in each month and arron¬
dissement, the same as the first; but each column in the
i . . „ 7 '-‘v A" umy, me numoers ot
deaths in the first and second quarters of the first year of
age, also in the last half, consequently in the whole of that
year; then in every following year of age separately, to
that of ten years completed ; and after that in every interval
of hve years of age to a hundred, and those above a hun¬
dred; always distinguishing the sexes, and showing the
numbers who, in each interval of age, died unmarried,
married, widowers or widows.
Were it not for the salutary practice of sending children
born in Pans into the neighbouring villages to be nursed ;
as the numbers of births of both sexes are given, and also
the numbers of deaths of both sexes separafely taTinu “
intervals of age under ten years; the* law of mortXy
ong them might be determined, even independent of
e umerations of the living. But under the actual circum-
xtances, that very desirable object cannot be attained.
fWL * iVh0WS ?.e nu1mbers of violent and accidental
Sit V0,lun ary and involuntary, in each of various ways,
which took p ace in the city of Paris in each month of the
year, and m the whole year ; the sexes being distinguished
eacrmowh. nUmberS ^ the whole year, but not for
. ^ nmdi tbe number of suicides attempted dur¬
ing the year, m the department of the Seine ; the number
of those attempted which were effectuated, and the number
of them which were prevented; with the means of destruc¬
tion employed, and the presumed motives of suicide. The
sexes are also distinguished, and the married from the un¬
married.
The tenth shows the number of deaths from small-pox in
each month of the year, and in each arrondissement hi the
dlS.tmctu1,n (x)f aSe; also the number
of them that took place m each of the intervals of age em¬
ployed in the seventh table, without distinction of months
tTnJnhhpr6 ThntS IJ116 S6XveS bdng ln a11 theSe Cases di8-
duHnlhthd‘ Then he 1,lumberJof gratuitous vaccinations
aunn& the year, in each arrondissement, is shown. The
di?tinguished ^ the years
1817 and 1818, but not afterwards. Each of the two tables
here numhered 9 and 10, was, for the years 1817 and 1818
ivided into two ; so that the number showing the progress
ten"6 f°fu atlon in tbose two years, was twelve instead of
In addition to these, a table numbered 37, in the first
volume, is too curious and interesting to be passed un¬
noticed here. It was formed from extracts made by M.
Benoiston de Chateauneuf from the statements of deaths
prepared in the mayoralties of the different arrondisse-
ments; which statements were founded on the declarations
deaths by ^ pbyS1Clans and Surgeons who certified the
The table shows, for each of the four years, 1816 1819
the number of deaths produced in the city of Paris, by each
of the following pulmonary diseases : Asthmas, catarrhs
defluxions on the chest (fluxions de poitrinej and con¬
sumptions (phthysies); in the spring, summer, autumn,
and winter of each year, without distinction of age ; but
also in each interval of ten years of age from birth to seveniv
years, between seventy and ninety, and between ninety and
a hundred; without distinction of seasons. The total bv
each of these diseases in each of the four years is also
620
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
]^0|r|talify- stated, with the total number of deaths in Paris from all
1 s 0 • ^causes during the same year; and the proportion of the
mortality from each of those pulmonary diseases to the
whole mortality ; the sexes being distinguished throughout.
No table of that kind, nor of the deaths by other diseases
than the small-pox, was inserted in any of the other three
volumes. Statements of the annual average progress of
the population in each of the arrondissements of Paris dur¬
ing the five years 1817-1821 are given in the third volume,
tables 42-50 ; and for the next following quinquennial
period 1822-1826 in the fourth volume, tables 54-62.
Table 102 of the second volume shows the comparative
riches of the different arrondissements in the city of Paris;
it was constructed from the register of personal taxes im¬
posed in the year 1820 ; that table with the others above
mentioned in the first three volumes, were the principal
data on which M. Villerme founded his very valuable Memoirc
sur la Mortalite en France dans la classe aisee et dans la
classe indigente, in the first volume of the Memoires de
VAcademic Roy ale de Medecine, tome i. 1828.
In the introduction to the fourth volume of the Recher-
ches Statistiques it is stated, that a fifth would terminate
the work ; and a short account is there given of its intended
contents; but in May 1837, when this article was printed,
that volume had not appeared.
Statements of the progress of population in Paris and in
every department of France, are regularly published in the
Annuaire da Bureau des Longitudes, also of the popula¬
tion of the different departments, and of their arrondisse¬
ments and chief towns, but without any notice of the ages.
The numbers of deaths in the city of Paris of each sex by
the small-pox at the different ages, have also been inserted
in the same work, for 1817 and every subsequent year ; but
not the numbers gratuitously vaccinated.
The ages at which the deaths happened are not given in
any of the statements in the Annuaire, except those for the
city of Paris.
In February 1835 was published at Troyes, the capital
of the department of the Aube in France, Recueil desprin-
cipaux travaux des Conseils de Salubrite du departement de
lAube, containing the same kind of information, given in
the same manner, but rather more fully respecting the pro¬
gress of population in Troyes, as is given in the Recherches
Statistiques for the city of Paris; except that there is no
mention made of still-born children, or of the deaths from
small-pox, or of the numbers gratuitously vaccinated.
The statements of the deaths in all the intervals of age,
are given not only for each year, but for each month of
each of the ten years 1821-1830 ; also in one table, those
in each month during the whole term.
These documents were derived from the bills of mortality
by Dr. Patin, president of the council for the arrondisse-
ment of Troyes.
The population of the place at the commencement of the
term was 25,076, at the end of it 23,749, of whom 10,626
were males, and 13,123 females. The ages of the people
do not appear to have been distinguished at either of the
two enumerations made at the commencement and at the
end of the term ; neither are the total numbers of the two
sexes who were living at its commencement given separ¬
ately. So that the law of mortality cannot be determined
from the data obtained.
The three following tracts relating to the Netherlands,
were all published at Brussels in 8vo :
1. In the year 1827 a Memoir on National Statistics, entitl¬
ed, Developpement des trente et un Tableaux publics par la
Commission de Statistique, et relatifs aux mouvemens de la
Population dans les Pay <-bas, depuis la creation du Royaume
jusqu a 1824 inclus ; par Edouard Smits, Secretaire de la Mortality
Commission, &c. &c. Bills oil
I he tables shew the numbers of persons on the first of
January 1815, and on the thirty-first of December 1824,
residing in the towns, and in the rural communes separ-
ately, for each of the nineteen provinces in the kingdom ;
with the numbers of them for the whole kingdom of the
Netherlands taken together. They also show what the
number of the people with the same distinction of town and
country residence, was on the first of January in each of
those ten years; with their mean number during the first
and second halves of that period, and during the whole of
the same period ; but in these numbers of the people there
is no distinction made either of age or sex; the number at
the end of 1814 is stated (p. 2) to be estimated, and that
at the end of each year after it, was found by adding the
excess of the births above the deaths in the same year, to
the population at the end of the preceding; so that the
numbers of the people there stated, are not entitled to
much confidence.
The progress of the population is also shewn by state¬
ments of the numbers of births, marriages, divorces, and
deaths, and the differences between the numbers of births
and deaths during each of the ten years for the whole of
the kingdom ; and for each province during the whole of
the ten years, the inhabitants of towns being distinguished
from those of the country, and males from females, in all
that relates to the numbers of births and deaths. The pro¬
portion between the sexes in the numbers both of births
and of deaths, and that of the annual births as well as of the
annual deaths, and of the difference between them to the
whole population, in the towns and the rural communes
jointly and separately are given, for the whole term of ten
years, the two periods of five years each, and for each year
of the whole term.
2. In the same year (1827) Recherches sur la Population
les Naissances, les Deces, les Prisons, les Depots de Mendi-
cite, fyc. dansle royaume des Pays-Bas, par M. A. Quetelet,
secretaire de la commission de statistique du Brabant-meridi¬
onal, Sj-c. M. Quetelet (p. 2)states the population on the 1st
of January 1825, to have been estimated at5,992,666, which
falls short of 6,013,478, stated by M. Smits, by 20,812;
and that this estimate was founded on two partial enumer¬
ations of the people made previously, one under the im¬
perial government, the other about the commencement of
the then (in 1827) actual government; and that from these,
and the numbers of annual births, the estimate was made
in the manner proposed by Laplace.1 He states that the
data they then (in 1827) had, could only be considered as
provisional and wanting rectification. There is little more
in this tract that we can properly notice here, as it is chief¬
ly on subjects not within the scope of this article; but the
note A at the end, by M. Le Baron de Keverberg, contains
some good observations on enumerations of the people.
3. In 1832, Recherches sur la reproduction et la mor¬
talite de VHomme aux differens ages, et sur la Population
de la Belgique, par MM. A. Quetelet et Ed. Smits, (pre¬
mier recueil ojficiel). An enumeration of the people in
Belgium was made in November and December of the year
1829, but owing to the partial occupation of the provinces of
Limburg and Luxemburg, the information obtained respect¬
ing them, especially the latter, was incomplete. The whole
number of the people on the 1st of January 1830 was found to
be 4,064,209, of whom 998,118 were resident in towns, and
3,066,091 in the rural communes. Thepeople were through¬
out classed according to their residence in town or country,
their sexes, and their state of celibacy, marriage or widowhood.
The authors state (p. 13) that in the tables of enumera-
1 Theorie Analytique des Probabilites, p.
government in 180-2.
391, and Essai Philosophique sur les Probabilites, p. 45. It was first adopted by the French
MORTALITY, hum A
» C“tlly SPedfied '
  tance than any otto Tart of m0re imp0r-
they have given on this subject is "Tf0"
torv. In evprv nfLfvr r,lar. J ^ Iar trom •3eing satisfac-
?ge at the time of the enumeration hasten published-Ird
;iieTi„r„^„tdi^»d^lislhe’ ris’ a?d gi^“ >
sure a considerable decree „f “u* to en-
^nd ^ ^tSldf a'nd'fcfo^T*
S=SS»?SSe
were in a .tie If il K ^ and also ho"' ““f of these
o ' of celibacy, marriage, or widowhood.
of the^mortalitv 11°^^ °f the ailtllors ‘o treat
ui me mortality at the different ages of human
have given their readers no informSn wE^ver ^
ofhih of,1Ch ^ deaths t0°k PIaee 1 nothing in .“elbrm
nierely stateX'S Z fZ XZlfZZZ ’ ,‘17
dom. 8 y 1 he Clvi1 asters of the king-
,70A ,v,erKy valuabIe memoir, the result of more than tun
Sfi5“FKSl?~=«s~S
SXerlSf It ^ S * of
i>uvemDer i»d4. it is divided into three mrt« • fLQ « l
contains all that is known of the populatS Ke’n vl am
’fn~vn enumerations of its inhabitants from the si"
teenth century to the present time, with some details re-
»pec mg tie extent of the place, its habitations, its climate
and the industry of its inhabitants. The second evh h * ’
he progress of the population from the c„™eleement 5
the registers in Geneva, in December 1 *?4Q in tL
tion of the republic at the end of December ISSsTperiod
of 164 years, especially the meritorious but hi £rt uE
hshed abours of Drs. Cramer and Joly ; the progress of thp"
population is given year by year, viz. for the deaths from
1049, for the marriages and births from 1693; and somo
theoretical inferences are drawn resnectinp- flm <nr
elements of this population, the cXu^ ^asflnm
ongevity and decrease of its fecundity. The third mrt
presents the detailed results of the progress of noml?
m Geneva during the twenty years 1814-1833 from thp
restoration to the end of the latter ve*r tl ’ he
length °f this memoir prevented the whole of it^efng pu^
hshed in the second part of the seventh volume o/thlse’
above mentioned , he therefore gave in that pkce the thW
N.
621
&lntrf^uCteZkt,tatwiLhout ,omittlng an ex-
to rerd- «»emntS.eai7uC:!^
poses. Inis unrd part beiner the result iiic i i
and containing new facts .nil J- • ,own labour’
„ of the"population during ^
to
i^fl . ’/i™, T P.ubli8h«l till the end of tile Vyear
omiuid ?„d sr^Xtr^ r1 tS ^ c
insei ted in the An,talcs d'fh/gicnc Publique, No. 33 tbeinn
M Whicl‘ - Janaaty(?837S
* MalIet sh?7s’ that at a remote period the legislature
of Ae gity r"fan exact knowletl«e °ftbe population
„l„» l » y “atter,of miportance, and he has given it at
1380 '*;TCrU periods of enumeration ; the first in the year
1589 when it was 13,000, the last in 1834, when it wL
?t’t ,'e ; "I °m I2’573 were ““’ct and 14,604 females
at the same time the population of the suburbs was 9052
ctum Sla?111’6;, f° tlle>- “PP- «» ha^UTn^acI
which is mUch°to be regSted6 tZhZ tke enumerations.
have greatly enhanced ?hT™lIe both ^1°rmat'°n W°uid
and of the extrarfc l b th of the enumerations
the p-eneral morf P ’ . ll 18 from hls statements that
walls are statprl ^ tl P°P .lion °t Geneva within the
wans are stated. The population of the suburbs ha.
om been ascertained or stated with that of the city In
the registers of births and deaths the sexes are alwa™ dis
I gK'',"id tllc abortive and still-born are stated separate
ly 1 but before the year 1814, at which period M Mallet
took up he bills twenty years afterwards,Pas in tooumm
ler bills of mortality, they were also added to the nun!
ber of deaths, properly so called, w hich took place am™'
he living, and were therefore likely to be included
ra™of mortality""8 ” Un8ki,,Ul
f he mortuary registers of Geneva, as M. Mallet remarks
fJe ,e™ 'uj abject of a great and laborious work, which
ed bl chan I . ^ ha8 la«y dLcover1;
ea by chance. This work, the fruit of immense research^.
in the old registers, for a period reaching so f “b“he
nois, he'relhu2,2 to this. [„ his letter of the 20th March 1834 to Sir F 'T.T
Duwllard, in his work on small-pox and vaccination s L a ^ rnortuary registers of Geneva made by the late Dr Pr Francis,15
publications of Dr. Odier, and others ^ atIon’ stated were communicated to him by Dr Rnrini ^i Jdte ^ Cramer, which M.
letters dated respectively hr2d and ]6th /i 105- In answer, M. D-Ivernois wt so obi ? tbe labo,irs
cations „fDr. oSier on Ihe L^t ^ °/M“y of that year, wSh tTw '^r
parallele nolle part, rien moins que prhs de 2M tSelde ,d'd“0“"ir dans lei papiers de famille un mllscrh on"! Z ,'en’a"daM J“
ville depuis 1-origin, de nos register! jns™C]768“ The S7 Um*‘ P” « “vec one exacdn d“ rILmnahl. r.''"1 n'- f“
la an Caamcil PcpnsJatifdan, * * ■>'*"<«' in 8to S pi P 'l G“V'
ms un nmnuseiit uu’un henrp.tv  j ...... r ■. { 12 Mat l8^4, m which he mentions th,. r0n„it,. & ProPosl ^n,
ville depuis l’u..gf„e ,ie nos registers jusqu' en 1768 ” Th*    avec une exactitude remarn.mhio „ " "Til T"3
E> Ivernois, lu au Crmmnl Bepresentatif dnn* L, c - ' J he thlrd was accompanied by a printed hslf-sbeet in ftvn h . q„e Pol,r Geneve
i Dae imru letter commences thus :
622 M O R T A L I T
Mortality, year 1549, and which, from 1560, when their representation
Bills of. 0f t}ie pvogress of the population became regular, to the year
1760, contains no less thanl 15,777 deaths classed according to
the ages at which they happened, was performed by Dr.
Jean-Antoine Cramer. Periodical recapitulations and ge¬
neral tables give the results to the year 1760 ; Dr. Cramer
continued the bills of mortality from that year till his death
in 1775, and left then a continuation of them to the year
1770 inclusive. It was only from the year 1560 that the
ages of the deceased were stated in the registers, and they
were omitted during the twelve years 1568—15/9, as were
also those of 1648 individuals who died of the plague in
1615 and 1616.
Dr. Abraham Joly continued the inquiries of Dr. Cramer
in the same manner during forty-one years, 1771-1811, and
died himself in 1812.
Dr. Louis Odier published, in the Journal de Geneve, for
9th July 1791, and in the Biblioiheque Britannique, for1797, a
General view of the Mortality at Geneva, which is nothing
more than an abridged reproduction of Dr. Cramer’s tables,
but unfortunately left it to be inferred that they were the
results of his own labours, and that was the impression pro¬
duced.
But the most important work of M. Odier was a continu¬
ation of the labours of M. Cramer for the last forty years,
1761-1800, of the last century, and the first thirteen (1801-
1813) of the present.
The other authors who have laboured in the same field
of research, besides M. Mallet himself, are MM. De Can-
dolle-Boissier, Serre, Dr. H. Lombard, M. Heyer.
Among many other useful and interesting tables, M.
Mallet gives one which shews the progress of the popula¬
tion by giving the number of births, marriages, and deaths
for each year, from 1549 to 1813, both inclusive, in the se¬
cond part of his work ; those for the next following period
of twenty years in the third part.
We have here given a very imperfect account of this able
memoir, which we consider highly creditable to the author’s
judgment and taste ; almost all we have taken from it here
is nearly literal translation, as we felt that we could hardly
do otherwise without doing worse. Those who take inter¬
est in the subject will no doubt refer to the original, which,
by being printed in the Annales de Hygiene, is easily ac¬
cessible. We had gotten together the materials for a more
lengthened notice of the labours of M. Odier, gathered
from the Bibliotheque Britannique, but the opportune ap¬
pearance of M. Mallet’s memoir induces us rather to refer
to it.
In M. Mallet’s account of his own inquiries into the state
of the population and mortality during the twenty years
1814-1833, we have the fullest information on every point,
in the same manner and to the same extent for Geneva, as
it has been given for Paris, in the Rccherches Statistiques ;
but whilst these are generally confined to mere tabular
statements of numbers and their proportions, with as few
observations on them as can well be avoided; M. Mallet
accompanies his tables with observations, reasonings, refer¬
ences to other authors, and the results of calculations very
clearly stated, that greatly increase their value. As instan¬
ces of the way in which he shows the uses of his tables,
and assists his readers in drawing inferences from them,
which will become much more interesting and instructive
Y, H U M A N.
by being compared with those drawn in the same way from Mortality,
other tables of a similar kind; we give the two following °rt-
statements : after a table showing the numbers of births ofv,^*Y“^
males and females separately, in each of the twenty years,
and for the whole term; also distinguishing the legitimate
from the illegitimate, he gives the following
Proportion of the sexes.
Boys...5678 — 51-9725 — 100 — 108-21 -—13.
Girls...5247 — 48-0275 — 92-39 — 100 —12.
10-925 100-0000
M. Mallet justly observes, that the proportion of boys to
girls in the births at Geneva, is high in comparison with
other places, and higher there in the present than in the
last century, when M. Cramer estimated it to be 18 : 17 ;
whilst in France since the restoration, it has been 17: 16.
He also states, that “ M. Poisson a fait remarquer qu’il y a
dans la proportion des sexes une difterence notable entre
les enfans legitimes et les naturels: chez ceux-ci, les nais-
sances des filles se rapprochent plus de celles des gardens
que chez ceux-la. M. le Professor Prevost a meme donne
une explication, si non tout-h,-fait satisfaisante, du moins
tres-ingenieuse de ce phenomene. La plus grande pro¬
portion des males dans les naissances legitimes n’est nulle
part plus frappante qu’ a Geneve. En effet, on trouve:
.. f Boys...5128—52-151 —100 —108-99
Legitimate ^ Girls...4705—47-849— 91-75—100
~ 9833 100-000
T11 .. f Bovs... 550—50-366—100 —101-48
Illegitimate ^ Girls... 542—49-634— 98-54—100
1092 100-000
M. Mourgue, however, had stated the numbers of births
of both sexes separately, with distinction of the legitimate
from the illegitimate, in the first part of his valuable me¬
moir on the progress of population in Montpellier, publish¬
ed in the Mem. de la Soc. Roy. de Medecine, ann 1780 et
1781 ; and the whole of the memoir was read at a meeting
of the French National Institute as above mentioned in
1795 ; but he made no remark on the difference in the
proportion of the sexes between the legitimate and illegiti¬
mate births. Mr. Milne in his Treatise on Annuities, pub¬
lished in 1815, (article 789) has stated the proportion of
the sexes at birth for several places at different times and
under various circumstances ; with distinction of the le¬
gitimate from the illegitimate in Sweden and Finland, and
in Montpellier ; he also there expressed his opinion, con¬
firmed by subsequent observations, that the difference de¬
pends principally upon the age of the parents; the youn¬
ger the parents, the nearer the proportion of the numbers
of their male and female children at birth approaching to
equality. What the connexion is, between the cause and
effect, is a curious and interesting problem, which has not
yet been solved that we are aware of.
In Wales the pressure of the population upon the means
of subsistence in a way suited to the wants and habits of
the people, is such as, notwithstanding their great disparity
in civilization and refinement, to produce great similarity
“ Voici un discours dont je vous dois I’hommage car le premiere idee m’en est venue k la suite des renseignmens que vous m'aviez demands^
sur le Dr. Cramer, et qui m’ont fait ddcouvrir dans la poussiere d’une grenier le recueil non interrompu de 200 tables de mortalite pour
Geneve. II m’a paru meriter d’etre mis en evidence. Mais voilk tout ce que je puis vous envoyer des oeuvres de ce modeste eenvam.^
We perfectly agree with M. Mallet in the opinion expressed by him in a note supporting it, from which the follovvnig is extracted : J>e
travail de M. Cramer a ete attribud k M. Odier par divers auteurs, MM. Provost, Serre, D’lvernois, Lombard. our ren re a c acun
ce qui lui est du, je dois dire qu’il est ddinontre a mes yeux, que le reW mortuaire de 1560 k 1760, appartient en propre a M. Cramer.
Le beau manuscrit qui le renferme est tout entier de la main de M. Cramer, comme je m’en suis assuie en le comparant a signature u
docteur, dans la registre de la faculte de mddecine de Geneve. A 1’epoque ou s’arrete les tables de recapitulation de JV . Cramei en ,
M. Odier n’avoit encore que 12 ans.”
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
JR0iltaIit/’ ^Ctween .the 'Habitants of the principality and those of
__ ^ 0 % Geneve intro, muros^ in the proportion of the annual mar-
riages to the population, and of the sexes at birth ; which
M, Mallet appears not to have been aware of. Whence
we infer a similar resemblance in the advanced age of mar¬
riage, and the small average number of children°to a mar¬
riage (in Geneva during these 20 years 2|); the very de¬
fective state of the British registers of births rendering them
of no use in this inquiry, except in determining the pro¬
portion of the sexes at birth, for which they may be used,
as, however defective these registers may be, there is no rea¬
son to suppose they are more so for one sex than the other.
623
In Wales.
During the
years.
1811
1821
1811
■ 1820
1830
1830
No. of persons
to one annual
marriage.
1814 — 1833 |
1811 — 1830
141- 636
143-039
142- 334
In Geneva.
141-593
In England.
121-342
No, of males born
for every 100 fe¬
males.
109- 500
110- 916
110-207
108-990
104-277
Dr. Casper’s Contribution to Medical Statistics,1 was
published at Berlin in 8vo in 1825 ; it is divided into three
parts: the first treats of suicide and its increase in our
time ; the second, of the poor and of the sick poor in Paris ;
the third, of the mortality among children in Berlin. The
last part contains a variety of tables shewing the numbers
of births in different years, distinguishing the legitimate
from the illegitimate, and of the deaths that took place
among them under fifteen years of age. The numbers of
deaths by small pox, and a few other diseases of children,
(but not each of those others separately,) both before and
after the introduction of vaccination, are given ; but no
mention is made of their ages, and we need not notice them
farther here.
A second volume by the same author was published at
Berlin in 8vo in 1835 with two title pages, one being the
same as that of the work above mentioned, published ten
years before, with the addition of “ vol. ii.the other, An
Inquiry into the probable Duration of Human Life amongst
different classes of the people?
The second volume contains a great many tables in the
text, and seventeen at the end; most of them copied from
other works, but some that appear to be original; of which,
those most material to notice here, are, 1st. The number
of deaths in every year of age, from birth to 104 years com¬
pleted, of males and females separately, which took place in
Berlin during the twelve years 1818-1829, amounting to
36,895 males, and 32,467 females, of both sexes 69,362 ;
these are given in his table of mortality for Berlin at the
end of the work, numbered II. 2d. A table given in the
text, (p. 106), showing the number of deaths that took
place in Hamburg during the seven years 1819-1825,
without distinction of sex, in the first and second years of
age separately, then those between 2 and 5 and between 5
and 10; after that in every decade of age from 10 to 90,
and those above 90 years of age. But the numbers of the
people in the different intervals of age not being given in Mortality,
either of those cases, any tables of mortality constructed Bids of.
from the numbers of deaths alone, at the different ages, can'
be of no value.
In vol. i. part 1, of The Transactions of the Statistical
Society of London, recently published, there is A statistical
view of the births and deaths in the Prussian States, during
the fifteen years 1820-1834, translated from the German
of M. Hoffman, Director of the Statistical Bureau in Berlin,
the numbers of births and deaths, with distinction of the
sexes, and the mean number of the people without that dis¬
tinction during that term of fifteen years are given; also
the number of deaths during the same term, with distinc¬
tion of the sexes, between birth and one year of age com¬
pleted, between 1 and 3, 3 and 5, 5 and 7, 7 and 10, and
then in each quinquennial interval of age to 90, and those
above 90. But the intervals of age into which the people
were distributed in the Prussian enumerations appear never
to have been sufficiently minute to admit of their being
available for determining the law of mortality. There is a
good deal of interesting information in this paper; but the
above is all we can with propriety notice here ; especially
as the translation must be easily accessible to most of our
readers; and throughout this article it has been our object
to give the most minute accounts of such interesting pub¬
lications as, to many readers, may be difficult of access;
that those who take interest in them may see whether it
may be worth their while to procure the perusal of them ;
and also to assist others in perfecting similar labours which
they may be engaged in.
In the first volume (which is statistical) of the work of
the Baron of Sedlitz, On the power of the Prussian Monar¬
chy under Frederic William III.3 there is given (p. 284)
for each of the seven years 1816-1822, including the
military but excluding the inhabitants of Neufchatel, the
number of inhabitants of the kingdom, the number of mar¬
riages, the whole number of births, and the number of ille¬
gitimate births separately, also the number of deaths ; but
without distinction of age or sex. He also gives the num¬
ber of inhabitants for two of these years under 14 years of
age, between 14 and 60, and above 60, which, however, are
included in the statistical view of M. Hoffman.
One of the best bills of mortality we have seen, is prepar¬
ed by the Board of Health at Hamburg, and published
under the name of a Table of Mortality, covering all die
four sides of a large folio sheet; and consist in fact of five
tables regularly numbered.
I. The first shows the total number of interments and
the daily average number, also the total number that took
place at each of fifteen different burying places, during
each month of the year separately, and during the whole
year ; without distinction of age or sex.
II. The second shows the same during each month for
the abortive and still-born separately; then the deaths pro¬
perly so called, which took place amongst the living, during
each of the four quarters of the first year of age, in the
second year, between the ages of 2 and 5, and of 5 and 10
years, then in each decade of age to 100, and those above
100 ; with the total for each month and for the whole year,
of each sex separately, and for both sexes without distinc¬
tion. There is also a column set apart for those whose ages
were not known.
III. The third table consists of two parts, both of which
are abstracts from the second; the first showing for each
month the number of the abortive and still-born, and also of
the deaths under and above ten years of age. The second,
1 Beitrage sur medecinischen Statistik und staatsarzneikunde.
i' Die wahrscheinliclie Lebensdauer des Menschen, in den verschiedenen biirgerlichen und geselligen verhaltnissen, nach ihren bedingun-
gen und hemmnissen untersucht vom Dr. J. L. Casper. o -
* Die Staatskrafte der Preussischen Monarchie under Friedrich Wilhelm III. lster band. Berlin, 8vo, 1828.
624
M O R T A L I T
Mortality, besides the number of abortive and still-born, shows the
Bills of. number of deaths in each of the above-mentioned intervals
- of age. The sexes are distinguished throughout.
IV. The fourth table, besides the abortive and still-born,
shows the number of deaths of each sex, and of both with¬
out distinction, that took place within the year, both under
and above ten years of age, by about eighty different causes,
besides those by suicide in various ways, and other violent
deaths.
V. The fifth table shows the number of children born
in each month of the year, and during the whole year, both
alive and dead at birth, with distinction of the sexes of those
born alive, but not of the others ; that, however, is given
for them both in the 2d and 3d tables ; the number of twin
and triple births are also stated in separate columns.
The only fault we see in this bill of mortality, which, in
in other respects, may well serve as a pattern for others, is
the most improper practice of including the abortive and
still-born children in the totals both of the births and the
deaths; they should always be stated, but kept separate,
both from those born alive, and from the deaths that took
place among the living. The distinction of the legitimate
from the illegitimate births with that of their sexes, would
also be an improvement, if it could well be made ; but we
consider it to be much more curious than useful. The
author is only in possession of one of these Hamburgh bills,
which is for the year 1836. The totals were as follow :
Births. Males. Females. Both sexes.
Abortive and prematurely! 0. ...
still-born'.. ..} 80 56 141
Still-born at the full time... 96 81 177
Totals.
181
137
1951
1837
318
4060
3975
Bom alive  2109
Deaths  2138
No attentive reader can fail to be struck with the differ¬
ence (so ill understood) in the proportion of the sexes
among the three kinds of births ; those born alive, the still¬
born, and the abortions. This bill is but for a single year,
but the same kind of difference prevails generally ; and can
hardly be contemplated by a philosophical mind without
exciting curiosity and the desire of further information as
to the difference between the sexes, first, in the difficulty of
fully entering upon life, and afterwards in retaining it, more
strongly marked, as we approach nearer to the period of con¬
ception.
In October 1836 appeared, in the 32d number of AU-
nales d’Hygiene (tome xvi. part 2), Considerations Statis-
tiques sur le Royaume de Naples, addressed to the Royal
Institute of France by Dr. Salvatore de Renzi, in which he
shews why the population of the kingdom, and consequently
the rate of mortality among the people, could not be deter¬
mined previous to the year 1818. He gives four tables.
The first shews for each of the sixteen years 1818-1833,
the number of the people, and the numbers of births and
deaths which took place among them, in each of the fifteen
provinces of the kingdom separately, without distinction of
the sexes, and without including Sicily, being able, he states,
to assure his readers of their exactness and precision during
that period being incontestible.
The number of inhabitants in 1818 was 4,990,380, and
at the end of 1833 it was 5,883,273. In his second table,
he gives for each of the provinces, and for the whole of the
kingdom, the proportions of the annual average numbers of
births and of deaths to the number of the people. The fol¬
lowing are a few of them :—
Y,
M. set against a number denotes that the mortality or
fecundity is there a maximum, and m. that it is a minimum,
not of those above mentioned only, but of all the provinces
in the kingdom. The third table shews in what proportions
1000 inhabitants, and the fourth in what proportions 1000
deaths were, in each province separately, and in the whole
kingdom taken together, distributed into the following in¬
tervals of age:—between birth and one year completed,
between 1 and 8, 8 and 19, 19 and 26, 26 and 41, and those
above 41 years of age.
A bill of mortality is published annually for the city of
Naples, which contains most of the information contained
in other bills of that kind; but is defective in one import¬
ant point, the statement of the ages at which the deaths
took place, those of the inhabitants are not even mentioned,
which indeed is too common elsewhere. It states the num¬
ber of the people at the end of the year it reports upon, and
also at the end of the preceding year. The sexes are al¬
ways distinguished in the enumerations of the people, as
well as in the births and deaths; the legitimate are also dis¬
tinguished from the illegitimate births ; the number of twin
birtns, with the sexes, are stated, and how many of them
were pairs of boys, how many of girls, also how many of the
pairs were children of different sexes ; as was also done by
M. Mallet and M. Hoffman, in their statements for Geneva
and the Prussian states respectively.
The numbers of immigrants into and emigrants from the
city, are stated, distinguishing native Neapolitan subjects
from those of foreign states ; the number of marriages con¬
tracted is given, but without any information as to the ages
or previous conditions of the contracting parties. The num¬
ber of deaths at home, and those in the hospitals and other
public establishments are stated separately. The propor¬
tions also are always stated: as of the births, deaths, and
marriages to the population, and of the annual births to the
contemporaneous annual marriages, but not minutely ; they
are expressed in vulgar fractions, instead of decimals, having
always the same denominator, as 100 or 1000, which is a
great fault. No information is given as to the ages of the
people, and the deaths are only stated in the following in¬
tervals of age :—^between birth and 1 year completed, be¬
tween 1 and 11, between 11 and 18, 18 and 26, 26 and 41,
and those above 41. The only bill for the city of Naples
in the author’s possession is for the year 1822; it was in¬
serted in the Giornale del Regno delle due Sicilie, of the
8th of February 1823. The population at the end of 1822
was 344,716, of whom 163,059 were males, and 181,657
females; at the end of 1821 the number of inhabitants was
341,143. The total number of births in 1822 was 14,233;
of deaths, 12,195. The number of deaths in 1822 at ages
above 100 years, was 17, and of the deceased 6 were males,
and 11 females; the names, residences, and ages of them
all are stated; they were all citizens of Naples but three,
who came respectively from Procida, Salerno, and Venice,
which last, Rosa Romanzo, was the oldest of all, having at-
HUMAN.
Province.
Capitanata,  
Principato citra, 
Abbruzzo ultra, 1 °,
•  ultra, 2°,,
  citra,  
The whole kingdom,.
No. of inhabitants our
of which one
was born I died
annually. | annually.
M. 21
m. 29
m. 29
28
24
25
26
m. 48
45
43
M. 21
36
Unzeitige und fruhzeitige todtjeborne, that is, untimely and early still-born, by which we presume are meant, the abortive which had never
ipuckentd, to use a more common than well defined term, and those which died between the time of quickening and the full period of gestation.
Mortality
Bills of.
m'fo/' fteage^of tor”075 ‘hreC 0tIler attaineci each t0
^ L} f!;e f Journal, for the 23d of April 1823, a bill of
mortality for the city of Palermo during the year 1822, com-
Pnllhuy, Dr. Francesco Calcegm, is given. The number of
inhabitants at the end of 1821 is stated to have been 160 051
frlSJlthr?dofl,822’ \6,’735; bnt this lasrw™ derived
from the first number, only by adding to it the excess of the
births above the deaths during the year 1822. No useful
information is given as to the ages of the deceased, and this
^ r uPC?S mferi°r t0 thatfor NaPles; ^ differs
om that, and all others we have seen, in tracing persons
born out of wedlock to their graves, whatever age they may
attain, and distinguishing the legitimate from the illegiti¬
mate in the numbers of deaths as well as of births. In 1822
the number of deaths of the legitimate was 4476, of whom
2294 were males, and 2182 females ; that of the bastards,
as they are called was 418, of whom 151 were males, and
267 females. Of the illegitimate children born in thatpar-
ticular year, 256 were boys, and 307 girls. Out of the 4894
deaths, 16 of the deceased are stated to have attained ages
trom 97 to 105 years ; but no information is given as to the
distribution of those 16 persons into or among those last
nine years of age.
bi1Is of mortality, the author is in-
ebted to Mr. W. R. Hamilton, who was so good as to send
them to him from Naples, when they were published; and
he is happy to avail himself of this opportunity to acknow¬
ledge his obligations to that gentleman, for the facilities he
ha» afforded him of procuring information from abroad on
other occasions.
Of all the statements derived from bills of mortality and
enumerations of the people, which we have mentioned, only
those for Sweden and Finland, Dr. Heysham’s for Carlisle,
and Dr. Clelands for Glasgow, have been given in the pro¬
per form, and with sufficient correctness to afford the infor¬
mation, which is the most important object of them all, viz.,
that which is necessary for determining the law of mortality.
1 o effect this, it is only necessary to know the mean num¬
ber of the living and of the annual deaths, in sufficiently
small intervals of age, throughout the extent of life, for a
period of time sufficient to allow of the accidental fluctua¬
tions arising from more or less fruitful years, and other
causes, compensating each other: such periods, probably,
should not be less than eight or ten years ; but the neces¬
sary length will depend upon the climate, the number of
the people, their general modes of life, and their political
These data being obtained, it is not difficult to determine
the proportion of the annual deaths to the number of the
ivmg in each year of age. Then, assuming any number
of births, as 1000 or 10,000, it is easy to show how many
would die m each year of their age ; and, consequently,
how many would survive that year ; which numbers of sur¬
vivors and of annual deaths, when arranged in the order of
the ages, constitute the desired table of mortality, by which
all the most important questions respecting the duration of
human life may be easily resolved.
For want of understanding the principles upon which the
proper construction of such tables depends, most of the
writers on this subject, many of them men of great merit
and industry, have taken much pains to little purpose, and
after excessive labour, have arrived at false conclusions.
Hardly any of them appear to have been aware of the
necessity of obtaining the number of the living, as well as
of the annual deaths in each interval of age, or that that
would greatly enhance the value of Bills of Mortalitv bv
extending their useful applications. ' y
7 ‘7 pr0per mthod °f
labies of Mortality, already mentioned in this article, was
intended to show how such tables might be constructed
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
625
rom registers of the deaths only at all ages; but the hypo- Mortality,
theses he proceeded upon can hardly obtain in anyreal case ; o(.
and even if they did, his method would only determine the^^~
number of the living in the place, at every age ; therefore,
if it could be put in practice (which it never can), it would
only supersede the necessity of actual enumerations ; and,
with the numbers so obtained, we should have to proceed
as above. r
l hat Essay of Dr. Price was an amplification of what Mr.
himpson had previously advanced on the subject, with his
accustomed accuracy, and contains many just observations
on the defects of the tables of mortality that had previously
been published ; but so far as it contributed to induce a be¬
lief that the determination of the number of the living in
every interval of age, by actual enumeration, was not neces¬
sary to the construction of accurate tables, it must have
done harm.
.1 18 heir.e stated wil1 be found demonstrated in the
turd chapter of Mr. Milne’s Treatise on Annuities.
It is desirable that a bill should be published for each
year separately, to show how the rates both of mortality
and fecundity, vary with the circumstances of the people in
different years; and, from these yearly bills, nothing is
more easy than to derive others for longer periods.
According to the form A, the births of both sexes in each
year will be distinguished, and the born alive from the still¬
born ; the number of marriages will also be given.
In this, and all other cases where those who undertake
the formation of such bills are either unable or unwilling to
distinguish all the particulars indicated, the reasons for the
omissions should be inserted in the spaces set apart for the
numbers omitted. The number of still-born children should
always be stated separately, and should never be included
in the number either of the births or deaths with those who
bad lived and breathed.
The numbers of deaths of the two sexes in each interval
of age, during any year, may, as they are collected from the
egisters, be conveniently disposed according to the form
; the intervals between five years of age and an hundred,
being each five years ; and the number dying- at each
above an hundred should be particularly specified. g
But some persons, who would not take the trouble of
forming bills of mortality in which the ages are to be so
minutely distinguished, might yet be willing to furnish them
with the requisite care, according to the form b, which
might still be very useful; and, indeed, from twenty to
welf yearS °f agC’ mtervals of ten years each might do very
The value of Bills of Mortality would be greatly enhanced,
by inserting in, them the contemporaneous wages of labour¬
ers in agriculture, and of the workmen employed in the
more common kinds of trade and manufacture carried on
among the people they relate to ; also the prices of the
necessaries of life which persons of these descriptions con¬
sume the most of; together with any thing uncommon in
the seasons or the crops, and every material change in the
circumstances of the people.
Enumerations.
VOL. xv.
The number of the people in the several intervals of age
which we have stated above to be of so much importance!
may be disposed in tables exactly similar to B or b, recom¬
mended for the deaths ; but it is not necessary that the
duration of life should be divided into the same intervals
for the living as the dead. It is always desirable that the
intervals should, m both cases, be small; but yet not so
small as, by the increase of labour, to occasion the num¬
bers being determined with less exactness, or to deter manv
from engaging m the work. Such intervals should not
however, exceed ten years. ’
When the bills are given for a certain period, if there be
4k
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
626
Mortality, hut one enumeration of the people, it should be made at
Bills of. the middle of the period; if two, at its extremities ; and if
more than two, it is desirable that they should be made at
equal intervals of time throughout the period.
We give no forms here of Bills of Mortality and Fecun¬
dity, designed to distinguish legitimate from illegitimate
children, or the mortality or fecundity of each month of the
year, nor the number of women delivered annually at the
different periods of life, nor the diseases the deaths were
occasioned by. Neither are the forms here recommended
for enumerations of the people, calculated to distinguish the
numbers in the different states of childhood, celibacy, mar¬
riage, or widowhood; nor the ranks, or professions, or oc¬
cupations of the people. All these things are curious, and
of some use, although, if we except the diseases which the
deaths of each sex at the different ages were occasioned by,
they are of little value in comparison with the information
the forms here given are calculated to convey. And it is
of so much importance that that information should be given
correctly, that we would willingly forego these minor objects,
to avoid dividing and fatiguing the attention of those who
undertake the more important part of the task, which is of
itself sufficiently laborious.
And those who may be disposed to keep registers, and
form bills and enumerations, on a scale so much extended
as to include all these particulars, or most of them, and have
also the requisite qualifications, will find no great difficulty
in preparing the most convenient forms of tables for the
purpose. Several forms of that description, with references
to others, will be found in Mr. Milne’s Treatise on Annuities,
and in many other works referred to in this article.
A.
The first, second, and fourth of the following tables are Mortalit
good examples of that kind; but for insertion of the deaths Bills of
of children, we prefer the intervals of age between one and
two, and between two and five, to those used in the Swed¬
ish tables, viz. between one and three, and between three
and five ; because the greatest mortality prevails at the
earliest ages; and that from small-pox is greatest in the
first year of age, while the mortality from measles is great¬
est in the second year. It is, therefore, desirable to have
the means of comparing the rates of mortality in the first
and second year of age in registers kept both before and
after the prevalence of vaccination.
Information on the diseases and mortality of children is
highly desirable; and as their ages at death can generally
be stated correctly, if accurate registers were kept of the
numbers born alive, and of the numbers of annual deaths
at all ages, with the causes of them, the rate of mortality
amongst children at every age might thence be determined,
and even that produced by each of the principal diseases at
each age. It will be seen by our account of the Parisian
Recherches Statistiques, or by the Annuaire du Bureau
des Longitudes, that the numbers of deaths of children are
given for Paris in much more minute intervals of age than
is usual in this country; and by the Jaarbochje of M. R.
Lobatto, published at the Hague, that for Amsterdam, and
also by \he Annuaire deVObservatoire de Bruxelles, by M. A.
Quetelet, that for that city, they are given in intervals of
age still more minute than for Paris. This indeed is the
case for more advanced ages, but we consider it as being
there of less importance.
The expression we have adopted of the interval of age in
which any lives were prolonged, or in which any deaths took
place, we consider as at once the most simple and free from
ambiguity; yet it has been stated to be ambiguous, an opi¬
nion which we conceive can only be held by those who do
not clearly comprehend the exact import of the expression.
We therefore trust we shall be excused for giving an expla¬
nation here, of what we thought could have required none.
The age of every individual being the time that has elapsed
since the moment of birth, is at that moment nothing; we
therefore express it by 0; and whatever portion we assume for
the unit of time, whether an hour, a day, week, month, or
year, the age at the expiration of that time from birth will
be exactly one such portion; and all individuals of a less
age than that, may be properly stated to be between the
ages of 0 and 1. Except in infancy, one year is generally
taken for the unit of age; a man at the moment of the 25th
anniversary of his birth, is precisely 25 years of age, and
until the 26th anniversary, he is between the ages of 25 and
26, or, in other wrords, in his 26th year; although, it being
sufficient for common purposes, he is usually stated to be
25 years of age till he attains 26. At the 30th anniversary
of the moment of birth, he will be precisely 30 years of age,
but cannot continue of that or any other age during any
assignable portion of time, however small. So that at the
moment a man is enumerated amongst the living, or dies, the
probability of his being precisely of any one age that can
be expressed by a whole number of years, is infinitely small;
and he may always with the greatest strictness and pro¬
priety be stated to be between two such ages. Thus, in the
case last mentioned, of a man who has attained the 25th
anniversary of his birth but not the 30th, he may be pro¬
perly stated to be between the ages of 25 and 30.
MORTALITY, HUMAN,
Mortality,
Bills of.
TABLE I.
Shomn3 the number of the people in Sweden who were in each of the under mentioned intervals
each, of the four years, 1805, .1810, 1820, and 1830.
of age, at the end
627
Mortality,
Bills of.
1830.
Females.
40,132
79,407
72,812
169,870
145,247
132,925
110,585
110,261
106,088
100,661
87,263
76,528
70,808
54,435
48,958
39,092
27,008
16,028
6,794
1,824
362
62
11
Total.
Males.
37,079
67,287
64.873
130,351
115,187
115,465
110,730
105,308
88,115
77,979
73,443
57.873
53,463
46,413
37,409
28,438
17,469
8,334
3,157
911
167
22
2
1,239,475
1820.
Females.
36,052
67,287
64,974
131,518
115,626
116,868
114,758
111,270
97,691
87,492
83,021
66,806
63,969
57,715
48,001
38,206
24,436
12,251
5,151
1,699
362
58
'4
1,345,215 |
Total.
73,131
134,574
129,847
261,869
230,813
232,333
225,488
216,578
185,806
165,471
156,464
124,679
117,432
104,128
85,410
66,644
41,905
20,585
8,308
2,610
529
80
6
2,584,690
Between
the Ages
of.
0 and 1
1 — 3
3—5
5—10
10 — 15
15 — 20
20 — 25
25 — 30
30 — 35
35 — 40
40 — 45
45 — 50
50 — 55
55 — 60
60 — 65
65 — 70
70 — 75
75 — 80
80 — 85
85 — 90
90 — 95
95 - 100
above 100
Total.
Males.
40,983
79,054
72,528
170,878
145,150
130,368
107,122
106,353
102,105
93,658
76,441
64,762
58,901
43,507
36,505
28,246
18,765
10,459
3,934
1,009
164
27
2
1,390,921
1,497,161
81,115
158,461
145,340
340,748
290,397
263,293
217,707
216,614
208,193
194,319
163,704
141,290
129,709
97,942
85,463
67,338
45,773
26,487
10,728
2,833
526
89
13
2,888,082
628
Mortality,
Bills of
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality
Bills of.
Cf S3 !-*
3 3 =r
■T3 D- •—l O
O 3 P5
n
^3 3 tr1 ^ t“t
d c. ro jj- ns
w „ R
^ ^ o
PT*
o 2 3
►+5 3 “*
V-
tn
■
sr o
n> o'
< ra
3' w
§ S-
CU 3- Q, p
rt. ^ 6
3''* 3. ^
33 3
3crq ^
03. 3 t±.n>
^ ^ ^3
3 2
sriiS E
^ 3*0^
5' f0 " d,
O 2 5. 3
3< stM
P ^ r—
^ P y O
O w o
- ^3
cr f!> co
3 O
to t:
cj ►-
^ ^ S!
TO D- 3. i->
on - 3 00
^ 2- O
^ 3'*^ 05
S'
33
-<
TO
w **•
» ro
TO BS
TO Si
3 J»
3 I
P H-*
& 0°
CU »—<
o P
" s!
50 p
m cn
O, P
^ TO
3 3
3 TO
Sf 3
2 c
'*: 3
f TO* TO TO
TO 2
o o 2
2 to cr?
p cr 3“
2- ^ S£
3^ ft- 3
O -•
►crq
P CO
fi
(T>
2 sto S-
— 2 o' ^■
TO ^ TO TO
K S-g °-
*' S'’-5'
I'to S'
TO >1 j-;*
S» <-*■
TO* o £
3 ^ TO
TO p ^
TO ^
TO ^
— 3
O ^
crcrg
5.
O TO
3 3
ZL >-..
v- 3*
o ^
TO
» P
3 9
O cc
o
2
5'
era
S'
TO
ST
CT5
CO
w
to
to
o
to
4^
Ox
to
"to
p
00
to
O't0t00000^^ra5050l0i4s4»t0t0t0t0‘-1«—'
o Crt0a»oo»ooxooiootoo»ooxoo\ocntoi-'0
»LI 1 II I II I I I I I I I I I II I I §
OOtOtOOOOO^IM0505CAOx4s.4s.tOCOts3tOH->L—I ^
000»00x00\00\00x00»00i00t00i0cftt0i—•
►—l|—‘I—'toi—1>—11—Ip—II—IK-11—II—i^-ih-iK_iL_ifi3oO
cotootaoooi-'tooocAtototofcotoot-'toasoio*.
to fcC O to Ox O Ox GO 05 00 CO *—* tO 00 to 4^ 4^ 1—‘ 4».
to 00 4s050x-4COH-i--^JCT54^tOOOOOOtOt0^r4iitO
>—1 ; I—Ibstototoi—'t—'I—‘I—'I—1|—>1—'I—1 I_j|_i|_iri3^»
00. OOCOI—'COi-itOOO^ttOtOtOi—'OOtOO^ttntOi—'
~A ^-^fotNO^-r^roocoto^ti—'Oxtoi-^Mto^tootoo
tO GO 05 tO Oi 05 "^t 05 O O to 00 Ox 4* to Co 4^ 4^ to 4^
10
00
o
t0co4»4i-4>.t0t0t0t0t0t0t0t0t0b0cot0050\
tO tO 05 >—1 O tO 00 05 tO 4^ CO CO tO O tO tO 00 CA
tOOl—'CnCO-^ICO^-OiOiiL-'^llsOOOOtO'—'t04^
-^itotc^Jtotooo^r^ro5^ti—itototototoi—
1—<1—II—'I—‘I—‘I—1|—1|—11—II—1 I—II—1P1JQO
^to^»too50otoo50xtoi-'oototo-<r<rtoi-'toto
O •^'t ‘ O i-1 CO 00 tO 00 00 05 4». 00 4^ 4^ 1—1 OO Ox 4^
Oxt00t004>.i—'►—i4s^r05004st0t0OH-iOt04».05CA
•—*i—‘tOtCtOi—‘i—11—‘I—11—'I—1 1—1|—ijijos
i-1 Ot 1—■ 05 OOO 05 tO 1—1 O O O 00 00 05 1—' 1—• O tO
>—1 Ot 4s 1-^ tO InO bO tO 4^004^1—'OxCaOiOO 05 CO "^T Ox
1 05 1—i O Ox 1—1 o o to to to ca to to to Ot to *^r 00 o 00 00
I—'tOtOtOCOCOtObDtOtOtOi—1|—'I—1|—ibOtOCOOl
t>3 00 tO 00 05 tO tO CO tO CutOi—i000004s4sCOb3COCO
toi—'ioc5“,ooi—itoboasta^jocototooototoo
1—‘^OtCOOti—'i—'tO 05 00 CO 05 C?i 00 Oi 4s 1—' ^ 14s CO
IH—•»—1»—►—* ►—* ^0 00
_to^ri-‘a50oootrt4ss-ii-ioooootoa505t>5i—'oto
fOSi—'s-^rootOs-o,5lOtOtOtOMOOO--l'—'04S4SO
>—l0x05Ot0*<lt0^rt0CAt0tO4s0ts-a50lt0Cr«0»4s00t0
I—1|—‘toioi—'I—'I—' I-||—1 I—1|—1^13^
►— OxOOiOi—'t04st\2t00000000005CA00^4^>
COtOi—'004s00t0b0t0t000cncitt00t0i^rt0t0t0t00i
C000500xOQ^4'00004stOO»MtOtOi—'CAtOt0050\4s
I—'tototocototsstototoi—'I—'S-H-II—itOtOOxOs
^ooto^r-Ato^io^ri-' i—‘O-^i^jmco to to to*^tto
4s0t0t0t0^»4st0 05i—,t0000005t00x4sOO4sQ0O5
4s0xt00000t0^rt0co05aot0t04s000500^r4s0t0t0
I—IK-IH-II—1|—1|—I^-H- I—'IOOO
tO “A tO OO 05 05 4s tO 1—| 1—1 tO tO tO GO Ot Ox CO O "-I to
l^t0500t0000505cn000xt00t0toa54s000t0i—'
' 05 tO —'I CO tO 05 GO 1—1 tO O CO CO tO CO O "<1 00 1—' >—‘ 00 05
I—II—itO>—II—'I—'I—■ to 05
s-4sooxoooMtooootooooo^ra50io»totoaioo
coc»4so^rooo4si—'totoo5^rto^rto^i4sOi^toioo
COi—'lOtOi—'tOtOtA4s4stO 05 Oi 05 1—1 CO 1—' 00 CO 4s Oi © —4
►-■tocotocototoiotos-ii—I^i-IH-Ii-IL-IH-Iocn
tO “A *'4 05 Ot 4s IO O 1—1 00 05 Ox 1—' O CD CO CO tO
4stoi—'oooto^ji—'^roo-^ri-'Oooooto4stoto^r4so
O»tO00tO00tO4ss-tOCna5C500tO4sQ0i-‘CA^rOtO500tO
1—‘tOtOi—'i—‘i—'1—11—'I—'I—11—1 1—'1—itoto
C0t00500t005^t05 4s4st0i—‘tOOOOOCOtOi—■
^riT12C;i!^c^^2?4i-k-'0^r’_‘0,^i^eo4sox^to5to
,CAtoto^to4so»05CA05to^roooxtoooi^roto4soi
I—'totototoi—'I—'I—'I—'I—11—1 1—ii—itO'<»
^.?t2i^t>?H;;^2S?l^,N:)h^^‘P00<i<^'e?5totoooox
,._C^S2a5ao^t>:)^<^Os-.co^T4stn0005tO©tOs-iOOa5
,0x^r05i— 05t0-^05000>-'©05coi0i-‘00005t000t0t0
t0t04s4s4st0t0t0t0t0t0t0i—'I—1|—‘totooooo
_ tOOOCOOOOitOOi—'•—‘00050»4s©-<tt0t00»4s©05
_Oxt0004sOOC5tOIOCAtOtOCn05©100a50x-<r.tD4sOO
a5tOQOtOtOCOi—'I—'O5t0-^ttOCOi—'^vtCOOtOtOtO-^IMOO
p
Q-CDCOOOOOM^CiCiOxOit^^COOOtObO*—
c OxOOxOOtOCAOOxOOxOOxOCnOO^OOxOOH-'O
ill I II I I II I I I I I II I I II 11
©©tOtOOOOO<r<rCT5050iOl4s4stOtOtOtOi—‘I—■
OOOxOOxOOiOOxOCAOOiOOtOCHOOtOOtCOi—'
b3
w
» S-
"pen
Itl =
L S*
OD
tl- B-
CO ^
O ru
o
CO §•
i2cg
OD rt>
to
01^
a
00 3-
to =
0*1
i-S
00 o
TO
a
1
s
8
a
o«
a
TO
TO
TO
<a
TO
8
8
1
o*
2
a.
a-
a
a
Is ^
i-l.
i<5 a
a to
TO TO
8 ~.
8 8
a‘ to
a
a ^5
8 ^
s 8
3 §.
s 3
Si a
s-i.
2 a
S 8
^ Hi
• a-
PO ,
8
a
2?-
^5
'a
I-
TO
TO
a
H
td
r
w
mortality, human.
Mortality,
Bills of.
TABLE III.
Shelving the number of Deaths that took place in Sweden from each of the causes, and in each of the
years under mentioned. J
629
Mortality,
Bills of.
630
Mortality,
Bills of.
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
TABLE III. (Continued).
Mortality,
Bills of.
Year.
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
Total,...
Average,
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
Total,...
Average,
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
Total,...
Average,
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
Total,...
Average,
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
Total,...
Average,
Infants stifled
in Bed.
Males.
209
173
196
169
190
937
187*4
192
232
186
185
166
961
192-2
199
203
178
152
170
902
180-4
203
175
224
174
218
994
198-8
181
162
197
250
212
1002
200-4
Females
237
182
218
172
157
966
193-2
189
229
158
183
188
947
189-4
221
167
136
143
151
818
163-6
178
177
204
191
197
947
189-4
181
168
187
251
197
984
196-8
Murdered.
Children.
1
1
19
4
5
30
4
13
5
3
5
30
31
6-2
30
4
10
6
10
13
43
8-6
21
4-2
19
3-8
16
3-2
30
22
4-4
Adults-
18
15
19
18
23
93
18-6
26
12
11
12
20
81
16-2
23
17
20
25
22
107
21-4
29
30
23
30
32
144
28-8
25
23
19
29
30
126
25-2
F.
1
2
11
8
2
24
4-8
17
3-4
3
4
8
16
4
35
8
13
9
2
2
34
6-8
25
Executed
according
to law.
13
2-6
10
6
8
4
6
34
6-8
8
3
12
5
14
42
8-4
30
10
12
14
11
14
61
12-2
1-8
12
2-4
1-6
Suicide.
By ardent
spirits.
13
18
10
6
20
67
13-4
19
10
3
15
13
60
12
20
13
18
8
16
75
15
1-8
42
25
38
28
33
166
33-2
31
21
47
50
39
12 188
2-4) 37-6
1-2
0-4
24
4-8
2
2
3
12
7
26
5-2
In other ways-
57
69
54
48
62
290
58
70
53
58
74
60
315
63
87
96
102
95
117
497
99-4
114
113
119
122
115
583
26
21
34
16
12
109
21-8
29
23
21
34
15
122
24-4
22
27
27
16
21
113
22-6
35
40
32
30
35
172
116-6 34-4
138
115
158
154
153
718
143-6
33
29
34
27
42
165
33
Drowned.
659
691
541
495
615
3001
600-2
756
568
631
618
636
3209
641-8
643
670
652
819
714
3498
699-6
802
1059
876
1000
1006
4743
968-6
1039
741
980
797
836
4393
878-6
95
128
136
102
113
574
114-8
153
119
146
137
124
679
135-8
156
167
147
144
136
750
150
144
174
184
205
179
886
177-2
177
151
169
136
151
By various other
casualties.
431
479
510
515
451
2386
477-2
444
389
441
438
406
2118
423-6
449
421
422
402
450
2144
428-8
609
500
499
514
574
2696
539-2
568
506
617
635
546
784 2872
156-8 574-4
150
145
165
162
145
767
153-4
116
146
140
118
113
633
126-6
127
129
120
149
127
652
130-4
226
176
157
205
134
898
179-6
158
160
167
154
150
789
157-8
In the copy received by the writer of this article, the deaths from ardent spirits were put between the drowned and
the other casualties ; and the diseases were not arranged in the order in which they stand here.
Mortality,
Law of.
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
TABLE IV.
Shen,i’,g ^ fnf°m °fNra»h each «f‘'—Mentioned inUrvaU
J g % the term of Nine years which commenced with 1824, and ended with 1833.
Between the
ages of
Males.
Females.
0 and 5
5—10
10— 20
20— 30
30— 40
40— 50
50— 60
60— 70
70
80
90—100
above 100
80
90
at all ages,...
The numbers, in the
same time and place,
of children born
alive, were 
38,362
3,753
4.377
6,589
6,645
6,725
8.378
11,023
11,744
6,396
1,024
52
32.500
3,349
3,964
5,694
6,602
6,431
7,569
11,753
14.501
9,134
1,761
102
Both
Stillborn,.
105,068
181,712
103,360
172,784
70,862
7,102
8,341
12,283
13,247
13,156
15,947
22,776
26,245
15,530
2,785
154
Thus it appears that
the excess of the
number born alive
above the number
of deaths, was 
76,644
69,424
208,428
354,496
11,438
146,068
II.—mortality, law of.
The Law of Human Mortality is that which determines the
proportion of the number of persons who die in any assign¬
ed period of life, or interval of age, out of a given number
of persons who enter upon the same interval; and, conse-
qumitly, the proportion of them who survive that interval
1 ables showing how many out of a great number of chil¬
dren, as 10,000, or 100,000, born alive, die in each year of
tneir age; and, consequently, how many complete each
year; exhibit this law through the whole extent of life, and
are called Tables of Mortality.
This section is divided into three parts. In the first, we
deliver the history of this branch of knowledge, with as much
brevity as appears to be consistent with the chief object
which is that of conveying correct and useful information.’
in the second part, we demonstrate the whole theorv bv
common arithmetic. 1 J
In the third part, a new table of mortality is given, con¬
structed on the principles previously explained ; some ob¬
servations are made on the comparative merits of the differ¬
ent tables that have been published ; which were purposely
omitted in the historical part, when the tables they relate
o were mentioned, to avoid discouraging such readers as
might not be previously acquainted with the theory; and
e faults are explained, which render most of those tables
really of no use, since others, more correct, have been con¬
structed.
Part L—History.
The first table of mortality was constructed by Dr. Hal¬
ley, from the Mortuary Registers of Breslau, for five years
ending with 1691 ; and was inserted in his paper on the
subject m the Philosophical Transactions for the year 1693
with many judicious observations on the useful purposes to
which such tables may be applied.
rs ° further information of this kind was communicated to
the public, until William Kersseboom of the Hague pub¬
lished there three tracts on the subject (in 4to.) The first
dated March 1, 1738, was entitled, Verhandelina tot
een rroeve om te weeten de probable meniyte des volks in de
provintie van Hollandt en Westvrieslandt. The second
dated May 15, 1742, Tweede Verhandeling bevestigende de
rroeve om te weelen de probable menigte des volks in de
provintie van Hollandt en Westvrieslandt; and the third
dated August 31, 1742, Dcrde Verhandeling over de pro-
bable meenigte des volks in de provintie van Hollandt en
Westvrieslandt.
u ^i/r^0 acc01Jnl; th0 6rst °f these tracts has been given
by Mr. Lames, in the Philosophical Transactions for 1738;
and rather a meagre one of the other two, by Mr. Van
Kixtef, in the same Transactions for 1743. It is therefore
unnecessary to repeat here, any thing contained in those
accounts ; but as they give no satisfactory information con¬
cerning the construction of Mr. Kersseboom’s table of mor¬
tality (which he called a Table of Vitality), it will be pro¬
per to supply so material a defect in this place.
In his first tract, the author informs us that he construct-
ed ins table from registers of many thousand life-annuitants,
m Holland and West Friesland, which had been kept there
from 125 to 130 years previous to the date of his publica¬
tion ; and showed how many of the nominees, or lives the
annuities depended upon, were, at the time of their nomi¬
nation, under one year old, between one and two, between
two and three, and so on for all ages.
631
Mortality,
■Law of.
632 M O R T A L I T Y, H U M A N.
Mortality, An exact account was also kept of the age at which each
Law of. iife 0f every class failed; whence it clearly appeared, what
degree of mortality prevailed at every age above one year.
But because very few children were nominated at or near
their birth, he could not, from these registers, determine
the mortality under one year of age. He therefore had re¬
course to mortuary registers and other observations ; from
exact accounts of which he found, with sufficient certain¬
ty, as he says, that out of 28,000 bom alive, 5500 died
under one year. He also informs us, that, for this purpose,
he made use of the observations of divers learned men in
England and elsewhere, especially Major John Graunt’s, upon
the number of the people and the rate of mortality ; and
upon taking an average of the whole, he found it to differ
but little from that just stated.
And this appears to be the only ground for the assertion
made by most writers on this subject (probably copying
from each other without having seen the original work),
that Kersseboom’s Table of Mortality was constructed from
observations made upon annuitants in England as well as
in Holland ; also, that it was formed partly from observa¬
tions made upon the inhabitants of some Dutch villages.
He first published his Table of Mortality in his second
Tract, and in his third, he gave abstracts of the registers
from which it was constructed. These were contained in
twenty-nine tables, twenty-two of which were for the two
sexes separately ; in the rest the sexes were not distin¬
guished ; and the ages at which the lives failed were gene¬
rally given to the exactness of half a year.
The numbers of lives, whose current year of age at the
time of their nomination was given precisely in these tables,
were,
Males separately 1843
Females separately 1769
Males and Females, without dis¬
tinction of sex 1536
Total 5148
And none of these nominees were above twelve years of
age at the time of their nomination.
These, however, are only specimens of M. Kersseboom’s
labours. He says there were so many lives in the registers,
that he had not the courage to undertake extracting the
necessary particulars for more than 50,000 of them ; and
in that, he was greatly assisted by his friend Thomas von
Schaak. Of all the lives, not more than 1 of 120 was past
55 years of age at the time of nomination.
Nicholas Struyck, in his Aanhangsel op de Gissengen
over den staat van het Menschelyk Geslagt, en de XJitree-
kening der Lyfrenten, published at Amsterdam in 1740, at
the end of the quarto volume, commencing with his Inleid-
ing tot de Algemeene Geographic, gave, from registers kept
at Amsterdam for about thirty-five years, two tables of ob¬
servations made upon the duration of the lives of 794 males,
and 876 female annuitants separately; and two tables of
mortality he had constructed from them for the two sexes ;
both beginning with five years of age. These two, taken
together, differ but little from that of Dr. Halley ; they re¬
present the mortality to be considerably greater than Kers¬
seboom’s : having been constructed from so few observa¬
tions, they are not entitled to much confidence, and appear
to have been very little known or attended to.
This work of Struyck gave occasion to the publication,
in the same year, of a small tract in quarto, by Kersseboom,
entitled, Eenige Anmerhingen op de Gissengen over den
staat van het Menschelyk Geslagt, &c. wherein he accused
Struyck of plagiarism, with but too much appearance of
justice.
Neither Kersseboom nor Struyck gave any information
as to the manner in which they formed their tables of mor¬
tality from the observations on which they were grounded. Mortality,
M. Kersseboom informs us, that he submitted his table to Law of.
Professor S’Gravesande, some years previous to its publi-
cation, and obtained his approbation of it for calculating
the values of annuities on lives.
In the year 1742, Mr. Thomas Simpson, in his Doctrine
of Annuities, (see the article Annuities) gave a table of mor¬
tality for London, being the same that had previously been
constructed by Mr. Smart, at twenty-five and all the greater
ages, but corrected at all ages under twenty-five years, on
account of the greater number of strangers who settle in
London under that age, which occasioned, till the com¬
mencement of the present century, a constant excess of the
burials above the births. This correction Mr. Simpson
made by comparing together the numbers of christenings
and burials; and observing, by means of Dr. Halley’s table,
the porportion between the mortality in London and Bres-
law above twenty-five years of age.
In 1746, M. Deparcieux published (at Paris in 4to,) his
Essai sur les Prohabilites de la duree de la Vie Humaine,
in which he gave six new and valuable tables of mortality;
one of them constructed from the lists of the nominees in
the French Tontines, principally those of the years 1689
and 1696, and the rest from the mortuary registers of dif¬
ferent religious houses; four of these showing the mor¬
tality that prevailed amongst the monks of different orders,
and the fifth, that which obtained amongst the nuns in dif¬
ferent convents of Paris. Those for the monks and nuns,
with the exception of the tables of Struyck, mentioned
above, were the first ever constructed for the two sexes
separately.
The Essay of M. Deparcieux is written popularly, and
with great perspicuity ; he has given the most satisfactory
accounts both of the data his tables were constructed from,
and the manner of their construction.
In his thirteenth table, he included with the five tables
of mortality of his own construction ; that of Mr. Smart for
London, as corrected by Mr. Simpson, Dr. Halley’s, and
M. Kersseboom’s, together with the expectation of life at,
or its average duration after each age, both according to his
own and M. Kersseboom’s table for annuitants, and for
every fifth year of age according to each of the other tables;
the fractional parts of a year being always expressed in
months, and not in decimals.
Dr. Halley first, and Struyck after him, had given the
probable duration of life after several ages, according to
their respective tables, that is, the term at the expiration of
which, the persons now living at any proposed age, will be
reduced by death to one-half their present number.
But Deparcieux appears to have first given the average
duration of life after any age, and showed how to calculate
it correctly from tables of mortality. On account of the
scarcity and value of M. Deparcieux’s Tables of Mortality,
Mr. Milne has reprinted them, with the expectations of life
just mentioned, in his Treatise on Annuities, with a short
account of their construction ; it is therefore unnecessary
to pursue the subject further here.
In 1760 M. Deparcieux published (at Paris in 4to) his
Addition a VEssai sur les Probabilites de la duree de la Vie
Humaine, with five tables ; three of them relating to life an¬
nuities deferred on a peculiar plan, we consider to be of no
interest or value at this time: the two others are tables of
mortality constructed from statements of the numbers of
deaths that took place at different ages, without knowing
the numbers of the living at the same periods of life. He
obtained the data for the first of them from a clergyman on
the frontiers of Normandy and Perche, whose accuracy in
all he undertook, he could rely upon ; and who gave him
the names of the parishes from the registers of which he
had extracted the information; but strictly enjoined him
not to disclose his name in the event of his making use of
M O R T A L I T Y, H U M A N.
L A 1 A A j -H U IVI A JN.
vtta7 Parem' wred in 1771, containing his obser- M„,,.]i,,.
r^K°Titaie”CntS/en; t0 hi“ by M. Wargentin of the nun,- talitv from h^Xh”^^ ,
from statements sent to him by M. Wargentin of the mim-
bers of deaths of males and females separately, which took
place in the different intervals of age in Sweden and Fin¬
land, during the three years 1754, 1755 and 1756. Those
two tables have the same faults as others constructed from
value ry defeCtlVe data 5 and we consider them to be of no
tn M State8’ (.P‘ 28) that in 1744’ he suggested
f/p.^ubert2 the commissary who at that time prepared
the Bills of Mortality for Pans, the expediency of distin-
guishmg the sexes m the columns of births and deaths,
which had not been done previously, but was in consequence
o is commenced with the year 1745, and has been con¬
tinued ever since, as we have already observed in our ac-
count ot the Parisian Recherches Statistiques.
M. de Buffon, at the end of the second volume of his
Hlst°\re ^aturelle, published in 1749, inserted a table of
mortality that had been constructed by M. Dupre de Saint
Maur, from the registers of twelve country parishes in
r ranee, and three parishes of Paris ; which M. de Buffon
informs his readers that he inserted in his work the more
willingly, since these were the only kind of documents, or
combinations of them, from which the probabilities of life
among mankind in general, could be determined with any
certainty. Yet this was a very faulty table, and the num¬
bers ol annual deaths were so injudiciously distributed, ac¬
cording to the ages, that it often represented the mortality
in one year of age to be three or four times as great, and
in some cases, six times as great, as in the next year. Some
remarks of M. Kersseboom on this table may be seen in the
Philosophical Transactions for 1753. M. de Saint Cyran
corrected some of its most obvious errors, and inserted
both the original and his corrected copy in his Calcul des
Rentes Viageres. (Paris, 1779, in 4to.)
Mr. Simpson, in the Supplement to his Doctrine of An¬
nuities, published in 1752, gave some further explanations
of the corrections he had made in Mr. Smart’s table of mor¬
tality for London ; and made some very judicious observa-
tixms on the difficulties that attend the construction of tables
of mortality from the mortuary registers only, of lartre
towns. 8
In ^^veauxMem. de l’Acad. Roy. de Berlin for the
year L 6°, there is a paper by the celebrated Euler, en¬
titled Recherches generates sur la Mortalite, et la Multipli¬
cation du Genre Humain, wherein the subject is treatecl al¬
gebraically. He assumes that the population is not affected
by migration, and that the annual births and deaths are al¬
ways as the contemporaneous population; consequently, that
the number of the people increases or decreases in geome¬
trical progression. Then he gives several theorems exhi¬
biting the relations that would obtain between the annual
births and deaths and the population, and determines the
law of mortality upon these hypotheses, but does not shew
how it may be deduced from actual observations independ-
ent of hypotheses ; neither does he undertake the construc-
tion of any table of mortality, but, by way of example, gives
that of M. Kersseboom, with the changes of the numbers
j1. kecome necessary, in consequence of his altering the
radix from 1400 annua] births to 1000.
tahty from lulls which shew the numbers dying annually atv
all ages, and three new tables of mortality constructed from
the London, Norwich, and Northampton bills.
s^cond edition of the same work was published in
L 72, and contained, in the Supplement, much interesting
and valuable information which did not appear in the first
together with five new tables, intended to exhibit the law of
mortality that obtained, 1st, in the district of Vaud, in Switzer-
knd; 2d, in a country parish in Brandenburg; 3d, in the pa-
nshof Hdy Cross, near Shrewsbury; 4th, at Vienna; 5th,
at Berlin. The first formed from bills of mortality given in
the Memoire of M. Muret; and the 2d, 4th, and 5th, from
those given by Siissmilch in his Gottliche Ordnung; the
3d wras from the parish register only of Holy Cross. But
we consider none of those tables as now of any value, on ac¬
count of the defects in the data from which they were con¬
structed. J
At the end of the first volume of the work of J. H. Lam¬
bert, entitled, Beitrdge zum Gebrauche der Mathematik und
deren Anwendung, published at Berlin in 1765, 8vo, he
gave a chapter on the certainty of inferences deduced from
observations and experiments; and the example with which
he concluded the illustration of his theory, was the deduc¬
tion of the law of mortality in London from the bills of mor¬
tality there; by means of a curve, of which the absciss
being proportional to the age, the corresponding ordinate
was proportional to the number of survivors of the same
age.
In the third volume of the same work, published in 1772
the ingenious author treated the subject at much greater
length : x being the age, and y the corresponding ordinate
to the curve of mortality for London, proportional to the
surv!vors,of that age out of a given number
f HhOUO) born alive, he gave this equation to the curve,
96—x'
y=10,000 (^)2_6176(,
e 13-682—e 2-43114
)’
(f being the number of which unit is the hyperbolic loga¬
rithm), which determined the numbers in the table of mor¬
tality very near the truth, until 96 years of age, beyond
which it was not intended to be used.
M. Lambert also constructed a table by which he intend¬
ed to exhibit the law of mortality that prevails among man¬
kind in general, from the 23d and 24th tables in the second
volume of Sussmilch’s Gottliche Ordnung, which gave the
numbers of deaths, in the different intervals of age, in se¬
venteen country parishes in the mark of Brandenburgh, and
from the London bills for thirty years; supposing, with
Sussmilch, (Gbtt. Ord. t. i. § 34), that the country people
are double the number of those residing in towns.
By an extract of a letter from M. Lambert to Gaeta and
Montana, given in their Italian translation of Demoivre’s
/ rea(ise 071 Life Annuities, (DiscorsoPreliminare, part hi.),
it appears, that all his attempts to find a posteriori an equa¬
tion which should ^ determine the relation between the ao-e
and the number of survivors in this last table, proved fruit¬
less ; the formulae he arrived at having been either too long
and intricate, or too incorrect. This is the less to be re-
   IS   „„ uc 1C_
Sussmilch took great pains~'in'coiiectimr the number* nf f SinCe ^ is ?° doubt that M‘ Lambert’s table did
nual deaths in thf different ^ of —^ <? >* *1-
_ - tnc nuiijuers ot
annual deaths in the different intervals of age, which he pub-
lished in his Gbttliche Ordnung; and four tables of mor¬
tality formed from these data are to be found in the same
work; that in the second volume (§ 461), which has many
imperfections, was formed by himself; the three others
eing the 21st, 22d, and 23d, at the end of the third volume
were constructed by his commentator Baumann, according
to the more correct method of Lambert.
The first edition of Dr. Price’s Observations on Rever-
VOL. xv.
lowance for the effect of the increase of the people by pro¬
creation ; and it is singular he did not see that that law
might be correctly determined from the numbers of the
living, and the annual deaths at all ages in Sweden and Fin¬
land, given in M. Wargentin’s paper in the Stockholm Trans¬
actions for 1766, w-hich paper he himself quotes.
Lambert appeal's to have first demonstrated clearly the
principal properties of tables of mortality, in doing which
he made use of the differential and integral calculus ; but
4 L
634
M O R T A L I T Y, H U M A N
Mortality, as he could not determine the equation to the curve of mor-
■kawof-^tality, that resource did not avail him much.
Flourencourt treated this subject algebraically in the
third chapter of his Political Arithmetic^ where he gave a
perspicuous view of it, as it had been previously treated by
Euler and Lambert; but added nothing himself that was
original, except three new tables of mortality; one for
males, another for females, and a third for both sexes with¬
out distinction ; deriving his data in each case from the
Gottliche Ordnung of Siissmilch. He also gave a new copy
of the table of mortality M. Deparcieux had constnacted
from the registers of the nominees in the French tontines ;
assuming 10,000 for the radix, and inserting the numbers
under three years of age, nearly according to M. Kersse-
boom’s table ; this, however, does not differ materially from
the original table of Deparcieux.
The fourth edition of Dr. Price’s Observations on Rever¬
sionary Payments was published in the year 1783, and con¬
tained new tables of mortality for Warrington and Chester,
also for all Sweden and Finland, and for Stockholm separate¬
ly, in which the sexes were di stinguished. Those for the whole
kingdom were constructed from enumerations of the living,
and registers of the annual deaths, in each interval of age,
during twenty-one years ; those for Stockholm during nine
years. The tables for Sweden and Stockholmwere the first
ever constructed from the data that are requisite to determine
the law of mortality among the bulk of the people, and were
sufficiently accurate representations of that law, for the times
and places in which the observations were made.
In a paper of M. Henrich Nicander, inserted in the Trans¬
actions of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Stockholm,
for the first quarter of the year 1801, he gave two tables of
mortality for all Sweden and Finland, in which the sexes
were distinguished, but they were not properly construct¬
ed ; and the mean duration of life which he gave in them
at each age, was very erroneous, especially in early life.
In that paper he asserted, without offering any demonstra¬
tion or proof, that, in what we have called the curve of
mortality above, if an ordinate be drawn through the centre
of gravity of the portion of the area cut off by the ordinate
at any assigned age, on the side of the more advanced ages,
the part of the base, or of the axe of the abscisses, inter¬
cepted between these two ordinates, will measure the mean
duration of life after such assigned age. And the mean
duration of life after each age, which he has given, was de¬
termined in this manner.
Mr. Milne’s Treatise on Annuities and Assurances was pub¬
lished in the year 1815 ; and, in the third chapter of that
work, the construction and properties of tables of mortality
are fully treated of.
In the second volume of the same work, three new tables
of mortality are given; one constructed from very accurate
observations made at Carlisle, by Dr. Heysham, who pre¬
served the bills of mortality of the two parishes, which in¬
clude that city and its environs, and supplied their defici-
ences with great care, together with correct accounts of
two enumerations of the inhabitants, in which their ages
were taken; and a table showing the diseases by which the
deaths at all ages were occasioned, is also given.
The fourth and fifth tables in Mr. Milne’s work, exhibit
the law of mortality which prevailed in all Sweden and Fin¬
land, both with and without distinction of the sexes, de¬
duced from the registers kept and the enumerations made
there, during the twenty years ended with 1795; which
term was subsequent to that wherein the observations were
made, from which Dr. Price’s tables were constructed.
The seventh table in the same work exhibits the law of
mortality at Montpellier for males and females separately,
and was constructed from the bills of mortality of that place
for twenty-one years, ending with 1792.
The second table at the end of this article, was publish- Mortalit
ed in the first edition of it in 1822 ; the tables of mortality ^aw °f
for the lives insured in the Equitable Office, which were
constructed by Mr. Babbage and Mr. Davies, were pub¬
lished in 1826 ; and we have given some account of them
as well as of those formed by Mr Finlaison, from observa¬
tions on Government Annuities in this country, and pub¬
lished in 1829, in the article Annuities in this work.
MM. Quetelet and Edouard Smits, in tlieirRecherches sur
la Reproduction et laMortalite de VHomme, in 1832, gave a
table of mortality for the towns and the rural districts in
Belgium separately, distinguishing males from females, and
also for the whole population, without distinguishing the
sexes, or the inhabitants of towns from those of the country.
Mr. Morgan, in the above mentioned publication of the
Equitable Assurance Society, in 1834, gave a table of mor¬
tality for the lives insured in it, (marked C, p. 28), derived
from table A of that work ; another (D) derived from table
B, is not worth a place there.
The second of the tables at the end of Dr. Casper’s work
on the Probabilities of Human Life, published in 1835, was
intended to exhibit the law of mortality in Berlin, with dis¬
tinction of the sexes ; it was constructed from 69,362 deaths
at different ages ; 36,895 of males, and 32,467 of females,
which took place there during the twelve years 1818-1829.
And M. Mallet at the end of his valuable Memoire, pub¬
lished in 1836, has given one for Geneva, in which the
sexes are distinguished: it contains both the mean and the
probable duration of life after every age, and was formed
from the bills of mortality there for the eighteen years
1814-1833. For males, females, and the two sexes with¬
out distinction, M. Mallet took so high a radix as 100,000
births ; the number of deaths were, of males 5219> females
5688, of both sexes 10,907; and in the column of deaths,
on the same line for any age, as the survivors of that age,
the author has put the number of deaths in the registers in
the next following year, instead of the decrement of life, or
excess of the number attaining that above the number at¬
taining the next greater age, which will probably puzzle
many readers.
Part II.—On the Construction and Properties of Tables
of Mortality.
1. Suppose 10,000 children to have been all born alive
at the same instant of time, more than 100 years since ;
and that the numbers of them who completed and who died
in each year of age, were correctly entered in the following
table:
Age.
0
1
2
3
4
5
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
Number who
completed
that year.
10,000
8,112
7,659
7,403
7,226
7,096
49
34
23
14
9
5
3
2
1
died in their
next year.
1,888
453
256
177
130
112
15
11
9
5
4
2
1
1
1
Abhandlungen aus der Juristischen und Politischen Rechenkunst, von Carl Chassot de Florencourt. Altenburg, 1781, 4to-
mortality, II u m a
N.
Law of fL-o 1 O ciiLiy ue a taoie ot mortal tv ; and
0re’Wre U P-ticab.e,y;ou,d
it U'nfaniS0,0^1’”*? iniJ«riminateIy at birth,
it is manifest tJ at the number who complete or survive anv
year of age, will be just the same, whether they be all born
at the same time or not; and, therefore, this ^able miXt
births oflOOOoXflT^L6' ^ j10tin^ t}ie times of the
nrtiis ot 10,000 children taken indiscriminately, and rems-
iftergthhe l!11;6 °r the a?e at which each died; for then,
after the whole were extinct, it would only be necessary to
collect the sum of those who died in each year of their age
and insert it in the third column of the above table ff
Zn wo^PrPerKagt Th? numbers in the ^cond co¬
births and be °btain?d by beginning with the 10,000
b rths, and merely subtracting the number in the third from
der i^fhp61 m/re Se,CTd C.olumn’ and Placing the remain-
oZ Ihe tXe ^ °W’m SeC°nd C°lumn’ through-
3. It is evident that the number against any age in the
second cdumn of such a table, is equal to the sum of those
. i , . ,iu co limn against that, and all the greater ages ;
Mortality which, then, would evidently hn a toKl c v 635
w'w£iStlim°de °,f C0nstr“c,ting one’ WCTe it praSlefwould pereons!' ClrCumstanced> but times more populous, 14 Mort.Be,,
persons.
But when five deaths take place at so many equal inter-'
vals in the ninety-fourth year of age, (the fifth nart of a
year being 73 days,) the case is altered. Thus,
Law of.
Lives.
14
13
12
11
10
Complete the age
of
Years.
93
93
93
93
94
Days.
Number of the
living during
these last 73
73
146
219
292
1 4
5
1 3
5
1 2
5
Or rather, the oldest life that fails in the 94th year, must
e considered to expire the moment before completing that
u .   me greater ao-es • yeaj’ as only 9 survive 94. 1 gUlat
that is to say, that the number who complete any year of iUt t le nurnerat°rs of these fractions being in arithme-
age is equal to the sum of those who die at all the greater « 7 Pr°gression> their sum is equal to half the sum of the
^ and last terms multiplied by the number of terms: or
4. Now let us suppose the population of a place to have —• mi
remained invariable for one or two hundred years past dur- 2 X 5’ hlch Sum bcinS divided by the common
i<?0007„T“^ den0minator’ 5- - of Hving m tbe
94thyear°fage=-v" - mean propor.
mg and that of the annual deaths in each year of age, have
remained constant, the whole amount of the annual deaths
been lofooa ^ ^ ^ number of annual births, having
, ^bG.n’ ip the 11awiof mortality exhibited in the above
table (1) be that which obtains in the place just mentioned,
*l‘f e rLr,tFr“' 'he,str,e™ of.life which flows
tional between the numbers who enter upon the first and
aSlO°f N6 ,n?rValS WKich that year °f age Was divided into*
10. Now, the number, 9, who survive their 94th year is
ess only by unit than the number 10, who enter upon the
last ot the intervals that year was divided into ; so that if,
instead of —t-? we take , or an arithmetical mean
—r "7 7T1J7OCIlb UJe scream ot liie which flows " 2 —2—’ Ul an amnmetical mean
in age, or are carried off by^eath^their successor a^n anCe pro.portlonal between the numbers who annually enter upon
antly following and being Llowd in the“ ZtT?^ "T" their 94th ^ f°r the ^mberTon-’
6. Thus: 10,000 children being born annually at so many th ^ hf yea4’ ^ wiI1 °nly be less by half a life
equal intervals of time, 7096 will annually complete their berHaccTwde™nstrated fc° be the true num-
fifth year, also at equal intervals ; and of these 112 will die siil/h 1 Bi° ’ and ^-b0 differcnce would
annually in the sixth year of theff age. ’ ^ 11 ^ fad ^een iTaw nno-* ^ the radix °f the table
7. And it is manifest that the number xcho annually com- 1 vfnTfn, Iw m °f 0’00°; the number of the
plete any year of their aqe in such a nlnrp /, , . u ’ in that case, according to these two methods
«« ofldannlal deatimaTLaf^ IT t0 ^ f 120° T 1199^ And the °f *6living
8. Let us next suppose, that the constant number of is TrfrT eVeni accordinS t0 tbe above table,
deaths which happen annually in any one year of age take remains T Y SeV^ra th°usands, so that this difference, which
nlaca at pnnal iryfo»*Troio A ^ ^ 5 a^e remains always the same, is quite immaterial
lA O Cl W /~»C1 ■» 4" 4   J j 1 1 1 m
ri —any Ulic V
fcpf equal intervals of age in that year. For instance,
that the four deaths which happen annually, in the ninety-
filth year of age, always takes place at the ages of 9
Years. Months.
94 . 3
94 . 6
94 . 9
and 95 years ; or rather, that the last individual dies at the
moment before completing the 95th year.
9. Then the number constantly living in any year of age
may be determined as follows : g
Let us take, for example, the ninety-fourth year, which
14 persons annually enter upon, and 5 die in. Now, if no
deaths happened in that year, it is obvious that the 14 per-
sons who annually enter upon it at so many equal inter¬
vals (4 and 6), would be all constantly living at 14 equal
intervals of age in that year; and if that year of age
were divided into five equal intervals, there would be
constantly living in each interval — persons; or, in a place
-  . J   *0 AJLIALC milllclLd lcll«
Besides, it is obvious that the above hypotheses can never
coincide exactly with the facts. And the above reasoning
is evidently applicable to any other year of age.
11. We are therefore authorised to conclude, that in a
place, circumstanced as above stated, the number of the liv¬
ing in any year of their age is an arithmetical mean propor¬
tional between the numbers who annually enter upon, and
who annually complete that year.
12. Thus it appears that
The number of
the living in their
94th year,
95 th —
96th —
97th —
98th —
99th —
Is half the
sum of
14 and 9,
5,
3,
2,
1,
0.
But it is to be observed, that the same numbers occur in
636
MORTALITY, HU M A N.
Mortality, the first of these two series as in the second, except the first
Law of. term of the first, and the last of the second, which are 14
's—and 0 respectively. Therefore the sum of the second of
these two series falls short of the sum of the first by 14, the
number who annually complete their 93d year ; so that the
series of half sums falls short of the sum of the first series by
7, the half of 14. And this reasoning will apply equally to
any other age than that of 93 years.
13. Whence it follows, that in a place circumstanced as
we have supposed, the number of persons constantly living
at any assigned age and upwards, is less than the sum of
those who annually complete that and all the greater ages,
by half the number who annually complete that year of their
age.
14. From the supposition that the number of persons who
die annually in any one and the same year of age, expire at
so many equal intervals of age in that year (8), it follows,
that for each of these lives which fails before the middle of
that year of age, there wall be another which will fail just
so much after it, and, consequently, that the average quan¬
tity of existence during any year of age, for the lives that
fail in it, is just half a year.
15. But in taking, for any one year of age, the sum of the
numbers in the second column of the table (1) at all the
greater ages, each life is counted once for every complete
year it survives, after the age first mentioned; and if, to the
sum of these, we add half the number in the same second
column against that first mentioned age, this half number
being the sum of the fractional parts of a year, by which the
whole of these lives survive the last year of age they com¬
plete (14); the sum total thus obtained will evidently be
the wdiole duration of life after the age first mentioned, en¬
joyed by all the lives that survive that age in any one year.
16. Therefore, if this last sum total be divided by the
number who annually survive that first mentioned age, the
quotient will be the mean duration of life after that age
which is also called the expectation of life at the same age,
being the portion of future existence which an individual at
that age may reasonably expect to enjoy.
17. But, by No. 13, it appears, that the last mentioned
sum total is also the number constantly living in the place,
at and above the age first mentioned (15).
18. Whence, and from No. 16, it follows, that if the num¬
ber of the living in the place at any age and upwards, be
divided by the number who annually complete that age, the
quotient will be the mean duration of life after the same
age.
19. And, consequently, if the number constantly living
at all ages, be divided by the number of annual births, the
quotient will be the mean duration of life from birth, or the
expectation of life of a child just born.
20. Hence also it appears, that the number of years in
the expectation of life at any age, is the same as the num¬
ber of living persons at that age and upwards, out of which
one dies annually.
21. Thus, for example, the expectation of life at 40 years
of age being 25’495 years, the proportion of the living in
the place aged 40 years and upwards wdio die annually, is
one of 25,495, or, which is the same, 1000 out of 25,495.
22. The numbers represented by a table of mortality to
die in any intervals of age, are called the decrements of life
in those intervals.
23. And the interval between any age and the utmost
extent of life, according to any table of mortality, is called
the complement of life at that age, according to the same
table.
24. If the decrements of life be supposed to be equal and
uniform through its whole extent, and the interval between
birth and the utmost extremity of life be divided into as
many equal parts as there are annual births, then, one of
the individuals born will die at the expiration of each of
these equal intervals of age ; and the numbers wdio survive Mortalit
the several intervals, from birth to the extremity of life, will Law of.
form an arithmetical progression.
25. Whence it will be found (11), that the number of the
living at any assigned age and upwards, will be equal to the
number who annually complete that age, multiplied by half
the number of years in the complement of life at the same
age.
26. And if this last product be divided by the number
who annually complete that age, the quotient, that is, half
the complement of life, will be the expectation of life at
that age (18).
27. The mean numbers of annual deaths at all ages, or,
which in this case is the same, the number of deaths in each
year of age, that take place during any one year, in a place
circumstanced as we have supposed, being given, a table
may be constructed as follows, which will answer all the
most interesting questions that can be put respecting the
population and mortality of the place.
28. Let there be five columns, in the first of which insert
the ages 0, 1,2, 3, 4 96, 97, 98, 99, and against every
age, insert in the fifth column, the given number that died
in the year between that and the next greater age ; then
begin at the greatest age, and proceed towards the least, as
follows:—
ls£, To the number against any age in the fourth column,
add that against the next less age in the fifth, and insert
the sum against that next less age in the fourth (7).
2c/, To the sum of the numbers in the third and fourth
columns against any age, add half the number in the fifth
column against the next less age, and insert this last sum
against that next less age in the third column (11).
3c/, Divide the number against any age in the third co¬
lumn, by the number against the same age in the fourth,
the quotient w ill be the expectation of life at that age, to
be inserted in the second column (16).
1
Age.
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
Expectation
of life at that
age.
39-385
2-357
2-176
1-978
1-928
1-722
1-700
1-500
1-000
0-500
0
Number of the
living at that
age, and
upwards.
393,848
115-5
74-0
45-5
27-0
15-5
8-5
4-5
2-0
0-5
0
Number who
annually com¬
plete that year
of their age.
10,000
49
34
23
14
9
5
3
2
1
0
Number who
die annually
in their next
year.
1888
15
11
9
5
4
2
1
1
1
0
A complete table of this kind for the two sexes sepa¬
rately, formed from observations made in all Sweden and
Finland, during twenty years ending with 1795, will be
found in Mr. Milne’s Treatise on Annuities and Assurances,
being the fourth in that work.
29- Hitherto we have supposed the state of the popula¬
tion to continue invariable for 100 years at the least, on ac¬
count of the facility with which tables of mortality might be
Mortality, ffmed from accurate mortuary registers in such circum
Law of. stances.
aUt Whether ^ Population be stationary, or increasing
or decreasing, and from whatever causes these changes pro¬
ceed, provided that they be produced gradually, and not by
sudden starts during the time of the observations, the law
of mortality may be determined from actual enumeration^
of the people, and the bills of mortality. Thus atl0nS
30. Let the number of persons in each year of their as-e
that are resident in a place at any one time, be taken and
let an accurate register be kept of the number that die an¬
nually in each year of their age, during a term of eight or
ten years at the least, whereof the first half may precede
and he second follow the time of the enumeration^
f hen, if the number of the inhabitants of every aire
either increase or decrease uniformly during that term the
mean number of annual deaths in each year of aye thus
registered, will be the same as if the population of the place
had continued throughout that term what it was when the
enumeration was made.
31. to the number of the living in any year of
age, we add half the number who annual!? die in the same
year, the sum will be the number who annually enter upon
that year of their age (11.) y P
And thus, from the enumerations and registers above
mentioned, may be derived the ratio of the number who
annually enter upon any year of their age, to the number
who annually die in it.
32. But all the observations which have been made with
sufficient minuteness, on the mortality during the first year
rom birth, concur in showing, that many more deaths take
place in the first few weeks from birth, than in equal periods
of time during the remainder of the first year ; and that the
nearer to birth, the greater is the mortality among infants
So that the number of the living in successive equal inter¬
vals in the first year of age, cannot be correctly assumed to
be in arithmetical progression.
33. On this account it is desirable that the annual num¬
bers, both of the children born alive, and the deaths under
den year °f'ag6’ Sll°U^ be correctly registered, as in Swe
34. Then, as the number annually born alive, is to the
number of annual deaths under one year of age, according
to the registers, so is the radix of the table of mortality, to
the number dying under one year of age according to that
table, which, being subtracted from the radix, the remain¬
der is the number who complete their first and enter on
t leir second year. Whence the numbers, both of surviv¬
ors and annual deaths, at all the greater ages, may be de-
ermined in the order of their succession by No. 31.
35. If, instead of the number of the living in each year
of age. being taken only once, according to No. 30, that
operation be performed several times during the term for
winch the mean number of annual deaths in each year of
age is given ;—then, the mean number of the living in each
year of age throughout that term, must be deduced from
t ie given numbers ; and, being substituted for the number
at the middle of the term according to No. 30, the law of
mortality may be determined with more certainty, than
when the people are only numbered once.
36. Both in enumerations of the people, and in bills of
mortality, the numbers are, however, almost always given
only for intervals of age of several years each. For the
manner of interpolating the numbers in each particular
year of age, the reader is referred to Mr. Milne’s Treatise
on Annuities and Assurances, arts. 180 and 181.
37. Hitherto we have only considered the determination
of the law of mortality amongst the whole of the inhabitants
of a place, of all ages, ranks, and conditions; and until
within the last eight years, no statements of fkcts relating
to particular classes of the people had been published, ex-
mortality, human.
ear
cept those of M. Deparcieux, in his valuable Essai, suffici- Mortality,
ently numerous and correct to be available for the purpose. Law of
But the inquiries made by order, and with the aid of go-’
vernment in this country, into the mortality amongst vari-
ous cksses of nominees, on whose lives annuities depend¬
ed, published m Mr. Fmlaison’s report to the Lords of the
treasury in 1829, and already noticed in the article Annui¬
ties in this work ; with the publication in 1834, of the still
more interesting, important, and distinctly detailed obser¬
vations on the mortality that has taken place among the
ives insured in the Equitable Assurance Society, form most
valuable accessions to our knowledge of the subject; we
lerefore proceed to show how the law of mortality among
those classes of persons may be deduced from these docu¬
ments. We shall have compassed that object, when we
have determined out of a considerable number of persons
entered uPon each year of age, how many died in that
5 eai, and, consequently, how many survived it; and the
S f •UrTe documents are so disposed, as to afford
great facility in effecting this. The following table is ex-
jacted from them, with the addition of the column mark-
38. According to the common mode of expressing the
ages, which is adopted both in the government documents
638 MORTALIT
Mortality, and in those of the Assurance Society, the year of age
Law of. stated is always that which was last completed ; but where-
ever that is the case, it should be distinctly stated, and kept
steadily in view. We confine ourselves in this table to the
31st year of age, and mark it 30-}- to avoid ambiguity ; for
the same reason ( -}- ) is put over the ages in column A, to
show that each number in it denotes the age last completed.
39« Column B has been added for the sake of illustra¬
tion ; it shows at what earlier ages the different lives entered
the society, which afterwards completed the 30th year of
their age in it, and entered their 31 st: thus, out of 40 in¬
sured in the 8th year of age during the period of the obser¬
vations, only 5 entered their 31st while insured in the so¬
ciety, the rest having passed out of it either by death or
otherwise, at earlier ages, as the preceding columns of the
original table fully show; and of the 373 persons who were
insured in their 22d year, 124 remained insured till they
entered their 31.
40. This table shows that of 4692 persons who entered
on their 31st year of age in the society, 265 wTent out of it
alive in the same year of their age during the observations,
51 were still living and insured at the termination of the
observations, and 762 came into the society in that year of
their age ; the individuals of those three classes amount to¬
gether to 1078 persons. But of the 265 who went out of
the society alive during that year of age, it may reasonably
be assumed, that whatever number of them at the time of
their exit exceeded 30|- years of age by any interval of
time, as many would fall short of that middle age by the
same interval, when they went out; and, therefore, that
the whole of them on an average may properly be consi¬
dered to have been exposed to the action of the Law of
Mortality during one half of that year of age; so that the
mortality among them must have been the same as it would
have been among half the number of exactly similar lives,
in passing through the whole of that year.
In the same manner it appears, that of the 762 persons
who were insured at various periods of the 31st year of age,
and of the 51 persons who remained alive and insured in
the society at various periods of that year of age when the'
observations terminated ; may, each of them on an average,
be properly assumed to have been exposed to the action of
the law of mortality in the society during one half of the
31st year of age ; and we are therefore entitled to conclude
that the mortality among them was the same as it would
have been among half the number of exactly similar lives
in passing through the whole of the 31st year of age.
But 4692, the total of the numbers in column C includes
all those 1078 lives, the same as if they had all entered
upon their 31st year of age in the society, and had all pass¬
ed through it except those which were carried off by death.
It is, therefore, manifest, that 539, the half of their num¬
ber, must be substracted from 4692, and the remainder,
4153 must be taken as the number of persons entering on
the 31st year of their age, and continuing exposed to the
law of mortality in the society during the whole of that
year, among whom thirty-two deaths take place in the same
year of age.
This, when the principle is clearly understood, is cer¬
tainly a very simple operation and easily performed; and
its application to every other age in the original table of
data is exactly the same as to the 31st year.
41. In constructing the table of mortality, supposing that
in proceeding from the earliest age we have arrived at the
completion of the 30th year, or the entrance on the 31st,
and have determined the number of survivors at that limit
to be 4305 ; since
4153 : 32 :: 4305 : 33-1712,
we find 33 to be the number of deaths which will take place
in the 31st year of age out of 4305 persons who enter on
it; and, consequently, that 4272 enter on their 32d year.
Y, H U M A N.
according to the table we are constructing ; the method of Mortality,
completing it is obviously the same throughout, and can be Law of.
attended with no difficulty after the valuable documents re-v'—
quisite for the purpose have been obtained.
42. What has been shown here respecting the determi¬
nation of the law of mortality amongst insured lives, ap¬
plies also, and with rather more facility to the nominees on
whose lives annuities depend. The life annuities sold by
government in this country not being redeemable, are al¬
ways continued during the whole of the lives they depend
upon ; therefore, with regard to them, column E in the
above table is left blank ; and in the case of the old English
Tontine, which commenced in 1693 and ended in 1783
with the life of the last survivor, column D will also be
quite blank.
Part III On the Law of Mortality as deduced by the
preceding methods from actual observations ; and on the
comparative merits of the different Tables of Mortality
that have been published.
43. When the uniformity of anatomical structure in dif¬
ferent individuals of the human species is considered, and
the great power possessed by the human body, of so adapt¬
ing itself to the circumstances it is placed in, as to avoid
injury from changes in those circumstances, it appears
natural to expect a priori, that, where the circumstances
of the people are not greatly different, the law of mortality
will be nearly the same. And, from a comparison of the
best tables of mortality yet constructed, we are induced to
believe that this expectation will be realized, whenever a
sufficient number of good observations shall have been
made, under circumstances sufficiently varied.
44. We know of no observations that have hitherto been
made and published, from which the law of mortality may
be correctly determined, except the following :
1. Those of M. Deparcieux in France.
2. The Swedish.
3. Dr. Heysham’s at Carlisle.
4. Dr. Cleland’s at Glasgow.
5. Mr. Finlaison’s on the nominees of life annuities grant¬
ed by government in this country.
6. Mr. Morgan’s on the lives insured in the Equitable
Assurance Society.
Those of Deparcieux, Finlaison and Morgan, were made
only on select classes of the people; the Swedish are in¬
comparably the most numerous and extensive ; and whilst
Dr. Cleland’s exhibit the mortality in a large manufacturing
town, Dr. Fleysham’s will, we believe, be found to be best
authenticated, and most correct.
45. The climate of Sweden is so unfavourable to the
products of agriculture, and the number of the people is so
great in proportion to the quantity of food produced, that
unfavourable seasons there, are generally followed by dis¬
tressing dearths, and the destructive epidemical diseases
constantly attendant upon famine, which raise the mor¬
tality, when they occur, much above what it would other¬
wise be ; and both in that way, and by weakening the con¬
stitutions of those who survive them, they materially in¬
crease the average mortality deduced from observations
made during any considerable number of years. Of this
the reader will find ample proofs drawn from authentic
sources, in the 10th, 12th, and 13th chapters of Mr. Milne’s
Treatise on Annuities.
46. For these reasons, the mortality in Sweden deduced
from many years’ observations, will be found to be higher
than in the more temperate aud fruitful parts of Europe.
And we shall probably make the nearest approach to the
general law of human mortality in the temperate climates,
that can be made from the Swedish observations, by select¬
ing a period in which no remarkable epidemics prevailed.
Such a period w7as that of five years, 1801—1805 ; during
M O R T A L I T Y, H U M A
Mortality, which, according to a statement of M. Nicander in the
°fthe^Tl Academy of Sciences at Stock-
T80?’ hG P°PuIation and mortality were
as stated in Table I. at the end of this article
h47’ tl?ese do'O’ t]ie second table at the end of
this article has been formed. The numbers in the columns
for males and females separately, having been determined
according to Nos. 36 and 31-35 ; assuming that, of 20 000
children born alive, 10,219 are males, and 9,781 females
m the ratio of 275,599 to 263,812. temales,
The numbers against each age in the columns for the
whole population without distinction of sex, are arithmeti¬
cal mean proportionals between the corresponding num¬
bers in the columns for males and females separately
against the same age. cpaiaieiy,
48. From the table last mentioned, Table III has been
deduced by No. 16 exhibiting the expecnTtion oHife “
every fifth year of age; or its mean duration o/fer that
age.
49. Vaccination commenced throughout Sweden and
tras 38 2Vi °41 d“T which/.f >1,16 number vaccinated
was 38,255 , and, in the year following, 42,839.
yeJ^ number of deaths by small-pox there, during the
1801, was 6,458
1802, — 2,679
1803, — 8,610
1804, — 3,764
1805, — 1,887
Ne
639
Sum, 23,398
Annual average number,~4,680
™St the.an0nual^average of the ten years ending with
1803, was 6962. fVet. Ac. Handl 1809, and Mr. Milne’s
Treatise on Annuities, art. 698.) S
50. Therefore if we assume that, had vaccination not
been practised m the years 1804 and 1805, the annual
thinhS nUmtCr deatb® during the five years ending with
if f Iasf mentloned> would have been greater by 2,282 than
it actually was, and that these 2,282 additional deaths would
have all taken place under five years of age, both assume
tions will be near the truth; and it will follow that the
annual mortality under five years of age, which actually
was but one of 13-534, would have been one of 12-629, had
have1 aflbnf13 bo^n iutrodnced. Its introduction cannot
ha™ affected the first three tables above five years of age •
stnatednder ^ ^ n0t qUite S° mudl aS has Just been
n,,5!1!* 0/a-11 agfS’ and both sexes> tbere actually died an¬
nually, during these five years, one of 40-901 ; had vaccin¬
ation not been practised at all, the annual average mor-
tahty would not have been so great as one of 39-759.
ev ' Afi 6 IV* exhibits the mean duration of life after
y ufth year of age, according to twelve different tables
of mortality; the first six, A, B, C, D, E, F, having been
^ (3° and 38’) the last Mortality>
’Z1’iff U’ ^ from mortuary registers only. Law of.
53 The numbers in the first column A have beenv~^—
taken from table III. in Mr Milne’s Treatise on Annuities,
and those m B from table E (p. 28) in the Equitable As¬
surance Society s publication.1 4
54. Deparcieux’s table C constructed from great num-
bers of accurate observations on the nominees in the French
I ontmes, resident principally in Paris and its environs, re¬
presents the duration of life too small after 60 or 65 years
867gand 868*) ^ Milne,S Treatise on Unities, articles
13 ?5‘, CAumn ^ has been taken fr°m the 45th table in Dr.
Price s Observations E from the 5th in Mr. Milne’s Annui-
ties and F from the 3d table in this article. All these
ables represent the duration of life in Sweden and Fin-
iand after 45 or 50 years of age, to be less than according
™ t? wf8 5 and.lt might reasonably be expected, a prl
Zt ! thhe CfCSSlve cold in Sweden would be unfavour-
able t0 the prolongation of life in old age.
, 0f die c°rrect columns, M has been deduced
thc42dtin7n tpG V1 ra' Milne’S Annuities> and N from
1 pr !n f § 0hservations l but, as the Montpel-
ions of 'VA168’ JUf t0’ give the expecta¬
tions of life only for males and females separately, the
numbers in columns M and N against each age, aiAarith-
n!!lAal TA1 Proportmnals between the expectations for
whch thn^6! againStthe Sarae ages in those tables;
preSt puSe qi“te COrreCt’ ^ “y suffldent fOT »>*r
4n57’ nuflber.in column O against each age has been
derived from that given by M. Mallet in his table of mor¬
tality as the mean duration of life in Geneva from and after
wh?chgwm LSfbtraffgv °ne half (°-5) from each of them ;
ch will be found to be a necessary correction.
CoI.umn P bas been derived from Lambert’s table for
mrt of this ’ TA mentioned in the historical
meL aae Th ^ m- Whl? he gives a column headed
sta“dT«, by whiThe meLXf 20 ^ ‘"f Column’
on , ^ J * wmen ne means that persons who survive
yeare TtfhTrt,d°’ °n “ aV.era8®’ attail1 the 54-3
y s, so that their expectation of life at 20, will be 34-3.
u his numbers m that column are all too great by L, or
"houldba^S^^ dem°nStr8ted! the hst’
Againstthe
age of
For his
number.
0
5
10
15
29-5
47-7
51-4
53-1
and so on.
We insert in
column P.
29-00
42-20
40-90
37-60
me'nMrr'8 ““ “ "•« valU.Me w0rt
presem atrtLTe)ShA^^lanAofMorTa^te;U fhe sti^mlghtTe *1 ^ 7?* ^ **
;.he words “ age on admission,” at the K hand' olumnl ^ ^ ValuMe tabIe ™rked A • therefore Sv
lives admitted in the first division of the large column with that aee at its heaTfc thG ^ m ‘f,6 fme horizontal line with the number of
to be, the number of lives which really were insured during the observe Af ’l, IT, natUraA led t0 conclude that that was! a iWht
note referred to it appears not to be so ; on the contrary, none of 2he fives H ^ they had kst comPleted. But by the
are entered m these statements as having come into the Society until the fiist dlAf ^ ^ f ™mencing with the first of January
the fiA’ an/Then Cach i3 Stated t0 be 0Ile year older than it was ^011 insured fo1 0vvi,,g tbe day of their actuaTad
nist of January next following the commencement of in 5 4 whatevei deaths may happen amomrst \ c
.»» pre.i„usly inLed. The “CpZe
fore these circumstances were called to his recollection, bX accfdemTv seein t " -the pnriter’ 400 miles bom the mho
to give this explanation. The principle of the method ““dently seeing his original note on the subject: he is therefore" ’•
now appears that the number stated in Table A to have been Am!?A1 aW of mortality in such cases, remains just the same a'Jf1°as
age. and any calculator who may choose to employ himself on Z r Tl Sh°Uld have beea st^d fo be!o at the rmxt Vn ''
w p erior ‘ri,i"£ 'ro,n "u «-«>**■«* misers ,kC
640
M O R T A L I T Y, HU M A N.
Mortality, 59. The reason assigned by Lambert for voluntarily ad-
Law of. mitting this error at each age, as well as the corresponding
one in the number of the living at and above the same age,
into his table, was, that he did not consider the data in his
possession enabled him to determine the duration of life
within half a year of the truth.
60. In both these errors M. Lambert has been followed
by J. C. Baumann, in constructing the 21st, 22d, and 23d
tables inserted at the end of the third volume of Siissmilch’s
Gbttliche Ordnung which were intended to representrespect-
ively, the law of mortality among the country people in the
churmark of Brandenburg, amongst the whole population
of the churmark, and amongst the inhabitants of London.
61. The numbers in column Q were calculated by De-
par cieux from Dr. Halley’s table ; and those in column B
have been extracted from the 18th table in Dr. Price’s Ob¬
servations.
62. Upon comparing the numbers in the first six of these
columns, which are more correct, with those in the last six,
which are less so ; it will be found, that at the early periods
of life, its future mean duration according to the tables
formed from mortuary registers alone, is less than according
to those formed from the requisite data ; also that the dif¬
ference is greater the younger the lives are, and diminishes
while the age increases, so as at 60 or 65 years of age to be
little or nothing, and to continue small, and variable both
in kind and magnitude, through the rest of life.
63. This appears to have arisen from the number of the
people having varied but little during the first 35 or 40
years of the century that ended at or about the middle of
the term in which the observations were made ; and having
increased considerably by procreation, during the remainder
of that century; such increase having been slow at first,
but gradually accelerated afterwards.
64. Table V. is calculated to illustrate this part of the
subject. The columns A and B represent the law of mor¬
tality among the whole population of Sweden and Finland
without distinction of sex, having been merely copied from
Table II.
Column C shews the proportion of 10,000 annual deaths
in Sweden and Finland that took place in each year of
age, on an average of five years ending with 1805. And
the number in column D against any age, being the sum of
of those in column C against that and all the greater ages,
would be the number who annually attain to that age, if the
number of the people of every age had remained stationary
from the year 1700 till 1806 (7).
65. The table of mortality formed by the columns C and
D therefore, is that which Dupre de Saint Maur, Sussmilch,
Lambert, Baumann, Florencourt, Muret and others, for want
of the mortuary registers of a whole country, endeavoured
to form by combining the registers of different town and
country parishes.
Those tables also have the same faults, which have been
formed in a similar way for particular towns or other com¬
paratively small districts, from the bills of mortality alone,
where the population had been increasing during the cen¬
tury preceding the commencement of the observations or
statements in the bills of mortality which each table was
formed from, and also during the period of the observa¬
tions.
66. But it has been ascertained by repeated enumera¬
tions of the people in Sweden and Finland, that the hypo¬
thesis of their number having remained stationary for the
last 100 years or more, is far from the truth. And by
comparing columns A and B with C and D, it will be seen
in what manner, and to what degree, the falsity of the hypo¬
thesis in this case, has vitiated the table derived from it.
67. To facilitate this comparison, columns E and F have
been added. Taking the age of five years for an example ;
the numbers against that age in columns C and D show,
that, according to the hypothesis, out of 5988 children who Mortality,
annually enter upon their 6th year, 144 die in it; while it Law of.
appears by columns A and B, that out of 7096 childrenv^V^j
who enter upon that year of their age, only 112 die in it:
and 112 : 7096 :: 144 : 9123, so that 9123, inserted against
the age of five years in column E, is the number of children
annually entering upon their 6th year, out of whom 144
really die in the same year of their age ; and the mortality
as represented by the hypothetical table in this case, is to
the true mortality, as 9123 to 5988, or as 3 to 2 nearly.
Then the number in column F against any age, is always
the excess of that in E above that in column D against the
same age.
68. Columns B and C both containing 10,000 deaths, it
will be seen that in column C, they are greatly accumulat¬
ed at the early ages, in comparison with those in column
B ; and that in old age, the deaths in column C are much
less numerous than in B ; which are necessary consequent
ces of the people increasing by procreation ; the numbers
of the people in a progressive population, in comparison
with a stationary one, being greater in early life, and less
in old age. And, while the law of mortality remains the
same, the numbers of deaths at the different ages, must ne¬
cessarily be distributed in a similar manner.
69* This enables us to see clearly how the principal dif¬
ferences have arisen between the correct and incorrect
tables of mortality AB and CD ; whilst the number of annu¬
al deaths at all ages (10,000) is the same in both, the pro¬
portions of that number are necessarily in column C of the
increasing population greater, and the deaths are more
densely distributed at the early ages, and less so at the ad¬
vanced ones than in column B of the population which has
consisted of the same number of persons of every age, and
has produced the same number of annual births and of
annual deaths at every age for 100 years past. The in¬
creasing population is necessarily attended with a corres¬
ponding increase of the annual births and of young persons;
while the elderly persons are only those left by the law of
mortality out of the corresponding small numbers that were
born annually, 50, 60, 70, or 100 years back. And as col¬
umns A and B represent the true law of mortality that pre¬
vails among the people, columns C and D cannot do so,
although constructed from observations on the same peo¬
ple ; for in an increasing population it is not true that the
sum of the deaths happening annually above a given age
will be the same as the number of persons annually arriv¬
ing at or completing that age; it always falls short of it,
and the more so as the given age is younger, there being
deficiencies at all ages above that.
Columns E and F show what the errors of the hypothe¬
tical table are at the different ages, and they are of a simi¬
lar kind in all tables similarly constructed from records of
the number of deaths at the different periods of life in an
increasing population ; and such are probably 99 out of 100
of those hitherto published ; many of them for people in¬
creasing their numbers much faster than the Swedes have
done, and the errors of such tables must be greater than
those of the table CD.
70. Table VI., which needs no further explanation than
is placed at the head of it, will also illustrate the difference
between tables of mortality formed from the requisite data,
and those constructed from mortuary registers only.
It is better fitted for this purpose than Table IV., with
which, however, it will be found to correspond very well.
But the 4th table has other uses which this has not.
71. From what has already been advanced, it would ap¬
pear probable, that the number of annual births in Sweden
and Finland had been nearly stationary, and rather decreasing
than increasing, upon an average, from about 1700 till 1735.
The numbers both of the annual births and deaths, from
the year 1749 till 1803, will be found in Milne’s Treatise
Mort»l,ly, on Annmhes art. 698 : these kind of returns to govern-
J^ment were not made before 1749, neither have we any satis-
'^^factory account of the population before that period.
72. But the statements in our 7th table corroborate the
inferences just drawn from the 5th and 6th, as they shew
that during the 43 years ended with 1800, the total ponuT
lation increased, while the proportion above 90 years of a“e
diminished through the whole term, and increased very little
during the next 10 years. « vciy uiue
The numbers in that table include both sexes and the
SaFneTb *em past 90, cannot be
plained by supposing the males to have fallen in battle •
for the females were reduced in the same proportion thei^
number throughout, having been to that of Lmales above
90 years of age, as nine to five nearly.
From the 7th table, therefore, it appears probable that
the annual births in the years 1 ’ l t
1 1698, 1705, 1710, and 1715
were respectively proportional '
to the numbers  007 ^07 Co*t j *.n/>
The last number, 786, has been calculated uponfhe lup-'
position that the proportion of the population in Sweden
mo^s to 1805. m SWede” same in
73. It should also be observed here, that the disastrous
career of Charles the Twelfth commenced with the S-
teenth century, and terminated in 1718, when the country
was in such a state of exhaustion as it could not have re¬
covered from for many years; whence there appears rea¬
son to believe, that the annual births during the succeeding
fifteen or twenty years, did not increase fast.
Cantzlaer informs us, that between the 10th of August
wIIp’pT- i16 ™nth of February 1711, near 30,000persons
were carried off by the plague in Stockholm alone. (Mem.
du Jioyaume de Suede, t. i. p. 29.)
74. It will be seen that the numbers in col. F of Table
J*’ Preceding back from four years of age to birth, con¬
tinually decrease, contrary to what generally obtains ; and
as We ascribe the creneral inwrrvncv ^4-' ii  1
mortality, human.
641
frouf Spr had remaincd invariable Mortality,
■ 1697 to 1797, the law of mortality there, might have L»w of.
been easily derived from the statements abov^ mentioned''
thin^ ®™meratl°n in 1797 5 but in the actual state of
things, that cannot be determined without comparing these
Tseh TT* °f t.heJnumbers that died annually in
each interval of age. And, as was observed in the first
inform t0ftht}Sf e’ ^ haS °btaincd satisfactory
information that no such returns from the parish registers
throughout Spain, as are there mentioned, ever werLub-
hshed^nor is it probable they were ever made. P
77. When what we have advanced respecting the 5th
and 6th tables is clearly understood, it will not be difficult
to account for the greater part of the difference between
the more and less correct columns in Table IV.
Most of the observations which the German tables were
^nd1^0111’ Tr!imfdf between the years 1720 and
.7^0, and those who died then between 60 and 100 years
of age, must have been born between 1620 and 1690 • in
which period nearly the whole of the thirty years’ war, ended
m 1648. wus included during which, and for several yearn
er, it is probable that the annual births increased little
or nothing, if they did not decrease.
78. Amongst the less correct columns of Table IV those
for Montpellier, Chester, and Geneva, agree much better
than the rest with the more correct ones, which has proba-
bly arisen in each case, partly from the mortality in these
ee places having really been less throughout life than in
them h^ t0WnS 5 a!!di Partly from the annual birtbs in
the g yreaSed IeSS than in the other places, during
oteS “LXVm rS preCeding the which thf
observations the tables were constructed from were made.
9. he Northampton table was constructed by Dr
wSfpT he I"18 of1 mortality (from the year 1735 to
- J S^g,e Pansb °f All Saints, containing a little
more than half the inhabitants of the town; and as the
deaths exceeded the births in number, the Doctor applied
a ?0^re9tl0n t0 tbe table under twenty years of age which
if it had answered tho JnfarvrT-vU   ^ ’ nicfh
During the five years
ending with.
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
The annual average
number of births was
107,690
106,392
105,504
104,644
105,430
107,882
as we ascribe the general^roftrese number^ When t0 ^ ?We Under years of age, which,
taken m the retrograde order of the ages, to the annually we ^ ^ intended PurPose under that age, as
increasing number of births, so will thif anomalous appear7 the ^ dl? n0t’ C°uld have no effect on any of
ance be found to arise partly from the average number of fffi apXcations of^t, f nf age 5 and almost all of the use-
annual births having actually decreased for a few years ; for 80The table 1 tab, eS’ arf ^ aSes ab°ve twenty.
During tb* „„„„ c,,, . y ’ Ior Ihe table so formed could on y be correct nrovided
that the numbers, both of the living Li t],e mmuS deS
durin7ythfl4fiOVe '"'L: y-arS’ had conti"“rf invariable
17«n? •1,4^ years that intervened between 1634 and
ton8L° ’1 provided aIso’that "0 migration from or to the town
took place, except at twenty years ofage, and that the an¬
nual increase the population received by migration at that
the’annuiUbirthsal t0 ^ 6X0688°f the annUaldeathsabove
tice of vaednation during the yeTrT^S^and tl 805,Ty during ^hesTH^v^" ^ mUCh m°re Probable> tbat
which the mortality amono- children or the nnmbpra ^ years, Northampton partook of the pro-
col. C, in a few of tL fir/years tm bL^were reduced Tm^and lolTl ^ in ^ ^
below what they otherwise would have been (50) while progressive though « y’t.bat lts population was generally
onprftlln° * D 1remained nearly the same (64); conse- Retrograde.’ g °metimes stationary, and sometimes
9 y> the numbers in col. E were reduced in nearly the 82 We havp nnt n
same ratio as those in C (67), and the reduction in col. F. mericalste^ bynu-
Waf !n each case nearly the same as in E (61). abstracts and^f ^ d ^U atl(lns’ but from the population
7f]R^” Fhe numbers relating to Sweden and Finland in the ampton given in oRTrthe inhabitants °f North-
7th table, have been derived from the Stockholm Transac- Payment ;• 01 ‘?'e s ^(^vatwm on Rei'ersionary
Kons for the years 1766, 1801, 1809, and 1813. nud b r£ ^d ^mmf0 ^ ^ [°Und’that both the a^
Those relating to Spain and the Spanish possessions in ^ set Iers m that town, have been in-
Europe and Afrfca, including the Canary ^^7*“ S7/h ZS"M^ I7,5or 1720’ ^o.that
Cemo de la Poblacion de Espana en el ano de 1797 men 180S 7|„. i u 3 e.xceeded the baptisms till the year
turned in the first section of this article, flmse last have exefs, 77P y 7 ,mg?tio" was mucb greater than E
been included in this Table, to show the difference in the W heeF A Sf T'?' y’ that the ““mbers of the living
proportion of aged persons between Spain and Sweden and the advanced l,muI“*ecl more at the early ages, and less at
tt.Il -^between the Canary Islands" and both.^ a"d ^«on SdW°U,d haVe llad >ha P-
4 M
642
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, 83. Thus it appears, that the faults in the Northampton
Law of. table are of the same kind as those of the others constructed
from mortuary registers only. And the civil war in the time
of Charles the First, with the unsettled state of the kingdom
for some years before and after it, would probably have pre¬
vented or greatly retarded, the increase of the annual births,
during the time in which those persons were born, who died
past sixty years of age between the years 1734 and 1781,
and may account for the table after that age being near the
truth; while the comparatively rapid increase of the people
during the sixty years ending with 1780, appears to explain
the great excess of mortality in that table at the early pe¬
riods of life.
84. As it was only from the Carlisle and Northampton
tables of mortality, that tables of the values of annuities on
single and jointliveshad been calculated, sufficiently copious
to admit of the values of interests dependent upon the con¬
tinuance or the failure of human life being accurately de¬
rived from them. When the first edition of this article was
published in the year 1820, the author gave the following
comparison between the mortality represented by each of
these tables to take place at the different periods of life, with
that which had been observed to obtain among the mem¬
bers of the Equitable Assurance Society.
85. From an address delivered at a general court of that
Society, by Mr. Morgan the actuary, on the 24th of April
1800, it appears, that according to the result of an annual
experience of thirty years, the decrements of life (22) among
the members of the society, were to those in the Northamp¬
ton table,
Between the ages of 10 and 20
20 — 30
30 — 40
40 — 50
50 — 60
60 — 80
as 1 to 2.
— 1—2.
— 3 — 5.
— 3 — 5.
— 5—7.
— 4 — 5.
The same information may also be found in two notes in
Dr. Price’s Observations on Reversionary Payments, (vol. i.
p. 183, and vol. ii. p. 443.)
86. From the preceding statement, the Carlisle table of
mortality, (No. II. in Mr. Milne’s Annuities, or No. V. at the
end of the article Annuities in this work, and the Nor¬
thampton table, (No. XVII. in Dr. Price’s Observations),
we have derived the following:—
Out of
Who at¬
tain the
age of
There
die be¬
fore the
age of
According to the
Carlisle
Table.
Experience
of the
Equitable
Society.
North¬
ampton
Table.
Persons.
6460
6090
5642
5075
4397
3643
Years.
10
20
30
40
50
60
20
30
40
50
60
80
370
448
567
678
754
2690
309
443
579
652
900
2244
618
886
965
1086
1260
2805
87. This table shows that the law of mortality exhibited Mortality,
in the Carlisle table is almost exactly the same as that which f,aw °f
has prevailed among the members of the Equitable Assur- v^V*^
ance Society. And although the members of such a so¬
ciety, when they first enter, are select lives, they are not,
even then, so much better than the common average, as
many persons suppose; for the more precarious a life is, the
stronger is the inducement for parties interested in its con¬
tinuance, to get it insured, so that bad risks are frequently
offered to such companies. And many proposals for insur¬
ance are accepted by the directors, that are not thought
very eligible at the time, in cases where they are not aware
of any specific objection to the life proposed.
88. Besides, it is to be considered, that of the number in
a society at any one time, but a small proportion can have
been recently admitted, and in a few years from the time of
admission, the members will generally have come down to
the common average of persons of the same ages.
89. It ought also to be observed, that most of the tables
of mortality that have been published, have been construct¬
ed from observations made upon the whole population of
very large towns, such as London, Paris, Vienna, and Stock¬
holm; in each of which there are particular quarters inha¬
bited only by the very lowest of the people, who, unfortu¬
nately, are also very numerous, badly clothed and fed,
therefore exposed to serious injury from the inclemencies of
the weather; extremely ignorant and vicious, indulging in
the abuse of spirituous liquors, and inattentive to cleanliness
both in their persons and habitations, which last are crowded,
badly ventilated, and surrounded with mud and the putrid
remains of animals and vegetables. These are the nests of
contagious diseases, in which they are generated and kept
alive, where they at all times occasion great mortality, though
not so much within the last forty-five or fifty-five years
as previously, and from which, when circumstances favour
them, they spread amongst the rest of the people.
90. It is, therefore, obvious, that in such places, the aver¬
age mortality at every age, must be considerably greater
than that which prevails only among the middling and higher
classes of society, even in such towns.
91. But the lives upon which leases, annuities, reversions,
and assurances depend, arc very seldom exposed to the in¬
fluence of the causes of mortality mentioned in number 89.
Whence it follows, that a table of mortality on which those
causes have had no great influence, is best adapted to the
valuation of such interests.
And these kind of valuations are the most important pur¬
poses to which tables of mortality can be applied.
92. The number of years in the mean duration of life from
birth according to a table of mortality properly constructed
from the necessary data, will, when the population has re¬
mained stationary for a century or more, be the same as the
number of persons in the whole population, out of which
one dies annually (20). When the population has been in¬
creasing, the mean duration of life, according to the table,
will be less than the number out of which one dies annual¬
ly in that population ; but the difference will be small, ex¬
cept under particular circumstances, as appears by the fol¬
lowing statement.
Mortality,
Law of.
MORTALITY, HUM A
N.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
Place.
Stockholm, males....
Ditto, females 
Ditto, both sexes.,
Sweden and Finland.
Ditto 
Sweden alone 
Carlisle,
Glasgow, males.,
Ditto, females 
Ditto, both sexes.,
Years.
9
9
9
21
20
5
9
10
10
10
Term
of the
observations.
Died
annually,
one of
1756
1755
1755
1755-
1776-
1801-
1779-
1821-
1821-
1821-
-1763
-1763
-1763
-17761
-1795
■1805
1787
1830
1830
1830
16-86
20-93
18-85
34- 60
37- 33
40-90
40-00
35- 42
42-32
38- 81
Mean
life.
14-25
18-10
16-18
34-45
36- 12
39-39
38-72
34- 38
37- 24
35- 77
Differ¬
ence.
2-61
2-83
2- 67
0-15
1-21
1-51
1-28
1-03
5-08
3- 04
Authorities.
Dr. Price’s Observations, tab. 46.
Ditto.
Ditto.
Ditto, tab. 44.
Mr. Milne’s Annuities, tab. 5.
This article.
Mr. Milne’s Annuities, tab. 2.
Dr. Cleland’s Observations, and
93. The above mentioned table of mortality for Glasgow
r„?r has “hi” —
The high number in the column of differences for fo-
thpm P aCe’ arisCS from the SmaI1 mortality amongst
them, winch was occasioned principally by the great influx
nL-S fyrfeT eS betw/en the aSes of 15 and 30, at which
period of life the rate of mortality amongst them was small •
minimum for them being in their 18th year ’
Between the ages of 10 and 15 the numbers of the two
andloThp f°Ut eqUa1, Whilst between ^e ages of 15
fhe ratio of 3 To I8 WT T™ numerous than the males in
of females f42-32^ tblS,aCfunts Por the great number
or temafes (42 32), out of which one died annually there,
hich necessarily raises the number out of which one died
annually m the whole population of both sexes, and there
Place.
Years.
°f/he teble of mortality havingbeen properly competed
from the necessary dam: asthe&lfowingLtemLtwfflsW
Sweden and Finland.
Belgium 
Berlin.
Geneva, males 
Ditto, females 
Ditto, both sexes.,
Chester, males 
Ditto, females 
Ditto, both sexes..
Montpellier 
5
3
12
20
20
20
10
10
10
21
Term
of the
Observations,
1801-1805
1825-1827
1818-1829
1814-1833
1814-1833
1814-1833
1772-1781
1772-1781
1772-1781
1772-1792
Died an¬
nually,
one of
Mean
Life.
40-90
43-00
36- 91
45- 00
48-69
46- 92
34- 54
37- 27
35- 97
29-56
30-86
32- 15
27- 39
37-97
42-21
40-18
28- 13
33- 27
30-70
25-36
Differ¬
ence.
— 'f;
Authorities.
9-52
Table V. C. & D.and Tab. VI. D.
MM. Quetelet and Smits, Re-
ferches ke., 8vo, 1832, pp
29 and 36. n
i ^asPer 5 Lebcnsdauer der
Menschen, tab.2 & § 14,s.35; also
btaatskrafte der Preussischen
Monarchic, b. 1. ss. 303 & 304.
. Mallet, in the places referred
to above.
Dr. Price’s Observations on Rev,
Payments.
Mr. Milne’s Annuities.
96. In both of the above statements, where the sexes are
not mentioned, the table is for both without distinction.
slow tbp P aCf Where the increase of the Population was
slow the numbers set against them in the column of differ-
rapidly1"6 Sma er tban where 1110 population increased more
98. In the tables of mortality for Belgium and Montpellier,
the sexes were distinguished, but not in the given number
r?p7b ^hole P°Plllatlon, as well as the whole number of
eaths in each of those places, and for that reason the sexes
toble be dlStinguished for those two P^ces in this last
_ 99- When what we have shewn here is clearly understood,
ami the proportion of the people dying annually is known
for'th ^ bC, ' t0 JudSe Aether a table of mortality
r that people has been constructed properly from the nt^,
will it be Syl beTeLm,h^ ruVon^th inCOrreC.t.tobfe>
the population having increased ffenerntl e suPPos'''on of
tions^6 f7 ^ear^ PJ*eoedin^^h^terndmition^of th^observa6
“°nss lf for a '*h»k century, s„ much the bett™ 0t,sen'a-
643
Mortality
Law of.
fore the number in the column of differences fin thn 1;™
g" 10) f0r the WhoIe P^onTboS sexes'in
,, Similar causes probably produced similar effects nl
though a much less degree’ii, Stockholm ’
95. When tables of mortality are constructed from thn
SuTcolS tfi
number of the people, out of which one dies annually by a much
greater number than in the case we have hist lu Jr! y j h
ing,of the table of mortality C0nSlder:
1 But omitting the yeat 1764, in which no observations were made.
644
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, 100. The probable life at birth, or the age to which half
Law of- the number born attain, will also be agood criterion for enabl¬
ing us to judge, by comparison, whether a table of mortal¬
ity has been correctly constructed from the necessary data
or not; provided that, in the places the compared tables
have been constructed from, the children have been simi¬
larly circumstanced, or nearly so.
According to the
Correct table for Sweden, in this )
article,     j
Incorrect one, 
Belgian table, 
The probable duration
of life from
10 years of
birth, is
45 years,
22 —
25 —
age, is
53 years
48 —
48 —
Population of Amsterdam.
In the
year
1622
1753
1777
1787
1826
1830
Number of
persons.
104,961
200,000
241,353
224,862
200,784
202,175
Authorities.
Struyck, Nader Ontdekkingcn, p. 118.
Ditto ditto, p. 146.
Quetelet smt" VHomme, tom. i. p.246.
R. Lobatto on Life Insurance,5 p.20.
Ditto, p. 21.
Quetelet sur VHomme, tom.i.p.246.
Mortality,
Law of.
In Belgium vaccination was practised during the whole
period of the observations, in Sweden only during about 1^
out of the 5 years’ observations.
101. From all that has now been stated, we are entitled to
conclude, that the Belgian table of mortality has been con¬
structed either from the registers of burials alone, or only
from the statements of the numbers living in the different
intervals of age at the time of the enumeration ; most pro¬
bably from the burials alone. M. Quetelet appears now to
be aware that such tables are very incorrect. In his_ late
work sur VHomme et le Developement de ses Facultes, ou
Essai de Physique Sociale, 2 tom. Paris 1835, in 8vo, af¬
ter giving the above mentioned table of mortality for Bel¬
gium, in which only the numbers attaining the different
ages are given, without the decrements of life, or its mean
or probable duration at the different ages, he states the
mean duration of life from birth according to that table, and
then proceeds thus, (tome i. p. 166) :—“ D’apres le dernier
ouvrage de M. Rickman, la vie moyenne serait en Angle-
terre de 33 ans (32 pour les hommes, 34 pour les femmes).1
On I’estime en France de 32*2 ans d’apres le chiffre des nais-
sances.2 Du reste, ces calculs supposent une population
stationnaire, et nous aurons occasion de voir qu’ils peuvent
conduire a des erreurs assez graves.”
102. Reasoning as in Nos. €8 and 69, it will be seen that
when the number of the people has been decreasing for a series
of years, the deaths will be more densely distributed among
the advanced ages, and more rarely in the early periods of
life, than if the number of the people at every age, and the
law of mortality had remained always the same. Conse¬
quently, in the table of mortality constructed from such data,
merely by taking the successive sums, in retrograde order,
from extreme old age to birth; those successive sums,
which are the numbers of the living at the different ages in
the table so constructed, will be greater at advanced ages
and less in early life than if the population had remained
stationary, as stated above. So that the errors of the in¬
correct table would, in this case, be of the opposite kind to
those of the common tables, constructed in a similar way
from the deaths only, in an increasing population. From
the general increase of arts, manufactures, commerce, and
civilization, ever since tables of mortality were first formed,
the population has been increasing more or less rapidly in
almost every place, for which a table of mortality has been
constructed. But in Amsterdam we have an instance of
the population having continued to decrease for half a cen¬
tury or more. We here present a view of it since the year
1622.
103. The information on this subject is scanty and difficult
to procure. Kersseboom took much pains in endeavouring
to make just estimates of the population from the annual
births and deaths; and taking it to be 35 times the num¬
ber of annual births, he estimated the population of Am¬
sterdam in 1742 at 241,000 persons.
Three only of the six numbers stated above, viz. those
for the years 1622, 1826, and 1830, were determined by
actual enumerations at the times stated. Although M.
Smits, the secretary of the Statistical Commission, relative
to the population of the Netherlands, is not mentioned in
the above table, we are greatly indebted to him. In his
Statistique Nationale he gave a table, (No. 10, p. 82),
shewing the number of deaths that took place in Amster¬
dam in each year of the 18th century. M. Lobatto has
given them in the place above referred to for each of the
ten years 1816-1825; and M. Quetelet, in the part of his
work referred to above, has given them for each of the
17 years, 1816-1832, and states that in the year 1777 the
mortality was 1 in 27; the number of deaths in that year was
8939, whence the population inserted in the table is deriv¬
ed. M. Lobatto states, on the authority of Professor Van
Swinden and of M. Nieuwenhuys, that from 1774 to 1813
there died annually 1 of 26 ; the deaths in 27 years, 1774-
1800, were 233,510, the annual average number, therefore,
was 8648'5, and multiplying this by 26, we obtain 224,862,
the mean number of the people during these 27 years, which
is stated in the above table to have been the population in
1787, the middle year of the 27.
104. The enumeration in 1622 was made in levying a capi¬
tation tax, which was exacted with great strictness, even in
every receptacle for paupers, the master or owner of it was ob¬
liged to pay the tax for each inmate. This enumeration ap¬
pears not to have been known of, either by Kersseboom or
by Struyck at the time of his first publication on the sub¬
ject ; but an original paper, with many particulars which
"he gives, was afterwards communicated to him. Struyck,
after taking great pains with the subject, stated his opinion,
that in 1753, Amsterdam did not contain 200,000 inhabitants.
105. M. Lobatto, at the end of his Beschouwing, &c. gives
two tables of mortality for Amsterdam, one for males, the
other for females, constructed from the deaths that took
place during the ten years 1816-1825, with the expectation
of life at every age, and we here give the same particulars
for it as are given for some others above, but marking the
difference (—) as it is of the opposite kind to those which
resulted from an increasing population.
Place.
Amsterdam
Term of the obser¬
vations.
lOyrs. 1816-1825
Died an¬
nually,
one of
29-22
Mean
duration
of life.
32-22
Differ¬
ence.
— 3-00
1 Preface to the Population Abstract. 1831.
2 Annuaire du Bureau des Longitudes, pour Vannee 1834, p. 102, a (■ a
® Beschouwing van den aard, de voordelen, en de inrigting der Maatschappijen van Levensverzekering, &C., door R. Lobatto J Amster am,
in 8vo, 1830.
MORTALITY, HUMAN
Mortality, 106. This low mortality of one in 29*22 was obtained by
Law of. m. Lobatto stopping at the year 1825, which he himself states
was on account of the mortality having been high in the
two following years, 1826 and 1827. He obtained the an¬
nual mortality of 1 in 29, by dividing the number of the
people in 1826, the year after the end of the term, by the
annual average number of deaths during the term. Durin°-
the 12 years 1821-32, of which 1826 was the middle one,
the annual average number of deaths was 7,336*18, and
there died annually, on an average, one of 27*369; the dif¬
645
ference in the above statement should therefore be —4*85, Mortality,
or nearly 5 ; which is the true excess of the number of Law of.
years in the mean duration of life, above the number ofv y f
persons out of which one died annually.
107. For some of the most important applications of the
facts and inferences stated in this article, the reader is re¬
ferred to the article Annuities in this work, where he will
find that the valuation of Assurances or Reversions de¬
pendent upon lives is also treated of.
TABLE I.
In all Sweden and Finland during the Five Years ending with 1805.
Between the
ages of
0 and 1
1 — 3
3—5
5 — 10
10 — 15
15 — 20
20 — 25
25 — 30
30 — 35
35 — 40
40 — 45
45 — 50
50 — 55
55 — 60
60 — 65
65 — 70
70 — 75
75 — 80
80 — 85
85 — 90
above 90
Of all ages,
Mean number of the
living.
Males.
44,536
85,548
84,854
170,878
161,613
140,467
132,414
120,349
108,804
100,293
94,497
82,258
71,899
54,543
42,847
30,923
20,945
11,009
4,452
1,214
268
Females.
1,564,611
43,847
86,533
85,909
171,343
160,777
144,782
143,012
130,183
118,978
111,158
103,711
91,932
81,265
64,127
51,938
40,414
28,615
15,660
6,817
1,988
468
1,683,457
Annual average number
of deaths.
Males.
11,132
4,113
1,857
1,919
872
799
1,018
977
982
1,078
1,293
1,442
1,811
1,768
1,931
1,942
2,138
1,627
994
352
102
Females.
9,238
3,752
1,771
1,743
797
795
927
978
1,056
1,150
1,324
1,255
1,582
1,666
2,015
2,242
2,620
2,135
1,452
561
207
That is,
Males
one of.
40,147 39,266
4*00
20*79
45*69
89-04
185*33
175*80
130*07
123*18
110*79
93*03
73*08
57*04
39*70
30*85
22*19
15*92
9*79
6*76
4*47
3*45
2*62
That is,
Females
one of.
38*97
4*74
23*06
48*57
98*30
201*72
182*11
154*27
133*11
112*67
96*06
78*33
73*25
51*36
38*49
25*77
18*02
10*92
7*33
4*69
3*54
2*26
42*87
The Numbers of Births during the same Five Years
were.
Males.
Females.
Both.
275,599
263,812
539,411
HUMAN.
646
Mortality,
Law of.
MORTALITY,
TABLE II.
Exhibiting the Law of Mortality which prevailed in all Sweden and Finland, during the Five Years ending with 1805.
0
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
Males.
is
u 2
Q)
*6 ^
S3 c
£ 8
10,219
8,155
7,674
7,408
7,227
7,091
6,974
6,885
6,815
6,756
6,706
6,666
6,629
6,594
6,561
6,528
6,493
6,458
6,422
6,386
6,345
6,300
6,252
6,203
6,154
6,105
6,057
6,009
5,961
5,912
5,862
5,812
5,761
5,709
5,657
5,603
5,548
5,492
5,434
5,374
5,310
5,243
5,174
5,104
5,032
4,958
4,882
4,803
4,720
4,634
^3 '
£4
£ TS
2064
481
266
181
136
117
89
70
59
50
40
37
35
33
33
35
35
36
36
41
45
48
49
49
49
48
48
48
49
50
50
51
52
52
54
55
56
58
60
64
67
69
70
72
74
76
79
83
86
94
Females.
JS
£-
p cu
= g
£ 8
9,781
8,069
7,643
7,399
7,225
7,100
6,995
6,914
6,849
6,797
6,752
6,713
6,679
6,648
6,618
6,587
6,553
6,519
6,483
6,447
6,408
6,369
6,329
6,288
6,246
6,204
6,160
6,115
6,069
6,023
5,975
5,926
5,876
5,824
5,770
5,715
5,660
5,603
5,546
5,487
5,427
5,365
5,298
5 229
5,160
5,091
5,026
4,962
4,897
4,829
'$■ ■-
^ 0)
<U -M
-3 _
E-a
1712
426
244
174
125
105
81
65
52
45
39
34
31
30
31
34
34
36
36
39
39
40
41
42
42
44
45
46
46
48
49
50
52
54
55
55
57
57
59
60
62
67
69
69
69
65
64
65
68
75
Both.
^ 'S.
is
£ 8
10,000
8,112
7.659
7,403
7,226
7,096
6,984
6,900
6,832
6,776
6,729
6,690
6,654
6,621
6,590
6,558
6,523
6,488
6,453
6,416
6,377
6,334
6,291
6,245
6,200
6,155
6,108
6,062
6,015
5,968
5,918
5,869
5,819
5,767
5,713
5.659
5,604
5,548
5,490
5,430
5,369
5,304
5,236
5,166
5,096
5,025
4,954
4,882
4,809
4,731
& -a
£-a
1^3
1888
453
256
177
130
112
84
68
56
47
39
36
33
31
32
35
35
35
37
39
43
43
46
45
45
47
46
47
47
50
49
50
52
54
54
55
56
58
60
61
65
68
70
70
71
71
72
73
78
84
0
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
Males.
U 2
c ft.
s S
£ 8
4,540
4,437
4.329
4,220
4,111
4,002
3,892
3,776
3,654
3,527
3,397
3,261
3,124
2,987
2,854
2,714
2,571
2,429
2,282
2,132
1,973
1,805
1,642
1,484
1.329
1,176
1,029
894
770
657
553
456
367
289
227
174
133
99
74
53
38
27
19
13
8
5
3
2
1
5? ^
<u
^ -
e-s
3 'Q>
103
108
109
109
109
110
116
122
127
130
136
137
137
133
140
143
142
147
150
159
168
163
158
155
153
147
135
124
113
104
97
89
78
62
53
41
34
25
21
15
11
8
6
5
3
2
1
1
1
Females.
K £
c ft.
I §
^ 8
4,754
4,671
4,583
4,495
4,405
4,313
4,216
4,114
4,008
3,898
3,783
3,659
3,528
3,393
3,255
3,113
2,967
2,819
2,668
2,513
2,353
2,184
2,006
1,829
1,650
1,475
1,306
1,150
1,007
866
734
609
497
401
314
244
182
138
104
79
59
41
27
16
9
5
3
2
1
03 03
P QJ
E ^
tH rE
(D +->
a .2
S3 <V
55 h3
83
88
88
90
92
97
102
106
110
115
124
131
135
138
142
146
148
151
155
160
169
178
177
179
175
169
156
143
141
132
125
112
96
87
70
62
44
34
25
20
18
14
11
7
4
2
1
1
1
Both.
*- £
E S’
3 s
£ S
4,647
4,554
4,456
4,358
4,258
4,157
4,054
3,945
3,831
3,713
3,590
3,460
3,326
3,190
3,054
2,914
2,769
2,624
2,475
2,322
2,163
1,995
1,824
1,656
1,490
1,325
1,167
1,022
889
762
644
532
432
345
271
209
157
119
89
66
49
34
23
14
9
5
3
2
1
a-
p o
£ ■'S
93
98
98
100
101
103
109
114
118
123
130
134
136
136
140
145
145
149
153
159
168
171
168
166
165
158
145
133
127
118
112
100
87
74
62
52
38
30
23
17
15
11
9
5
4
2
1
1
1
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
Mortality,
Law of.
fortality,
jaw of.
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
TABLE III.
According to the Law of Mortality that prevailed in all Sweden and LuUand
rive Years ending with 1805.
during the
647
Mortality,
Law oi.
Age.
0
5
'10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
Years in the average future Duration,
or Expectation of Life.
Males.
37*820
48*987
46*681
42*888
39*051
35*486
31*853
28*208
24*622
21*189
17*901
14*968
12*173
9*606
7*255
5*509
4*095
3*230
2*553
1*700
Females.
41*019
51*046
48*570
44*727
40*905
37*167
33*494
29*901
26*353
22*924
19*367
16*087
12*978
10*220
7*698
5*784
4*221
3*230
2*263
1*700
Both.
39*385
50-014
47*629
43*809
39*980
36*330
32*684
29*063
25*495
22*066
18*651
15 550
12 598
9*933
7*497
5*665
4*165
3*230
2*357
1*700
Age.
0
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
TABLE IV.
Showi,v the Number of Yean in the Expectation of Life at every fifth yea, /• ,
to different kbl^/lZUZ!,. /W/"’W “ 90
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
648
Mortality,
Law of.
TABLE V.
Mortality,
Law of,
Exhibiting the Law of Mortality that prevailed among the ichole Population of Sweden and Finland, during the jive
years ending with 1805, according to two different methods of constructing tables.
MORE CORRECTLY.
0
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
O bo
10,000
8,112
7.659
7,403
7,226
7,096
6,984
6,900
6,832
6,776
6,729
6,690
6,654
6,621
6,590
6,558
6,523
6,488
6,453
6,416
6,377
6,334
6,291
6,245
6,200
6,155
6,108
6,062
6,015
5,968
5,918
5,869
5,819
5,767
5,713
5.659
5,604
5,548
5,490
5,430
5,369
5,304
5,236
5,166
5,096
5,025
4,954
4,882
4,809
4,731
1s .
u c3
V <D
i*
1888
453
256
177
130
112
84
68
56
47
39
36
33
31
32
35
35
35
37
39
43
43
46
45
45
47
46
47
47
50
49
50
52
54
54
55
56
58
60
61
65
68
70
70
71
71
72
73
78
84
LESS CORRECTLY.
3 X
Z £
2565
625
365
261
196
144
106
84
68
59
49
43
40
39
39
39
39
39
40
44
47
49
50
50
50
49
49
49
49
49
50
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
60
62
65
67
68
67
66
66
67
68
73
D
£ 2
o ,23 tn
\C a.-3
Gao
5 -a
g S O
-SJj:
■S -S3
O'g’S
•3 o,.2
§ E Is
c o >
£ u S
-a 2^
c > o
CD U. JD
•5 £ n
+■» pQ 3
^ £ <u
a ^ «
0'S-S
10,000
7.435
6,810
6,445
6,184
5,988
5,844
5,738
5,654
5,586
5,527
5,478
5.435
5,395
5,356
5,317
5,278
5,239
5,200
5,160
5,116
5,069
5,020
4,970
4,920
4,870
4,821
4,772
4,723
4,674
4.625
4,575
4,525
4,474
4,422
4,369
4,315
4,260
4,204
4,147
4,087
4,025
3,960
3,893
3,825
3,758
3,692
3.626
3,559
3,491
13,586
11,192
10,920
10,916
10,895
9,123
8,813
8,524
8,296
8.506
8,454
7,991
8,065
8,330
8,032
7,308
7,269
7,230
6,976
7,239
6,970
7,218
6,838
6,939
6,889
6,417
6.506
6,320
6,271
5,849
6,039
5,869
5,707
5,553
5,607
5,556
5,504
5,357
5,216
5,341
5,121
5,070
5,011
5,018
4,809
4,671
4,541
4,481
4,193
4,111
3586
3757
4110
4471
4711
3135
2969
2786
2642
2920
2927
2513
2630
2935
2676
1991
1991
1991
1776
2079
1854
2149
1818
1969
1969
1547
1685
1548
1548
1175
1414
1294
1182
1079
1185
1187
1189
1097
1012
1194
1034
1045
1051
1125
984
913
849
855
634
620
0
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
MORE CORRECTLY.
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
S =3
S «
3 CS
4,647
4,554
4,456
4,358
4,258
4,157
4,054
3,945
3,831
3,713
3,590
3,460
3,326
3,190
3,054
2,914
2,769
2,624
2,475
2,322
2,163
1,995
1,824
1,656
1,490
1,325
1,167
1,022
889
762
644
532
432
345
271
209
157
119
89
66
49
34
23
14
9
5
3
2
1
93
98
98
100
101
103
109
114
118
123
130
134
136
136
140
145
145
149
153
159
168
171
168
166
165
158
145
133
127
118
112
100
87
74
62
52
38
30
23
17
15
11
9
5
4
2
1
1
1
LESS CORRECTLY.
* x-
81
85
86
87
87
86
86
86
86
89
95
98
100
101
103
103
104
105
106
109
116
121
122
121
119
111
101
94
87
82
77
69
62
55
47
38
28
21
15
12
9
7
6
,5
4
3
2
1
0
D
a* © ^
'"© if
u u .o
i ^
3 S
o © a
©..2
E H
■S 2^
C "S O
3 £
<D l-c .©
^ 2 t.
^ E ©
0 ^ ^
3.418
3,337
3,252
3,166
3,079
2,992
2,906
2,820
2,734
2,648
2,559
2,464
2,366
2,266
2,165
2,062
1,959
1,855
1,750
1,644
1,535
1.419
1,298
1,176
1,055
936
825
724
630
543
461
384
315
253
198
151
113
85
64
49
37
28
21
15
10
6
3
1
0
4,047
3,950
3,910
3.792
3,668
3,471
3,199
2,976
2.792
2,687
2,624
2,530
2,446
2,369
2,247
2,070
1,986
1,849
1,715
1,592
1,494
1,412
1,325
1,207
1,075
931
813
722
609
530
443
367
308
256
205
153
116
83
58
47
29
22
15
14
9
8
6
2
629
613
658
626
589
479
293
156
58
39
65
66
80
103
82
8
27
- 6
- 35
- 52
- 41
- 7
27
31
20
- 5
- 12
- 2
- 21
- 13
- 18
- 17
- 7
3
7
2
3
- 2
- 6
- 2
- 8
- 6
- 6
- 1
- 1
2
3
1
0
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
totality, TABLE Yl.—Exhibiting the Expectation of
Law of. . Life in Sweden and Finland, both accordina
— t0 Columns A and 1) of the preceding Table.
moktality, huma
N.
More
Correct.
Less
Correct.
Expectation of Life.
0
5
10
15
20
25
39-385
50-014
47-629
43-809
39-980
36-330
30 ) 32-684
35 29-063
40 25-495
45 | 22-066
30-863
45-719
44-361
41-019
37-531
34-299
30-983
27-650
24-382
21-294
Age.
A.
More
Correct.
Less
Correct.
Expectation of Life.
18-651
15-550
12-598
9-933
7-497
5-665
4-165
3-232
2-357
1-700
18-159
15-384
12-562
9 978
7-536
5-752
4-259
3-361
2-770
1-167
649
ZfZtnlZZ IZZrf Aae’ th^dt
In the Year
1757
1760
1763
Mean No. between
1776 and 1780
1781 ... 1785
1786 ... 1790
1791 ... 1795
In 1800
In 1805
Total Pop, of Swe¬
den and Einland.
2,323,195
2,367,598
2,446,394
2,706,757
2,823,826
2,884,834
2,974,447
3,182,132
3,320,647
Above 90
Years.
1609
1574
1515
1082
1014
1072
907
637
837
Who were born be¬
tween the Years
1657 and 1667
1660 ... 1670
1663 ... 1673
1676 ... 1690
1681 ... 1695
1686 ... 1700
1691 ... 1705
1700 ... 1710
1705 ... 1715
(J. M.)
APPENDIX.
published on thJrubj?ect^!iceethe abtve artide'was written^ f0‘'m’ the m°St imPortant vital statistics of England
Annucd Rate per^ Cene ofMarriages^ Birth^ and^ Deaths in Roland, during the Year* 1847-57.
  1847.
Estim. Pop. of Eng. in j
thousandsin middle of l j 17,132
each year.
1848.
1849.
17,340 17,5521 17,766
Marriages j .793 .797
  3-152 3 247
—eaths I 2-471 I 2-306
17,983
1852.
18,206
•808 -860 -858 -872
3-294 3-340 3-425 3-428
2-512 1 2-077 2-199 | 2-236
1853.
18,403
•894
3-328
2-288
1854.
18,619
•858
3-407
2-352
1855.
18,787
1856.
19,045
•810
3-380
2-266
•836
3-454
2-055
Mean.
1847-56.
•839
3-346
2-276
1857.
Ammcd- nue^Mortalitgpe^ Cene o/Males^ and / gt djffirent Ages in England.
Deaths to 100 Males living.
Years-
AU ages-
0 
5 
10 
15 
25 
35  
45 
55 
65 
75 
85 
95&up,
1838.
2- 343
7-041
•901
•519
•851
1-064
1-342
1-949
3- 410
6-916
14-752
29-745
49-699
2-281
7-167
•904
•512
•819
•986
1-255
1-798
3-192
6-421
13-874
27-923
43-112
2-377
7-542
1-083
•542
•832
•995
1-266
1-796
3142
6-678
14-488
30-242
48-498
1841.
:-242
2-244
6-843
•956
•510
•811
•978
1-217
1-785
3137
6-482
14-266
29-650
46-633
7048
•901
•501
•783
•928
1-197
1-733
3-041
6-595
14-578
29-438
46-427
1843.
2-206
6-898
•844
•478
•772
•924
1-218
1-722
3-008
6-578
14-090
28-758
45-681
2-245
6-984
•897
•473
•763
-940
1-225
1-750
3-051
6-736
14-651
31-716
43-228
2-173
6-665
•823
•466
•781
926
1-202
1- 715
2- 975
6-491
14-400
30 191
49-035
1846.
2-398
7-760
•825
•507
•859
1-025
1-272
1-800
3-129
6-758
15-070
32-214
51-651
1847.
2-549
7-588
•970
•550
•929
1-100
1-436
2065
3 649
7-696
17-326
35-553
56-607
Deaths to 100 Females living.
1848.
2-394
7-401
1-043
•530
•858
1-026
1-303
1-864
3 266
6-793
14-986
30-622
42-435
2-225
6-396
•997
•566
•878
1-090
1-301
1- 589
2- 860
6-072
13-604
27-623
46-816
6-488
1-102
•653
1 000
1-347
1-617
1-998
3-355
6-596
14-028
28-028
43-323
voL“«°",ructed api”"ed lu “‘e Cens“s ltei,orl for 1851: and",hc Rv- SgZ'Xf,he8e
4 n
650
MORTALITY, HUMAN.
Mortality, Countries arranged according
Law of. -
v , Montserrat  ov
New Zealand  11-4
South Australia  12’7
Western Australia  13-2
Newfoundland  13-2
Van Diemen’s Land  13 3
Ceylon  13-6
Ithaca  138
Norfolk Island  14-5
Java   14-6
Ireland  148
New South Wales  15-2
Cerigo  15-5
Bahama Islands  15'9
Palma  17‘3
Venezuela  IS’S
Bermudas  18’5
Cape of Good Hope  18-7
New Granada  19’2
Cephalonia  19’3
Lanzarote  19-3
Norway  19,5
Portugal  20,0
Puerteventura  20-1
Transylvania  20 5
Madeira  20 6
Denmark  21,1
to Mortality in Native Race,
Mechlenburg-Schwerin... 21,1
Tenerifife  21*1
French Possess, in India.. 21'2
Canary Islands  21-4
England and Wales  21‘4
St Helena  21'7
Scotland  22 2
Hanover  23 0
St Pierre and Miguelon... 23'2
Dalmatia  23-2
Sweden  23-3
Ionian Islands  23 5
France  23,6
Hierro  23-6
Lower Canada   23-9
Isle of Bourbon  241!
Barbadoes  24-2
Malacca  24-3
Santa Maura  24'4
U. Canada (Indians)  24-5
Switzerland  24-5
Lucca  24’6
St Christopher  24-6
Canary  25-1
Belgium  25-2
Hungary  25-5
Carinthia and Carniola... 26-l
Paxo  2 6 2
with Ratio of Deaths in every 1000 of Population per Annum. Mortality
Law of.
Venice, Province  32-2 ^
Gozo  26,3
Sierra Leone  26-3
Gomera  26’4
Corfu  26'4
Nevis  26 9
Tyrol  27’1
Saxony  27‘2
White Russia  27'2
Holland  27-6
Malta  28-l
Upper Austria  28-2
Styria  28,2
Prussia  28'3
N. Russian Provinces  28-9
Bohemia  29T
Sardinia  29’1
Moravia and Silesia  29-2
Naples  29'2
Bavaria  29-2
Baltic Provinces  29-3
Tuscany  29'5
Martinique  29-6
Siberia  30'0
Illyrian Coast  30'1
Nova Scotia  30"3
Guadaloupe  30-5
Demerara  30-8
Lithuania  31-3
Galicia  32-7
Lombardy  32-8
Franconia  33‘0
Zante   SSH
Algiers  33-3
Moldavia  34-0
Wurtemberg  34'6
New Russia  35-4
Grenada  35-5
Lower Austria  36-5
Trinidad  37’1
Great Russia  38‘1
Iceland  SO'l
Military Frontier  40-0
Ural’Provinces  40‘1
Sicily   40‘3
Little Russia  4D3
Volta and Caspian Prov.. 4P8
Tobago  4 213
Mauritius  45-3
Dominica   46,2
Senegal ,i. 47‘2
Honduras  57'S
Gambia  68'2
Azores, Oriental  28-9
Central  20-5
Occidental 102-8
Cities arranged according to Mortality in Native Race, with Ratio of Deaths in every 1000 of Population per Annum.
St John’s, Newfoundland 13-7
Lowell, United States .... 14-4
Hobart Town, Van D. Ld. 15-2
Berbice, Demerara  19-5
Cork  19-7
Boston  20 3
Frankfort  20'4
Geneva  222
Gibraltar   22-3
London  23-1
St Petersburg  24-7
Hanover  24-5
Cologne     25-0
Belfast   25-4
Birmingham   26 0
New York  26 3
Baltimore   26-6
Scottish Towns   26-6
Glasgow  28'7
Edinburgh 24-0
Dundee  25-5
Aberdeen  21-3
Philadelphia   26’8
Copenhagen   26'9
Leipsic   26 9
Turin   27 2
Havannah   27'5
Archangel  28-4
Leghorn  28-5
Berlin  29-4
Stettin   29-4
Paris   29 8
Dublin   30 5
Dresden   30 7
Gratz   30-8
Dantzic  31-3
Cape Town  31-3
Innsbruch   31-7
Odessa and Russ, townsh.. 3P7
Manchester  32-1
Hamburg  32-2
Liverpool    33'6
Konigsberg   34-2
Laibach  34-4
Brussels  36-3
Brunn  36’5
Milan   36-7
Genoa...,  36-9
Cadiz   37 0
Queretaro, New Spain  37'9
Guanaxuato, do  38-8
Linz   38-1
Naples  38-8
Breslau   38'8
Amsterdam  39-0
Barcelona   39-7
Stuttgart  40 0
Prague   40’0
Stockholm   42-2
Trieste   45-3
Vienna   46-l
Rennes   45-8
Rome  47-4
Venice   47-9
Vicenza   51-3
Calcutta  51-1
Zara  52 0
Valparaiso  53-1
New Orleans   60-6
Limburg  65'8
Alexandria  73 0
Groningen  94-0
Mortality of White Races of Mankind in Foreign Countries.
Troops, &c.
New Zealand  11-4
Cape of Good Hope  13-7
New South Wales  14-0
Van Diemen’s Land  14-0
Norfolk Island   14'5
Nova Scotia, New Bruns¬
wick   14-7
United States (North) ... 15-6
Canada  16'1
Malta  16 3
Bengal Civil Servants.... 21-1
Gibraltar   21-4
Newfoundland  22-0
Ionian Islands  25-0
Bourbon, Isle of  25-6
Mauritius  27-4
French Guiana  28'1
Bermudas  28-8
St Helena  33 0
Norfolk Island (new
convicts)  33'0
Tenasserim  34-6
China (Chusan)  37-0
Madras (E. I. Go’s, troops) 38-4
Antigua and Montserrat. 40-6
Newfoundland   41-0
United States (Middle) ... 44'6
Madras (Queen’s troops). 48-0
United States (South) ... 48-5
Bombay(E. I. Co’s, troops) 50'7
St Vincent’s  ,  54-9
West Indies   55-1
Grenada  61-8
East Indies  68 9
Ceylon   69 8
St Kitts, Nevis, Tortola... 71'0
Bengal (E. I. Co’s, troops) 73-8
British Guiana  84-0
Morea, Greece  84-6
Algiers   87-8
Bengal (Queen’s troops).. 90-2
Guadaloupe   96-3
China (Hong Kong)  97-5
Martinique 100-4
Zealand 103-0
Bombay (Queen’s troops) 105-2
Honduras  103'0
Trinidad 106-3
Senegal  12U0
Jamaica  121-3
Spain (British troops) ....118-6
St Lucia 122-8
Dominica 137-4
Tobago  152-8
Bahamas 200-0
China 285-0
Burmah  426-0
Sierra Leone  483-0
Cape Coast 668-0
St Domingo 943-1
Residents.
Tobago   10-5
Cape of Good Hope  13-8
Van Diemen’s Land (ex¬
cluding convicts)   20-1
St Helena   217
Malta (British only)   22‘5
Cumberland District, Aus¬
tralia (Rom. Catholics) 22'5
New South Wales (with
convicts)   232
Do. (excluding convicts).. 33-0
Cumberland District, Aus¬
tralia (Protestants)  26-1
Adelaide alone   27-9
Antigua and Montserrat.. 29 0
Malacca (Europeans)  30 0
Cape Town  31-3
Calcutta     35T
Malacca (Portuguese de¬
scendants)   38-4
Barbadoes   39 5
Algiers   40 5
Mauritius (white and co¬
loured pop.)  45'3
Honduras   57'8
New Orleans   73’7
St Lucia  82-1
Calcutta (Portuguese and
French descendants) ...124-4
M O R
Mortar MORTAR a chemical utensil, used for the division
Mortimer, m b,0d,<t’ partIy ft Pe™ssi“n and partly by grinding.
r[“3 MTr5 tate “?ually tlle f»m of an inverted bell, and are
-v—' made either of iron, stone, stoneware, or glass, &c^ accord¬
ing to the use to which they are applied. For the finer
chemical processes they are often composed of agate, flint,
or porphyry. The matter intended to be pounded is put
demondnateTa pestle.StrUC^ ^ b™-d -y an instrument
Mortar in the military art, is a short cannon of a lame
bore, with chambers It is made of brass or iron, and is
used to project hollow shells, filled with powder called
bombs, and sometimes also carcasses. (See Artillery.)
le mortars used at sea are fixed in bomb-vessels, which
are constructed for their reception ; they are made some¬
what longer and much heavier than those employed on
land The mortar is the most ancient kind of cannon, and
WaMnrtr!pe,ln Eng fn? in 1543- <See Gunnery.)
MOR TARA, a walled town of the kingdom of Sardinia,
in Italy, the capital of the province of Lomellina, is situ¬
ated on an eminence on the right bank of the Arbogna
which is here crossed by a bridge, 14 miles S.S.E. of No¬
vara. The principal buildings are,—three churches, a court¬
house, a theatre, several schools, and an hospital There
is some trade in rice, grain, and silk. The situation of the
town is unhealthy ; and from this circumstance it is said to
derive its name, being a corruption of mortis ara. Another
account, however, derives this name from the battle fought
here in 774 A.p., when the Lombards w'ere defeated by
Charlemagne with great slaughter. Pop. 5316.
MOR riER, Edouard - Adolphe-Casimir - Joseph,
Duke of Ireviso and Marshal of France, was born at
Chateau-Cambresis in 1768. At the age of twenty-three
he entered the army of the Revolution as captain in a bat¬
talion of volunteers. He fought with distinction at the
battles of Jemeppes and Neerwinden, and was gradually
promoted. In 1799 the rank of general of brigade had
been conferred upon him. Serving soon afterwards as a
general of division in the army of Switzerland, he led the
right wing of Massena’s forces in the battle of Zurich. His
next important service was the occupation of the electorate
of Hanover in 1803. On his return in the following year,
Jus valour was publicly acknowledged by Bonaparte; and
a marshal s baton and the rank of general of the consular
guard were conferred upon him. He supported his repu¬
tation at the battle of Friedland in 1807. The title of
Duke of Treviso was bestowed upon him in 1808. At the
head of the 5th corps in the army of Spain he defeated the
Spaniards at Ocana in 1809, and at Jebora in 1811. He
served under Napoleon in the Russian expedition, and at
all the important battles of 1813 and 1814. In this latter
year the defence of Paris against the victorious allies was
entrusted to him and Marshal Marmont. He was one of
those who sent in their allegiance to Louis XVIII. at the
commencement of the Hundred Days, recalled it when
Napoleon landed from Elba, and renewed it after the battle
of Waterloo. Yet his attachment to the Bourbons did not
prevent him, after the Revolution of 1830, from rising into
favour with Louis Philippe. Fie was riding by the side of
that monarch at a review of the National Guard of Paris,
on the 28th July 1835, when the infernal machine of
Fieschi, intended for the destruction of royalty, exploded.
Marshal Mortier was among the number of those who were
struck dead on the spot.
MORTIMER, John Hamilton, a noted artist, was
the son of a collector of customs, and was born at East¬
bourne in Sussex in 1741. His early-developed talent for
painting found congenial subjects among the rocks and
woods of his native shore. lie repaired to London about
his eighteenth year, and studied his art first under Hudson,
and afterwards under Pine. At the same time he executed
MOR
651
several imitations of the antique figures in the gallery of Mortmain,
the Uuke of Richmond, Some of these secured for him
premiums from the Society for the Encouragement of Art,
and facilitated his admission into the private academy in St
Martin’s Lane. But his first introduction to general notice
was his representation of “ Edward the Confessor seizing
the Freasures of his Mother,” a painting which, by the
judgment of Sir Joshua Reynolds, received the prize of
hfty guineas, in preference to a rival picture by Romney.
His great work, “ St Paul preaching to the Britons,” was
executed soon afterwards, and raised him to the height of *
popularity. Yet owing to his rapidity of execution, and
his tameness in colouring, Mortimer did not reach a high
excellence in historical painting. He excelled far more in
the designs which he threw off for the booksellers. In
these his facile hand sketched with unerring skill the
forms that his happy fancy conceived or his well-stored
memory suggested. He was also unrivalled in his feats of
rapid and dexterous drawing; and in his creation of fan¬
tastic and striking images. This eccentricity and fondness
for display was not confined merely to his art,—it extended
aLo to his ordinary life. Gaudy dress, convivial pleasures,
athletic contests, and grotesque buffoonery, occupied a great
part of his time and attention. At length he married and
settled down into sobriety of life, but not before his consti¬
tution had become prematurely weak. In 1775 his health
began to decline, and rendered it necessary that he should
letire into the pure air of the country. His rapid power of
painting, however, remained unimpaired ; and in his rural
retreat at Aylesbury in Berks he produced in one year a
number of pictures of the united value of L.900. He re¬
turned to London in 1778, and died of a fever in February
ol the following year. The best known historical paintino-g
of Mortimer, in addition to the two already mentioned, are
“ KinS John signing the Magna Charta,” “ The Battle of
A gin court,” “ The Origin of Health,” “ The Tragic and
Comic Muses,” “ Sextus consulting Erietho from Lucan,”
“ The Incantation,” and “ Vortigern and Rowena.” (See
Cunningham’s Lives of British Painters, &c.)
MORTMAIN, or Alienation in Mortmain {in mor-
tua manu), is an alienation of lands or tenements to any
corporation, sole or aggregate, ecclesiastical or temporal.
But these purchases having been chiefly made by religious
houses, in consequence of which the lands became perpetu¬
ally inherent in one dead hand, this occasioned the gene¬
ral appellation of mortmain to be applied to such aliena¬
tions, and the religious houses themselves were principally
considered in framing the statutes of mortmain. In de¬
ducing the history of these statutes, it will be matter of curi¬
osity to observe the great address and subtle contrivance of
the ecclesiastics, in eluding from time to time the laws in
being, and the zeal with which successive Parliaments pur¬
sued them through all their finesses; how new remedies were
still the parents of fresh evasions, until the legislature at
last, though with difficulty, obtained a decisive victory.
By the common law, any man might dispose of his lands
to any other private man at his own discretion, especially
when the feudal restraints of alienation were worn away.
Yet in consequence of these it was always, and still is
necessary for corporations to have a license of mortmain
from the crown, to enable them to purchase lands; for as
the sovereign is the ultimate lord of every fee, he ought not
unless by his own consent, to lose his privilege of escheats
and other feudal profits, by the vesting of lands in tenants
who can never be attainted or die. Such licenses of mort¬
main appear to have been necessary amongst the Saxons
above sixty years before the Norman conquest. But, be¬
sides this general license from the King as lord paramount
of the kingdom, it was also requisite, whenever there was
a mesne or intermediate lord between the King and the
alienator, to obtain his license also for the alienation of the
652
MORTMAIN.
Mortmain, specific land ; and if no such license was obtained, the King
or other lord might respectively enter on the land so alien¬
ated in mortmain, as a forfeiture. The necessity of this
license from the crown was acknowledged by the Constitu¬
tions of Clarendon, in respect of advowsons, which the
monks always greatly coveted, as forming the groundwork
of subsequent appropriations. Yet such were the influence
and ingenuity of the clergy, that notwithstanding this fun¬
damental principle, we find that the largest and most con-
} siderable donations of religious houses happened within less
than two centuries after the Conquest. When a license
could not be obtained, they contrived that, as the forfeiture
for such alienations accrued in the first place to the imme¬
diate lord of the fee, the tenant who meant to alienate
should first convey his lands to the religious house, and
instantly take them back again to hold as tenant to the
monastery, which kind of instantaneous seisin was prob¬
ably given not to occasion any forfeiture; and then, by
pretext of some other forfeiture, surrender, or escheat, the
society entered into those lands in right of such their newly-
acquired signiory, as immediate lords of the fee. But
when these donations began to grow numerous, it was ob¬
served that the feudal services ordained for the defence
of the kingdom were every day visibly withdrawn ; that
the circulation of landed property from man to man began
to stagnate; and that the lords were curtailed of the fruits of
their signiories, their escheats, wardships, reliefs, and the like.
To prevent this, therefore, it was ordained by the second of
King Henry IIl.’s great charters, and afterwards by that
printed in the common statute-books, that all such attempts
should be void, and the land forfeited to the lord of the fee.
But as this prohibition extended only to religious houses,
bishops and other sole corporations were not included therein;
and the aggregate ecclesiastical bodies, who had among their
counsel the most learned men that they could get, found
many means to creep out of this statute ; by buying in lands
which were bond fide holden of themselves as lords of the
fee, and thereby evading the forfeiture; or by taking long
leases for years, which first introduced those extensive terms,
for a thousand or more years, which are now so frequent
in conveyances. This produced the statute De Religiosis,
7 Edward L, which provided, that no person, religious or
other whatsoever, should buy or sell, or receive under pre¬
tence of a gift, or term of years, or any other title what¬
soever, nor should by any art or ingenuity appropriate to
himself any lands or tenements in mortmain, upon pain of
the immediate lord of the fee, or in default of him for one
year the lords paramount, and in default of all of them the
King, entering thereon as a forfeiture.
This seemed to be a sufficient security against all aliena¬
tions in mortmain. But as these statutes extended only
to gifts and conveyances between the parties, the religious
houses now began to set up a fictitious title to the land
which it was intended they should have, and to bring an
action to recover it against the tenant, who, by arrangement
and collusion, made no defence; and thereby judgment
was given for the religious house, which then recovered the
land by a sentence of law upon a supposed prior title. And
thus they had the honour of inventing those fictitious adju¬
dications of right which afterwards became the great assur¬
ance of the kingdom, under the name of common recoveries.
But upon this it was enacted by the second statute of
Westminster, 13 Edward I., c. 32, that in such cases a jury
shall try the true right of the demandants or plaintiffs to
the land; and if the religious house or corporation be found
to have it, they shall still recover seisin; otherwise it shall
be forfeited to the immediate lord of the fee, or else to the
next lord, and finally to the King, upon default of the im¬
mediate or other lord. A similar provision was made by
the succeeding chapter, in case the tenants should set up
crosses upon their lands, the badges of knights templars and
hospitallers, in order to protect them from the feudal de- Mortmain
mands of their lords, by virtue of the privileges of those
religious and military orders. And so careful was this
prince to prevent any future evasions, that when the statute
of Quia emptores, 18 Edward I., abolished sub-infeudations,
and gave liberty to all men to alienate their lands to be
holden of their next immediate lord, a proviso was inserted
that this should not extend to authorize any kind of alien¬
ation in mortmain. When, afterwards, the method of ob¬
taining the King’s license by writ of ad quod damnum was
marked out by the statute 27 Edward I., st. 2, it was fur¬
ther provided, by statute 34 Edward I., st. 3, that no such
license should be effectual without the consent of the mesne
or intermediate lords.
Yet still it was found difficult to set bounds to ecclesias¬
tical ingenuity; for when the clergy were driven out of all
their former holds, they devised a new method of convey¬
ance, by which the lands were granted, not to themselves
directly, but only to nominal feoffees for the use of the
religious houses, thus distinguishing between the possession
and the use, and receiving the actual profits, whilst the
seisin of the land remained in the nominal feoffee, who was
held by the courts of equity, then under the direction of
the clergy, to be bound in conscience to account to his
cestuy que use for the rents and emoluments of the estate.
And it is to these inventions that our practitioners are in¬
debted for the introduction of uses and trusts, the founda¬
tion of modern conveyancing. But unfortunately for the
inventors themselves, they did not long enjoy the advan¬
tage of their new device; for the statute 15 Richard II.,
c. 5, enacts, that the lands which had been so purchased to
uses should be admortised by license from the crown, or
else be sold to private persons; and that for the future,
uses should be subject to the statutes of mortmain, and for¬
feitable like the lands themselves. And as the statutes
had been notoriously eluded by purchasing large tracts of
land adjoining to churches, and consecrating them by the
name of “churchyards,” such subtle imagination was also
declared to be within the compass of the statutes of mort¬
main. Civil or lay corporations, as well as ecclesiastical,
were also declared to be within the mischief, and of course
within the remedy provided by those salutary laws. Lastly,
as during the times of Popery lands were frequently given
for superstitious uses, though not to any corporate bodies,
or were rendered liable in the hands of heirs and devisees
to the charge of obits, chantries, and the like, which were
equally pernicious with actual alienations in mortmain;
therefore, at the dawn of the Reformation the statute 23
Henry VIII., c. 10, declared that all future grants of lands
for any of the purposes aforesaid, if granted for any longer
term than twenty years, should be void.
But during the whole of this time it was in the power of
the crown, by granting a license of mortmain, to remit the
forfeiture, as far as related to its own rights, and to enable
any spiritual or other corporation to purchase and hold any
lands or tenements in perpetuity—a prerogative which is
declared and confirmed by the statute 18 Edward III.,
st. 3, c. 3. But as doubts were entertained at the time
of the revolution how far such license was valid, since the
King had no power to dispense with the statutes of mort¬
main by a clause of non obstante, which was the usual course,
though it seems to have been unnecessary; and as by the
gradual declension of mesne signiories through the long
operation of the statute of Quia emptores, the rights of in¬
termediate lords were reduced to a very small compass ; it
was therefore provided by the statute 7 and 8 William III.,
c. 37, that the crown for the future, at its own discretion,
might grant licenses to alienate or take in mortmain, ot
whomsoever the tenements might be holden.
After the dissolution of monasteries under Henry VIII.,
though the policy of the next successor affected to grant
M 0 R
Morton.
— reStj Ich XT0'* °f a?bey la"ds> ™ «o
regain as much of them as either the zeal or timirlhv nf
the,,- owners might induce them to part with, the statutes
of mortmain were suspended for twiner „ 6 .srftutes
that time any lands or tenements were allowed to be granted
AndnLSPT C0;p0rati0n without anV license lafsoever
And long afterwards it was enacted by the statute 17 Car. II ’
c. , that appropriators might annex the great tithes to the
vicarages, and that all benefices under L.100 per annum
nught be augmented by the purchase of lands withoutT
cense of mortmain in either case; and the like p ovi ion
1 as been since made in favour of the governor? nf n
fs'Heufv0^ ^ ^
Henry VIII. before mentioned did not extend to anv-
r ‘n/, bu; ^perstitious uses, and that therefore a man wlv
give lands for the maintenance of a school, an hospital or
any other charitable uses. But as it was apprehended from
recent experience that persons on their deathbeds miX
make large and improvident dispositions even for these p-ood
purposes, and defeat the political ends of the statutfs of
moi tmain it was therefore enacted by the statute 9 Geo. II
c. 36, that no lands or tenements, or money to be laid nut
thereon, should be given for or charged with any charitable
uses whatsoever, unless by deed indented, executed in the
presence of two witnesses twelve calendar months before
t le death of the donor, and enrolled in the Court of Chan¬
cery within six months after its execution (except stocks
m the public funds, which may be transferred within six
months previous to the donor’s death), and unless such gift
were made to take effect immediately, and were without
power of revocation5 and that all other gifts should be void
The two universities, their colleges, and scholars upon
wJm? f0" 6 C°IlegeS °f Eton- Winchester, and
Westminster, were excepted from the operation of this act-
rollpUChieXenFK10n Wf granted with this proviso, that no’
thln'w Sb°UM ra6 at lberty t0 Purchase more advowsons
n were equal in number to one moiety of the fellows or
students upon the respective foundations.
^r/KthB,hi?°ry anf condition of the law of mortmain,
as stated by Blackstone (Com., b. ii., c. 20). It has been to
a certam extent modified by recent statutes. The Church-
Buildings Acts, consolidated in 1840 (3 and 4 Viet. c. 601
exempted from the license in mortmain endowments for the
benpfif C UirCheiI Pafonages> or glebes, “or for the use or
ndntiL tl anychur(;h or chaP0l, or of the incumbent or
minister thereof, or for repairs thereof.” There have been
urther partial changes in the Church-Buildings Acts the
atest in 1851 (14 and 15 Viet., c. 97), and property dedftaftd
to purposes of education. A reference will be found to
several of the statutes containing these modifications in the
act 15 and 16 Viet., c. 49.
MORTON, Cardinal John, was born at Bere in
orsetshire in 1410. He was educated at Baliol Col]e<m
Oxford, and became principal of Peckwater Inn, now
iged in Christ Church. His learning and talents intro-
uced him to Cardinal Bourchier, and thus set him on the
pa i to preferment. He was recommended to the notice
o Henry VI., and was appointed a member of the Privy
Lmuncil. Not less successful in the reign of Edward IV
he was nominated Bishop of Ely and Lord Chancellor of
England in 14/8, and was finally appointed one of the
mgs executors. His tried probity, however, did not fit
mm for the lawless service of the next King, Richard III
and he was imprisoned in the Castle of Brecknock. But
contriving to escape, he fled to the Earl of Richmond on
tne Continent, and is said to have been the first who pro¬
posed a marriage between that prince and Elizabeth, the
eldest daughter of Edward IV. At the death of Richard
f*’ and the accession of Henry VIE, a succession of nre-
terments awaited Morton. He was appointed a privy-
councillor ; he was raised to the see of Canterbury in
M O S
T5 again coifen-ed upon him
n 1493 ’ Hk pTS f lefn,der VI- created him a cardinal
H!ldeath took Place m September 1500.
Morton, Thomas, a. successful writer of comedy was
born at Durham in 1764. After attending school mW
don he enrolled as a student of Lincoln’s Inn; but his
ove for dramatic amusements led him to spend his evenings
in the theatres, and to study the drama more than the law!
Lhe knowledge of stage effect which he thus acquired was
m 116 Productl0n of numerous plays. q By their
skilfully-arranged scenes, their strongly-contrasted charac-
ecured thelneSUtd 6n f feeIin^’ these d^mas
.ecured the attention of mixed audiences. The actimr of
Lewis, Munden, and Emery greatly increased their effect
According]y, several of them, such as T/ie Wat/ to net Mar-
7 ted, A Cure for the Heart-Ache, Speed fa Plough The
School of Reform,^ The Invincihles secured a footin/on
MoTa TC Ch tey StiU r^in- Mort- died in 1838
MOSAIC, or Mosaic Work, an assemblage of little
pieces of glass, marble, precious stones, and other substances
of various colours, cut in prisms, and fixed in a ground of
cement, m such a manner as to imitate the colourfand gra-
ations of painting. This sort of work was used botlf for
pavements and for ornamenting walls until a comparatively
the Bvzam-1" ?midd!e ages* h was much practised by
mnJ fy t nT arVStS; who re_introduced it into Italy. The
ost famous kinds of mosaic of recent times are the^Roman
and the Florentine. Pictures in mosaic were wrought at
ome in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Some of the
S?? STTom m°STaiCS in eXiSten“ are '» b i"
&t Hetei sat Rome. The origin of the name mosaic has
not been accurately determined. The most probable de-
musivum TZTt] ^ Greek Lat- opus
MOSCHTTS| r op Ducange.)
MUbCHUS, a Greek bucolic poet, flourished at Syra¬
cuse about the close of the third century b.c. His tren us
was fostered by a study of the works, and probably by the
iendship, of the pastoral poet Bion. He was also,Accord¬
ing to Suidas, acquainted with the grammarian Aristarchus
Theocritus was his great model; but instead of the ex¬
quisite simplicity of that celebrated poet, he often displayed an
excess of ornament and an over-refinement of style. PHis four
extantidjls are Fugitive Love, Europa, An Elegy on Bion
wol ofSlon T%y T br\,mus,,,y «litedywi,h ,Te
wmks of Bion. (See Bion.) Many modern writers of
(1 MoArAw11^1'1''6 imitated and translated them.
MOSCOW, the ancient capital of Russia, is situated in
ie government of the same name, in 55. 45 13 M T
and 55 17. H E. Long., 698 versts, or«6 kngii* mfe’
horn St Petersburg, and 1349 versts, or 902 English miles’
from the frontiers of Poland. The soil in itsAmriediate
neighbourhood is sandy and argillaceous. A great part of
it is under cultivation, and is highly productive. The
situation of Moscow is most happily chosen.
T he town is divided into two unequal parts by the River
Moskva. On the left bank, on which the larger part of the
city stands, the surface is broken and hilly. On the ridit at
i’ll IT'6 ,0f M°Ut a ,mi'e' ris<!s “ amphitheatre oHovy
Is, covered with wood, called the Sparrow Hills from
the summit of which you obtain a line view of the Ay
At your feet the river winds through beautiful meadows-
..smg beyond, you see a mingled massof towers, gilded mcI
painted domes, churches, monasteries, and palaces The
whole, when seen on a sunny day and under a clear skv
possesses an almost unearthly splendour, from the SLlino
whiteness of the buildings, and the glancing brilliance rf
the gilded domes of the churches. ce oi
The River Moskva rises in the S P nf tLw
of Moscow, towards the district of Mojaisk. ItTloZZTs
very winding and hence its name, which signifl™ “the
winding” or “ serpentine.” In spring it becom!" navigaSe
653
Morton
II
Moscow.
651 MOSCOW.
Moscow, by the melting of the snow and ice, and then by means of
the River Oka, its junction with which falls into the Volga,
affords a communication between Moscow and that great
river.
The length of Moscow from the Sparrow Hills on the
S.W. to the Preobrajensky Barrier on the N.E., is about
14 versts, or 10 English miles. Its width from E. to W.
is about 10 versts, or 7 English miles; its circumference is
about 20 English miles. It covers a larger extent of
ground than any other European capital, excepting Lon¬
don and Constantinople.
Moscow is divided into three distinct circles within the
rampart or earthen walls thrown round the whole city.
The first or most remote from the centre is called the
Zemlianoi Gorod, or Earth City. It lies between a line of
streets called the Sadova, or Garden Street, because most
of the houses have a garden or inclosure in front, and the
Boulevards. The second division, the Beloi Gorod, or
White City, is that part of the town which lies between the
Boulevards and the Kitai Gorod. The general form of
the Boulevards is that of an avenue of lime-trees for foot-
passengers, on either side of which runs a carriage-road or
street, the intervening space being filled up with clumps of
small trees, shrubs, and flowers. The Beloi Gorod is the
most aristocratic division of the town. The last circle is
inclosed by an embattled wall, and covers a very exten¬
sive space of ground. It is almost entirely occupied by
what is termed the Gosteeny-dvore, an immense mass of
buildings divided into rows of shops, warehouses, and store¬
houses, each row being devoted to the sale of a particular
kind of goods, and having the name of the article sold,—
as, e.g., Knife Row, Linen Row, Silk Row, Plate Row, &c.
This division is called the Kitai Gorod, or Chinese I own.
The origin of the name is not exactly known. One hypo¬
thesis is, that it was called after a small town of Lithuania of
the same name, which was the birthplace of Helen, mother of
Ivan IV., who built this division of the town. The most
probable account of the name is, that it was at one time the
great mart for Chinese goods. When, however, it is spoken
of separately from the other divisions, it is simply called
“Gorod,”just as in London we speak of the “City.” It
may be added, that in other respects it bears a striking
analogy to the “ City” of London, being the centre of trade
and business, and having within its limits the great com¬
mercial and civic buildings.
On the S.W. of the Kitai Gorod, and separated from it
by a large square called the Crassnaia, or Red Square,
stands the Kremlin, the ancient fortress of the city. It is
built on the brow of a hill, at the foot of which flows the
Moskva River. Its form is irregular, but almost approach¬
ing a triangle. A high crenellated wall surrounds it, broken
at intervals by towers of various heights, and of pyramidal
or spiral form. On three sides runs a sort of boulevard;
and on the fourth side, over the bed of a small stream called
the Neglinna, which is now conveyed by an underground
canal into the Moskva, is a large public walk called the
Alexander Gardens, from having been laid out by order of
the Emperor Alexander I. These gardens are the work
of a Scotchman. Taken as a whole, the Kremlin is one of
the most original, beautiful, and striking objects that can well
be conceived. Its commanding situation on the banks of
the Moskva River; its high and venerable white walls, with
its variously-coloured towers and steeples ; the number and
size of some of its fine buildings, with their painted roofs ;
the cathedrals, churches, monasteries, and belfries, their
domes gilt, tin-plated, or green ;—the whole presents a
grandeur and beauty indescribable and altogether unique.
The interior of the Kremlin contains the imperial palace,
a modern erection, replacing the older one, which in for¬
mer days had been occupied by the Tsars, and in which
Napoleon had spent a part of his disastrous sojourn in Mos¬
cow. Though a fine and spacious building, it strikes the Moscow,
eye as out of character with the general style of the Krem-
lin. Behind the new palace is a small one of great anti¬
quity. The rooms have vaulted ceilings, completely covered
with arabesque paintings, exceedingly rich and curious.
The cathedrals are three in number,—the Church of the
Assumption, built in 1472 a.d., where the Emperors of
Russia are always crowned ; the Church of the Archangel
Michael, where, until St Petersburg was built, the Tzars
were buried ; and the Church of the Annunciation. Near
these churches stands the Ivan Veliki tower, or Tower of
John the Great. It was built by Boris Goudanoff about
the year 1600. The best view of Moscow is to be obtained
from it, as it commands more objects than that from any
other place.
At the foot of the Kremlin stands the great bell of Mos¬
cow, said to be the largest in the world. Its circumference
at the bottom is nearly 68 feet, and its height more than
21 feet. In the stoutest part it is 23 inches thick, and its
weight has been computed to be 443,772 lb. It has never
been hung, and was probably cast on the spot in which it now
stands. When Dr Clarke visited Moscow in the year 1800
it was in a pit, the mouth of which was covered, and the
entrance was by a trap-door, beneath which were ladders.
Since then it has been raised, and now stands on a stone
pedestal. A piece of the bell has been broken off. The
fracture was occasioned, according to Dr Clarke, by water
having been thrown upon it when heated by the building
erected over it being on fire.
The other buildings of importance in the Kremlin are,—
the Granite Palace or treasury, where the crowns, sceptres,
coronation robes, &c. &c., are kept; the Senate-House ; the
Tchoudoff monastery; the Arsenal, along the outside of
which lie a great number of cannon, most of them foreign,
and taken in the campaign of 1812-14. Amongst them are
two Russian cannon of immense size; the mouth of the
largest is about 2 feet 6 inches in diameter; the weight of
the metal is 2200 poods; the ball weighs 80 poods, or
about 1 ton.
The Kremlin is approached by five gateways. One
facing N.W., and opening into the Great Square, which
divides the Kremlin from the Kitai Gorod, is called the
Spaskoi Varott, or Gate of the Saviour, and sometimes the
Holy Gate. Through this gate no male person is allowed
to go without taking off his hat. Outside this gate stands
one of the most remarkable buildings in Moscow,—the
church of Vassili Blashenny, or Basilius the Blissful,
erected by Ivan the Terrible after the conquest of Kasan—
the work of an Italian architect. It is a strange blending
of every imaginable style of architecture, thrown together
in the most capricious and fanciful manner. In its principal
feature, however, it is Tartar, and bears a strong resem¬
blance to the oriental mosque. Its numerous and heavy
cupolas, surmounted by gilded crosses, exhibit a striking
contrast of colour and ornament.
Another gate of the Kremlin, also facing the N.W., and
opening into the Great Square, is called the Nicholskoi
Varott, or Gate of St Nicholas, and was the one blown up
by the French. It has been restored with considerable
taste and elegance.
About the middle of the Great Square is a monument
consisting of the statues of Minim, citizen of Novogorod,
and Prince Pojarsky, who together delivered Moscow from
the Poles; an event which was followed by the election
of Michael Feodorovitch, the first of the Romanoff dynasty,
to the throne.
Among the remarkable buildings of Moscow should
be mentioned the Church of our Saviour, not yet quite
finished, erected in commemoration of the retreat of the
French after the burning of Moscow in 1812. It was
begun on the edge of the Sparrow Hills, and near the
bscow spot where Napoleon took his first view of Moscow • but
the ground giving way, the site was changed to the’spot
on which it now stands on the opposite side of the river.
Jhh i.T -Tfw8 7 t le Byzantine sfyle of architecture, and
with its gilded domes is a conspicuous object, seen from
every side of the city. ,
• remarkable building, standing on high oround
1 f Ae"llian01 Gor(,d is the Sukareva Bashnoi, o^Tower
o Sukareff. It >s now used as a reservoir to receive the
water with which Moscow is supplied. The water, which is
of excellent quality, .s brought from the far-famed springs of
Metischa,forty-two in number. From the Sukareva Bashnoi
it is conveyed by underground pipes to fountains in various
KTtheTfne II ^ ^ WaS d°ne by order of
The foundling Hospital, a magnificent pile of building on
the banks of the Moskva, was founded by Katherine II in
1763. Any person may bring an infant, and without giv¬
ing any further information than whether it has been ban-
tized may leave it there. If at any future time the parents
wish to have the child again, a card is given them with the
number in which it is entered in the register of the estab¬
lishment the same number being hung round the child’s
neck. Connected with this hospital is a school for the edu¬
cation o orphan young ladies of noble birth; also a Lom-
bard 0.r ]®an bank> and a widow alms-house for the widows
of civil officers.
Of the educational establishments of Moscow, the uni¬
versity is divided into 4 faculties, and had, in 1857 40
professors and lecturers, and 1473 students. Of these’last
63 belonged to the historico-philological faculty, 296 to the
law, 950 to the medical, and 160 to the mathematical. The
cadet corps or military schools, are 3 in number, containing
altogethei 128o cadets. 1 he gymnasia, or public schools, are
4 in number. 1 here is 1 commercial academy and 1 com¬
mercial school, 1 seminary for the education of the clero-y
1 academy for divinity students who desire a superior
education to that given in the seminary. The Katherine
institution, founded by Katherine II., is devoted to the
education of young ladies, and contains 290 pupils. The
Elizabethan Institution, founded by the Empress Elizabeth,
contains 173 pupils. The house of education in connection
with the foundling Hospital, already referred to, contains
700 pupils.
The number of churches is 375 ; of chapels, i.e., places
of worship connected with public institutions, 26; of monas¬
teries, 21.
Moscow is a great centre of internal commerce, its
position being peculiarly favourable for this. Its prin¬
cipal foreign trade is with China, with which for the teas
of that country it used to exchange manufactured goods.
Owing, however, to the frauds practised by the Moscow
merchants, the Chinese will now only take gold and silver.
Moscow is now the seat of the principal manufactures of
liussia. 1 here are, according to the latest statistics, in the
government of Moscow 484 manufactories. Of these there
are 135 of cotton, 117 silk, 30 cloth, 10 of chemical drugs
and instruments, 7 of hats, 29 of leather, 1 sugar refinery, 6
istilleries of brandy, 8 of vinegar, 10 tallow foundries, 14
manufactories of tobacco, and some iron foundries, &c., &c.
The climate of Moscow is more healthy than that of most
of the capitals of Europe. Its elevated position, the width
of its streets, and the low elevation of its houses, allow a
bee circulation of air; but being unprotected by moun¬
tains, the winds are often very violent, and in the early
summer vegetation frequently suffers severely from them,
ihe summer is short, and would be very fine but for the
sudden changes of weather to which it is subject, so that
the winter is generally preferred; the sky is then of
wonderful purity, and the respiration easier. The winter
generally sets in about the middle of November, and lasts
MOSCOW.
655
History.
with occasional thaws of short duration, till the beginning of Moscow.
April, the change from winter to summer is very rapid '
I he mean temperature in winter is 4° below zero, Fahr'
Vegetanon vigorous The ordinary grain crops raised in'
the neighbourhood of Moscow are rye and wheat. The com¬
mon vegetables of England thrive well in the gardens in
its environs. The silver birch and pine attain the same
height as in Great Britain. The commonest trees, in ad¬
dition to those just mentioned, are the pine, the lilac, and a
kind of acacia. The ivy cannot stand the severity of the
climate, but is cultivated indoors as an exotic.
The origin of Moscow is wrapt in obscurity. The ordi¬
nary tradition is that it was founded by Youri Vladimori-
V'tch Dolgorouki, in the middle of the twelfth century;
the year given is 1147. The 700th anniversary of its foun-
(Jation was kept in Moscow in the year 1847. The name
o Moscow is supposed to have been taken from the River
Moskva, on the banks of which it is built. The history
tor many centuries is little else than a record of fires pes¬
tilences, sieges, and wars. Probably there is no other city
in Europe which has suffered so frequently and so terribly
from these calamities as the ancient capital of Russia. Its
earhest traditions, alike with that last terrible event with
which its name will be for ever associated in the mind of
Europe, are of fire and sword. Moskva was for some
time only an appendage of the principality of Vladimir, and
shared the late of other towns of that principality, being
often sacked and burned by the Tartars. But it gradually
grew into notice and importance; and about the middle of
toe thirteenth century history mentions a prince of Moscow,
Michael, surnamed the Brave. The first prince of Moscow
who oblamed the title of Grand Prince was George Danilo-
vitch, A D. 1319. From this time the history of Moscow be¬
comes the history of Russia. George was succeeded by his
brother Ivan, surnamed Kalita, a.d. 1328. The Tartar khans
were then the suzerains of Russia, and the Grand Princes
received at their hands their investment to the princedom.
Ivan was distinguished for the craft and ability of his deal¬
ings with his lartar masters. He persuaded the primate
to remove his residence from Vladimir to Moscow, and thus
make the latter city the capital of Russia. The primate’s
name was Peter; he built the cathedral of the Assump¬
tion, and was the first patron saint of Moscow. 1
The geographical position of Moscow was peculiarly fa¬
vourable to the grand design entertained by Ivan of con¬
solidation. It formed the central point of those districts
which, lying m the neighbourhood of Vladimir, might be
expected to form a union of interest with the grand prin¬
cipality; and that union being accomplished by the appoint¬
ment of a Muscovite prince to the sovereignty, the Iono--
desired concentration of means to free the country from
Us oppressors was at length obtained. Ivan surrounded
Moscow with wooden walls, and rebuilt the Kremlin. He
Pmn'dhiT40n SimT Ivanovitch’ surnamed the
Proud, a.d. 1339. He carried on his father’s policy, but
with less success, owing to the dissensions among the Rus¬
sian princes which disturbed his reign. His grandson
Demetrius (a.d. 1359) was a man of great courage and
energy, and did much to strengthen and consolidate the
Russian power. He surrounded Moscow with stone walls
Ihe most memorable event in the reign of his son and
successor Vassih (a.d. 1389), was the retreat of Tamer¬
lane from the walls of Moscow. Russian chroniclers relate
that it was owing to the intervention of the Virgin of
aclimir and that it took place at the moment when the
people of Moscow met her image, which at Vassili’s order
had been sent for from Vladimir. The Grand Prince
built a monastery on the spot where the meeting took place
and gave it the name oi Stretenha, or Place of Meeting
In the course, however, of the same reign Moscow was
besieged by another army of Moguls, and Vassili was com-
656 M O S C O W.
Moscow, pelled to purchase peace by the sacrifice of his indepen-
deuce. The earlier part of his son Vassili’s reign was full
of disasters (a.d. 1425), but its termination was happier.
He succeeded in freeing Moscow from the Tartar yoke,
and consolidated his authority by decisive victories over the
Novogorodians. His son Ivan, surnamed the Great (a.d.
1462), extended by conquest the Russian frontier to the
Ural Mountains, made himself master of Novogorod,
Tver, and Viatka, and formed an alliance with Maximilian,
Prince of Austria, against Cassimir, King of Poland, and the
Grand Duke of Lithuania. He was the first Grand Prince
who took the title of Prince of all the Russias, and the
name of Tzar, which is either a corruption of Ccesar, or
more probably is of eastern origin, and signifies “king.” He
rebuilt the walls of the Kremlin, and in other respects greatly
improved and added to the town. He was succeeded by
his son Vassili (1505), who was equally great and prosper¬
ous with his father, and by the conquest of Pskoff, Seversky,
and Smolensk, he made himself master of the whole of
Russia. He was also successful in repelling an attack of
the Crimean Tartars. Vassili received the ambassadors
of Charles V. and Pope Clement who came to negotiate a
treaty between Russia and Lithuania. They were accom¬
panied by Herberstein, who has left an account of his visit
to Moscow, written in Latin. The only part of Moscow at
this period called the town was the Kremlin. The suburbs
were occupied by mechanics. The houses were built at a
distance from one another, and surrounded by gardens and
corn-fields. The air was remarkably pure and healthy, and
there were no endemic diseases. The number of houses
was 4500, and the inhabitants 100,000; the shops were
filled with the rich merchandise of Europe and Asia. Vas¬
sili died suddenly, after a short reign, leaving a son only
three years old, a.d. 1543. This was Ivan the Terrible.
The name was given him from the horrible crimes and deeds
of blood which marked and disgraced the conduct of the
latter part of his reign. In the beginning of his reign a
terrible fire destroyed almost the whole of Moscow. The
most memorable events of his reign were the conquest of
Kasan, the taking of Astrachan, and the final destruction of
the Tartar power in Russia.
His son and successor Fedor (a.d. 1581) reigned thirty
years. The feebleness of his rule gave ample room for the
exercise of faction and ambition ; and his prime minister,
Boris Goudanoff, having caused the death of the young
Demetrius, the only direct heir to the throne, was, on the
demise of Fedor, elected Tzar a.d. 1598. His son Fedor
was dethroned by a monk who pretended to be the Deme¬
trius whom Boris had caused to be put to death, and who
obtained the aid of the Poles in support of his pretensions,
a.d. 1605. The false Demetrius was driven from the throne
and assassinated by Chouisk, who in his turn became Tzar.
During his reign there were several pretenders to the
throne, one of whom was supported by Sigismund, King
of Poland, who took possession of Moscow and held it for
two years. It was saved (a.d. 1610) by two Russians—
Minim, a simple citizen merchant of Nishni Novogorod,
and Prince Pojarsky, a nobleman who had been danger¬
ously wounded by the Poles in a massacre of the Musco¬
vites. They raised an army, and approaching Moscow, the
town capitulated, thus relieving the inhabitants at the same
time from the horrors of war and famine. Michael Fedo-
rovitch, of the family of Romanoff, and by the female line
descended from Ruric, the son of the patriarch of Russia,
was then elected Tzar. His son and successor Alexis
(a.d. 1645) was distinguished for his wise laws. Feodor,
the son of Alexis, was succeeded by Peter the Great
a.d. 1681.
1 he change of residence made by Peter from Moscow
to St Petersburg did the former less injury than might
have been expected. At first Peter made a law prohibiting,
under severe penalties, the building of houses in Moscow ; Moscow
but after twenty years the prohibition was withdrawn, and
the sovereigns themselves vied with the great families of
the empire in embellishing their ancient capital with new
monuments of their munificence and power. Peter him¬
self built a large military hospital; and other important
buildings have since been erected—among others, a print¬
ing-press, a university with two colleges, a foundling hospital,
and an arsenal. Katherine II., in particular, magnificently
restored the principal cathedrals, and added new build¬
ings ; she also prohibited the erection of wooden houses in
the Beloi Gorod. At the beginning of this century travel¬
lers described Moscow as immense, triangular, half wooden
half stone, interspersed with gardens, dirty and badly paved,
and in many points more resembling an overgrown village
than the second capital of a great empire. The terrible
catastrophe of 1812 has, however, made a vast difference
in the external appearance of Moscow. On Wednesday,
September 15, Napoleon took up his head-quarters in the
Kremlin, and on the same day the fire broke out in the
shops of the Kitai Gorod. The night of the 16th was illu¬
minated by the fire of a general conflagration. The ex¬
plosions, the balloons of flame which were seen falling from
the tops of towers, showed the means which were being
taken to spread the fire. A vast sea of flame illuminated
the horizon for miles, and announced to the unhappy Mus¬
covites who still lingered near the town that their homes
no longer existed. The different quarters of the town took
fire, burned, and disappeared all at once. Heaps of cal¬
cined and blackened stones indicated the spots where houses
had stood. The silence of terror was only interrupted by
a roaring like that of the waves of a stormy sea; this was
produced by the wind, which, driving with violence the
torrent of flame, hurried on far and wide the destroying
element. From time to time whole buildings fell with a
crash. Wherever the eye turned nothing could be seen
but smoking ruins or devouring flames. Ever and anon
was heard the mournful toll of a bell, which sounded like
the signal passed between one and another agent in this
work of destruction. In spite of the vigilance of the sen¬
tinels posted at the houses, the fire spread as if it had been
driven by an invisible power. Although a great part of the
town was built of wood, it took many days of general con¬
flagration to consume it. At last, in most quarters of the
town there were left so few traces of habitations that the
streets could hardly be recognised. Human bodies half-
burned, and the dead carcases of horses, cows, and dogs, lay
in the midst of the ruins. 30,800 houses, besides a great
number of palaces, were reduced to ashes; scarcely 6000
buildings were left standing. Among these, however, was
the Kremlin, which the fire did not touch. The private
loss by the destruction of houses and their contents was cal¬
culated at not less than L.30,000,000 sterling, and this was
probably under the mark. The question has been often
asked, What hand set the torch to this great conflagration ?
Count Rostopchine, the then governor, to whom fame has
commonly attributed it, repudiates the honour in a work en¬
titled La Verite sur VIncendiede Moscou, published in Paris,
1828. The hypothesis that it was the act of the French is
most unlikely. Napoleon could never have designed or
permitted a calamity of which himself and his army were
the first victims. The more probable theory is, that it was
the act of the inhabitants themselves, and that Rostopchine
set the example of patriotic devotedness. The desolation
did not last long; Russian patriotism soon raised from its
ashes their holy city, whose destruction had saved their
country from foreign oppression. Subscriptions were opened
in every part of the empire, and the liberality of the sove¬
reign seconded the enthusiasm of his subjects. Moscow
rose like a Phoenix from her ashes, but in greater beauty,
and under a newer form. Her original character is not,
M O S
foscow however entirely lost. The injuries which Napoleon wan-
  t0.n y. 'nfl'cted on the Kremlin were restored in keeping
with its peculiar style of architecture. It is to be regretted
that the same taste has not been shown in other erections,
mi that ,Tient f°rtress and in the rest of the city!
Ihe Kitai Gorod, however, is still in its principal features
the Moscow of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries;
and the churches and monasteries, many of which escaped
the ravages of the fire, preserve their distinctive character.
Indeed, the whole c.ty, though modernized, still preserves to
a great degree its oriental appearance. The whitewashed
houses with their painted roofs, the frequent gardens, the
qua.nt-look.ng churches, in their general appearance,—save
the Christian emblem which invariably surmounts their
domes and cupolas, more like the Hindu pagoda or Mus¬
sulman mosque than a Christian place of worship,—strike the
eye of the English traveller as rather Eastern than Euro¬
pean. I hose who have seen Moscow and Benares have
been struck with the resemblance of the former to the holy
city of North India Moscow will always retain its place
as the second capital of Russia. Its old associations, the
sanctity which is attached to its name, the law accord¬
ing to which no emperor is invested with full imperial
authority until he has received his crown within the ancient
cathedra of the Assumption, will always secure for it the
high rank it holds in this great empire. It may be added
that its importance in a commercial point of view is on
the increase. The wealthier portion of the aristocracy
are leaving it for the more courtly city of St Petersbur<>-
but merchant princes are purchasing and inhabiting their
palaces. It is the centre of the inland traffic of the country
its wholesale houses supply the neighbouring govern¬
ments with goods of foreign produce and manufacture; and
in its own manufactories are made many of those articles
tionW11C1 t^ere 1S ^arSest home demand and consump-
The population of Moscow in 1855 was 380,000. The
births were 9889; the deaths, 13,643; the marriages,
1 (G. T C )
Moscow, a government of European Russia, lying be-
tween 54. 40. and 56. 30. N. Eat, and between 34. 45. and
7-J,1- Long-, is bounded on the N. by the government
o Iver, E. by Vladimir and Riazan, S. by Kaluga and
loola and W. by Smolensk. Length, 140 miles; greatest
breadth, 110 ; area, 12,683 square miles. The surface is
ow and undulating, broken by very few eminences, and
these principally on the banks of the streams. The rivers
and lakes are numerous, but are mostly of small size. The
o ga tiaverses for a short distance the northern part of
the government, and receives the Oka, with its affluents
the Khasma and the Moskva, all of which are navigable.
Ihe other streams, which are of smaller size, discharge
their waters into one or other of these. The climate, like
t .at of the other parts of Russia in the same latitude, is
temperate, but more subject to extremes of heat and
cold than in the west of Europe. The mean annual tem¬
perature E 40°,^ and the difference between summer and
winter 47 ‘7. Though agriculture is the principal occu¬
pation of the people, and this government is one of the
best cultivated in Russia, the fertility of the soil is not
great; so that the produce of grain is not sufficient to
supply the wants of the inhabitants. The quantity of cul-
^and *n die government Moscow is about
3,089,600 acres ; of meadow land, 1,307,000 acres ; of wood,
3,o92,000 acres ; and of waste land, 384,151 acres. The
amount of corn produced in 1849 was 22,306,729 bushels •
and of potatoes, 3,475,264 bushels. Flax, hemp, and hops’
are also raised for home supply ; and a large portion of the
ground in the neighbourhood of Moscow is laid out in
gardens and orchards, which supply that city with vege¬
tables and fruits. The inhabitants are also employed to a
VOL. XV.
M o s
657
large extent in the rearing of cattle. In 1849 the govern- Moseirah
ment contamed 294 267_ horses, 279,742 horned^attle, I!
3o3,7lo sheep, 41,023 swine, and 1128 goats. No metals MoseI1e-
are worked in Moscow; but granite in the form of boulders /
freestone limestone, potter’s clay, &c., are found and made
use of. Manufactures of cloth, silk, hats, leather, copper,
glass, earthenware, &c., are carried on here; and the po¬
pulation is more actively employed, as well as more dense
here than in any of the other governments of the empire.
1 fie value of the woollen goods manufactured in the go¬
vernment of Moscow is estimated at more than L.2 000 000
which is about one-half of the whole amount produced in
the empire. The manufacture of silk in Russia has its
chief seat in this government, and 1,260,000 lb. of raw
material are consumed annually. Moscow is also one of
the principal seats of the cotton manufacture. From the
position of the country, its commerce is entirely internal,
and is facilitated by excellent roads, and by the railway
from bt Petersburg to Moscow, which wras completed in 1851
as well as by rivers and canals. The prevalent religion is
that of the Greek Church ; and the government forms the
P0P' <I851) 1’348-°41i
MOSEIRAH, an island in the Indian Ocean, off the
b.L. coast of Arabia, between 20. 8. and 20. 44 N Lat
and between 58. 37. and 58. 58. E. Long. It is aboul
o2 miles in length, and nowhere rises more than 600
feet above the sea. Parts of the surface are cultivated;
and there are some copper mines, which were formerly
worked by the Persians. The population is numerous, and
the island is governed by two sheikhs, who seem to be
mutually independent, but subject, at least nominally, to
the Imam of Muscat. J
MOSELLE a department of France, lying between
48. o4. and 49. 34. N. Lat., and 5. 25. and 7. 40. E
Long. It is bounded on the N. by Belgium, Dutch Lux¬
embourg, and Rhenish Prussia, E. by the palatinate and
the department of Lower Rhine, S. by that of Meurthe
and W. by that of Meuse. Its length is 102 miles; its
breadth, which vanes very much, is on an average about
2,. ™ll£V5; and lts area is 2350 square miles. The surface
of the department is in general undulating, with a gradual
slope towards the N.; while the eastern part is occupied
by branches of the Vosges Mountains, and the western
part by those of the Ardennes. None of the hills, however
rise above 650 feet in height; and they are well wooded on
the top with timber, which is used for ship-building and
on the sides with fruit trees. The country is watered by
the Moselle, from which it derives its name, and by its
affluents, flowing generally towards the north. The Moselle
is navigable in this department for 49 miles, and the Sarre
i he Chiers> a tnbutary of the Meuse, also traverses
the N. W. corner of Moselle. The climate is for the most
part mild, but colder and more severe in the hilly regions
Ihe mineral resources of the department are considerable’
consisting of iron, which is found in great abundance’
building stone, sandstone, potter’s clay, marl, and plaster
of I aris. I he soil of the valleys and slopes of the hills is
very rich, and well cultivated; and improvements are being-
gradually introduced in the implements and methods of
agriculture used in the department. Of its whole extent
it has been calculated that there are 741,343 acres of
?aa«k,a?d’ 111.200 of meadows, 222,402 of wood, and
14,826 of waste land. Corn is raised in sufficient quanti¬
ties to leave a considerable amount for exportation ; and
the principal kinds are oats, rye, and wheat; the two for¬
mer of which are more suitable to the soil than the last
besides these, peas, beans, millet, vetches, lentils, potatoes*
beet-root, rape, turnips, hemp, flax, &c, are grown ; but
although the vine is cultivated in the department, the
wines of Moselle are of inferior quality, and are chiefly
4 o
658
M 0 S
M O S
Moselle used for the manufacture of what is called champagne, for
II sale in Germany and Russia. Gardens are extensively and
08e^■ well cultivated, and many kinds of fruit are raised of an
excellent quality. The horses of the department, amount¬
ing in number to 65,000, are of small size; the horned
cattle, about 110,000, of an inferior breed; the sheep,
about 180,000, yield bad wool; and the only animals of
good breed are the pigs, amounting to 108,000, to the rearing
of which considerable attention is paid. There are also
many bees, which produce a large supply of honey. Game
of various kinds is plentiful in the forests, and fish in the
rivers. The manufactures of Moselle are numerous, con¬
sisting principally of iron-works, in which sheet iron, nails,
cutlery, &c., are fabricated. Next in extent and import¬
ance to these are the glass-works and potteries. There
are also manufactures of linen, paper, beer, tobacco, beet¬
root sugar, leather, hosiery, &c. A considerable trade is
carried on in the exportation of the produce of the
manufacturing and agricultural industry of the department.
The capital is Metz, where there is a court of appeal for
the department. Moselle also contains 4 civil tribunals,
an academy, 2 grammar schools, a normal school for the
department, and 900 elementary schools; besides other
educational institutions. It is divided into 4 arrondisse-
ments, as follows :—
Cantons. Communes. Pop. (1851).
Metz  9 223 169,472
Thionville  5 118 91,708
Briey   5 132 67,481
Sarreguemines.  8 155 131,023
Total  27 628 459,684
The population of the department in 1856, however, was
only 451,152.
Mosei.le (Germ. Mosel, Dutch Moezel, anc. MoselUi),
a river of Europe, rises in France, in the Vosges Moun¬
tains, at the S.E. corner of the department of Vosges, and
flows in an irregular course for some distance N.W., and
then nearly N., through the departments of Vosges, Meurthe,
and Moselle. It then separates Dutch Luxembourg from
Rhenish Prussia for a short distance; and finally, after
crossing the latter country in a very winding course, gene¬
rally N.E., it falls into the Rhine at Coblentz. For the
greater part of its course this river flows in a narrow valley,
bounded in some places by rocky mountains; but in the
department of Moselle, from Metz as far as Sierck, the
hills recede to some distance from the river, and inclose a
wider plain. The largest of the tributaries of the Moselle
enter it from the right,—namely, the Mosellette, the Vo-
logne, the Meurthe, the Seille, and the Sarre. Its tribu¬
taries from the left are the Madon, the Math, the Orne,
the Sure, the Kyll, and the Elz; the first three being in
France, and the others in Prussia. The Moselle occasion¬
ally overflows its banks, and causes great injury to the
surrounding country. Its whole length is 320 miles, of
which 182 are in France; and it is navigable as far as its con¬
fluence with the Meurthe, 210 miles from Coblentz. Above
this point, however, it may be traversed by small boats
for some distance; and timber is floated down the stream
from very near its source. The soil through which it
flows is very fertile, and the scenery on its banks is in many
places of great beauty.
MOSER, Johann Jacob, a German writer on public
law, and one of the most voluminous of modern authors,
was born at Stuttgart in 1701. At the age of nineteen
his acquirements raised him from the rank of a student
to the dignity of professor extraordinary at the university
of liibinoen. He was appointed a councillor at Stutt¬
gart in 1726; and on the removal of the public adminis¬
tration from that, city to Louisburg in the following year,
the chair of law at Tubingen was conferred upon him. But
the impatient temper of Moser was ever apt to involve him Moses,
in broils with his acquaintances. In course of time a mis-
understanding with his colleagues induced him to resign
his professorship. He was prevented by a similar cause
from remaining longer than 1739 in the situation of direc¬
tor of the university of Frankfort-on-the-Oder. Then re¬
tiring to the small town of Ebersdorf, be devoted his time
to the composition of numerous works, and especially of his
chief treatise, on the Public Law of Germany. His fasti¬
dious disposition, however, had not yet found its proper
sphere. He left his retirement in 1747, and after remain¬
ing in the service of Hesse-Homburg for two years, he
repaired to Hanau, and founded an academy for the in¬
struction of the young nobility in public affairs. In 1751
the office of landschaftsconsulent in Stuttgart was con¬
ferred upon him. He was apprehended in 1759 on the
suspicion of having written a memorial to the Duke ; and
he lay for five years in the fortress of Hohentwiel. On
his release he abandoned public life, and spent the rest of
his days in illustrating and explaining, by means of his
writings and compilations, the laws and privileges of Ger¬
many. Moser died at Stuttgart in 1785. A list of his
works, which amount to about 484, has been published
by Meusel.
MOSES, the son of Amram and Jochebed, was horn in
the year 1571 before Christ. Pharaoh, King of Egypt,
perceiving that the Hebrews had become a formidable
nation, issued an edict commanding all the male children
to be put to death. To avoid this cruel decree, Jochebed,
the mother of Moses, having concealed her son for three
months, at length made an ark or basket of bulrushes,
daubed it with pitch, laid the child in it, and exposed him
on the banks of the Nile. Thermuthis, the King’s daughter,
who happened to be walking by the river’s side, perceived
the floating cradle, commanded it to be brought to her, and
being struck with the beauty of the child, determined to
preserve his life. In three years afterwards the princess
adopted him as her own son, called his name Moses, and
caused him to be diligently instructed in all the learning of
the Egyptians. But his father and mother, to whom he
was restored by a fortunate accident, were at still greater
pains to teach him the history and religion of his lathers.
When in his fortieth year, Moses left the court of Pharaoh,
and went to visit his countrymen the Hebrews, who groaned
under the tyranny and oppression of their unfeeling masters.
Having perceived an Egyptian smiting a Hebrew, he killed
the Egyptian, and buried him in the sand. But he was
obliged, in consequence of this murder, to fly into the land
of Midian, where he married Zipporah, daughter of the
priest Jethro, by whom he had two sons, Gershom and
Eliezar. Here he lived forty years, during which time he
employed himself in tending the flocks of his father-in-law.
Having one day led his flock towards Mount Horeb, God
appeared to him in the midst of a bush, which burned with
fire, but was not consumed, and commanded him to go and
deliver his brethren from their bondage. Moses at first
refused to go, but was at length prevailed on by two miracles,
which the Almighty wrought for his conviction. Upon his
return to Egypt, he, together with his brother Aaron, went
to the court of Pharaoh, and told him that God commanded
him to let the Hebrews go to offer sacrifices in the deserts
of Arabia. But the impious monarch disregarded this com¬
mand, and caused the labour of the Israelites to be doubled.
The messengers of the Almighty again returned to the
King, and wrought a miracle in his sight, that they might
move his heart, and induce him to let the people depart.
Aaron having cast down his miraculous rod, it was imme¬
diately converted into a serpent; but the same thing being
performed by the magicians, the King’s heart was more and
more hardened; and his obstinacy at last drew down the
judgments of the Almighty upon his kingdom, which was
M O S
Moses,
afflicted with ten dreadful places. (See Bryant’s Obser-
~ nations on the Plagues inflicted on the Egyptians.) These
dread'a I calatrm.es at length moved the heart of the hard¬
ened Pharaoh and he consented to allow the people of
Israel to depart from his kingdom. 1
Profane authors who have spoken of Moses appear to
have been m part acquainted with these mighty wonders.
I hat he performed miracles has been allowed by many by
whom he was cons.dered as a famous magician; and he
could scarcely appear m any other light to men who did
B^nT1^ aS rthe messengei- of the Almighty.
Both Diodorus and Herodotus mention the distressed state
Thl H 4 EgyPt reC UCed ,by these teiTible calamities.
I he Utbiewa, amounting to the number of 600,000 men
without reckoning women and children, left Egypt on the
loth day of the month Nisan, which, in memory of this
dmir^r’t h ‘T1;reckoned the first ^ °f
d.e.r >ear. Scarcely had they reached the shore of the
Bed Sea when Pharaoh with a powerful army set out in
pursuit of them. On this occasion Moses stretched forth
Ilia rod upon the sea, and the waters thereof being divided
remained suspended on both sides till the Hebrews passed
through dry-footed The Egyptians determined to follow
thir^r^0'm? 5 JUt, G°d CaUSed a Vi°Ient Wind t0 b]™,
which brought back the waters to their bed, and the whole
aimy of Pharaoh perished. (See Wilkinson’s Manners and
Customs of the Ancient Egyptians, vol. i. c 2 )
w miracid®us,passage of the Red Sea, the army
proceeded towai ds Sinai; and after suffering considerable
privation, arrived at the foot of that mountain on the 3d
day of the ninth month after their departure from E-ypt
Moses having ascended several times into the mount re¬
ceived the law from God in the midst of thunders and Ihdit-
nings, and concluded the famous covenant between the Lord
and the children of Israel. When he descended from Sinai,
he found that the people had fallen into the idolatrous
worship of the golden calf. The messenger of God, shocked
at such ingratitude, broke in pieces the tables of the law
winch he carried in his hands, and put 23,000 of the trans¬
gressors to the sword. He afterwards re-ascended the moun¬
tain, and there obtained new tables of stone, upon which
the law was inscribed. 1
Moses haying dedicated the tabernacle, consecrated
Aaion and his sons to be its ministers, and appointed the
Levites to its service. He likewise gave various command¬
ments concerning the worship of God and the political
government of the Jews. This was a theocracy in the
u est extent of the word. God himself governed them
immediately by means of his servant Moses, whom he had
chosen to be the interpreter of his will to the people; and
m required all the honours belonging to their king to be
paid to himself. He dwelt in his tabernacle, which was
situated m the middle of the camp, like a monarch in his
pa.ace; he gave answers to those who consulted him, and
nmself denounced punishment against the transgressors of
ns lavys. Ibis was properly the time of the theocracy,
taken in its full extent; for God was not only considered
as the divinity who formed the object of their religious
woiship, but as the sovereign to whom the honours of
supi erne majesty were paid. The case was nearly the same
under Joshua, who, being filled with the spirit of Moses
undertook nothing without consulting God. Every mea¬
sure, both of the leader and of the people, was regulated by
the direction of the Almighty, who rewarded their fidelity
and obedience by a series of miracles, victories, and suc¬
cesses. Af'tei Moses had regulated everything regarding
the civil administration and the marching of the troops he
led the Israelites to the confines of Canaan, to the foot of
Mount Nebo; and here the Lord commanded him to ascend
into the mountain, whence he showed him the promised
land, into which he was not permitted to enter. He im-
M O S
659
mediately afterwards yielded up the ghost, in the hundred Mosheim
Clirist"6,111611 °f hiS age’ and 1451 years before
Moses is beheved to be the author of the first five books
of the Old festament, which go by the name of the Pen¬
tateuch, and which both Jews and Christians acknowledge
to be inspired. The ninetieth Psalm is also ascribed to him •
and some allege that he was the author of the book of Job*
but the arguments on this point are not very conclusive’
Numerous traditions respecting this celebrated personal
are to be met with among the ancient Jews and the later
rabbinical writers. (See Philo, Vita Mosis, c. iii.; Josephus
Antiq. 9; Bartolocci, Bibliotheca Rabbinica, iv. 115 •
also Mil man’s History of the Jews, vol. i., p. 61.) Amon^
the Arabs also legends abound regarding him. (Hottino-er
Histona Onentahs, p. 80.) Repeated mention is made of
Moses m the Greek and Roman classics, but their accounts
of him are generally distorted and fictitious. (See Meier
Judaica, sen veterum Scriptorum prqfanorum de Rebus
Jiidaias Fragment a, Jena, 1832. Concerning the life of
Moses, see Warburton’s Divine Legation of Moses ; Hess
Geschichte Mosis 2vols., Zurich, 1778; Niemeyer, Charak-
tenstik der Bibel, vol. iii.)
MOSHEIM, Johann Lorenz von, a celebrated eccle¬
siastical historian, was descended from a noble family and
was born at Lubeck in October 1694. He was educated
in the Protestant religion ; and from the gymnasium of his
r'ar,p]a^ 16 Was, sent t0 stud>’ divinity at the university
ot Kiel. 1 here, when he had scarcely attained the age of
manhood, he was appointed to succeed Albert zum Felde
as professor and first pastor. In this double office his talents
found full scope. His lectures were pervaded by great
erudition, controlled by delicate ingenuity and penetrating
sagacity. He appeared to especial advantage in the pulpit.
1 lie style of his sermons, formed on the models of the great
English and French preachers, was chaste, lucid, and grace¬
ful, and burned with a fervid and eloquent piety. Ere four
years had passed, Mosheim had become famous in other
countries, and was besieged with offers of preferment from
several governments. Accepting the invitation of the
Duke of Brunswick, he removed to the chair of theology
at Helmstadt in 1723. Here, during the next four-and-
twenty years, his fame continued steadily to increase. His
eloquence, the moral graces of his character, and his skill in
tuition, rendered him the favourite professor of the univer-
sity. 1 he publication of his Institutionum Histories
Ecclesiastics hbri iv., in 2 vols. 12mo, 1726, and of
numerous other works, extended his celebrity. The Duke
of Brunswick appointed him Abbot of Marienthal and
Michaels tern, and inspector-general of the schools in the
duchy of Wolfenbuttel, and in the principality of Blanken-
burg. f rom foreign princes, and from several learned
societies, he also received marks of distinction. All this
e™ltn.enFe on'y served to bring into greater prominence his
affable bearing, the gentle amiability of his disposition, and
his consistent Christian practice. In 1747 Mosheim was
promoted by George II. of Great Britain to the theological
chair and the chancellorship of the university of Gottingen.
His health was now beginning to yield under the intensity
of Ins mental activity. Yet lie continued to study, and to
lecture on theology, for three hours every day, to audiences
composed of men of every class and vocation. At length
worn out with labour, he died in September 175o. In the
same year was published a new and enlarged edition of his
Institutes. This work was translated into German by Von
Einem and by L R. Schlegel. There are two English ver-
sions —that of Dr Maclaine, published in 1764 ; and that of
Dr Murdock, published in 1832. The latter, which is by far
the more correct, was revised and re-edited by Dr James
Seaton Reid in 1848. The Institutes of Mosheim intro¬
duced a new era in the writing of ecclesiastical history. He
660 M 0 S
Moskonisi was among the first to separate historical facts from the
rubbish among which they had been usually exhibited,—to
Mosquito refer jo the characteristics of each separate age,—to trace
0T^, clearly the mutual reaction between civil and ecclesiastical
affairs,—and to use care and candour in narrating the con¬
troversies and broils of different sects. Yet his division of
events into those external and those internal, and into those
prosperous and those calamitous, is thoroughly contradic¬
tory to the true character of history. He also suffers the
dignified neutrality of the historian to suppress completely
that expression of sympathy with the good and the true
which ought to be shown by every writer. The other
work of Mosheim which is well known in this country is
his De Rebus Christianorum ante Constantinum Magnum
Commentarii, 4to, Helmstadt, 1753. An English transla¬
tion of this treatise, begun in 1813, by R. S. Yidal, was
completed and edited by Dr Murdock, in 2 vols. 8vo, New
York, 1851.
MOSKONISI, an island of Asiatic Turkey, in the
pashalic of Anatolia, is situated in the Gulf of Adramytti,
in 39. 20. N. Lat., 26. 40. E. Long. It is about 4£ miles
in length, and is joined to the mainland by a sandy isthmus.
The surface is mountainous ; and the island produces fruits
and cotton, which are exported from the small port of Mosko,
on the south coast.
MOSQUE, a temple or place of religious worship amongst
the Mohammedans. All mosques are square buildings,
generally constructed of stone. The Arabian and Syrian
mosques have generally vast quadrangles surrounded with
numerous columns, while those of the Turks are noted for
the elegance of their cupolas. Before the chief gate there
is a square court paved with white marble, and low gal¬
leries round it, the roof of which is supported by marble
pillars. In these galleries the Mussulmans perform their
ablutions before they go into the mosque. In each mosque
there are a great number of lamps; and between these are
suspended many crystal rings, ostrich eggs, and other curi¬
osities, which, when the lamps are lighted, make a fine
show. As it is not lawful to enter the mosque with the feet
covered, the pavements are covered with pieces of stuff
sewed together, each being wide enough to hold a row of
men kneeling, sitting, or prostrate. The women are not
allowed to enter the mosque, but remain in the porches
without. About every mosque there are six high towers,
called minarets, each of which has three little open galleries,
one above another; these towers, as well as the mosques,
are covered with lead, and adorned with gilding and other
ornaments; and from them the people are summoned to
prayers by certain officers appointed for the purpose, called
muezzins. Most of the mosques have a kind of hospital
belonging to them, in which travellers, of whatsoever reli¬
gion they may be, are entertained three days. Each mosque
has also a place called tarbe, which is the burying-place of
its founders; within it there is a tomb six or seven feet
long, covered with green velvet or satin; at the ends are
two tapers, and round it several seats for those who read
the Koran and offer up prayers for the souls of the deceased.
MOSQUITO SHORE, Mosquito Coast, and Mos-
quitia, are terms used to designate a portion of the eastern
coast of Central America, on the Caribbean Sea. As geo¬
graphical, and still more as political designations, they have
been very vaguely applied to an extent of coast varying
from 200 to 500 miles in length, and of indefinite breadth.
It has at times been asserted that the Mosquito Shore em¬
braced the entire coast of Central America between Cape
Cameron or Honduras, near the port of Truxillo, in Lat.
16. N., Lon. 85. W., and Boca del Toro, in Chiriqui La¬
goon, in Lat. 10. N., Lon. 82. W., a coast-line of not less
than 800 statute miles. Amongst geographers generally,
however, the Mosquito Shore was understood only as com¬
prehending the coast lying between Cape Gracias a Dios
M O S
and Bluefields Lagoon, including the latter; that is to say, Mosquito
between 12. and 15. N. Lat., a distance of about 250 miles. Shore.
This coast was discovered by Columbus in his fourth
voyage, in 1502. He sailed along its entire length, stop¬
ping at various points to investigate the country, and ascer¬
tain the character of the inhabitants. He gave it the name
of Cariay; and it was accurately characterized by one of
his companions, Porras, as “ una tierra muy baja,” a very
low land. His son, Fernando Columbus, described the
inhabitants as u almost Negroes in colour, bestial, going
naked; in all respects very rude, eating human flesh, and
devouring their fish raw as they happened to catch them.”
The language of the chroniclers, however, warrants us in
believing that this description applied only to the Indians
of the immediate sea-coast, and that those of the interior
were then, as they still remain, a different people, with a
distinct language. A grant of the entire coast, from Cape
Gracias to the Gulf of Darien, was made to Diego de Ni-
cuessa, for purposes of colonization, within ten years after
its discovery; but the expedition which he fitted out to
carry his grant into effect was wrecked at the mouth of the
Cape or Wanks River.
Although the attention of Spain was too much absorbed
with the other parts of her immense empire in America to
enable her to devote much care to this comparatively unat¬
tractive shore, nevertheless her missionaries, with the cha¬
racteristic zeal of that early period, made various attempts
to found establishments at Cape Gracias a Dios, and pro¬
bably at other points on the coast. But the resources of
the country were too few for their support, and the Indians
too debased and savage to receive the teachings of Chris¬
tianity.
In the year 1576 this coast was conveyed by royal cedula
to the “ illustrious Senor Licenciado Diego Garcia de Pa-
lacio, Oidor of the Royal Audiencia of Guatemala,” and
“Captain Diego Lopez, resident of the port of Truxillo,”
in Honduras, by them to be colonized and governed under
certain explicit regulations.
It does not appear that Palacio took any action under his
grant, and the coast remained in its primitive condition
until the era of the bucaneers, who obtained practical
control of the sea of the Antilles about the middle of the
seventeenth century. The intricate bogs, creeks, and
rivers of this coast furnished admirable places of conceal¬
ment and refuge for the small and swift vessels in which
these freebooters roved the seas. They had establishments
at Cape Gracias and Bluefields, whence they darted out
like hawks on the galleons that sailed from Nombre de
Dios and Carthagena, laden with the riches of Peru. In¬
deed, Bluefields, the so-called capital of the Mosquito
kingdom, derives its name from Bleevelt, a noted Dutch
pirate, who had his rendezvous in the bay of the same name.
In like manner, it is alleged, was the name of Wallace, a
Scotch sea-rover, transformed, by Spanish pronunciation, to
Balice, and finally to Belize.
The piratical establishment at Cape Gracias seems to
have been not only the principal one on the Mosquito
Shore, but in the entire Caribbean Sea. It is oftenest
mentioned in the narratives which the pirates have left us
of their wild and bloody adventures. Here they met, by
common consent, to divide their booty, and agree upon
new expeditions. Their relations with the Indians seem
to have been friendly; the pirates, nevertheless, from their
superior intelligence and numbers, taking the position of
masters.
The accounts of the inhabitants of the coast, as given
by the bucaneers, coincide with those left to us by Co¬
lumbus and his companions. They are described as ex¬
tremely indolent, “ wandering up and down, without
knowing or caring so much as to keep their bodies from
the rain, except by a few palm leaves,” with “ no other
.tequilo Clothes than an apron tied around their middle,” armed
Sh.r^ « d wtth tl)e teeth of crocodii’
Jiving cJnefly on bananas, wild fruits, and fish
At a very early period the Indians on ihe Mosquito
Shore seem to have received a large infusion of Negro
inglit !T COme t0 be pred0minant
Many of the bucaneers were Englishmen, and all had
relations more or less intimate with Jamaica, where at that
period of lax public morality, they often shared their profits
with the authorities in return for such indulgences and
assistance as the latter were able to afford. Indeed it is
alleged that the governors of the island were often partners
in the enterprises of the freebooters. But when the pro¬
tracted wars with Spain, which favoured this state of things
were brought to a close, it became no longer prudent to
connive at bucaneenng; and as a kind of intercourse had
sprung up with the Mosquito Shore, they conceived the
idea of obtaining possession of it on behalf of the British
crown. Various plans to this end, drawn up by different
individuals, were at this period presented to the royal go¬
vernment, and by it referred to the governors of Jamaica.
But the governors of that island had themselves already
taken the initiative. As early as 1687 one of the Mosquito
headmen or chiefs had been carried to Jamaica for the
purpose of placing his country under the protection of the
British crown. Sir Hans Sloane has left us an account of
ow, having escaped from his keepers, “ he pulled off the
European clothes h.s friends had put on, and climbed to
the top of a tree. It seems, nevertheless, that he received
a cocked hat and a ridiculous piece of writing,” which,
according to Jeffreys, was a commission as king, “ given by
his Grace the Duke of Albemarle, under the seal of the
island. Robert Hodgson, writing about 1740, affirms, not
only that the king has his commission or patent for being
called so from the governor of Jamaica,” but also that “all
the other chief people have commissions (as admirals and
captains) from his Majesty’s superintendent.”
In 1740 it would appear that an attempt was made to
obtain an absolute cession of the coast to the British
™'n; f,n yfar Trelawney, governor of Jamaica,
wrote to the Duke of Newcastle, suggesting the expediency
o lousing the Mosquito Indians against the Spaniards, and
proposing an immediate occupation of the coast. He re-
presented that there were about one hundred Englishmen
there, mostly such as could live nowhere else,” who mio-ht
be brought together, reinforced, and, by the help of the
Mosquitos, finally induce the other Indians to revolt, “ and
thus spread the insurrection from one part to another, till
it should become general over the Indies, and drive the
Spaniards entirely out.”
In pursuance of this scheme, Governor Trelawney com¬
missioned one Robert Hodgson to proceed to the Shore
where he arrived, laden with presents, on the 8th of April
1 /40. He succeeded in getting together some of the head
men including “ King Ed word” (“ Admiral Dilly,” “ Ge-
neral Hobby,” and “ Captain Jumper,” being unavoidably
absent), and on the 16th of the month “proceeded to ex¬
plain to them, that as they had long acknowledged them¬
selves subjects of Great Britain, the governor of Jamaica
had sent me to take possession of their country in his Ma-
jesty’s name,—then asked if they had anything to object ?”
No objection being made, Hodgson proceeds:—“ I imme¬
diately set up the standard, and reducing what I had said
mto articles, I asked them, both jointly and separately if
they approved, and would abide by them? They unani¬
mously declared they would. Hodgson inclosed the ar¬
ticles to Governor Trelawney, and adds, “ As to the kino-
lie is very young, I believe not twenty, and is not much
observed ; but were he to be in England or Jamaica a while
tis thought he would make a hopeful monarch enough ” ’
mosquito shore.
O^l;0;^ tl,| mi.ssi0I> of Hodgson, on the 28th of
October 1139, the Spanish ambassador in London had made
CnZP T ^ ^ inCUITnS of the Sambos and Indians
W.Su0re’ °n the,adjacent SPani*b settlements,
were at thp mcttio-Qtirm nn.i .. . 5
* . ; - —seiueinenis,
F i-.uVt instlgatl°n> and under the protection, of the
Lnghhh of Jamaica, who have a commerce with them and
give them in exchange for the captive Indians, whom’they
purchase for slaves, fire-arms, powder, shot, and other
goods, contrary to the natural rights of these people.”
And here it may be mentioned, that subsequent to the
era ot the bucaneers, during the whole of the eighteenth
century and even as late as 1820, it was the constant prac-
tice of the Mosquitos to make forays into the territories of
the Wool was, Cookras, Tonglas, and other pure Indian
tribes lying between the coast and the Spanish settlements
tor the capture of prisoners, to be sold as slaves to the
traders from Jamaica. The scandal finally attracted the
attention of Parliament, and was made the subject of a
commission of inquiry, which reported, July 10, 1828 re¬
commending the liberation, under certain conditions, of the
fndians thus enslaved. From this cause has sprung that
settled hostility which still exists between the sLbo-
Mosquitos and their Indian neighbours of the interior, and
which, until recently at least, led the latter to punish with
Mosquito! interC0Urse betvveen their people and the hated
The “ cession” of the Mosquito Shore, procured, as we
seen, y Hodgson, was followed up by occupation.
Several Jamaica planters settled there; and Hodgson in
reward for his services, was placed in charge of the new
Mot ^ theititle °f “Superintendent of the
MTnq^744Sh0re’ dePende.nt on the governor of Jamaica.
rJt J7 4 °rder was lstsued in council, despatching a
certain number of troops from Jamaica to the Mosquito
Shoie ; and m 1748 another order for sending a supply of
ordnance to the new settlements” established there. At
this time everything indicated the purpose of a permanent
occupation of the country on behalf of the crown. The
Spaniards, alarmed at these encroachments, as they re-
l0Ufd iK1their remonstrances, and in
1750 51 threatened a forcible expulsion of the settlers-
whereupon Governor Trelawney instructed Hodgson to ^
present to them, that “ the object of keeping a superin¬
tendent amongst the Indians was to restrain them in their
hostilities against the Spaniards.” The latter were de¬
ceived, or from motives of policy accepted the explana-
titlPoTr fVeni S° fai'aS t0 COnfer on Hodgson the
rendered them. SemCeS Which he Profes«d » have
It was not long, however, before the settlers on the Shore
iscovered that the Spanish governors of the adjacent
EZ? °f Nicar4ua’ and Guatemala^^vere
making formidable preparations for their forcible destruc-
tmn In their alarm they applied to Governor Knowles
who had succeeded Frelawney in Jamaica, and who at once
opened a correspondence with the captain-general of Guate-
Fnlhnd 3 S,!SPJnsi®n of hostilities, until he could hear from
England—whither he wrote, that the whole Mosquito affair
a\ a J°b’ and that if Hodgson were not checked or
recalled he would involve the nation in difficultiesand
lat, between Spanish and English pretensions, “ the Indians
were so perplexed that they did not know what part to take ”
In fact, a little later, a number of the Mosquto chiefs went
thpGF V1^- t !ere resoIved t0 take up arms against
e English ; but it does not appear that any decided acts
of hostility were committed by them.
Ihese events did not escape the notice of Spain and
were among the causes which led to the rupture, terminated
by the treaty of Paris in 1763, by which Great
agreed to demolish all the fortifications which she had
erected, not only m the Bay of Honduras, but in “other
662 M O S Q UI T O S H 0 K E.
Mosquito places in the territory of Spain in that part of the world.”
Shore. It would seem that the Spanish crown was not satisfied
with the conduct of Great Britain under these provisions,
which were therefore revived, and made more explicit and
stringent by the subsequent treaty of 1783, which stipu¬
lated that all the English settlers on the Spanish continent
should retire within a district defined in the treaty. Never¬
theless, relations were still kept up with the coast, and led
to severe reclamations on the part of Spain. These were
only settled by the supplementary treaty of 1786, which
provided that his Britannic Majesty’s subjects and other
colonists, who have enjoyed the protection of England, shall
evacuate the country of the Mosquitos, as well as the conti¬
nent in general, and the islands adjacent, without exception,
situated beyond the line described in the treaty.
By the 14th article of this treaty, “ His Catholic Majesty,
prompted solely by motives of humanity, promises to the
King of England that he will not exercise any severity
against the Mosquitos inhabiting in part the countries which
are to be evacuated, in virtue of the present convention, on
account of any connections which may have subsisted be¬
tween the said Indians and the English ; and his Britannic
Majesty, cm his part, will strictly prohibit all his subjects
from furnishing arms or warlike stores to the Indians, &c.”
These provisions met with serious opposition, and a motion
was made in the House of Lords, “ that the terms of the
convention with Spain, signed in July 1786, did not meet
the favourable opinion of this House.” The motion was
negatived ; and, in the words of Macgregor, “ with the most
painful reluctance, and only in obedience to positive orders,
the British settlers slowly and discontentedly left their
plantations.”
From 1786 forward, Great Britain ceased to hold any
open relations with the Mosquito Indians, until the decline
of the power of Spain and the loss of her American pos¬
sessions. In the interval the governors of the provinces of
Central America had attempted, but with poor success, to
make permanent establishments on the Shore, at Cape Gra¬
cias and Bluefields. They, however, erected a fort at the
mouth of the River San Juan, for the protection of the port
of the same name, which was made a port of entry by royal
cedula in 1796.
The stringent provisions of the convention of 1786 were
revived and confirmed by an additional article to the treaty
of Madrid of August 28, 1814. Meantime the continental
war withdrew all attention from the Mosquito Shore, which
passed entirely out of official view. A few of the old settlers
nevertheless remained on the coast, and a commerce in
tortoise-shells, deer-skins, and slaves, w'as kept up with
Jamaica.
Roberts, who was on the coast in pursuit of his avoca¬
tion as trader about the year 1820, has given a very faith¬
ful account of the Mosquitos and their political condition at
that period. He speaks of a personage called “ King,” a
young man who had been in Jamaica, “ where he was semi-
educated,” and whose authority, if not openly disputed, was
divided with sundry chiefs, among whom a “ Governor
Clementi ” was most important. This “ king” is described
by Macgregor as having “combined the bad qualities of
the European and Creole with the vicious propensities of
th^ Sambo, and the capriciousness of the Indian.” He was
killed in a drunken brawl in 1824, and was succeeded by
his half-brother Robert—who, however, was found to be too
greatly in the Spanish interest to suit the trading Warwicks
of Jamaica, and was accordingly deposed in favour of a
Sambo of quite a different family, who received the name
of George Frederick. What became of this potentate does
not clearly appear from the Mosquito chronicles ; he either
died or was dropped for another Sambo, called Robert
Charles Frederick.
Robert Charles Frederick was taken to the settlement of
Belize or British Honduras, and was there duly crowned on Mosquito
the 23d of April 1825. The king was dressed for the oc- Shore,
casion in a British major’s uniform, and so manifested his
admiration for his finery as to impart a ludicrous character to
the whole ceremony. Moved by liberal appliances of rum,
in the exercise of royal liberality he made extensive grants
of lands to his trading friends, which in some instances
carried with them the rights of absolute sovereignty. When
these proceedings came to the ears of the superintendent of
Belize and of the governor of Jamaica, they excited consi¬
derable alarm, and an agent was sent to the shore, instructed
to disallow the grants in question.
A vessel of war was sent down from Belize to carry Robert
Charles Frederick away from the too powerful influences
of rum and gay cottons; and he was accordingly taken
to Belize, and placed beneath the eye of the superintendent
ol that establishment. His royal nature, however, rebelled
against restraint; he gradually pined away and died ; but
not until he had affixed “his x mark” to a document styled
“a will,” in which it was provided that the affairs of his
kingdom should be administered by Colonel Macdonald,
superintendent of Belize, as regent, during the minority of
his heir; that Macdonald should be guardian of his child¬
ren ; and that, in view of the spiritual wants of his subjects,
“ the United Church of England and Ireland shall be the
established religion of the Mosquito nation for ever.”
This will bears date February 1840, just one century
after Hodgson had obtained the “ cession” of the Shore to
the British crown. One of the first acts of Macdonald was
the appointment of Patrick Walker, his private secretary, to
reside on the Mosquito Shore, and take charge and guardian¬
ship of the scions of the royal house. Walker at once took
up his residence in Bluefields, and having organized a council
of government, soon fell into a dispute with the neighbouring
Central American states on the question of boundaries.
Aroused and alarmed by the proceedings of Walker,
and ignorant as to whether the salic law was recognised
in Mosquitia (the name now given to the country), they
procured from the eldest child of Robert Charles Fre¬
derick, namely, the “ Princess Ines Ann Frederick,” on the
28th of October 1847, a distinct recognition of the autho¬
rity of Nicaragua over the Shore, and a queenly command
to all interloping foreigners to leave the country.
The restless mind of Walker, who imagined himself a
second Hastings, soon forced the quarrel beyond the con¬
sular offices of the Crown into the cabinets of Downing
Street; and in the same year (1847), when the recreant
Mosquito princess passed over to the Nicaraguan interests,
he had succeeded in obtaining from Lord Palmerston an
instruction to all the diplomatic and other agents of the
Crown in Central America and the adjacent countries, re¬
quiring them to report “ what authentic information they
could obtain as to the boundaries claimed by the King of
Mosquito;” and also “ what, in your opinion, is the line of
boundary which Her Majesty’s government should insist
upon as essential for the security and wellbeing of the
Mosquito state.” This was soon followed up by a despatch
to the same agents, instructing them to inform the states
adjacent to the Mosquito Shore, that “ Her Majesty’s go¬
vernment could not view with indifference any encroach¬
ment on the rights or territories of the King of Mosquito,
which is under the protection of the British crown.” Mr
Walker, and Mr Chatfield, Her Majesty’s consul-general in
Guatemala, both reported that the “ well-being of the Mos¬
quito state required an assertion of the rights of the Mos¬
quito king over the entire eastern coast of Central America,
from Cape Honduras to Chiriqui Lagoon, an extent of 600
miles; yet his lordship limited himself to the opinion,
that the “ rights of the King of Mosquito should be main¬
tained, as extending from Cape Honduras down to the
mouth of the River San Juan.” It may readily be pre-
M O S Q UIT
Ibquito sumed that the instruction to communicate the views of
Her Majesty’s government upon this point to the Central
American States, was promptly complied with by Her Ma¬
jesty’s agents, and Mr Chatfield took the latitude of adding
that these limits were to be accepted “ without prejudice fo
the right of the Mosquito king to any territory south of the
River San Juan.”
In the meantime, influenced by Walker’s representations,
Macdonald, who was a man of action rather than of words
paid a visit to the Shore in a vessel of war, entered the port
o San Juan, and, after some mild proceedings, seized
the collector, Quijano, carried him off, and finally landed
him alone at a desolate point on the coast several hundred
miles from the port. The only immediate consequences
o this proceeding were vehement reclamations on the part
of the Central American States, who now asserted their
rights over San Juan in the most positive terms.
Macdonald s conduct in this, as in some other matters
does not seem to have been approved by the home govern¬
ment; but in the month of January 1848 two British ves¬
sels of war appeared in the harbour of San Juan, and oc-
cuped it without resistance, replacing the Nicaraguan
otncials by Englishmen, acting as servants of the Kin" of
Mosquito. This done, they sailed away; but no sooner
did the intelligence of the event reach the interior, than the
Nicaraguan government embarked a small force and re-
occupied the port, sending the new officials as prisoners to
the capital. 1 he British forces, considerably strengthened,
thereupon returned, and the Nicaraguans, unable to oppose
them, retired up the River San Juan, and erected some
rude fortifications on its banks. They were followed by an
English detachment, and finally, March 12, 1848, routed
with great loss. Walker, who accompanied the expedi-
tum, was either killed or drowned during the engagement.
Hostilities were further prosecuted, until the Nicara"uans'
powerless against the strength of Great Britain, consented
to an armistice, which provided that they should not disturb
San Juan, or attempt to re-occupy the port, pending the
negotiations which it was foreseen would follow on these
events. All efforts, however, to induce them to relinquish
their claims of sovereignty over the port, or, even by impli¬
cation, to recognise the Mosquito king, were unsuccessful,
i C0"SUl-Senei'al ^jrl eat' BMain was at once appointed to
the Mosquito Shore, who took up his residence at San
Juan, where, with the support of a number of policemen
horn Jamaica, and the almost constant presence of a vessel
of war in the harbour, he assumed and exercised all the
functions of government, judicial and executive.
. ^le government of Nicaragua now addressed an exposi¬
tion and appeal to the nations of Europe, and a particular
and fervent one to the United States, for their friendly
interference in behalf of what they claimed as their clear
territorial rights and violated sovereignty. The American
people and government were not slow to believe that the
seizure of San Juan was an act of violence on the rights of
a weak power, directed to obtaining control of the transit
between the seas; as the line through Nicaragua, by way of
the River San Juan and the Nicaraguan lakes, had Ion"
been regarded as affording the best, if not the only, route
for a ship canal between the Atlantic and the Pacific
Oceans, i he recent acquisition of California also, and the
sudden tide of emigration that took place to that country, ren¬
dered of importance to them every point where the isthmus
could be traversed. The very first act of General Taylor,
flushed from the fields of his Mexican victories, and carried
almost by acclamation into the presidential chair, was the
appointment of a diplomatic agent in Central America, in¬
vested with extensive powers, and instructed to look closely
alter the interests of the United States. Hardly had this
agent reached his post, when a detachment of the British
squadron in the Pacific, having on board Her Majesty’s
0 SHORE.
consul-general at Guatemala, made its appearance in the
magnificent Bay of Fonseca, and forcibly took possession
°. , ,'ie | , nc*s commanding it in the name and on behalf
of the British crown, by way of enforcing some claims for
indemnity to British subjects against the states of Honduras
and ban Salvador. And as, in the speculations on the
questions of an inter-oceanic canal, this bay had come to
be regarded as offering the best conditions for the western
tei minus of such a work, precisely as San Juan was assumed
to offer the same for its eastern terminus, this seizure was
construed to be only an additional step in the settled policy
Cheat Biitain to obtain control, it not absolute posses¬
sion, of the highway between the seas.
I he government of Honduras having obtained an inti¬
mation of the contemplated occupation of the Bay of Fon¬
seca, resorted to the expedient of making a cession to the
United States of the islands commanding it belonging to
that state. Mr Squier, the American representative, ac¬
cepted the cession on behalf of his government, which thus
was made a party to the disputes between Great Britain
and the Central American States. The seizure having
taken place, regardless of the previous cession, an indepen¬
dent question was raised between the British and American
cabinets, which seemed to threaten an open rupture, but
which had the really beneficial effect of directing the seri¬
ous attention of both governments to the necessity of
settling the principles which should govern the policy of
both as regarded the isthmus states, and especially as re-
gaided that inter-oceanic highway to which circumstances
had given a new importance. As soon as a knowled"e of
the seizure reached the United States, Mr Clayton, secre¬
tary of state, sent a despatch to Mr Lawrence, Ameri¬
can minister in London (dated December 29, 1849), which
the latter was desired to place before the British govern¬
ment. This despatch set forth that “the United States
had no political designs in Central America,” and that its
inteiest in that country was confined to securing through
it a flee route of transit between the seas, which route it
was declared to be the purpose of the United States “to
piotect, with the consent of the states through which it
might pass.” In conclusion, Mr Clayton directed Mr Law¬
rence to urge on the British government to disavow the
seizure of the Bay of Fonseca, and to represent that if the
act were not disavowed, the treaty of cession by which
Honduias conveyed the only important positions in the
bay to the United States, “ would be submitted to the
Senate for ratification without delay.”
As already said, the serious attention of both govern¬
ments, as well as of the people of both countries, havin"
been thus arrested, public opinion, equally with common
sense, dictated that an understanding should be reached
which should not only avert the possibility of a collision on
these questions, but which should best subserve the wants
of trade and commerce across the isthmus. It is not neces¬
sary to trace the progress of the negotiations which were
now opened, and which, in the month of April, subsequent
to the date of the despatch above alluded to, resulted in the
signature of a special convention between the United States
and Great Britain, known as the “ Clayton-Bulwer Treaty ”
defining the policy of both regarding Central America, and
giving a joint guarantee to such routes of inter-oceanic
communication as might be opened “by canal or railway”
through its territories.
A radical defect with this convention was its ambi"uity
on the subject of the Mosquito protectorate, and disputes
arose as to its intent and meaning before the signatures
were fairly dry on the parchment. On the one hand, it
was claimed that the convention recognised and con¬
firmed the protectorate of Great Britain; on the other
that it deprived it of all vitality, and reduced it to a shadow]
and that the ambiguity of the convention was studied and
663
Mosquito
Shore.
664
MOSQUITO SHORE.
Mosquito intentional, to enable Great Britain to retire gracefully
Shore. from a false position.
^ v While this new dispute was increasing in warmth, cir¬
cumstances were fast working out a practical solution. An
American company, acting under a charter from Nicara¬
gua, had opened a route of transit for passengers through
that state, commencing at San Juan, which rapidly filled
up with emigrants from the United States. They soon
became numerically predominant; and after some ungrace¬
ful attempts to proceed with reference to the alleged
Mosquito authority, finally met in a primary capacity, and
organised an independent local government, composed
chiefly of Americans. The British protectorate, so far as
San Juan was concerned, expired with an attempt on the
part of the commander of one of Her Majesty’s vessels of
war, more zealous than discreet, to compel one of the
transit steamers to pay certain port charges to his Mosquito
majesty. The act was disavowed by the government, and
San Juan remained, under the direct government of its
own people, practically a free city; and as such, looking
to its position, it should continue. Its prosperity was much
retarded by a dispute with the adventurers into whose
hands the transit had fallen, producing an irritation of feel¬
ing which resulted in certain alleged insults on the part
of the town to an American diplomatic agent, whose bel¬
ligerent tendencies led him to interfere in matters quite
beyond the sphere of his duties. An American vessel of
war was sent to inquire into the circumstances of the case.
Her commander, acting under improper influences, as¬
sumed a most offensive and hostile attitude towards the
town, and made various arrogant demands which were not
complied with; whereupon he bombarded the place, and,
landing a force of marines, burned it to the ground. The
annals of this century furnish no parallel to this wanton
and cruel procedure, and it stands a lasting disgrace and
infamy to all concerned. It is certain that no such act was
contemplated by the American government; but as it re¬
tained the delinquent officer in its service, and did not
formally disavow the deed, it must be held to share the
odium consequent upon it. Previously to this event, an
effort had been made to adjust the Mosquito question, on
the part of Mr Webster, secretary of state, and Mr
Crampton, British representative in Washington. A pro¬
jet was agreed upon, assigning a defined territory to the
Mosquito Indians, and surrendering the port of San Juan
(then called Greytown) to Nicaragua, on condition of cer¬
tain annual payments to the Mosquito King. A joint
English and American commission was sent to Central
America to procure the assent of the adjacent states to the
arrangement. Costa Rica, after some hesitation, acceded
to the plan, but Nicaragua refused her assent; and the
terms of the projet becoming known in England and the
United States, they were found to be distasteful to the
people of both countries. In America it was contended
that no rights beyond those of occupancy could be ac¬
ceded to any of the aboriginal tribes of tbe continent
without violation of the leading principle on which the
settlement of the continent had been effected, nor without
danger to existing territorial rights. Some of the provi¬
sions of the Webster-Crampton projet were revived, in a
convention signed by Lord Clarendon and Mr Dallas,
American minister in London, in the autumn of 1856.
Ihe limits of the district assigned to the Mosquito Indians,
however, were much more circumscribed ; the port of San
Juan was constituted a free port; and provisions recognis¬
ing a Mosquito sovereignty, in a political sense, carefully
excluded. Ibis convention was ratified, with some slight
modifications, by the United States Senate, but failed, in
consequence of the non-exchange of ratifications within
the time specified in the convention itself. The principles
of this convention are no doubt those which will ultimately
prevail, and offer the only rational solution of the vexed
Mosquito question. A better understanding of the mutual
rights and duties of Great Britain and the United States on
the American continent is fast removing every obstacle to
an amicable adjustment of this and analogous differences.
I he final solution of the question will no doubt be has¬
tened and facilitated by the convention of August 27, 1856,
between Great Britain and Honduras, wherein the territorial
rights of the latter state are recognised over the coast be¬
tween Cape Gracias and Cape Honduras, with the reserva¬
tion of the right of occupancy to the Indians within a di¬
strict of reasonable extent, to be fixed by a joint commis¬
sion of the two governments. Such is the present political
state of the Mosquito Shore.
As regards the Mosquitos themselves, little need be said,
except that they are a hybrid race, coming rather under
the denomination of Sambos than Indians. The Valiente,
Rama, Cookra, Woolwa, Tongla, and Paya or Poyas Indians,
who are sometimes claimed as Mosquitos, are quite inde¬
pendent of them, and generally hold a hostile attitude to¬
wards them. Some of these tribes, in whole or in part,
recognise the rule of the adjacent Central American States,
and many of their villages profess the Roman Catholic
religion. Exclusive of these Indian tribes, the population
of the Mosquito Shore is exceedingly small, certainly not
exceeding 2000 souls. Colonel Hodgson (son of the Robert
Hodgson elsewhere referred to), who wrote in 1757, esti¬
mates the population at “ not above 7000 and a MS.
Spanish map of the date of 1777, purporting to be copied
from an English original, gives “houses of whites, 17 ; of
Mestizos, 13: number of whites, 28; Mestizos, 27; slaves,
252; Mosquito Indians, 182; Mosquito Sambos, 230;—total,
719.” George Chalmers, secretary of the Board of Trade,
in 1787, drew up a series of notes on the Mosquito Shore
for the use of the Board, in which he observes :—“ The pre¬
sent number of the Mosquito Indians is unknown. It hap¬
pened among them probably, as among the North American
Indians, that they declined in numbers and degenerated in
spirit as the white people settled among them. Like the
Caribs of San Domingo, they consist of three distinct races—
the aborigines, the descendants of certain African Negroes
wrecked on the coast, and a generation containing the blood
of both. If the Spaniards earnestly desired to destroy them,
they could not, I think, make a very vigorous resistance.”
The “ Commissioners of Legal Inquiry in the case of the
Indians of Honduras, 1828,” describe the Mosquito Indians
as “ a barbarous and cruel people, in the lowest state of
civilization—hostile to the other Indian nations, who are a
mild, timid, and peaceful race.” When Colonel Hodgson
wrote, it appears that the inhabitants of the coast were not
more homogeneous politically than in blood. He says of
them, that then (1757) they were “ not so properly a single
state as three united, each independent of the others.”
“ 1. Those who inhabit the southern extremity till Brag-
man’s, and are mostly the orginal Indians; their head man
is called Governor.
“ 2. Those who extend to about Little Black River, and
are mostly Sambos; their chief is called King.
“ 3. Those westward, who are Indians and Sambos
mixed; their head man is called General. The power of
these three head men is nearly equal, with a small difference
in favour of the king, who is a little supported by the whites
for the sake of his name. The king has his commission or
patent for being called so from the governor of Jamaica.”
Whatever may have been the former numbers of the
Mosquitos, there can be no doubt of the fact, that they
are every day becoming fewer under the combined effects
of drunkenness and disease. Upon the north, the Caribs,
originally from St Vincent, are gradually encroaching on
the Sambo Mosquitos, and crowding them down the coast,
where their principal establishments are confined to Cape
Mosquito
Shore.
sZe fariIy BJay\lho Grande’ Prinzapulka, Pearl Kev,
j Td BIuefieldt ln, character and habits they remain much
I 7 the same as when described by the pirates, living chiefly by
fishing, and having little trade except in tortoise-shells and
sarsaparilla. 1 hey are without any form of religion, but
believe m a certain spirit of the water called Zemre, and
an evil spirit named If ulasha, who consumes the bodies
0 the def.1- V167 bave great faith in a class of sorcerers
who combine the characters of the medicine-men of the
North American Indians, and the obi-men of Africa called
bulaas wnose authority is often greater than that of the most
powerful chief. J hese pretend to cure diseases by incan-
tations and rutle jugglery, directed chiefly to appeasing
Wulasha, who shares in the reward of the Sukias.
The huts of the Mosquitos are mere thatched sheds of
palmetto or cahoon leaves, about 6 feet high to the eaves
and projecting 3 or 4 feet beyond the line of posts. Some
of the better ones are inclosed with a stockade or fence of
palmetto stalks, having the entrance in the gable. The
men sleep on the sand floor, or in hammocks, and the
women on a rude frame-work of canes, raised a few feet
above the ground. Their arts are confined to makim- pit-
jmns, long, flat-bottomed canoes for use in the rivers and
lagoons ; and dories, or large canoes for coasting on the sea.
-they also make harpoons and implements for fishino- and
manufacture a kind of cloth, or tappa, from the inner bark
of the ule or caoutchouc tree. In language they differ
wholly from the neighbouring Indians, ^so that they are
unable to communicate with them except through inter¬
preters. From their long intercourse with the English
they have adopted many English words, which, however,
are pronounced in a very broken manner, constituting a
kind of jargon. I heir own language is not deficient in
euphony, although defective in its grammar. It has no
article, definite or indefinite, but the numeral adjective
(one)Js used whenever the idea of number is pro¬
minent. The adjective follows the noun, as do also the
numerals. All nouns are understood to be masculine, unless
qualified by the word maisen, woman or female. The '
pronouns are twelve in number, but have neither gender
nor number, both of which must be inferred from the
connections in which they are used. The verbs have mood,
tense, and person, but are wanting in number.
The geography of the Mosquito territory is very little
known. Upon the coast, however, there are several har¬
bours of fair capacity, and some positions capable of easy
settlement. Bluefields Lagoon is a considerable body of
water, between 30 and 40 miles in length, and almost
completely land-locked. It has a bar at its entrance, but
within the bar it has from 4 to 6 fathoms. The great river
Escondido, and several small streams, flow into it. On the
south bank of this river is situated the town of Bluefields,
the residence of the King and his English guardian. It
contains nearly 500 inhabitants, including about 50 whites.
30 miles to the northward of Bluefields is Pearl Key Lagoon,
affording a tolerable harbour for small vessels. A consi¬
derable river, the Wawashaan, falls into this lagoon. Still
30 miles to the northward, a large stream, the ilio Grande,
flows into the sea. Its mouth is obstructed by a danger¬
ous bar; but when this is passed, it is said that the river may
be navigated for the distance of a 100 miles inland. Fur¬
ther to the northward are the Prinzapulka, Tongla, Brack-
man, Wava, Duckwara, and other considerable streams.
Next in order is the Rio Wanks, the longest, if not the
largest river in Central America, which reaches the sea at
Cape Gracias a Dios. Towards their sources, amongst
the mountains of Honduras and Nicaragua, all these
streams are rough and rapid ; but as they approach the
ocean they lose their turbulent character, and flow majes¬
tically into the sea. During the seasons of the rains they
usually overflow their banks, and, with the numerous creeks
vox., xy.
and lagoons constitute a net-work of lakes parallel to the
sea-coast, vvlnch permit interior navigation all the way from
Bluefields Lagoon to Cape Gracias. The climate of the
coast is moist, hotter than the interior, and not so salubrious,
although in the latter respect entitled to rank equally high
wuth the West Indian Islands generally. The greater part
o ,e soil is fertile, and capable of producing in abundance
cotton, sugar, rice, indigo, and the other tropical staples
I here are some extensive tracts of open or savanna land
covered with grass, well adapted for the raising of cattle’
I here are also certain broad, sandy plains, not fitted for
cultivation, but covered with fine pines, some of them laro-e
enough for the masts of ships ; and the banks of the rivers
generally are covered with fbrests of mahogany, rosewood,
India-rubber, and other valuable trees. Altogether the
coast has many natural elements of wealth; but° it may be
doubted if its settlement by a civilized race will be effected
until the equally fertile, but more elevated, cooler, and more
salubrious regions of the interior and on the Pacific coast
have become filled by an active and enterprising popula¬
tion. . I heir greater advantages will claim for them the first
attention of emigrants, and to these alone can we look for
the political and social regeneration of Central America
and for the ultimate rescue of the Mosquito Shore from its
present condition of desolation and barbarism, (e g s ^
MOSSES. See Botany, c. iii., § ]. 1 >
MOS FAGANEM, a town of Algeria, in Lat. 36. 10. N.,
Long. 0. 15. E., is situated on a limestone rock, 233 feet
n-°Vie jtbe Sea’ and about ^ miles fr°m tlie coast. It is
divided into two parts by a fertile valley, laid out in gardens
and traversed by a small stream. That which stands on the
left side of the stream is the town proper, the other part
being inhabited exclusively by the military. The town has
very much a French appearance, with wide streets and
handsome squares. The principal buildings are a theatre
and a large hospital. Leather, carpets, jewellery, &c., are
manufactured; and an extensive trade is carried on with
the interior. The harbour is not good, but it is much fre¬
quented I he neighbouring country is fertile and well-
cultivated ; and grain, wool, hides, and dried fruits are the
principal exports. Pop. 6469.
MOSTAR, a town of Bosnia, capital of the province
of Herzegovina, is situated on both sides of the Narenta,
72 mdes NAV. of Cattaro. It is surrounded by embattled
. whlch mclose a much larger space of ground
than is actually occupied by buildings. The streets are for
the most part unpaved; and the town contains several
mosques and churches, and two large bazaars. Th
n/r i i • ,    »^a»i». j. tie name
Mostar, which signifies “old bridge,” is derived from the
Roman bridge of a single arch which crosses the river,
owords and hre-arms are manufactured here; and there is
PopC7300Iade in C°rn’ Wine’ frUitS’ Cattle’ tall°W’ and wax*
MOSTYN, a village and township of Wales, in the
S?wty°c u1"/’ Slt"ated on the estuary of the Dee, 4 miles
N W. of Holywell. I here is an elegant church here,
which was built in 1845. The coal-pits in the neighbour¬
hood are numerous, giving employment to the most of the
inhabitants, and furnishing large quantities of coal for ex-
portation Mostyn stands on the railway between Chester
and Holyhead; and communication is kept up by steamers
with Liverpool. Pop. 2091.
MOSUL, a town of Asiatic Turkey, capital of a pashalic
of the same name is situated on the right bank of the Ti¬
gris, 220 miles N W. of Baghdad. It is surrounded by walls ;
but these as well as a castle which stands on an artificial
island in the 1 igns, and the best buildings of the town, are
m a very dilapidated condition; while the whole place is
very low, and fast-declining in internal prosperity and com¬
mercial importance. The streets are narrow, irregular and
crowded with beggars. The houses, which are" built of
4 p
666 M O T
Mothe-le- stone or brick, have in general vaulted roofs surrounded by
Vayer. flat terraces. The streets of the town are but little raised
Motril a^ove ^le ^eve^ the Tigris, and they are thus often laid
v ' j under water when the river is in flood. The town contains
numerous mosques (some of which are of great beauty),
a college, coffee-houses, baths, khans, and bazaars. The
climate is mild, but occasionally very hot in summer; and
though it is in general considered a healthy place, Mosul
has several times been exposed to the ravages of pestilence.
There are several hot sulphur springs in the neighbourhood
of the town, which are much resorted to, from their medi¬
cinal qualities. Mosul was formerly celebrated for the
manufacture of muslin, which derives its name from the
town ; but the only manufactures now carried on are those of
cotton fabrics, shawls, calicoes, &c. A considerable transit
trade is carried on through Mosul between Constantinople,
Syria, Baghdad, and the interior of Koordistan. Pop. esti¬
mated at 40,000.
MOTHE-LE-VAYER, Francois de la, a distin¬
guished French writer, was of noble descent, and was born
at Paris in 1588. His attention was early directed by his
father to the study of literature, law, and morals. Aided by
a tenacious memory and by the power of assiduous appli¬
cation, he became distinguished for his general intelligence,
and especially for his intimacy with history. The female
wit, Mademoiselle de Gournay, received him into her bril¬
liant circle, and bequeathed to him her library. Although
Mothe-le-Vayer had begun to write at an early age, he did
not publish any of his works until his forty-eighth year.
At length his Discours de la Conlraritti d’Humeurs qui
se trouve entre certaines Natio7is, and his Considerations
sur VEloquence Frati^aise. published in 1636 and 1638
respectively, brought him fully before the public. He was
admitted into the French Academy in 1639. Flis next
work, De VInstruction de Monsieur le Dauphin, 4to, 1640,
raised him to the height of distinction, since it led to his
appointment in 1652 as tutor to the young King Louis XIV.
Meanwhile he had become an avowed sceptic, and had
published in 1642 a treatise entitled De la Vertu des
Patens, On the marriage of his royal pupil in 1660,
Mothe-le-Yayer retired from his public office, and gave
himself up to his favourite studies. Foreign politics con¬
tinued till the close of his life to be the subject of his eager
attention, and one of his last questions w'as, “ What news
of the Great Mogul?” He died in 1672. Mothe-le-
Vayer also wrote Jugement sur les Anciens et Princi-
paux Historiens Grecs et Latins, 8vo, 1646; and Du peu
de Certitude qiiil y a dans VHistoire, 1668. The best edi¬
tion of his collected works is that of Dresden, in 14 vols.
8vo, 1756-59.
MOTION. See Attraction, Dynamics, Mechanics,
and Statics.
MOTRIL, a town of Spain, in the province of Granada,
situated in a rich and fertile plain, about a mile from the
Mediterranean, and 38 miles S.S.E. of Granada; Lat. 36,
45. N., Long. 3. 34. W. It is irregularly built, but varies
considerably in different parts ; for some of the streets are
narrow, dirty, and unpaved; while others are handsome,
regular, and well kept. In the principal square are the
town-house, a collegiate church of a clumsy appearance, and
a granary. There are several other churches in the town,
a nunnery, and several elementary and upper schools. The
neighbouring country is rich in fruit; and large quantities
of fish are got from the Mediterranean. The people are for
the most part employed both in agriculture and in the
fisheries. Sugar, rum, soap, earthenware, &c., are manu¬
factured here. The town itself has no harbour, but that
of Calahonda is only about 7 miles distant. The
greater part of the trade of the provinces of Granada and
aen passes through Motril. Rice, dried fish, sugar, coal,
timber, leather, cotton and woollen stuffs, &c., are imported ;
M O U
and oil, figs, oranges, wine, brandy, &c., are exported. Mottram-
Pop. 10,170. * in-Long.
MOTTRAM-IN-LONGDENDALE, a town of Eng- denJale-
land, in the county of Chester, 9 miles E. by S. of Man- jf0j|v
Chester. It is well built, and contains one Established and Lilip11
three Dissenting churches. There are also print-works . _
and cotton factories in the town, in which the majority of
the inhabitants are employed. Pop. (1851) 3199.
MOUFET, Thomas, an eminent English physician and
naturalist, was born in London during the first half of the
sixteenth century, but at what precise date is not known.
He practised medicine in the metropolis with great reputa¬
tion, and towards the close of his life retired to the country.
He died about the year 1600. This physician is best known
by a work which was begun by Edward Wotton, and printed
at London in 1634, folio, under the title of Insectorum, seu
Minimorum Insectorum Theatrum, olim ah Edwardo Wot¬
ton, Conrado Gesnero, Thomaque Pennio inchoatum, Mou-
feti opera sumptibusque maximis concinnatum auctum,
perfectum. A translation of it into English was published
at London in 1658, folio. Martin Lister gives a very un¬
favourable opinion of this book, “ As Moufet,” says he,
“ made use of Wotton, Gesner, and others, an excellent
work might have been expected from him; and yet his
Theatrum is full of confusion, and he has made a very bad
use of the materials with which these authors have furnished
him. He is ignorant of the subject of which he treats, and
his manner of expression is altogether barbarous. Besides
this, he is extremely arrogant, to say no worse; for though
he has copied Aldrovandus in innumerable places, he never
once mentions his name.” But Lay thinks that Lister, by
expressing himself in this manner, has not done justice to
Moufet; and he maintains that the latter has rendered an
essential service to the republic of letters. Fie wrote De
Jure et Prcestanlia Chemicorum Medicamentorum, Dia-
logus Apologeticus, Franc. 1584; Nosomantica Hippocra-
tica, sive Hippocratis Prognostica cuncta, ex omnibus ipsius
scriptis, methodice digesta, lib. ix., Franc. 1588; Health's
Improvement, or Rules of the Nature, Method, and Man¬
ner of Preparing all sorts of Food ; enlarged by Christo¬
pher Bennet, London, 1655.
MOUKDEN, a town of the Chinese empire, capital of
Manchooria, in Lat. 41. 50. N,, Long. 123. 37. E., 500
miles N.E. of Pekin. It is large and populous, and is
surrounded by walls. An inner wall incloses the palace,
government offices, court-house, &c. The outer city, which
is also walled, is inhabited chiefly by the working-classes,
and has a circuit of about 10 miles.
MOULD, in the mechanical arts, is a cavity artificially
cut, with a design to give its form or impression to some
softer matter applied therein. Moulds are implements of
great use in sculpture, foundry, and other arts. The work¬
men employed in melting the mineral or metallic ore dug
out of mines have their several moulds to receive the melted
metal as it comes out of the furnace ; but these are different
according to the diversity of metals and works. In gold mines
they have moulds for ingots, in silver mines for bars, in
copper and lead mines for pigs or salmons, in tin mines for
pigs and ingots, and in iron mines for sows, chimney-backs,
anvils, caldrons, pots, and other large utensils.
MOULDINGS, in Architecture, are projections beyond
the naked wall, column, or wainscot, the assemblage of which
forms cornices, door-cases, and other decorations of archi¬
tecture. (See the Glossary to the article Architecture.)
MOULE, a town and harbour of Guadaloupe, in the
division of Grande Terre, is situated on the N.E. coast of the
island, near the mouth of a small river; Lat. 16. 21. N.,
Long. 61. 27. W. Pop. 10,000.
MOULIN LILLE, a suburb of Lille, which derives
its name from the number of wind-mills in the vicinity.
Pop. 4317.
M 0 U
Moulins
a TT °f Frfnce’ caPital of the department
l • u d °n a P a!n 011 the right bank of the
lick- f64 mill S S F he/epCrossed ^ a handsome stone bridge,
- 164 miles S.S.E of Pans. The town has a cheerful ap-
peaiance ; and the streets, though not very wide or straight
are clean, well paved and lined on each side with good
houses, built chiefly o brick. It was formerly surrouE
b> fortifications, but the place of these is now occupied by
public walks. 1 he principal buildings in the town are -I
tfetJCatfirdia r N°tre Dame’ a building in the florid style
of the fifteenth century, of which only the choir has been
completed; the chapel of the college, which formerly be¬
longed to the convent of the Visitation, containing7 the
monument of the last Duke of Montmorency; the castle
formerly the residence of the Dukes of Bourbon, of which
all that novv remains is a square tower and some buildings
andC ho t 7 Ca,thenne d"Medicis> and serving as barracks
and the town-house. There are also in Moulins a court of
first resort and one of commerce, a chamber of manufac¬
tures and arts, a normal school and school of design, socie-
Qmn11? eCOn°my and of ^"culture, a public library of
19 000 volumes, a museum of natural history, two hospitals,
T fl *61 1 10 manufactures are extensive, consisting
chiefly of hardware, especially of cutlery, woollen and cotton
stuffs, hosiery, glass, leather, silk, &c. There is an active
trade m cutlery, corn, wine, cattle, timber, coal, charcoal,
non kc. I he history of the town can be traced as far back
as the eleventh century ; and in 1668 the Bourbon family
3 UP dle,ir res^nce here. Moulins is also noted
as the birthplace of Marshal Vdlars, the opponent of Marl¬
borough at Malplaquet. Pop. (1856) 16 391.
MOULMEIN, in Hindustan, a town in the British
district of Amherst, and the principal place of the Tenas-
semn provinces. It is situated on a small peninsula formed
by three rivers, the Salwein, the Gyne, and the Attaran,
and lies opposite to the town of Martaban, and about 30
“'!ls ^ °/ Amberst. Upon its cession to the British in
1825 by the Burmese, the site was selected for a military
station; and the town, which now bears all the marks of
civilization, a few years since presented a very different
aspect, the accumulation of huts of which it then consisted
laving been converted into a fine seaport-town, with open
streets, quays, markets, churches, and schools. The main
street runs parallel to the river, and communicates with
t ifterent parts, of the town by means of smaller streets
joining it at right angles. The population of the town is
given at 17,042. Vast forests in the vicinity yield an inex-
laustible supply of teak timber, which, coupled with other
ocal advantages, has enabled Moulmein to supplant Chit-
tagong and other ports on the eastern coast of the Bay of
Bengal in ship-building. The East India Company’s
steamer 1 enasserim and Her Majesty’s sloop Malacca were
built at this port. One of the Indian newspapers, styled
the Moulmein Guardian, is printed in this town. N. Lat
16. 30., E. Long. 97. 42.
MOUNTAINS. See Physical Geography.
MOUNi EVEREST, a mountain of the Himalaya
range, situated between the peak of Kinchingunga in Sikkim
and the city of Khatmandu in Nepaul, and presumed to
be the loftest summit in the world. Its elevation is 29,002
feet above the level of the sea, surpassing that of the highest
peak of the. Andes by above half a mile of perpendicular
altitude. This mountain, which has been recently dis¬
covered, has been named Mount Everest, in compliment
to the late surveyor-general of India.
"^^blN 1MELLICK, a market-town of Ireland, in
Queen’s County, situated on a bend of the River Owenas
4o miles W.S.W. of Dublin. The houses are well built;’
and the town contains a parish church, and four other
churches, belonging to Roman Catholics, Methodists, and
Quakers; a court-house, a bank, several schools, a dispen-
M O U
667
the^dact T h a ^ manufacturiag industry of Mountrath
lP f ? ' 1Ve 5 and there are flour-mills, an iron and II
ass foundry, breweries, soap-works, tanneries, and not- Mourning-
tenes Ihe trade is considerable; and eight (early Cs '-v—
are held here. The population consists to 1 lake extern
of Quakers, and amounts to 3657. °
MOUNIRAIH, a market-town in Queen’s Countv
W SW ofr^hr^ Tl a tr-buta‘7 of the N°rc, 53 miles
v -S-W. ofDubhn. 1 he principal buildings are,—a parish
church, Roman Catholic and Methodist churches, a court¬
house, a market-house, and a jail. There are also a mo¬
nastery, a nunnery, several schools for the higher and lower
c.asses, and a dispensary. The chief manufacturing estab¬
lishments are cotton and worsted factories, an oil-mill
Pop.^KX)6 breWery- Several annual fail-s are held here!
Comwhdl^1-8 It5AcY’ a large bay 011 the S’W* coast of
rm Z f ^“S ^eeri two promontories,-Lizard Point
on the E and Land’s End on the W. It is 18 miles wide
Tto SOf dnn ^ 1 Ti the knd ; Wbile its dePth vanes from
3 to 30 fathoms. The name is derived from St Michael’s
Mount, which is situated on its shore.
MOUNTSORREL’ a market-town of England, in the
cou^yofLeacester, on a steep hill near the Soar, from
which it derives its name, 7 miles N. of Leicester. It
contains two Established churches, Methodist and Baptist
chapels, and several schools. The inhabitants are em¬
ployed in the manufacture of hosiery, and in the quarries
n the vicinity, where a very hard tip rock is obtained
of which the town is built. Pop. 1536. ’
MOURNING, a particular dress or habit worn to sD-
dZlf nf ZZ some melancholy occasion, particularly the
death of friends or of great public characters. The modes
o mourmng are various in different countries, as are also
narv T11S c °r that PurPose* In Europe the ordi¬
nary colour for mourning is black, in China it is white
Uown W ri1' V1(ilet’lin Egypt yell0W’ in Ethiopia!
brown. M lute formerly obtained in Castile on the death
of their princes; and Herrera observes, that the last time
t was used was in 1498, on the death of Prince John. The
Kings of France mourn in violet. Each people pretend to
have their reasons for the particular colour of their mourn¬
ing: white is supposed to denote purity; yellow indicates
that death is the end of human hopes, because leaves when
they fall, and flowers when they fade, become yellow ;
brown denotes the earth, whither the dead return; black
signifies the privation of life, as being the privation of light-
blue expresses the happiness which it is hoped the de¬
ceased enjoys; and purple or violet betokens sorrow on
bkTand bW h°Pe °n the °t,ler- “S “ mixture of
Mourning amongst the ancients was expressed in a
great variety of ways. Amongst the Jews, on the death
of their relations or intimate friends, grief or mourning was
signified by weeping, tearing their clothes, smiting their
bieasts or teaimg them with their nails, pulling or cutting;
oh their hair and beards, walking barefooted, lying upon
the ground fasting, &c. They kept themsdves closely
shut up in their houses, covered their faces, and abstained
i°m a11 wQ;h, even reading the law and saying their usual
pikers I hey neither dressed, nor made their beds, nor
cleaned their persons, nor saluted anybody; so that sulki¬
ness appears to have been an indication of sorrow, and
(hi tiness of distress. Ihe time of mourning amongst the
Jews was generally seven days, though this was lengdiened
oi s lortened according to circumstances; but thirty days
TZr Up°n the Severest occasions/ The
ffeient periods of the tune of mourning required different
degrees of grief, and different tokens of ft 4 llttrent
The Greeks, upon the death of friends, showed their sor¬
row by secluding themselves from all gaiety, especially
668
M O U
M O Z
Mourzuk entertainments, games, public solemnities, the enjoyment
Mout vv^ne, anc* t^ie delights of music. They sat in gloomy
k °u ‘ j and solitary places, stripped themselves of all external orna-
'r v ments, put on a coarse black stull’ by way of mourning, tore
tbeir hair, shaved their heads, rolled themselves in the dust
and mire, sprinkled ashes upon their heads, smote their
breasts with their palms, tore their faces, and frequently cried
out with a lamentable voice and drawling tone, reiterating
the interjection e, e, e, e. Hence funeral lamentations were
called EAe-yoi. If they appeared in public during the time of
mourning, they had a veil thrown over their faces and heads.
During the funeral procession, certain persons, called c£-
ap-xpi Oprjvwv, marched before, and sung melancholy strains.
These vocal mourners sung thrice during the procession
round the pile and round the grave. Flutes were also used
to heighten the solemnity. At the funerals of soldiers,
their fellow-soldiers who attended, as a testimony of their
affliction, held their shields, their spears, and the rest of
their armour inverted.
The tokens of private grief amongst the Romans were
nearly the same as those amongst the Greeks. Black or
dark brown were the colours of the mourning habits worn
by the men, and they were also common to the women.
The mourning of the emperors at first was black. In the
time of Augustus the women wore white veils, but the rest
of their dress was black. From the time of Domitian they
wore nothing but white habits, without any ornaments of
gold, jewels, or pearls. The men let their hair and beards
grow, and wore no wreaths of flowers on their heads whilst
the days of mourning continued. The longest time of
mourning was ten months. This was Numa’s establish¬
ment, and included his whole year. During this time it
was infamous for a widow to marry. Mourning was not used
for children who died under three years of age. From this
age to ten they mourned as many months as the child was
years old. A remarkable victory, or other happy event,
occasioned the shortening of the time of mourning. The
birth of a child, or the attainment of any remarkable honour
in the family, certain feasts in honour of the gods, or the
consecration of a temple, had the same effect. After the
battle of Cannse the commonwealth decreed that mourning
should not be worn for more than thirty days, that the loss
sustained might be forgotten as soon as possible. When
public magistrates or persons of great note died, also when
any remarkable calamity happened, all public meetings w'ere
intermitted; the schools of exercise, baths, shops, temples,
and all places of concourse, were shut up; and the whole
city put on an appearance of sorrow; the senators laid aside
the laticlave, and the consuls sat in a'lower seat than ordi¬
nary. This was also the custom of Athens, and was ob¬
served upon the death of Socrates, not long after he had
been sentenced to death by their judges. Prcefica, or
mourning women, went about the streets. This was also
customary amongst the Jews as well as the Greeks and
Romans. (Jerem. ix. 17.)
MOURZUK. See Fezzan.
MOUT, or Moot, a town of Asiatic Turkey, in the
pashalic of Itshili, is situated 88 miles S.E. of Konia. The
principal building is a castle, surrounded by embattled walls,
with several square towers, and a round one in the centre.
There are some mosques and baths, but these are mostly
in a ruinous condition. The inhabitants live for the
most part in huts of clay and reeds. The streets and
the sites of the principal buildings of an ancient city
(supposed by Beaufort to have been Philadelphia, but by
Leake to have been Claudiopolis), may be distinctly
traced among the more modern edifices ; and many marble
columns and other ornaments, lying neglected and half
buried in the earth, or built into Turkish mosques, now
also in ruins, attest the former magnificence of the Grecian
city.
MOUTON, Jean, an eminent French musician, born
in 1461, of whose life very little is known. Glarean, who
was personally acquainted with Mouton at Paris in 1521,
declares him to have been a native of France. Some
writers have stated that Mouton was chapel-master to Louis
XII. and Francis I. of France, but there is no evidence
for that. He was a pupil of Josquin Depres, according to
Adrian Willaert, his scholar. Several of his motets were
published at Venice and at Paris in the earlier part of the
sixteenth century. Hawkins and Burney gave specimens
of his music; and Forkel, in the second volume of his His¬
tory of Music, pp. 660-7, published Mouton's motet for
four voices, Conjitemini Domino. In the article Music
will be found an elegant air by Mouton, and a very remark¬
able passage of unprepared dissonances from one of'his
motets. (g. f. g.)
MOVEMENT, in music, usually relates to the degree
of slowness or quickness with which a piece of music is to
be performed. The different degrees of movement are
divided into five principal kinds, designated by the follow¬
ing terms in their order:—1^, Largo or Lento; 2d, Adagio;
3ri, Andante; \th, Allegro ; 5th, Presto. All other move¬
ments, such as Grave, Larghetto, Andantino, Tempo giusto,
Tempo di Minuetto, Allegretto, and Prestissimo, are mere
modifications of the preceding five kinds. It is found ne¬
cessary, however, to employ other auxiliary terms to indi¬
cate not only the degree of movement, but also the style
and manner of performance required. These auxiliary
terms are,—affettuoso, agitato, amoroso, grazioso, maes¬
toso, sostenuto, giusto, moderato, can labile, con brio, vivace,
spiritoso assai, con energia, appassionato, &c., &c. But
all these terms are vague; and the right movement, as
well as the best expression, suitable to this or that piece of
music, must be left to the skill and feeling of the accom¬
plished performer who has studied musical composition
and the styles of the various schools of music, ancient and
modern. The composer may fix precisely the time-move¬
ment of his piece of music by means of the metronome ;
but he has no means of showing exactly, by any written
signs, what style and expression he wishes the performer
to employ. (See Metronome.) (g. f. g.)
MOWEE, or Maui, an island of the Sandwich group,
situated in Lat. 20. 44. N., Long. 155. 58. W., 24 miles
N.W. of Hawaii. It stretches from N.W. to S.E. for about
40 miles, and consists of two elevated portions of an oval
shape, joined together by a low sandy isthmus, 9 miles
wide. The south-eastern portion rises almost perpendicu¬
larly to a height of more than 10,000 feet in Mount Halea-
kala; while the north-western elevation is much inferior
in height. The structure of the island, like that of the
others in the same group, is volcanic, and exhibits a strik¬
ing contrast between the barrenness of the mountains and
the luxuriant vegetation of the valleys and lower regions.
Mowee is considered the richest in soil and the most pro¬
ductive of the Sandwich Islands; but the cultivated ground
does not exceed one-tenth of the whole area. The town
of Lahaina, which is situated on a bay of the same name
on the S.W. coast, contains a church, schools, a market-
house, and a reading-room. Missionaries from the United
States first settled here in 1832, and have since acquired
great influence over the natives. The church consists of
about 300 members. The population of the town is pro¬
bably about 3000. The harbour of Lahaina is formed by
two projecting rocks, and is much resorted to by whaling
vessels for supplies of provisions. Pop. estimated at more
than 20,000.
MOZAMBIQUE, a name applied to a large extent
of the seaboard of Eastern Africa, belonging to Portu¬
gal ; as well as to the chief town of the same. The
former is bounded E. by the Mozambique Channel, N.
by Cape Delgado (S. Lat. 10. 38.), and S. by Delagoa
Mouton
, II
Mozam¬
bique.
b
1C- ,y (ST^ 1 and has an extent of about 1200
qu^ miles. The entire territory, with the exception of some
settlements on the River Zambesi, is confined to the
coast and cannot be said to have any definite interior
boundary It was discovered in 1498 by Vasco de Gama,
the great Portuguese navigator, and the chief town was
founded by Affonso de Albuquerque in 1506. The coast
,s character,zed by the two prominent headlands of Cape
Cornentes m the S., and Cape Delgado in the N.; and also
by several large bays, the chief of which are Delagoa, Mo-
cambo and Pamba. Between Delagoa Bay and Cape
Corrientes, and trom Mozambique city to Cape DeDado
the shores are described as high and precipitous^ whileTeefs
and numerous islands he off the land nearly tbreughout i s
entire length. Many large streams discharge thfmselves
here. Of these the principal are,—the Maniza and Inham-
pura, between Delagoa Bay and Inhambana town; the
Inhambana and Great Sofala, between the towns of the
same name; and the Buze, N. of Sofala, which is navigable
up to Mossiquire. The Zambesi, the largest river of
Eastern Africa, discharges itself by several mouths at the
middle point of the Mozambique coast. The princi al
branches o the delta are the Luabo and Kilim^e, the
wlfT1"’ fsou5iher.rilI,ost’ having the largest volume of
Smbpst 7 TIthe^inr°rmati0n °n this river’ See the art'cle
Zambesi.) The St George enters the sea between Kili-
mane mouth and Mozambique city; while the Fernando
nor h 8 , entf Tun^ Bay ^rtber to the
north. Settlements have been established along the coast
at the most accessible points, and where easy communication
may be had with the interior. The Portuguese, however
uive so neglected their possessions, that in every instance
the tiade and government are now in a very feeble condi-
ion. nueed, at some stations the government may be said
to rest more with the influential chiefs of tile neighbouring
who6V ’™ W(‘ith i‘ l?1P“,n"sllese go'-ernor or representative”
0 bequently holds his position as much from the cle¬
mency or indolence of the natives as from any fear they
have of his power. The military force is very small for such
an extent of territory, and is composed of the worst class of
soldieis who are either convicts from Europe, or cowardly
disaffected half-castes or natives. The coast, for admini¬
strative purposes, is divided into six sub-districts, and Mo-
zamb'que is the head district. The former are (going from
JN. to S.) Cape Delgado, Kihmane (with military stations
at Senna and Tete in the interior), Sofala, Inhambana, and
Eorenzo Marques. A governor-general and secretary,
appointed by the crown, administer the government, assisted
by a junta, which is composed of a president, treasurer, and
twelve members. The judicial staff includes a high judge
and substitute, as well as an attorney and delegate. The
established religion is Roman Catholic, and is superintended
y a prelate, a prior, and twelve parochial priests. Educa¬
tion, which, like religion, is here at a very low ebb, is dis¬
pensed by sixteen teachers in all, four of whom are females.
| Most of these, moreover, reside in the capital. The mili¬
tary staff consists of two commanders ; and the regular force
amounts to 1096 men,—distributed into the Mozambique
foot battalion, 368 men; the district company of Cape
I e gado, 161 men; and the district companies of Kili-
mane, Senna, Tete, Zumbo, Inhambana, Sofala, and Lo-
lenzo, 81 men each. Most of these stations are com-
nianded by a major and adjutant. A militia force, com¬
posed of natives, is nominally extant; but, with the excep¬
tion of its officers, who are native chiefs, receiving from
their appointments from L.4 to L.20 a year, its very
numbers are not ascertained. The cost of the military
| establishment amounts annually to about L.9522, and that
of the marine, which consists of a brig and a smaller vessel
nf qnn nnn ^ contains estimated population
of 300,000 souls, including 22,000 slaves ; but of that num-
MOZAMBIQUE.
POTtusuese sub^
Little is known of the condition or resources of the
and"! S ‘dn the feW Stati°ns Placed aIonS the coast ;
and these we shall now notice shortly in their order from
A. to S., thereby g.vmg a general idea of those parts not
yet within European influence. ”
San Joao, on the island of Ibo, lying close upon the
mainland is the northernmost of these settlements, and
is situated between S. Lat. 12. 20. and E. Long. 40. 30
It is defended by three forts, and belongs to Cape Delgado
district; which abounds in cotton, coffee, tobacco, gum
and amber, but has comparatively little trade. Pop. 14o’
Christians, 800 free blacks, and 600 slaves. P
■ ^r0Ta?b1i?Ue1 Ciy\ on an island of same name,
- S. Lat. lo. 1., E. Lon. 40. 5., and a short distance from
the continent, was founded in 1763, and incorporated as
c nef town in 1813. The cognominal district to which it
pertains extends on the mainland from Pamba Bay, in S.
Lat 12. 58., to the Moma River, in S. Lat. 16. 45., alenoth
o about 300 miles; but its interior frontier is undefined.
Many of the African tribes here, who do not formali;
ann3vdgThthewSOV7A/nty°uf P°rtUga1’ ^ Pay tribute
nnually. The site of Mozambique city was chosen for its
security, and supposed advantageous position for controlling
the coast; but otherwise a worse place could not have been
selected on the whole shore. It is barren, confined, and
very ill watered. Three forts command the island, and
could supply ample accommodation for a large garrison
I he town, which is notorious for its filthiness/has never¬
theless some good private houses as well as public build¬
ings. Among the latter there are a marine arsenal an
ospital, and a casa da misericordia; while a military hos-
pita! and public baths are situated in the south part of the
island. The trade of the place is at its height in the
autumn, when the blacks from the interior or adjacent
ports bring their goods hither for barter. Direct communi¬
cation however, with the interior is much obstructed by
want of a fort on the mainland opposite. The slave trade
thrives here, connived at by the authorities, who are said
o make great gains from the prices required from the
tiadeis by way of bribes or licenses; and large numbers are
art 14^ ?«the;Sl?nd f°r the PurPoses of tl-ade, in spite of
ait. 14o, § 8 of the constitution. These poor creatures
who number 20,000, are said to be ill clothed, ill fed, and
s lockingly ill treated. It is, moreover, a matter worthy
of remark, that the blacks who have received their freedom
here are a peaceful and industrious class, true to the govern¬
ment, and ever ready to receive religious instruction.
Pop. of city, 270 Christians, 102 Banyans or Portuguese
Hindoos from Goa, 1150 blacks, and 7000 slaves; "total
tn Parth77I?Wn the ^0ast’ bet'veen last-mentioned
town and K.hmane, is Qu.zango or Angozha, an old settle¬
ment of the Portuguese, but which, being attacked and de¬
stroyed in 1847 by a rebel chief of European origin, was
abandoned. K.hmane, or Quillimane, a small town 12 miles
above the mouth of the Kilimane, a delta branch of the
Zambesi, is situated S. Lat. 17. 53., and E. Lon. 36. 56 in
a cognommal district, comprising the Zambesi delta, with
he two stations of Senna and Tete. It stands on a mud
bank on the left side of the stream, surrounded by swamps
which render the ground on which the town is situTted
so soft that the walls of the houses are always sinking
Ihe climate is very unhealthy, and fevers are extremefy
prevalent. A large trade in slaves is carried on here
surreptitiously. They are collected in the town from
the interior, and remain there till the ships from Rio
de Janeiro and other ports of America arrive in the river
Pop. of town, 200 Christians, 32 free blacks, and 3260
669
Mozam¬
bique.
670
M 0 Z
M O Z
Mozam* Senna, a decayed town of the interior, on the right bank
bique. 0f tiie Zambesi, about 200 miles above Kilimane, contains
about 30 houses, and is surrounded by conical hills, on one of
which there is a dismantled fort. Though once a thriving
station, it has now, from repeated attacks by the neighbour¬
ing tribes, and from an insufficient garrison, become of
little consequence as a place of trade. The vicinity, how¬
ever, has all the resources to render it an important town,
possessing as it does rich iron and copper deposits, as well
as producing oil, fruits, and cereals in abundance. Pop. of
town, about 108 Christians and 2850 slaves.
Tete, about 300 miles farther up the Zambesi, on the
right bank of the same, is a walled town containing nearly
1200 huts, and defended by the fort Santiago Maior. It
is well situated for trade, and was, before the formal aboli¬
tion of the slave trade, the most important commercial port
on the Zambesi. Recently, however, the town has much
declined, although not to the same extent as Senna. It
has frequently, like it, suffered from attacks made by the
neighbouring tribes and rebel half-castes. Excellent iron,
coal, copper, and marble, abound in the vicinity, but
are left unworked. Gold also exists, but is not collected to
so great an extent as formerly. Dr Livingstone, who vi¬
sited this place in March 1856, says that 130 lb. of gold
were annually obtained here before a stoppage was put to
the slave trade, but now the amount has diminished to from
8 to 10 lb. annually. Pop. of town estimated by Living¬
stone at 2500.
The next station belonging to Portugal is Sofala, situated
on the sea-coast, about 250 miles S.E. of Kilimane, S. Eat.
20. 12., and E. Lon. 35. 20., formerly the chief town of a
large district of the same name, but now much fallen in
importance. Its harbour, however, is one of the best on the
shore, and the neighbourhood abounds in gold, ivory, and
precious stones.
Inhambana, situated on a peninsula at the mouth of a
cognominal river, more than 200 miles south of Soiala, in
S. Lat. 23. 51., and E. Lon. 35. 30., has a considerable trade
in slaves and ivory. The river here has little fall of water,
and its entrance is dangerous; while the country round the
town is flat, subject to inundation, and very unhealthy. A
hill a little beyond, however, is much resorted to by the
inhabitants for its comparative salubrity. Regular govern¬
ment is all but extinct here. Pop. 182 Christians, 205 free
blacks, and 1852 slaves.
The last station on the Mozambique coast is that of Lo¬
renzo Marques, situated in Delagoa Ray, S. Lat. 26., and
E. Lon. 30. 30., and surrounded by a swampy district of
land, subject to periodical inundation, and very unhealthy.
The bay, however, forms a secure and convenient harbour
for vessels rounding the Cape; while the vicinity is famous
for its fertility in all the articles of South African produce.
Excellent Indian corn, rice, cassia, and coffee grow here
with little culture, and building timber of the best quality
is abundant. The trade is mostly contraband, on account
of the impotency of the government, and consists in the
export of ivory, hides, and amber, in return for cheap cali¬
coes and beads from America and the Cape Colony. Nu¬
merous mutinies have occurred here, ending with the
murder of the governor,—an atrocity which has brought the
place into disrepute, and hastened its fall. Pop. about 50
Christians and 256 slaves.
From what has been said of the condition of the various
settlements on this shore, it must be evident that a new
system of administration is urgently required. The re¬
sources of the country are great and various ; and were the
government steady and liberal in its policy, their develop¬
ment' would be easily accomplished, and attended with great
profit both to the home government and to the tribes of
Africa. A company, called the East Africa Company, was
formed lately in Portugal avowedly for this purpose, and
laid certain conditions before the King, on which they
bound themselves to re-open the country to European enter¬
prise, but these were not accepted by the government.
Mozambique Channel, a wide strait of the Indian
Ocean, separating the island of Madagascar from the con¬
tinent of Africa, between S. Lat. 12. and 25., and E. Lon.
35. and 45. It lias a length of about 1000 miles, and a
breadth of from 300 miles at Mozambique city to about 600
miles at the widest part. The Comoros, a numerous cluster
of islands, are situated at its northern outlet.
MOZART, Johann-Chrysostom-Wolegang - Gott¬
lieb, the illustrious musical composer, was born at Salz¬
burg on the 27th of January 1756. He was the son of
Leopold Mozart, a musician in the employment of the
Prince-Archbishop of Salzburg, and Anna Maria Perth
Roth parents were noted for their uncommon beauty. Mo¬
zart was scarcely three years old when he manifested the
most astonishing disposition for music. With an instinct-
tive perception of beauty, his great delight was to seek for
thirds on the piano, and'nothing could equal his joy when
he found this harmonious chord. At the age of four his
father taught him some minuets and other pieces of mu¬
sic. Mozart would learn a minuet in half an hour, and a
longer piece in less than twice that time; and immediately
afterwards he played them with remarkable clearness, and
perfectly in time. Refbre he was six he had invented seve¬
ral small pieces himself, and even attempted compositions
of some extent and intricacy. The vivacity of his mind
led him to attach himself easily to every new object that
was presented to him. He pursued the usual tasks of
childhood with ardour ; and when learning arithmetic, co¬
vered the tables, chairs, and walls with figures which he
had chalked upon them. Music, however, soon became his
favourite study, and in his juvenile efforts in composition
he showed a consistency of thought and a symmetry of de¬
sign which promised a maturity of the highest genius.
One day his father, returning from church with a friend,
found his son busy writing. “ What are you doing there,
my little fellow ?” he asked. “ I am composing a concerto
for the harpsichord, and have almost got to the end of the
first part.” “ Let us see this fine scrawl.” “ No, I have
not yet finished it.” The father, however, took the paper,
and showed his friend a sheet full of notes, which could
scarcely be deciphered for the blots of ink. The two
friends at first laughed at this heap of scribbling; but after
regarding it a little more seriously, the father’s eyes over¬
flowed with tears of joy and wonder. “ Look, my friend,”
said he, with a smile of delight, “ everything is composed
according to rule. It is a pity the piece cannot be made
any use of; but it is too difficult; nobody would be able
to play it.” “ It is a concerto,” replied the son, “ and must
be studied till it can be properly played. This is the style
in which it ought to be executed.” He accordingly began
to play, but succeeded only so far as to give them an idea
of what he intended.
The extraordinary precocity of his son’s genius induced
Leopold Mozart to exhibit him at the different courts in
Germany. As soon, therefore, as Wolfgang had attained
his sixth year, the Mozart family, consisting of the father,
mother, and a young daughter who had made very consider¬
able proficiency on the harpsichord, and Wolfgang, took a
journey to Munich. This expedition succeeded in every
respect. The young artists, delighted at the reception which
they had met with, redoubled their application, and ac¬
quired a degree of execution on the piano which no longer
required the consideration of their youth to render it re¬
markable. During the autumn of the year 1762 the whole
family repaired to Vienna, where the children performed
before the court. Here they met with the celebrated W a-
genseil. When Mozart, who knew already how to esteem
the approbation of a great master, sat down to play before
Mozam.
bique
Channel
Mozart,
M art.
the Emperor Francis, he asked his Majesty, “ Is not M.
the^'thhigs.j^^rhe^Ernpero^sent^for^Wagensen^ ancl^gave
concertos ; you must turn over the leaves for me ”
Hitherto the young Mozart had onlv played upon the
harpsichord On his return from Vienna toSalzbur^ he
ft™ Wen" ^knfutvT" I0'1"' andam"-J
it. VVenzl, a skilful viol in-player, came to consult Leopold
Mozart about some trios he had written. It was propped
to try , ,e music. The father played the bass, WenT he
first violin and Schachtner, the archbishop’s trumpeter was
to have played the second; but Wolfing insisted so much
on being allowed to take this part, that his father at last
consented to his playing it on his little violin. It was the
first time he had heard his son seriously attempt this in!
strument, which to the astonishment and delight of the
paity, he played with marvellous precision.
Every day afforded fresh proofs of Mozart’s exouisitP
organization for music. He could distinguish and^Sn!
out the slightest differences of sound; and every false or
tuTt^him "if’ by S°me chord’ ^as a tol-
tmeto him. It was from this cause that during the earlv
ten h<)fve1,S and even tiU be b»d attained his
tenth year, he had an insurmountable horror for the
mefelyaS anaccompaniment.
ie sight of this instrument produced upon him much the
ame impression as that of a loaded pistol does upon othe!
chiklren when pointed at them in sport. His father
thought he could cure him of this fe‘r b causin the
lon^ento0 ^ ^T!1 m hisPresence, notwithstanding his
Wn f *1 ‘ u tieS ° b,e sPared that torment; but at the first
nmh S6 ?°y tl’rned.pale’ feI1 uP°n the floor, and would
diately ceased Cn m C°nvulsions if they had not imme-
In 1763, when Mozart was in his seventh year his fi-
an!es 'ofO^0" ^'i e?Pedition beyond the bound-
anes of Ge many; and it is from this period that the ce-
ebrity of the name of Mozart in Europe is to be dated
and7nV,thee? many 0tlT ei‘ dtieS °n the Conti»ent;
!hvpff h f } Z t 4 Cam^ t0 London- where the children
p ayed befoto the King Mozart also played the organ at
the Chapel Royal; and with this the King was even more
DuHnliR111 -WitI; hiS Perf—ee on Sie harpsXd.
I 1 !hlfr V'^t 16 comP°sed six sonatas, which he de¬
dicated to the Queen. He afterwards returned to France,
on hf!6 ^ P10cefc^ec^ to Holland and Switzerland; and
the XT^X1^ plaCe in 1768’ ho composed, at
buff qTt,°futheJmper0r JosePh’ music of an opera-
. ffa called the/mta Semplice, which was approved of
nfti?Sn an M1etaStasi0* Atthe dedication of tlie church
d r!ctrto7hanSi 16 C0InP0sed the music of the mass, and
irectecl this solemn service, in the presence of the impe-
although he was at that period only twelve
years old. J
In the month of December 1769 his father took him to
Italy, and in every city met with an enthusiastic recep¬
tion Young Mozart had not as yet ventured out of the
oeaten track of composers ; but.preserving the old forms
melody and harmony, he wrote in a style which was
particularly learned and correct. His operas at this pe¬
riod were thought to have an air of stiffness, from the cen-
trapunta knowledge which they exhibited. What prin¬
cipally distinguished him from other composers, was the
acuity with which he scored, and the extraordinary flu¬
ency of his ideas. It was probably, too, from readino- Me-
tastasio at this period that Mozart’s taste in lyric poetry
was formed; for in maturer life he was fastidious in the
cnoice of the words beset to music, and the uninterrupted
now ot melody and versification distinguished his airs from
MOZART.
X COmpTn A"°ther circumstance of the
Italian tour which proved influential upon the after life of
Mozart was the daily hearing of the highestand most path¬
etic style ot church music, Italy having in the latter nfrt of
‘rorkf Tfr? SlT °f-her 8reatest ecclesiastical
" ' , ■ Pn 11 e celebrated Requiem, which was eomnosetl
purely from love of the expressive in sacred mu si! we
may discover the result of the author’s youno- devmion to
tns branch of the art, the consequence of listening to
choral effects m the cathedrals of Italy. ^
Mozart having engaged to produce the first opera for
die carnival of Milan, our travellers proceeded to Bolomia
ere Wolfgang found an enthusiastic admirer in Padre
Martini, who was astonished to find a boy of fourteen
years old capable of giving answers instantly in the rigore
modi to any subject of fugue laid before him. In R'Le
“0Z“ dgfIf “ m,raculous “‘testation of his quietness of
ear and extensive memory by bringing away from the
Sistine chapel the Miserere of Allegri, a work full of
imitation and rejiercussion, mostly for a double choir andf
continually changing in the combination and relation of
the parts. He drew out a sketch of this celebrated com
position upon the first hearing, and filled rup f!om rt
la t T at h°me'- ,He then rePaired to the second and
rect^d lifrmHnpCe f>Vlth T raan!1SCriPt inhk hat, and cor-
rected it. He afterwards produced his copy at a concert
ance of’the iif6 6 Singei'S Sang at the Perf°rm-
ance ot the Miserere pronounced it perfect. Mozart
diffl l)fCame famous in Rome, a city where it was most
difficult to excite attention in anything relating to the fine
ar s °„ a „nt of the numero J VIClKtions°J0J^
con tnn |very day presented, and formed subjects of
constant and familiar contemplation.
Gn December 26, 1771, the first representation of h;a
opera Mitndate Re di Ponto took place at Milan. It met
1 ! remarkuble favour, and was performed twenty-two
0hts in succession. He afterwards wrote several other
operas, one of which, entitled Zvcio Silla, was likewise
represented twenty times. But the epoch at which Mo¬
zarts genius ripened may be dated from his twentieth yfar
Constant study and practice had given him ease in com’
position, and ideas came thicker with hisXy manhood
The fire, the melodiousness, the boldness of harmony the
inexhaustiMe invention, which characterize his works,5were
at this time apparent. He began to think in a manner
entirely independent, and to perform what he had promised
as a regenerator of the musical art. piomiseel
tw^!vZafirfflPr°dUCedyThiS firSt fGat °pera’ Idome^o, in his
twenty-fifth year He was then enamoured of Mademoi¬
selle Constance Weber, a celebrated actress, whom he af-
- The family °f h'S mistress having op¬
posed the match on account of his unsettled habits and
heUh!T’ he desiTs oP lowing them that, although
posseied110^^11 /aKk-in S°Ciety’ he ^vertheless
possessed the means of obtaining consideration; and his
attachment to Constance supplied him with the subject of
the impassioned airs which his work required. The love
and vanity of the young composer, thus stimulated to the
ghest Phch, enabled him to produce the opera of Ido-
meneo, which he always regarded as one of his be«t and
sequent!works! ^ ^ ^
Mozart being now happily married and settled, gave him-
^f£Z in mT7n r 86 he Prod““d
ga o , in 1787, // Don Giovanni; and in 1788, Cosi
fan Tutte; and in 1791, his operas La Clemenza di Tito
and Die Zauberflote, also his Requiem, which remained
unfinished. He wrote only three German opeTTiS
sTkaX^Zto^ 9 ^ ^ S™1- and
His works composed for the stage consist altogether of
671
Mozart.
672 M O Z
Mozart, fourteen operas. He left seventeen symphonies and instru-
mental pieces of all kinds, besides masses and other church
compositions. He was one of the first piano-forte per¬
formers in Europe. He played with extraordinary rapidity,
and the execution of his left hand was especially admired.
Haydn said, “ I never can forget Mozart’s playing; it went
to the heart.”
Entirely absorbed in music, this great man was a child
in almost every other respect. His hands were so wed¬
ded to the piano, that he could use them for nothing else.
At table his wife carved for him ; and in everything relat¬
ing to money or to the management of his domestic af¬
fairs, or even the choice and arrangement of his amuse¬
ments, he was entirely under her guidance. But seated
at the piano-forte, he appeared a being of another order.
His mind then took wing, and his whole attention was di¬
rected to the development of his art. His health was very
delicate, and during the latter part of his too short life it
declined rapidly. At times he laboured under a profound
melancholy, and in this state he wrote Die Zauberflote, the
Clemenza di Tito, and his celebrated mass in U minor,
commonly known by the name of his Requiem. The cir¬
cumstances which attended the composition of the last of
these works are too remarkable to be omitted in any notice
of the life of Mozart.
One day, when his spirits were unusually oppressed, a
stranger of a tall, dignified appearance was introduced.
The manners of this stranger were grave and impressive,
and he told Mozart that he came from a person who did
not wish to be known, to request he would compose a so¬
lemn mass, as a requiem for the soul of a friend whom he
had recently lost, and whose memory he was desirous of
commemorating by this solemn service. Mozart under¬
took the task, and engaged to have it completed in a
month. The stranger begged to know what price he set
upon his work, and having immediately paid him a hun¬
dred ducats, took his leave. The mystery of this visit
seemed to have a very strong effect upon the mind of the
musician. He brooded over it for some time, and then
suddenly calling for writing materials, began to compose
with extraordinary ardour. This application, however,
was more than his strength could support; it brought on
fainting fits, and his increasing illness obliged him to sus¬
pend his work. “ I am writing this requiem for myself,”
Said he abruptly to his wife one day ; “ it will serve for my
own funeral service ; ” and this impression never after¬
wards left him. At the expiration of the month, the mys¬
terious stranger appeared, and demanded the requiem.
“ I have found it impossible,” said Mozart, “ to keep my word;
the work has interested me more than I expected, and
I have extended it beyond my first design. I shall require
another month to finish it.” The stranger made no objec¬
tion ; but observing, that for this additional trouble it was
but just to increase the premium, laid down fifty ducats
more, and promised to return at the time appointed.
Astonished at the whole proceedings, Mozart ordered a ser¬
vant to follow this singular personage, and if possible find
out who he was; the man, however, lost sight of him, and
was obliged to return as he went. Mozart, now more than
ever persuaded that he was a messenger from the other
world sent to warn him that his end was approaching, applied
with fresh zeal to the requiem, and in spite of the exhaust¬
ed state both of his mind and body, completed it before the
end of the month. At the appointed day the stranger re¬
turned, but Mozart was no more. He died on the oth
December 1791, before he had completed his thirty-sixth
year.
The distinguishing characteristic of the music of Mo¬
zart is its power of touching the deepest feelings of the
soul. He has been justly styled the Ilaffaellc of music.
He had many of the fine qualities and modest perfections
ART.
of the great painter, whom also he resembled in the fertility Mozart,
and variety of his genius. Mozart embraced his art in
its whole extent, and excelled in all its departments. When,
indeed, we bring into view all his qualifications as a com¬
poser and a practical musician, the result is astonishing.
The same man, under the age of thirty-six, wras at the
head of dramatic, sinfonia, and piano-forte music ; he was
eminent in the sacred style, and equally at his ease in
every variety, from the elaborate concerto to the simplest
pieces of music. He put forth about 800 compositions,
including masses, motets, operas, and fragments of differ¬
ent kinds ; at the same time supporting himself by teach¬
ing and giving public performances, at which he executed
concertos on the piano-forte, the violin, the organ, or
played extempore.
Of his operas, he esteemed most highly II don Gio¬
vanni and Idomeneo. He seldom spoke of his own works;
but of the Don Giovanni he one day observed, “ This
opera was not composed for the public of Vienna; it is
better suited to Prague: but, to say the truth, I wrote it
only for myself and my friends.” In this extraordinary
production, so remarkable for exquisite melodies and pro¬
found harmonies, the playful, the tender, the pathetic, the
mysterious, the sublime, and the terrible may be distinctly
traced. The composer exhibits throughout the work the
most romantic imagination ; and in the awful accompani¬
ment to the reply of the statue we have a specimen of
composition replete with terrific expression, but at the same
time perfectly free from inflation or bombast. The ghost
scene in the last act may be considered as the greatest
effort of dramatic composition. Well has the style of Mo¬
zart been described as that of Shakspeare in music. The
fear of Leporello is painted with true comic spirit; a thing
rather unusual with Mozart. But melancholy is the pre¬
vailing passion in this masterpiece; and so strong, so dis¬
tinct, so real is the imagery in which it is presented to
the soul, that minds possessed of the least enthusiasm are
sure to be moved.
We have already seen that the Idomeneo was the first
work produced by Mozart that raised his name to cele¬
brity as a dramatic composer. This opera, and the Cle¬
menza di Tito, are, in the opinion of judges, considered as
the two best serious operas extant. His opera of Le Nozze
di Figaro is also much admired. In this piece it must be
admitted that Mozart has changed the picture of Beaumar¬
chais. The spirit of the original is preserved only in the
situations; all the characters are altered to the tender and
impassioned. But although the brilliant wit of the French
author has not been conveyed, yet, as a work of pure ten¬
derness and melancholy, entirely divested of any unsuit¬
able admixture of the majestic and the tragical, the Nozze
di Figaro is unrivalled. It is difficult to form any idea
of the Zauberflote without having seen it. The story,
which is like the wandering of a delirious imagination, har¬
monizes admirably with the genius of the musician. The
subject of Cosi fan Tutte is unsuitable to Mozart, who
could not trifle with love. The tender parts of the cha¬
racters in this opera are the best.
The sacred compositions of Mozart are celebrated all
over Europe, and frequently performed in the Homan Ca¬
tholic churches. Of these works, the most sublime is the
Requiem ; but several of his other masses and motets are
noted for their grandeur and beauty. His symphonies,
quartetts, and other works for the orchestra and stringed
instruments, rank in estimation with those of Haydn and
Beethoven. His piano-forte writings are also justly es¬
teemed. Mozart’s sympathy was most extensive ; he par¬
ticipated with Sebastian Bach in the beauty ot the fugue,
with Handel in the grandeur of church music, with Gluck
in the serious opera, with Haydn in instrumental music,
and in the universality of his genius surpassed them all.
M 0 Z
Ifozdok In the exterim of Mozart there was nothing remarkable $
II lie was diminutive in person, and had a very agreeable
rZJ countenance, which, however, did not at the first glance
discover the greatness of his genius. His eyes were to-
leiably laige and well shaped, more heavy than fierv in
the expression; and when he was thin they were rather
prominent. His sight was quick and strong; but he had
an unsteady, abstracted look, except when seated at the
piano-forte, and then the whole form of his visage changed.
His hands were small and beautiful, and he used them so
softly and naturally upon the piano-forte, that the eye was
no less delighted than the ear. His head was rather large
in proportion to his body, but his hands and feet were In
perfect symmetry. The stunted growth of Mozart’s body
may have arisen from the efforts of his mind. He was
always good-humoured, but very absent, and in answering
questions seemed to be thinking of something else. Mo¬
zart had six children, but two sons only survived him.
His widow married M. von Nissen at Vienna, who pub¬
lished in 1828 a full and excellent biographical account of
the composer.
(See the Baron de Grimm’s Correspondance Litteraire
for some interesting notices of Mozart in his boyhood ; the
Honourable Dailies Barrington’s notice of Mozart in the
Philosophical Transactions, 1770; A. H. F. von Schlicthe-
groll’s biographical notice of Mozart in vol. i., for 1791, of
Necrologie der Deutschen, Gotha, Perthes; and also the
same author’s Musikalische Correspondenz for 1792; a
Life of Mozart, and aesthetic examination of his works (in
German), Erfurt, 1803 ; Ginguene, “ Notices sur Mozart,”
in vol. xxxi. of Decade Philosophique ; Schizzi, Elogio
Stonco on Mozart, Cremona, 1817; G. N. von Nissen,
Biographic of Mozart, Leipsic, 1828, 8vo, pp. 702, and
Supplement, in the same year, pp. 219 (this contains
portrait and list of musical compositions); Herr Otto
Jahn s Life of Mozart (in German), with two engraved
portiaits and a lithographed fac-simile of his handwriting
on a folio sheet, large 8vo, xl. and 716 pages, Leipsic,
Breitkopf and Hartel, 1856). (a. h.)
a t°wn European Russia, in the govern¬
ment of Caucasus, is situated on the Terek, near the pass
of the Caucasus named Derial, 136 miles S.E. of Stavro¬
pol, and 148 N.N.W. of Tiflis. It is built principally of
wood and clay, and the houses are in general no more
than one storey high; but the numerous and beautiful
gardens which the town contains give it an appearance of
great cheerfulness. There is a Greek and a Roman Ca¬
tholic church, the latter of which is a fine edifice. The
inhabitants depend chiefly on the produce of their gardens
and vineyards. Manufactures of leather and brandy are
also carried on to some extent. Mozdok has also a con¬
siderable trade with Georgia and the other parts of Russia.
Pop. (1849) 10,869.
MOZUFFURNUGGUR, in Plindustan, a British dis¬
trict in the lieutenant-governorship of the N.W. provinces,
extending from N. Lat. 29. 10. to 29. 50., E. Long. 77. 6. to
78. 10. It contains an area of 1617 square miles, and a
population of 672,861. The tract was ceded to the East
India Company by the Mahratta chieftain Scindia in 1803.
The town of Mozuffurnuggur is situated in N. Lat. 29.28.,
E. Long. 77. 45.
MSlTSLAVL, a town of European Russia, in the
province of Moghilev, is situated on the right bank
of the Vekhra, 55 miles E.N.E. of Moghilev. It con¬
tains six churches and a synagogue, several convents,
and a college formerly belonging to the Jesuits. Linen
is. manufactured here; and an active trade is carried on
with Riga in corn, hemp, and flax. This province formed
a part of the ancient duchy of Lithuania. Pop. (1851)
6675.
VOL. XV
M U G 673
MUDGE, William, one of the superintendents of the Mudge
grand trigonometrical survey of England and Wales, was |f
born at Plymouth in 1762. He was one of a race of gifted Muggleton.
men. His grandfather, the Rev. Zachary Mudge, was  '
an intimate friend of Dr Johnson, and the author of a well-
known volume of sermons; his uncle, Thomas Mudge,
was pronounced by the scientific men of his day to be “one
of the first watchmakers which this country has produced;”
and his father, Dr John Mudge, is known in the history
of science as the improver of the reflecting telescope.
William Mudge was trained for the army in the Royal’
Military Academy at Woolwich, and served abroad as a
lieutenant in the Royal Artillery. It was after his return
to England that he was appointed to assist in the trigono¬
metrical survey under the superintendence of Lieutenant-
Colonel Edward \\ illiams, R.A. rI he rank of captain was
then conferred upon him. In course of time he became
superintendent, and was raised to the successive dignities
of major, lieutenant-colonel, and major-general. The re¬
sults of his surveys were published from time to time in
the Philosophical Transactions, and secured for him
much distinction. He was elected a correspondent of the
Institute of France, and a fellow of the Academy of
Sciences at Copenhagen and of the Society of Antiquaries
at London. During the latter part of his life he also
held the office of lieutenant-governor of the Royal Mili-
tary^ademy at Woolwich. He died at London in April
MUFTI, the name given to the head doctors of the law
of the Koran in Turkey, of whom there is one in every
large town. The authority of the mufti is very great in
the Ottoman empire; for even the Sultan himself, if he
would preserve any appearance of religion, cannot, with¬
out hearing his opinion, put any person to death, or so
much as inflict any corporal punishment. In all actions,
especially criminal ones, his opinion is required by giving
him a writing in which the case is stated under feigned
names, and which he subscribes with the words, “ He shall
(or shall not) be punished, ’ without assigning any reason for
his judgment. Such outward honour is paid to the mufti,
that the Grand Signior himself rises up and advances seven
steps to meet him when he comes into his presence. The
mufti of Constantinople, or “ Sheikh-ul-Islam ” (Chief of
the Elect), is the chief functionary of the Turkish church,
and has a jurisdiction over the muftis of the provinces’.
He holds his office at the will of the Sultan.
MUGGLETON, Ludowick, the founder of the sect
of the Muggletonians, was born in 1609, and was bred to
be a tailor. Abandoning his trade in 1651, he set up
himself and his companion John Reeves as the “ two last
witnesses mentioned in the Apocalypse as having power
to prophesy and to smite mankind with plagues. They
began to fulfil their “commission” by denouncing all reli¬
gious sects, and especially the Ranters and the Quakers.
An exposition of their doctrines was published in 1656
under the title of The Divine Looking-Glass. In this
work, among other wild vagaries, were propounded the
views that the Trinity are merely the three different names,
and not the three distinct persons, of one God ; that God has
a real human body; and that he left Elias as his vicegerent
in heaven when he came down to the earth to die on the
cioss. Such profane heresies provoked much opposition.
They vveie attacked by the famous Quaker William Penn
in a book entitled The New Witnesses proved Old Hereticks,
41°, 1672. Muggleton himself, in 1676, was arraigned at
the Old Bailey on the charge of blasphemy. He died in
March 1698. His collected works were published in 1756.
In 1832 appeared a complete collection of the works of
Reeves and Muggleton, together with tracts by others of
the same sect, in 3 vols. 4to.
4 Q
674
M U H
M U L
Muhalich
Mulcaster.
MUHALICH, or Mikalitza, a town of Asiatic Turkey,
in the pashalic of Anatolia, is situated in a plain near the
confluence of the Susuelu and the Ulubad, about 15 miles
from the mouth of the united stream, which takes the
name of Muhalich, and 35 miles W.N.W. of Brusa. The
town contains nine mosques and several khans, and is chiefly
inhabited by Greeks and Armenians. It has a considerable
trade in silk produced in the neighbourhood, and in the
melons and other vegetables which are conveyed by water
from the east shore of Lake Apollonia, down the Ulubad,
to Muhalich, and thence by the Muhalich River and the sea
to Constantinople. Pop. about 11,000.
MUHLENBACH, or Muhlbach, a town of Tran¬
sylvania, is situated on a river of the same name, 12 miles
S. of Alba Julia, and 30 W.N.W. of Hermannstadt. It
is surrounded by walls, beyond which there are two suburbs;
and is defended by two regularly-built forts. There are here
a Lutheran and a Catholic church, a Franciscan convent,
and a Protestant school. Weaving is the principal branch
of industry carried on; and there is a considerable trade in
wine. Pop. 4200.
MUHLHAUSEN, a town of Prussia, in the govern¬
ment of Erfurt, pleasantly situated on the Unstrut, 29
miles N.W. of Erfurt. It is surrounded by walls with
towers, and was formerly a free town of the empire. It
has four churches, of which the High Church is the most
handsome ; a high school; and several hospitals and other
benevolent institutions. Manufactures of leather, linen and
woollen fabrics, and tobacco are carried on; and there are
also breweries and distilleries in the town, and copper and iron
mines in the neighbourhood. Miihlhausen was in 1524
the head-quarters of the Anabaptist rebel and fanatic
Munzer, who excited to insurrection a large number of
peasants from the surrounding country. The town pre¬
served its liberty and popular government till 1802, when
it was ceded to the kingdom of Prussia, to which it has
since belonged. Pop. 13,723.
MULA, a town of Spain, province of Murcia, 22 miles
W. of that town. It contains a great square, wherein are
built a town-house, prison, and clock-tower; besides which
are also an hospital, a theatre, a nunnery, and several
churches. The manufactures of the place include pottery,
copper, soap, wool, and brandy. Pop. 6500.
MULCASTER, Richakd, a distinguished scholar of
the sixteenth century, was born at Carlisle about 1535. He
received his elementary education at Eton under the cele¬
brated Udal, and entered King’s College, Cambridge, in
1548. He removed to Christ Church, Oxford, in 1555,
and took his degree in arts during the following year. He
began to teach in 1559, and from his great reputation for
philological attainments, was chosen in 1561 first master
of Merchant Tailors’ School, London, then just established.
For a period of twenty-five years he continued “ to fill St
John’s College, Oxford, with excellent scholars;” and in
the Latin plays acted before Queen Elizabeth and James
I. at Oxford, the pupils of Mulcaster carried the palm.
Fuller tells us that Mulcaster wras a severe teacher, but much
beloved by his pupils. After being connected for some
time with St Paul’s School, he was promoted to the rectory
of Stanford-Rivers in Essex, where he died in 1611.
Many of his panegyrics in Latin verse were prefixed to the
works of his contemporaries. His works are,—Positions,
wherein those Primitive Circumstances he examined which
are necessarie for the training up of Children, either for
Skill in theire Book, or Health in theire Bodie, London,
1581, 4to, which did carry him on to promise, and bind
him to perform, The first Part of the Elementaries which
entreateth chefelie of the Bight Writing of our English
Tung, London, 1582, 4to, a work of which Warton speaks
highly; also a Catechismus Paulinus in usum Scholce
Paulina: conscriptus, London, 1601, written in long and
short verse, and once very popular. (Warton’s History of
English Poetry, vol. iii., p. 282, 1840; and Wilson’s His¬
tory qf Merchant Tailors' School, vol. i.)
MilLHEIM-AM-RHEIN, atown of Rhenish Prussia, in
the government of Cologne, and 3 miles N.E. of that town, is
situated on the Rhine, which is here crossed by a suspension-
bridge. It contains two churches and a synagogue. The
manufactures of the place are extensive, consisting of
leather, silk, cotton, candles, soap, tobacco, brandy, &c.;
and there is also an active trade in corn and timber. The
activity and prosperity of the town are chiefly owing to
its Protestant citizens, who came hither from Cologne in
the beginning of the seventeenth century. Pop. 5643.
Mulheim-am-Rtjhr, a town of Rhenish Prussia, in the
government of Dusseldorf, is built on the Ruhr, which
is here crossed by a suspension-bridge, 15 miles N.N.E. of
Dusseldorf. It contains three churches and a synagogue.
The manufactures are considerable, consisting of cloth,
paper, soap, starch, tobacco, gunpowder, machinery, &c.;
and there is a coal mine in the neighbourhood which fur¬
nishes the principal article of trade. The River Ruhr is
navigable as far as this town. Pop. 10,181.
MULHOUSE, or Mulhausen, a town of France, in
the department of Upper Rhine, on the 111, 27 miles S. of
Colmar,61 miles S.S.W.of Strasburg, and 16 N.W.of Basle.
It consists of an old and a new town,—the former standing-
on an island of the 111, and approached by several bridges ;
the latter, on the right bank of that river, lying between it
and the Rhine and Rhone Canal. The old town is irregu¬
larly but well built, and the streets are broad, well paved,
and clean. The principal buildings are the Roman Catholic
and Protestant churches, synagogue, town-hall, school,
arsenal, and hospital. The new town is handsomely and
regularly built; and contains an exchange, a chamber of
commerce, a hall belonging to the Society of Industry, and
many other fine houses. Mulhouse is one of the greatest
manufacturing towns of France. The principal articles
produced are muslins and cotton prints, of which probably
a greater quantity is made here than in any other place in
the world. This branch of manufacture was not introduced
here till 1746, and has contributed very much to the great
and rapid progress of the town since that time. Cotton¬
spinning is also extensively carried on ; but in this branch
the manufacturei’s of Mulhouse cannot compete with those
of Manchester and Glasgow, and the manufactui'e also
labours under the disadvantage of the necessity of the raw
material being conveyed from Havre or Marseilles. The
supply of coal is also difficult to obtain, as it has to be
brought from some distance by the Rhine and Rhone Canal.
The other manufactures of Mulhouse consist of woollen
cloth, silk, linen, hosiery, paper, leather, beer, &c.; and the
trade is considerable in the produce of the manufactures,
as well as in corn, wine, brandy, raw cotton, &c. Mul¬
house has a court of commerce, a chamber of manufactures,
and a council of prudlhommes. It was formerly the capital
of a small independent republic in alliance with the Swiss
cantons, but was united to France in 1798. Mulhouse is
remarkable as the birthplace of Lambert the mathematician,
bom in 1728. Pop. (1851) 28,142.
MULL ISLAND, one of the Western Isles of Scotland,
Argyllshire, bounded W. by the Atlantic ; N. by the same
and Loch Sunart; N.E. by the Sound of Mull, a narrow
strait which divides it from the mainland; and S.E. by the
Atlantic; N. Lat. (of centre) 56. 30., and W. Long. 6.4. It
is of an irregular shape, deeply indented on the west by
Lochs Na Keal and Seriden, as well as by numerous
smaller inlets round its entire coast-line, and measures 29
miles in length, by from 24 miles of maximum breadth to
3£ miles at the head of Loch na Keal. The coast is rocky,
and the surface rugged and covered in some parts by ex¬
tensive tracks of moorland. With the exception of a
Miilheim.
am-Rhein
Midi.
M U L
Miiller.
narrow belt of limestone on the S, the entire rock of Mull
belongs to the ign.genous system of rocks, especially of
trap which on the western coast presents numerous hori¬
zontal terraces; while at .ts S.W. extremity a fine whitish
granite occurs used in the construction of die Skerryvore
lighthouse. A Tertiary stratum, however, has been Lely
found between the newer trap deposit and that of an earlier
date. Many caverns occur round the shores of the island
vaned here and there by castles and columns of basalt!
I he interior, however, presents no aspect of interest
excepting Ben More, which rises to 3097 feet. The
•sod is almost wholly devoted to pasturage, the only spots
where grain is grown being in the more sheltered sums
neai the coast Excellent sheep and small hardy cittle
are reared here for the lowland markets. The farms have
recently been much enlarged at the expense of the small
holders, who have since 1841 left the island in considerable
numbers In its climate Mull resembles the neighbouring
fromdthebS W “'a ^ 'Tn ^ SUbjeCt t0 Severe storais
trom the b.W. A considerable number of the inhabitants
'I hfnng fishery ; whiIe Sundance of
wmte fish is to be had round the coast. The island is
divided into the three parishes of Torosay, Kilninian and
Kilmore, and Kilfimchen and Kilvickeon. The amount of
poor rates collected here in the year ending May 14, 1856f
amounted to L.2269, against L.2049 expended^; and there
were in the same year 432 persons who received relief
lero f 18 ?nd 1 ’ ,10’?64 5 (1851)’ 8369> of vvhom 4243"
MttTTfr r °r 116 hl^°ry °f Mul1’ see Hebrides.)
UELER, Gerhard Friedrich, a German traveller
and author, was born at Herford in Westphalia in 1705. By
Professor Mencke, under whom he studied at Leipsic, he
was recommended to the government of Russia. Having
been admitted into the newly-founded Academy of St
Petersburg, he taught Latin, history, and geography, and
was afterwards promoted to the chair of history. IBs un-
ZZZ T his du1ties’ and elegant'scholarship,
n LnTmended h'm *° hi^her appointments. Employed
n L40 to accompany De Lisle into Siberia, he spent ten
thatTL^1’8 m ?Ui ylnS the %e°S™PhJ aud antiquities of
that barbarous and desert country. Soon after his return
le was nominated historiographer to the Russian empire,
the office of keeper of the archives was added in 1766.
He was next appointed to draw up a collection of the di¬
plomatic treaties of Russia, on the model of the Corps Di¬
plomatique o^Domoot. In the discharge of all these duties
lie acquired a knowledge of the history of the empire
equa y mmute and extensive. His unflagging industry
embodied that information in a number of works which
nave proved an inexhaustible source of information to suc¬
ceeding annalists, and which entitle their author to the
appellation of the “ father of Russian history.” Muller died
in October 1783. His principal work is a Collection fm- the
mstory of Russia, in 9 vols. 8vo, St Petersburg, 1722-64.
Muller, Johann, surnamed, from the Latinized name of
ns native place, Regiomontanus, the greatest mathemati¬
cian ot the fifteenth century, was born in 1436 at Konigs-
ierg, but whether at the town of that name in Franconia
or m Prussia is disputed. At the age of twelve he was
sent for his education to Leipsic, and at the end of four
yeais he rivalled his teachers in arithmetic, geometry, and
astronomy. His studies were next prosecuted under
euerbach, the astronomical professor in Vienna. Here his
talents and acquirements recommended him to the notice
0 his teacher and the celebrated Cardinal Bessarion. On
the death of the former in 1461, he was appointed to the
vacant chair, and was encharged with the completion of a
new translation of Ptolemy’s Almagest which had been be¬
gun by the deceased professor. But before enterino- on
these arduous tasks he repaired to Italy, to acquire a
thorough knowledge of the Greek language. While study-
M U L
mg philology at Rome, Ferrara, and Padua, he was also
nravedd ^ Wming his ^ Triangulis, a treatise which
Short vaftlrMfiT1] aCqU1Sltl0r! t0 trig°nometricaI science.
Shoitly aftei 1464 he returned to Venice. Before, how-
evei, his stay in that city had been prolonged over many
Buda ^TrrarHf °m ^ KinS of Hungary drew him to
Buda Ihere his time was employed in constructing his
i-abula Directionum Profectionumque, 8cc., a work which
wasafterwarrls printed in 1475, and which contained the
fii st table of tangents ever published in Europe A m-eat
stimulus was given to his studies by his removal to Nurem-
erg m 1471. By a wealthy inhabitant of that town named
Bernard Walter he was supplied with astronomical instru¬
ments and with a printing-press. He was thus enabled to
carry on that important series of observations which were
continued after his death by Walter, and which were long
atei wards, in 1544, published under the title of Obscrva-
tiones Tnginta Annorum, 4to, Nuremberg. Another im-
portant work which he produced about this time was the
Kalendarium Novum for the three years 1475, 1494, and
1513. It passed into Hungary, Italy, France, and England
vvas speedily sold off, and increased the fame of its author’
In 147o he was appointed archbishop of Ratisbon, and was
invited to Rome by Pope Sixtus IV. He had only lived a
year in that city when he was cut off, at the age of forty
His remains were interred with great honour in the Pan-
theon. Gassendi appended a Life of Midler to his Life of
Tycho Brahe, 4to, Paris, 1654. (For an account of the
services of Regiomontanus to the cause of science see
Dissertation IV., § i.) ’ e
Muller, JoAawra, an eminent Swiss historian, was the
son of a dergyman, and was born at Schaffliausen in
Switzerland in 17o2. He received his elementary educa-
ion at the gymnasium of his native town, and was early in¬
tended for the church. But chancing to be sent to the
university of Gottingen, he acquired, under the tuition of
^c iloezer, an irresistible bias towards historical studies, and
published at the age of twenty a History of the Cimbric
war. His classical acquirements were also considerable
P,r°S*red for h“^.the appointment to the Greek chair
at Schaffhausen. This position, however, his desire for a
society more learned than that of his native town soon in¬
duced him to abandon. He repaired to Geneva in 1774
and there he lived for six years, writing a course of lectures
on universal history, meditating his great historical work on
t ie bvviss confederation, and enjoying the society of his
bosom friend Bonstetten. In 1780 he set out for Germany
His fame had gone before him. Frederick the Great tried
m vain to attach him to the Academy of Berlin ; and the
landgrave of Hesse placed him in the chair of history at
Gassel m 1781 Meanwhile, in the previous year the first
volume of his Geschichte der Schweizerischer Eidgenossen-
schaft had appeared at Berne. It was characterized by
dignity of style, depth of research, and liberality of senti¬
ment, and it speedily came to be considered the master-
M°ril i ,aUth0r* ln \783 the shiftinS propensity of
ilullei led him to abandon his professorship, and he
returned to Switzerland to live in the house of Bonstetten.
He was nominated in 1786 a counsellor to the elector of
lentz, and continued in this capacity to occupy himself
with pohtms till the occupation of that city by the French
in 1792. I he next twelve years were spent at Vienna
under the patronage of the emperors Leopold II. and
Trancis II. Then he repaired to Berlin, and accepted a
place m the Academy of that city. His mind had now
thrown oft those political engagements which had so long
detained it from its proper province, and began to be
occupied with a projected Life of Frederick the Great
But before he could accomplish anything more than the
plan, the subjugation of Prussia by the French in 1806
diverted him once more from his literary studies. Bona-
675
Miiller.
G76 M U L
Muller, parte during his stay at Berlin took notice of him, and in
1807 appointed him secretary of state to the new kingdom
of Westphalia. This office was soon exchanged for that of
director-general of public instruction. Muller applied him¬
self to his new duties with all his wonted ardour, but
success did not seem likely to follow. His health sank
under anxiety and intense exertion, and he died at Cassel
in May 1809. His complete History of the Swiss Con¬
federation, bringing the narrative down to the end of the
fifteenth century, had been published at Leipsic in 1786,
and had been translated into French by Labaume, in 12
vols. 8vo, Lausanne, 1795-1803. A collection of his works
was published in 27 vols. 8vo, Tubingen, 1810-19.
Muller, Johann Friedrich Wilhelm, an eminent Ger¬
man engraver, son of Johann Gothard von Muller, was born
at Stuttgart in 1782. Under the able tuition of his father
he made notable progress in his art, and at the age of
twenty had executed several excellent engravings of por¬
traits. He was then sent to Paris to prosecute his studies
in the Academy, and to perfect his taste among the master-
works of art in the Louvre. With a devotion that en¬
dangered his health, he applied himself to his profession.
His cunning hand soon acquired the auxiliary art of paint¬
ing. He produced engravings of the statue of “ Venus
d’Arles,” and of several portraits. At length, in 1808, his
print of Domenichino’s “ St John” established his fame.
Immediately afterwards he undertook to engrave for a
printseller the “ Madonna di San Sisto” of Raphael in the
Dresden gallery. All his energies were forthwith sum¬
moned to the task. After visiting Italy for the purpose of
becoming more intimate with the works of the great master
whom he was about to copy, he settled down at Stuttgart
to steady and long-continued labour. The professorship
of engraving at Dresden was conferred upon him in 1814.
But change of residence did not produce any change in
his application. Day and night he was absorbed in studying
and transcribing the great masterpiece of painting be¬
fore him. At length the engraving was completed, and
despatched to Paris to be printed. Muller soon after fell
into a hopeless state of debility, and died on the 3d May
1816, several days before his plate reached its destination.
The engraving on which his life had been sacrificed is
pre-eminently his masterpiece. His other works, chiefly
portraits, include likenesses of William, King of Wurtem-
berg, Jerome Bonaparte, Jakobi the poet, Professor Hebei,
Dr Hufeland, and Schiller. He also executed a medallion
of Napoleon.
Muller, Johann Gotthard von, a German engraver,
was born at Bernhausen in Wurtemberg in the year 1747,
and was educated at the college of Stuttgart. He was
intended at first for the church, but his own strong bias
towards the study of design ultimately decided his profes¬
sion. He became a pupil of the court painter, Guibal, in
1764. Yet his talents soon appeared to be more fitted for
engraving than for painting ; and therefore, by the advice of
his master, he resorted to Paris in 1770 to study under the
engraver Wille, a countryman of his own. He continued
there until he had become a proficient in his art, had gained
several prizes, and had been elected a member of the French
Academy. Then an invitation from Duke Karl summoned
him to Stuttgart in 1776 to teach engraving. After being
settled here for more than nine years, he was recalled to Paris
to engrave a portrait of Louis XVI. This work, and an
engraving of Trumbull’s “Battle of Bunker’s Hill,” were
his chief productions during his second sojourn in Paris.
On his return to Stuttgart in 1802, he was appointed pro¬
fessor of his art in that city, and experienced the gratifica¬
tion of seeing his own son Johann Friedrich far outstrip
the rest of his pupils. His fame was now established, and
honours flowed in upon him. He was elected a member
of the several academies of Berlin, Vienna, Munich, and
M U L
Copenhagen; and he received from the government of Muller.
Wurtemberg the Order of Civil Merit in 1808, and a knight-
hood in 1818. Yet his industry in the prosecution of his
art did not slack. He was engaged in engraving a series
of portraits of celebrated contemporaries, when the debility
of an advanced age forced him to retire from his profession.
His death took place at Stuttgart in March 1830. His
engravings are chiefly portraits, and include a likeness of
Schiller after A. Graf.
Muller, Karl Ottfried, an eminent writer on the
mythology and history of Greece, was the son of a
chaplain in the Prussian army, and was born at Brieg in
Silesia in 1797. After attending the gymnasium of his
native town, he entered the university of Breslau in 1813,
and began to study at Berlin in 1815. In 1817 a little
treatise, entitled Algmeticorum Liber, betrayed the depth of
his mythological knowledge, and laid the foundation of his
fame and fortune. Two years afterwards, when scarcely
twenty-one, he was promoted to a chair in the university of
Gottingen. Here he continued for more than twenty
years to lecture on archaeology and art, and to produce
works with a rapidity which sometimes entailed careless¬
ness and false generalizing. In 1820 his Orchomenos and
the Minyans appeared, and communicated to philological
studies in Germany an impulse which was (elt in the
course of time throughout the rest of Europe. By his
method of analyzing the mythical cycles, and thus detecting
the historical elements around which these had grown, he
bade fair to evolve a history of Greece of the same satisfac¬
tory nature as Niebuhr’s History of Home. He continued
to follow out this plan in his Dorians, published at Breslau,
in 2 vols. 8vo, 1824. The new and striking feature in
this work was the attempt to show that the natives of
Doris were the happiest, the wisest, the bravest, and the
best of all the Greek races. Such a view, so directly
opposed to the received opinions, contributed in no small
degree to secure for the book a European reputation. It
was hailed, even by those who dissented from its novel
opinions, as a cheering improvement on the dull round of
those compilations that had hitherto been palmed off upon
the world as histories of Greece. An English translation
by H. Tuffnell and G. C. Lewis, with emendations and ad¬
ditions by the author himself, appeared at Oxford in 1830.
Prevented by certain scruples from advancing any further
in the path of investigation which he had hitherto pursued
so successfully, he had published a great work, entitled The
Etruscans, in 2 vols. 8vo, 1828. His Manual of the
History of Ancient Art appeared at Breslau two years
afterwards. This work, characterized in an especial degree
by his usual keen thinking, curious research, and forcible
style, was considered one of his finest productions, and
passed through a second edition in 1835. All this time his
restless and rapid intellect was producing numerous articles
for periodicals and encyclopaedias, and was planning a
History of Greek Literature. The first volume of this
work appeared at Gottingen in 1839, and was translated
into English soon afterwards. Muller now laid aside his
pen. He had long desired to visit that land whose poetry
and mythology had been his life-long study, and whose
rich scenery and glorious sky had so often passed before
the eye of his imagination. Accordingly he set out for
Greece in 1839. On his arrival his bodily activity was as
enthusiastically exercised as his intellectual in searching
for the remnants of antiquity. During the heat of a July
day, while conducting an excavation among the ruins of
Delphi, he was seized with a fever. He was conducted to
Athens, and died there on the 1st August 1840. An ap¬
propriate resting-place was found for this great Hellenistic
scholar in the precincts of the old academy. His merits
were celebrated by Liicke in a wqy)i ex\t\t\e(\. Ermnerungen
an Karl' Ottfried Muller, 8vo, Gottingen, 1841.
M U L
tfullor.
. Among the works'of Miiller which have not been men¬
tioned above are,—Poliadis Sacra ct jPdern in
Arce Athenorum illustravit M., 4to, Gottingen, 18^0- On
the Abode, the Descent, and the Ancient ^History of the
People of Macedonia, 8vo, Berlin, 1825 ; Be Phidice Vita
et Operibus, 4to, Gottingen, 1827; and editions of the
Eumemdes of iEschylus, 4to, Gottingen, 1833, the De
Lingua Latina of Varro, 8vo, Leipsic, 1833, and the
Be Verborum Significatione of Festus, 8vo, Leipsic, 1839.
His History of the Literature of Greece, composed of the
volume which had. appeared in his lifetime and the
volume which he had left unfinished, was edited bv his
brother, in 8vo, Breslau, 1841. The Dorians and the
Orchomenos and the Minyans were published together by
\\. Schne.dewin, under the title of the History of
Hellenic Races and Cities, in 3 vols., Breslau, 1844.
Muller, Othon Frederik, an eminent Danish naturalist
was the son of poor parents, and was born at Copenhagen
m March 1730. He commenced to study for the church
and supported himself by the exercise of his musical talents’
His learning, and the strength of his moral character, soon
raised him to notice. He was appointed tutor to the youno-
Count Schuhn in 1753. It was the advice of his pupil’!
mother, a woman of great penetration, that induced him to
turn his attention to natural history. With all the deter¬
mination and concentrative power of his character, he com¬
menced his new studies. He examined patiently both
animals and plants, executed exact sketches of them, and
wrote a Danish treatise on Fungi, and two Latin works re¬
spectively entitled Fauna Lnsectorum Friedrichsdaliana,
and Llora Friedrichsdaliana. At the same time his travels
through different countries with his pupil were affording him
an excellent opportunity for extending his scientific obser¬
vations, and for becoming intimate with other naturalists
After his return to Copenhagen in 1767, a high rank in
the general estimation was assigned to him. He was
honoured with several titles, he was installed in several
important offices, and he was appointed to continue the
Flora of Denmark, a great work which had been be^un
by Oeder in 1761 by the command of Frederic V. An
advantageous marriage soon afterwards enabled him to re¬
sign his official appointments, and to consecrate all his
efforts to his favourite study. He first turned his obser¬
vation upon those annulose animals which are called bv
Linnaeus ‘ Aphroditae and Nereides.” His numerous and
interesting discoveries on the structures and habits of these
creatures were given to the world in a work entitled On
Certain Worms found in Fresh and Salt Water, 4to,
Copenhagen, 1771 Even more successful were his studies
on the Infusoria. By the patient employment of powerful
microscopes he discovered many new species, and was the
first among naturalists to attempt the extremely delicate
task of arranging these animalcules into distinctive genera.
His observations in this field of inquiry were published in
his Vermium Terrestrium et Fluviatilium sen Animalium
Infusorium Helminthecorum et Testaceorum non Marino-
rum succincta Historia, 2 vols. 4to, Copenhagen and Leip¬
sic, 1773-14. The attention of Muller was next occupied
with the Hydrachnae or water-spiders. He was the first who
discovered that these animalcules swarm by millions in all
our fresh-water streams. His treatise on them was care¬
fully written in lucid and elegant Latin, was copiously
illustrated with faithfully-executed plates, and was published
at Leipsic in 1781, under the title of Hydrachnce in
Aquis Danice Palustribus detectce et descriptce. He was
m the midst of his favourite investigations when he was
cut off by death on the 26th December 1784. Two post¬
humous works, the one on the Entomonstraca, small crus¬
taceans belonging to Linnaeus’ genus of the Monoculi,
and the other on the Infusoria, were published in 1785 and
1786 respectively. Muller had commenced in 1779 the
M U L
677
Zoologia Damca, a gigantic work which was continued
first by Abildgaardt and afterwards by Rathke. The two
parts which he wrote were reprinted in 1788.
“ The three works on the Infusoria, Monoculi, and
Hydrachnae, says Cuvier in the Biographic Universelle,
have procured for Muller a place in the front ranks of
t lose who have enriched science with original observa¬
tions.
Muller, Wilhelm, a German poet, was the son of a
mechanic, and was born at Dessau in 1795. After study¬
ing philology and ancient German literature at the univer¬
sity of Berlin, and serving in the Prussian army in the
campaign of 1813, he devoted himself to the cultivation of
his literary tastes. He produced his Blumenlese aus den
Minnesanger in 1816, and a translation of Marlowe’s
Laustus in 1818. About this time a sojourn which he
made in Vienna afforded him an opportunity of acquiring
modern Greek. Soon after his return he was appointed
classical teacher in the newly-established school of Dessau,
and keeper of the ducal library. His undivided attention was
now given to the composition and study of poetry, and his
works appeared in quick succession. He published his Ge-
dichteausden hinterlassenen Papieren einesreisenden Wald-
hornisten and Homerische Vorschule in 1824, his Lieder
der Griechen in 1825, and his Bibliotheh Deutscher Dichter
des 17 Jahrhunderts in 1822-27. He was also a contributor
t0 s®veral periodicals and encylopaedias. Muller died in
i A co^ec^on of his works, accompanied with a Life,
was published by the poet Schwab, in 5 vols., Leipsic, 1830.
Muller, William John, an eminent English landscape
and costume painter, was the son of a German, and was
born at Bristol in 1812. He was instructed inlandscape¬
painting by J. B. Pyne, and was greatly assisted in the
study of his art by a knowledge of natural history, which he
acquired from his father, the curator of the Bristol Mu¬
seum. His most valuable lessons, however, were received
in the great school of nature. Setting out in 1833, he tra¬
velled with unwearied enthusiasm through Germany,
Switzeiland, and Italy, studying devotedly every feature of
the striking landscapes through which he passed, and en¬
riching his portfolio with numerous valuable sketches. On
his return to his native place in 1834, the progress he had
made in his art was not great enough to satisfy himself!
e theiefore spent 1838 and 1839 in wandering amid the
colossal remains of Egyptian architecture and the classic
scenes of^ Greece. His pictures of “ Athens” and “The
Memnon, completed after his return, and exhibited in the
Academy in 1840, proved that he had now attained the
skill of a master-artist. They brought him into notice,
and were the means of procuring for him employment in
London. Two years afterwards, his “ Picturesque Sketches
ot the Age of Francis I.” carried his fame beyond his own
country. \ et his ardent striving after perfection did not
nag. He accompanied the Lycian expedition of Sir C
Fellows in 1843. The results of this tour, consisting of
five pictures, were sent to the Royal Academy’s exhibition
ot 1845; but happening to be hung in a disadvantageous
position, they failed in a great measure to strike the spec¬
tators. This misfortune deeply wounded his sensitive and
sanguine temperament, and prostrated his previously im¬
paired constitution. He died of heart disease at Bristol in
beptember 1845.
MULLINGAR, a market-town of Ireland, capital of the
county of West Meath, is situated on the Brosna, 44 miles
. by N. of Dublin, with which it is connected by the
railway to Galway and by the Royal Canal. The principal
street, which is about a mile in length, extends from E. to
VV., and the other streets and lanes extend in different
directions from it. The houses are well built of stone, and
covered with slates. The principal buildings are,—the
parish church, with a tower and spire; a large and hand-
Mii'ler
Mullingar.
678 51 U M
Mummy some Roman Catholic church ; Presbyterian and Wesleyan
II churches; a court-house, jail, infirmary, and nunnery ; bar-
un racks for 1000 soldiers; and several schools. Tanning and
brewing are carried on ; and wool constitutes the principal
article of trade. Mullingar formerly sent two members to
the Irish Parliament, but was disfranchised at the Union.
A weekly market is held here on Thursdays; and there are
four annual fairs. Pop. 5026.
MUMMY, a body embalmed, or dried and preserved in
the manner practised by the ancient Egyptians. There are
two kinds of bodies denominated mummies. The first are
only carcases dried by the heat of the sun, and by that means
preserved from putrefaction. Some well-known specimens
of this class of mummies are to be found in the church
Aaults of Strasburg, Toulouse, and Bordeaux. The second
kind of mummies are bodies taken out of the catacombs
in which the Egyptians deposited their dead after embalm¬
ing. (See Embalming ; also Sir G. Wilkinson’s Ancient
Egyptians, vol. ii.)
M UN CII HAUSEN, Hieronymus Karl Friedrich
von, the original of Burger’s wonder-narrating hero, was a
German officer about the beginning of the eighteenth cen¬
tury. He entered the Russian army, and served in several
campaigns against the Turks. An irresistible propensity
towards exaggeration was his ruling passion. Accordingly,
on his return to Germany, he was wont to describe, with all
the intense earnestness and minute particularizing of a true
narrator, the prodigious feats he had done in Turkey. It
was at Pyrmont that the poet Biirger happened to be one
of his auditors, and to hear some of those extravagant fic¬
tions which afterwards formed the groundwork of the
humorous Wunderbare Abentheuer und Reisen des Herrn
von Munchausen. The hero of the book was very much
enraged and chagrined at the notoriety which soon became
attached to his name. ITe died in 1797.
MUNDAY, Anthony, an English dramatist of the age
of Shakspeare, was born in 1553. After having been suc¬
cessively a stage-player and an apprentice, he visited Italy,
and was a student, or, as he himself called it, “ the Pope’s
scholar,” in the English college at Rome. On his return
he became connected with the theatres, both as an actor
and as a writer. His ready pen was also employed by the
booksellers in compiling and in writing pamphlets. The
Mirrour of Mutabilitie, a tract published in 1579, was the
first of a series of ephemeral prose works which began to
proceed from his hand. Several of these were devoted to
the confutation of Popery, the religion in which he had been
trained, and from which he had been recently converted.
But not until the close of the sixteenth century did Munday
attain his celebrity as a dramatist. He then wrote several
dramas in conjunction with other authors, especially Chettle
and Drayton. One of the most popular of these, The
Death of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, is enlivened by a
gay and spirited description of Robin Hood’s life in “ mer-
rie Sherwood.” Shortly after this period he became a city
poet and a composer of city pageants. In this office he
seems to have found his proper sphere ; for Meres calls him
“the best plotter,” and Webbe mentions him as having
written “ very excellent works, especially upon nymphs and
shepherds, well worthy to be viewed and to be esteemed as
rare poetry.” He even became a worthy object for the
envy of Ben Jonson, and was ridiculed, in the character of
Don Antonio Ballendino the pageant-poet, in The Case is
Altered. Towards the close of his life Munday appears to
have held a respectable position as a tradesman, since he
was fond of styling himself, on the title-pages of his later
works, “citizen and draper of London.” His death took
place in August 1633, and he was buried in St Stephen’s
church, Coleman Street. A monument was erected over
his grave. Fourteen of the dramas which Munday contri¬
buted to write are enumerated, and two of them are re-
M U N
printed in Collier’s supplementary volume to Dodsley’s Munden
Old Flags. ' ’ ||
MUNDEN, a walled town of Hanover, in the govern- Munich,
ment of Hildesheim, is situated between the Fulda and
Werra, which unite below the town and form the Weser,
14 miles W.S.W. of Gottingen. The principal buildings
are the church of St Blaise, an edifice of the fourteenth
century ; and the old castle, founded in 1571 by Erich II.,
Duke of Brunswick-Luneburg. There are also two other
churches, a synagogue, and several schools. Leather,
beer, and brandy are manufactured here; and the Weser
is navigable up to the town, where there is a harbour, by
which a considerable trade was formerly carried on. The
town was also in former times a great seat of the linen
trade. Pop. 5900.
MUNDEN, Joseph Saunders, a distinguished come¬
dian, was born in London in 1758. Becoming an appren¬
tice to a law-stationer, he was employed in writing out the
parts of actors, and in course of time ivas smitten with an
irrepressible fondness for the histrionic art. He made his
first appearance as a player on the stage of a strolling com¬
pany. His humour, venting its exuberance in the drollest
grimaces, and deepening often into the most touching
pathos, gradually came to be appreciated. After acting for
some time in the Canterbury theatre, he appeared before
a London audience in 1790. For the next twenty-three
years he was the comic favourite at Covent Garden. He
was then transferred to the stage of Drury Lane, and con¬
tinued to win fresh laurels, especially by his impersonation
of “Old Dornton” in The Road to Ruin. He retired from
the stage in May 1824, and died in February 1832.
MUNDI, in Hindustan, a tract of the Punjab, compris¬
ing several valleys, with their inclosing ridges, on the south¬
ern slope of the Himalayas, and containing an area of 759
square miles, with a population of 113,000. Upon the con¬
quest of the Punjab, Mundi became tributary to the British;
and upon the death of the rajah in 1851, and the succes¬
sion of his infant son, arrangements were made for the go¬
vernment of this petty state. Mundi, the capital town,
which is situated at the confluence of the Sukyt with the
Beas, is in Lat. 31. 43., Long. 76. 58.
MUNDINGOES, or Mandingoes. See Mandingo.
M UNDOTE, in Hindustan, a tract of country in the
British province of Sirhind, extending along the left bank
of the Sutlej, and containing an area of 780 square miles,
with a population of 116,000. It was held by a Patan
chief, whom it has recently been found necessary to depose,
in consequence of the oppressive and tyrannical character
of his government. The town of Mundote is in N. Lat. 30.
53., E. Long. 74. 26.
MUNEEPOOR, in Hindustan, a native state on the
eastern frontier of India, 125 miles in length and 80 in
breadth, and containing an area of 7584 square miles. The
principality vras taken under British protection previously
to the breaking out of the first Burmese war, and under
the treaty of Yandabhoo, concluded in 1826, the King of
Burmah renounced all claim to the territory. It pays no
tribute to the British. Muneepoor, the chief town, is situ¬
ated in N. Lat. 24. 49., E. Long. 94. 1.
M U NICLI (Ger. Munchen), a town of Germany, capital of
the kingdom of Bavaria, and theseat of an archbishop, stands
on the left bank of the Isar, 1650 feet above sea-level, and
225 miles W. of Vienna; N. Lat. 48. 8. 40., and E. Long. 11.
34. 40. It is situated in the middle of an uninteresting plain,
bounded on the E. by a range of low hills, and on the S. by
the Tyrolese Alps, which rise to a considerable height some
20 miles from the town. Their contiguity, coupled with
the great elevation of Munich, render it very subject to
sudden changes, as well as to extremes of temperature.
The city consists of an old and new town, the former
occupying the centre round which the new town or suburbs
M U JX I C
inich. have been erected. These »rp c.v i ,
^ N^E Ts ScAhoenrcld ^^0^16
the Icunfor/oSoTbestoZd it5 “““f s”fel>' to
are few, if any, .owLrEuro-rf^Vsi^ T,
tain so many public edifices a^d institutions devoted to “e
purposes of art and science as thic fi^ •. , to tnc
and acknowledged metropolis of Southern Germany ^ xir
streets of the old town are generally straio-ht but main- of
them are narrow and the houses e.ceed.ngly in!
quaint-looking. In the suburbs, on the other hand th
streets have been laid out at riglu angles, and tL il^
aie moie modern in appearance. From the extent of around
squ7refai0etnotefullv,o0nS’ •Tf61'; lnany streets and
squaies aie not fully occupied by houses, but disnlav fro-
quent gaps. Between the suburbs and the old town Uiere
a e several open places occupying the site of the old walls •
the principal are Maximilian’s and Karl’s squares Of the
old ramparts, the only remnants arc severll of the oat 's
to the®tomThr0U!PUb,'iCbuildin/6',hid> gi™ character
Tb! P 1 Y- churches are first worthy of remark,
bnilf 1 auenkirche, or cathedral, commenced in 1468 is
Sse^hemafn Sofle^I^ ^
building of brick, with two towers surmoun^edTy'domeT
each rising to the height of 336 feet. The naJe of the
fertabretdtrwWl T" 'e"gih “ t!,e t‘>'™''s, and is 170
tec in uieadtii, while the windows are 66 feet in heiVht-
• number of small chapels, formed by the buttresses wlncli
tn this edifice are brought within the building are rm "e
SwiflV Emn n fr°nf rf the a'tar is Mausoleum0 of
PI ^iY' ’’_ mperor of Germany, erected in 1622 by the
Elector Maximilian I. It is formed of black marble suo-
Wilhnlm vaC 1 Sl'die by S,at?es of the d"kes Al|trecht V. and
Ere o^a dJh 6 31 eacl,,of comers there is the
au e or a fullj-harnessed knight resting on one knee. It
inaBavaiIaed St W^ose1works are highly estimated
Havana St Michaels church, formerly a chapel of the
. esuits, and standing a short distance from the cathedral
rtyL^fTrchh i" 158T3’and beI^ to the later Italian
yie ot architecture. Its interior, however, presents but
ofIheJDuke oTr'11?; eX,Ceptin? Thorwaldsen’s monument
c YeUC1,tenber- whlch exhibits great power
church Yn M ^ ? eYr s’ in tbe binder market, is the oldest
church m Munich^it was built in 1370, and restored in
yea?’ ThVmh befn iniUred by a Stroke of hghtning in that
Ah Y Tl e,charcbes 0,f more recent date are,—St Ludwig’s;
^ Lhed and AT !,With a Benedit;tine monasteiY
attached, and Mariahilf, in the suburb of Au. The first was
commenced in 1829, and belongs to the Byzantine styleTit
is surmounted by two towers, each 208 feet high, and the
ength °f the nave is 237 feet. All Saints’ chapel is in the
bamt style, but of smaller dimensions; while the Basilica of
M Boniface is an imitation of St Paul’s at Rome; it was
commenced in 1835, and completed in 1850. Many ad-
mirabJe frescoes adorn the walls of these churches, from
tsigns by Cornelius and Hess, and no expense has been
J ared 111 tbe carvings and statuary of the buildings. There
Grcek°chapehteStant °f WOrsbip’ a synag°gue, and a
But the largest edifice in Munich is the royal residence
tl^Fesf11” Vh 6 oldr[Pala^e’ bunked by the Koenigsbau and
t ie 1 estsaalbau. The first was designed by Candido, and
commenced at the end of the sixteenth century, but it is
not remarkable for architectural beautv. The chapel at
tached, however, is very richly ornamented, and contains
among other relics, what is said to be the veritable band
11.
of John the Baptist. The old portion of the palace con¬
tains the treasury chambers, where the crowns of the realm
are preserved, along with many valuable jewels, one of
which, a blue diamond weighs 36 carats, blanking this
budding and fronting the Max-Joseph Square is the AW
Xoemffsiau'or New Palace, a fine massive building in imha-
tum of the Pun Palace in Florence. The floors of the
apartments are inlaid with variegated woods, and the walls
e covered with frescoes representing scenes from the
Niebelungen Lied, the poems of Walter of Vogelweide and
other works. ^ Festsualbau, or building0 Ked to
couit receptions, balls, &c., is even more gorgeously fitted
up than ,lie New Palace. Among otheApSents *e
halls of the beauties,” adapted for card-playing, displays
great taste in arrangement, and contains portraits of a num¬
ber of modern beauties by Stieler. The Charlemagne room,
Whe rh T nUmbei °i piCtm'eS therdn rePresent-
ng the chief scenes in the life of that monarch is on
the west side of the great ball-room, which measures 123
fee in ength, by 47i in width, and is profusely decorated
yi i ic iefs and paintings in the Pompeian style. The
theatre hi .pi °,vlded wuh.a royaI garden; while the court
in fl l mIv CT°Se Prrity’ °Cf pyins a prominent position
i the Max-Joseph Square, where the General Post-office
i cewise stands. The Pinakothek, or picture gallery, one
of the most extensive in Germany, stands in arfopen place
n the subui b of Max. Directly opposite is the New Pina-
kotheii, and m an adjoining square is the Gluptothek or
sculpture gallery. . These three buildings form together’the
centi c-point of art in South Germany. Their collections have
been brought together and maintained by the zealous care
fin hed0in 18^fe commenced in 1826and
b Min 1836’.was designed by Klenze, and is a Ion-
building with wings on either side. The paintin-s are
ananged historically and occupy different rooms. &They
belong chiefly to the German and Dutch schools; but there
i, also a large collection of pictures by Rubens, and a con!
siderable assortment of the Italian, French, and Spanish
in lYfs rbe.N7Pm^°^> a smaller edifice, was opened
!rv Bm n1SI 0t t0 PaintingS °f the niaeteenth cen-
tury. But perhaps even more interesting than either of
the foregoing is the Glyptothek, containing a most valuable
collection of ancient statuary and reliefs, formed by the
tc King Ludwig It is an elegant building, in the Ionic
s yle, designed by Klenze, and opened in 1830. Various
apartments are occupied with Egyptian, Etruscan and
ginetan antiquities ; also with the statues from the
famous 0TIJUPlter PanhelIenius’ which are deservedly
famous. I here are separate rooms for the statues of
P00! Bacfus’and the sons of Niobe, besides others de-
Ytd t0 coloured sculpture and to Roman and modern
oiks. lor students of the fine arts few towns, indeed
present such advantages as Munich. Besides the -reat
institutions above mentioned, there are many of less preten-
M°n, containing valuable collections of ancient coins
sculptures, paintings, &c. A polytechnic institution, an
academy of painting with eleven professors, and schoo s of
buiklmg in Ludwig’s Strasse, contains the largit numbeT
.omtSofe with^J^OOO MSS°/among*which
. I1 rorme!'ly belonged to a convent in the GrisoEs The
other most important institutions of Munich are as fol
YYr? 10 YUVi1'6ity’ transferred flere from Landshut in
LS-6, having faculties of theology, law, political economy
medicine, and philosophy, attended bv 1700 students and
possessing a library of 147,000 vok and 5294 MSS a
veterinary seminary, with 8 instructors; a female scimol
Munich.
CSO M U N
Municipal of midwifery; and a military academy, attended by 142
Corpora- caclcts ; also a school for the deaf and dumb ; a royal blind
v tI0rK asylum, with 7 teachers and 66 inmates ; and a seminary for
lame children, having 3 teachers and 15 scholars. '1 here
is also a royal institution, open to the children of the nobi¬
lity, who are brought up here at the royal bounty till they
are old enough to enter the cadet school or the university ;
the inmates number 24, and the teachers 16. The Royal
Academy of Munich, comprising the three departments of
philology, natural philosophy, and history, is composed of
about 320 members, and has two commissions connected
with it for the advancement of natural science and tech¬
nology in Bavaria. Au observatory, a botanical garden,
and several museums, are also here. The general prison is
remarkably well conducted, on the principles of a reforma¬
tory more than of a gaol. The inmates are forced to work
at their respective trades, and any profits that may arise
thereon are paid over to them on leaving. Munich is
ornamented with a fine park, called the English Garden,
and also with many fine monuments, the most interesting
of which is the bronze obelisk in Caroline Platz, raised to
the memory of 30,000 Bavarians who were lost during the
Russian campaign of 1812-13, in which they formed part
of Napoleon’s army.
The manufactures of the town are unimportant, and are
mostly connected with science and the fine arts. They
comprise philosophical instruments, paint-colours, lithogra¬
phic stones, gold and silver lace, carriages, and cloth-stuffs,
besides paper, oil, &c. There is a considerable trade in
literature, and twelve newspapers are published in the town.
Munich is connected by railway with France and North
Germany, and will shortly have the same means of com¬
munication with Austria and Italy.
The history of Munich commences with the thirteenth
century, when it was known as a walled town, whose arms
or shield bore the representation of a monk. The Emperor
Ludwig took up his residence in it in the beginning of the
fourteenth century, and restored and enlarged it in 1327,
after a destructive conflagration. It became the capital of
Bavaria about the beginning of the next century, and for
many years after increased slowly but steadily in importance.
In 1632 the town was entered by Gustavus Adolphus, and
its arsenal demolished ; but with the exception of this event,
its history has been one of undisturbed peace. The ulti¬
mate advancement of Munich, however, to the rank of a
first-rate town was reserved for the reign of Ludwig L,
at the commencement of the present century. This mo¬
narch, both when crown-prince and king, used his utmost
efforts, by means of erecting new galleries of art, and build¬
ing additional suburbs, to raise this town to the position of
the Athens of Germany, and his endeavours have certainly
to a great extent been crowned with success. The popu¬
lation of the town has increased more rapidly perhaps than
any town on the Continent. Pop. of town and suburbs
(1812) 40,638; (1846) 113,384; (1855) 132,112.
MUNICIPAL CORPORATION: MUNICIPA¬
LITY. The institutions so familiarly known throughout
Christendom by these or similarly-derived names, owe their
origin to the peculiar internal constitution of ancient Rome.
Her citizens, self-relying and impatient of control, adjusted
their method of internal government to republican and
representative principles, while their haughty spirit of
domination over the rest of the world led them to demand
conformity among their dependents, and to stamp the char¬
acter of their own peculiar institutions over the wide
arena of their conquests. The protracted vitality which
carried the municipal system, through the breaking up of
the empire, to a resuscitation in amalgamation both with
southern feudality and the Saxon institutions of Britain,
forms one of the most curious and eventful features in
the constitutional history of the modern European nations.
M U N
One of the leading social contrasts between modern Munici
Europe and the ancient communities with whom we Corpot
have acquaintance is, that the feudal system rendered the tion'
country equal, if not superior, to the towns ; while in ancient
nations all greatness, power, and wealth seem to have been
concentrated in cities, as in Babylon, Nineveh, Tyre, and
Carthage. If there were nomadic leaders of rank and
mark, they bore scarcely a higher relative position to¬
wards the rulers and other great men dwelling in cities,
than an Australian squatter might bear in the present day to
the head of some great territorial house among the British
aristocracy. Egypt seems to have possessed wealth and
greatness beyond the walls of a predominant city ; but,
peculiar in its geographic character, as a narrow stripe of
marvellously fertile land, it might be deemed one continu¬
ous city. In Greece, too, although a common spirit of
nationality prevailed, and no central city exercised un¬
rivalled control, yet the prevailing political power was in
the cities. But to whatever extent the constitution in
other ancient cities may have influenced that of Rome,
they have had no direct effect on the creation of the mu¬
nicipalities of the middle ages and modern times, which
naturally take whatever they have derived through the
ancient world from that one great municipal corporation,
which professed to govern all the nations of the earth.
The governing bodies in modern municipal corporations
—the mayors, aldermen, bailies, common council, &c.—are
the direct representatives of the comitia curiata and the
senate of ancient Rome. It is of course in the form which
it had developed in the later days of the empire that we
must seek for the chosen models on which later municipali¬
ties were formed. The formation of the Roman constitu¬
tion, as a separate and more extensive object of inquiry,
goes back to far earlier periods; but the time when it was
dispersed over multitudes of smaller communities as a form
of provincial burgal government, corresponds with the
establishment of the imperial authority over what is called
the Roman world. Hence the subsidiary municipalities
were modelled on Rome, not as a republic, but as an empire.
The republican forms, however, subsisted after the empire
had been long established, and were thus communicated to
the municipalities. Cicero, in his second phillipic against
Anthony, desiring to describe the several elements of the
Italian organization in their order, says, “ Horum flagi-
tiorum iste vestigiis, omnia municipia, prcefectura, coloniasy
totam denique Italiam, impressit.”
After the two principal classes of municipal institutions,
the municipia and the colonice, Savigny enumerates as in¬
ferior corporations/ora, conciliabida,dLn(\ castella,—all corp-
munities partaking more or less of the elements of the
highest and most perfect municipal organization, the muni-
ripium. When the citizens elected their magistrates and
made laws in Rome, they did the like in the municipalities;
and when the power was transferred to the emperor and the
senate in the imperial city, it fell into the hands of the
curia, or council of decuriones, in the cities or municipali¬
ties, acting under the Roman governor of the province,
who represented the emperor. The magistrates were chosen
from the curia, as those of modern corporations are elected
by the council; and a practice arose by which those leaving
office presented their successors for adoption. I he supreme
elective magistrates in the municipalities—the representatives
of the consulate in Rome—wduumviri or quatuor-
viri, according as their regulated number was two or four.
Such appears to have been the prevailing character of
the municipium ; but there were many varieties in the
constitution of Roman cities, as there are in those of the
present day. In some the elective rulers were calle
quinquinales, because they retained office for five jeais,
while in others the magistrate virtually supreme was
a censor or a praefect sent from Rome. In all in
municipal corporation.
681
micipa! stances, however, the electoral offices becamp a mprpfnrm i • 001
Drpora- after the consolidation of the empire • and wIipti flip n f- i i ^ ! places m which they hved were the most sedu- Municipal
«»»■ was superseded by the imneriTadWs am ludij T v S' In ^ besides itself, several of the CorJoX-
capital the irnperL governors be^rsuoremelftlrn™ “les “f.T^any and Lombardy continued to possess tl.
vinces. The lery curia, or close coundf Xh l P i “u"'C'Pf''"f ’ modelled after t1'6 Xpetial city, with Consuls
the power of electing the magistrates became in rhp'end u o", e‘L< l a senate, and occasionally a tribune. So vital
degraded by the uses to which it was made subservient I. ’ r A , K’ m'miclPai system among them, that in the days of
the imperial government. They were made remondhl 3 y * I*ietJl0eval prosperity they were sufficiently strong to
the payment of the taxes; and^^a sunremTl^ 77 P°WerfuL ^ernments, aristocratically0re-
nnH adminieirafLro LrvrLr    , . suPieme legislative public; and Europe, when she had become thorouffhlv
feudalizpH in rmfinno ^
. • , , ;   ^ je^isiauve
and administrative body degenerated into the mere instru¬
ments which the imperial officers employed for carrying into
effect the more disagreeable functions of government Be¬
fore the revival of municipalities the office had become a
burden instead of an honour, and it was thrown, as a sign
of contempt and oppression, on Jews, heretics, and other
persons whom the government desired to mark with dis¬
respect.
We know little on the very interesting point, how far the
Itoman municipal system existed in Britain. Two English
towns are known to have had municipalities, York&and
Venilam; and it may be supposed that London, mentioned
by lacitus as a considerable place, had the rank of a muni-
cipahty. 1 here were several coloniae and other sub-muni-
cipalities in Britain; and if the map of Richard of Ciren¬
cester can be believed, they penetrated as far northward
as Inverness. Some English towns have retained through
all intervening changes names which stamp their Roman
origin, as Manchester, Winchester, and all those endin- in
c/iester. It is a natural supposition that a portion of°the
municipal constitution imparted to the more southern Bri¬
tish towns by the Romans might have lived through the
Saxon period. But archaeologists have found no real evi¬
dence of such vestiges, and on this matter we have no
better guide than mere conjecture.
How the continental municipalities lived through the
feudalized in her notions, looked with astonishment at the
anomaly of mercantile or banking citizens, who not only
vied with the highest feudal aristocracy, but were, as in the
example of the Medici family, virtually royal houses. No¬
thing is more curious in the preservation of the Roman
municipalities, than the method in which an equivalent to
the broken authority of the empire was supplied to them
trom a totally different source. It is needless to remark,
that the form of European history and institutions owes
much to the fact, that while the civil power of the empire
was destroyed, its ecclesiastical power, being attached to
the destinies of Christianity, continued to exist, and even to
take up many of the elements of the civil power as they
dropped from time to time from the imperial grasp. The
municipalities required leaders and directors, and the hier¬
archy of the church was at hand to lead and direct them,
in Italy it came to be an almost constitutional rule, that the
archbishop or bishop was the head of the leading town,
smaller towns being headed by ecclesiastical persons of a
lower grade. The system penetrated through part of
1 ranee and of Germany. It did not reach England in its
original purity, but became there mixed with the feudality
winch made a borough sometimes hold by tenure of an
ecclesiastical dignitary. It is a matter of dispute by what
original title the bishops sit in the House of Lords, and it
has been said that they are a remnant of the old feudal
mmmm
proved that the Roman law never died in Europe, to be
raised from the grave by the discovery of the Pandects at
the siege of Amalphi, according to the old popular belief.
Ihrough the strange confusion of nations, ever restless and
tiansitory, an arrangement was adopted, as it were by com¬
mon consent, that each tribe or people should, as far as
consisted with the rights, or rather with the power of their
neighbours, use their own laws. Thus the descendants of
poral prince.
Before feudality had come to its maturity, the towns had
geneially assumed their natural condition as communities
governed by their own civic officers, the church betakino-
herself to things which were, or which she claimed to be”
solely within her proper spiritual function. As the feudal
system grew in strength, the municipal system, its natural
rival and antidote, waxed powerful along with it. The two
fzrpoor’ °bsOTvnd -- by Jtss
absoi pt on into other communities, kept up the more familiar lord’s castle and the free or reiral ritv —hnih
the wor d hPP able Piin,Cip!eS 0ff.heir 7n kw; and when characteristics unknown, at least in'theft fulness to any
the world became settled, these, from their comnrehpnsivp nrpvirma cp™! __.i • i , ’ ny
the world became settled, these, from their comprehensive
and symmetrical character, gradually predominated, forcing
out of use a more or less proportion of the original customs of
the people in every country. The remnant of the Romans
were essentially cives, or citizens. Their city was the state;
and the term which they used to express attachment to the
city has, in the words citizen, civism, citizenship, and the
like, been used in France, and other countries which derive
their language from Rome, to express attachment to one’s
country or state. But in the narrower acceptation of the
term, the Romans were still citizens after the fall of their
empire, since they were especially the dwellers in towns,
while the conquering tribes occupied the open country’.
Hence, in a general way, we see how they preserved their
own laws, and how those laws which affected the constitu-
vol. xy.
previous social conditions of which we have an account,
from those peculiarities in the condition of the European
powers which divided the territories of the empire, so
o ten discussed and so well known, the dominion over land
and the dwellers in it became the great source of feudal
eminence, suspending all the other elements of superiority,
——such as great moveable wealth, the possession of many
slaves, high office, or the privilege of taxation. The feudal
lord lived in the country in his domains, and there built a
forta ice; which was not a place of strength to which an
invaded people might retire for refuge, but an edifice of a
new and totally different character,—a fortress overawino-
the surrounding country, a prison fbr the refractory, and a
mansion for the feudal chief,—all in one. The peasantry and
other feudal inferiors nestled round this place of strength
4 R
6S2
MUNICIPAL CORPORATION.
tion.
Municipal for their own safety, and thus made a town which, while it
orpora- continued small, was under the dominion of the lord, but
, sometimes became sufficiently large, wealthy, and powerful
to assert its independence, and join the community of free
cities which arose in rivalry of the chief and his stronghold.
The aggressive spirit of feudalism, bringing all within its
grasp as the dependents of some superior lord or other, left no
room for separate independence. The aremanni, allodials,
or other men of substance, who were neither lords nor vassals,
found themselves crushed out, and naturally took refuge in
the same sanctuaries where the remnants of the Roman
population had found a congenial retreat—the municipalities.
Various events tended to increase the strength and influence
of these. The Crusades brought them trade, the object lor
which they were best suited, and at the same time weakened
the hands of their rivals and oppressors. The revival of the
study of the Roman law in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries
was virtually the revival of the peculiar institutions which sepa¬
rated and protected them from feudalism. The Roman law
had been promulgated in a despotism, yet it was peculiarly
fitted to introduce elements of freedom to a state of society
where feudalism was prevalent. It countenanced no distinc¬
tions in position among subjects ; all under the emperor were
equal, with the same rights and obligations, unless, indeed,
it were the superiority conferred by citizenship, which
yet did not confer power on one man over another. So
much for freemen; on the other hand, the slaves were
mere property or chattels. Feudality, however, was an¬
tagonistic to abstract slavery, having ever a tendency
to the serfdom which attached the subordinate to a parti¬
cular estate or a particular house, in reference to which the
theory of the law, at least, gave him rights as well as obli¬
gations. The citizens could not well possess that power
over their fellow-men which was denied to the feudal lord,
and a pure republican freedom, of which the Roman law was
an effective and suitable interpreter, prevailed in the cities.
Still the aggressive spirit of feudalism pressed hard on
these communities. Except in the case of those which,
like the great Italian cities, were powerful enough to be
virtually states, in the European system, the towns gene¬
rally found it necessary to come, in some shape or other,
into the feudal hierarchy. If the citizens could not be
made vassals individually, the community might acknow¬
ledge a superior in a collective capacity; and it became the
interest of the towns in this manner to choose a protector.
Still the hereditary principle, the several feudal exactions,
and, above all, the subinfeudation which put a long hier¬
archy of masters over the humbler grade of vassals, was
resolutely and, in many instances, effectually resisted.
Laws still in full practice show vestiges of this long contest
between the Roman and the feudal law. They are very
distinctly seen in Scotland, where the owner of land or
houses in a royal burgh is always a vassal, and can hold by
no other tenure, but is a vassal of the crown only, no
overlord having been able to intervene between the burgess
and the sovereign. In all the surrounding territory there
is a system of subinfeudation, by which the owner of land
can sell it to another as his vassal, thus reserving, in the
shape of the vassal’s dues, a sort of perpetual rent called a
feu-duty. But the owner of property in burgage tenure
can only substitute a purchaser in his own place as a vassal
of the crown.
This vassalage to the crown was indeed one of the great
elements of strength which carried the municipalities of the
middle ages through their difficulties and dangers. Arising
from common causes, it had common effects over Europe.
As some of the great lordships enlarged themselves into
kingdoms, their reigning heads naturally felt that the most
dangerous opponents of their rule were the feudal aristo¬
cracy, above vyhose position they had soared. They found
on their territories municipal communities possessed of
some wealth and strength, whose interests and feelings were Municipi
opposed to those of the aristocracy; and it was always Corpora,
among the temptations to which a monarch was subject in tion-
his hour of feebleness, to make common cause with these
communities. When the feudal lord who held a munici¬
pality in vassalage was tired out in a long contest with the
insurgent citizens, or when he was offered a considerable
tribute, he came to terms with them, agreeing to allow
them certain exemptions from feudal exaction. The docu¬
ment acknowledging these exemptions, when it became
matter of uniform practice, was called a charter. But if
such a treaty with a subject lord, whose observance of it
could not perhaps be very implicitly trusted, were of any
value, far more precious was that royal charter in which a
monarch embodied the terms of his alliance, and his protec¬
tion of the citizens against their oppressors. Thus the
municipal corporations became an integral part of the feudal
hierarchy,—a fact which, as we shall presently see, had an
influence on the national constitution of the European king¬
doms, separate from its influence on the constitution and
condition of each separate municipality. Hence, when the
system was at its prime, the municipalities or boroughs of
Europe might be divided into three great classes: ]s£. The
free cities, which enjoyed such an independent municipal
constitution as the Italian and other cities of the Roman
world enjoyed before the encroachments of the empire—
such as Florence, Venice, Genoa, Hamburgh, Liibec, and
Novogorod. Some of these independent cities had been
Roman municipalities which shook themselves free at the
dissolution of the empire; others had arisen in feudality,
and accomplished their freedom by war or purchase, or
partly by both; but in all cases they were large, rich com¬
munities, capable of maintaining fleets or armies, and of
holding a diplomatic character among the European powers.
In a feudal hierarchy these held the position of sovereigns,
sometimes exercising a very tyrannical sway over districts of
which the people and their lords owned them as feudal supe¬
riors in the highest grade. It is almost needless to say that the
power of the crown prevented such independent municipali¬
ties from arising in Britain. London, however, with peculiar
privileges and powers, which even at the present day seem
sometimes to bid defiance to the power of the legislature,
approached very close to municipal independence and the
establishment of a free city. The asserted right to exclude
the royal troops from the precincts of the city, which pos¬
sessed its own peculiar army, and the semi-sovereign rank
and etiquette enjoyed by the lord mayor, seem to have
been very incomprehensible to foreign writers, who have
sometimes greatly exaggerated the actual privileges of the
city. In the Dictionnaire de Trevoux, for instance, it is
authoritatively laid down that the lord mayor is the prin¬
cipal milord of the realm, and in the case of a vacancy in
the throne is, for the time being, governor of England.
The second great class of municipalities were those which
held royal charters, and were therefore, like the great lords,
in the position of prime vassals of the crown. These in
many instances had vassals under them, sometimes in the
shape of small municipalities or corporations, sometimes in
the shape of individual holders of feudal tenements more or
less important. The chief cities in the United Kingdom
were of this class ; and wherever the crown was strong, it
did not permit subject superiors to hold considerable towns
in vassalage,—although frequently a neighbouring lord
might exercise a very powerful influence in the councils of
a royal municipality near his castle, and such a person was
often propitiated by being invited or allowed to hold the
highest office in the city, becoming its patron and to some
extent its ruler. The lowest class of municipalities were
those holding, not of sovereign princes, but of lords or sub¬
jects-superior, themselves bound to do homage to a sove¬
reign. These were virtually the communities which, from
unicipal their smallness or poverty, had not been able to achieve
Jorpora- their freedom and are only to be considered as municiiJ
from their beins s°
variates taSe 1 uSifcrjf
nations; but they will generally be found capable of class"
Heat,on into these leadmg divisions, since a remarkable
uniformity pervades their constitution throughout Europe
This uniformity had its origin i„ the universal study of °ha
Roman law from which the notion of municipalities wi
i a so’ '.n some measure, from the uniformity of
tie feudal system itself. The necessary admission of^he
ciown municipalities as an integral part of the feudal <svs-
tem, has been productive of signally important political con¬
sequences. It came thus to pass, that in the feudal assem¬
blages which acquired more or less vitality in every country in
Europe, and in Britain grew in strength until it became die
penal I arhament, the municipalities bore a part. With¬
out tanIthnaiereir°Uld haTelbeen a "aP in feudal edifice.
But all those who enjoyed the privileges of the municipalitv
could not attend at the king’s high court; the community
must select certain citizens to pay suit and service as it
e ected its superior officers. Hence came the principle of
representation, which made the House of Commons in Bri¬
tain, and has repeatedly struggled into existence in France :
arising fresh from the old municipal system, in the memor¬
able ^stance of the meeting of the States-General, which
began the first revolution.
It may now be appropriate to notice the leading peculi-
anties in the history and constitution of the municipalities
of the United Kingdom. From the causes already noticed
die general uniformity pervading the municipal system ex¬
tended even to England ; but there were fundamental
peculiarities m the real nature of the English municipal
sys em which it has never lost. It has already been shown,
that though it is not impossible that Roman municipalities
may have lived in Britain through the Saxon invasion, no
coi poration has been actually traced among us to such an
ongm. 1 he materials on which the corporation system was
remodelled under the Norman kings, were evidently those
institutions of the Saxons which divided the country into
communities of tithings and hundreds, on the principle of
common responsibility among the tithing men, and the duty
of attendance at the hundred court. There are but faint
contemporary traces of the constitution of the Anglo-Saxon
towns; but their condition, as the Conqueror found them
may be gathered from Domesday Book, and is in a great
measure reflected by the subsequent charters granted to
them when they were incorporated by the Norman kings.1
here is a difficulty in understanding the precise nature
ot the Saxon town; because it was not in its constitutional
character any otherwise distinct from other parts of the
country, than so far as a thickly-peopled must be distinct
rom a thinly-peopled place. There existed nothing in the
orm of a corporation, such Ss it afterwards became under
the feudal system, mixed with the Roman law. The in¬
stitution nearest to it in character was the body of traders,
sometimes united together in a town, with the Saxon de¬
signation a. guild. It is possible to find other distinc¬
tions, both in name and reality, between the habits and
institutions of the town’s-people and the country-men. The
term borough was in use, having found its way from ex¬
pressing a pledge or surety, through some course which can
he only hypothetically followed, to apply to a body of men
associated together, and of course subject to the Saxon law
municipal cokporation.
683
The term alderman, so familiar in Municipal
th h7? K°eS n0t aPPear to have been originally burgal Corpora-
ough it became so in the later periods of the Saxon tion-
monarchy, after having designated an officer who repre¬
sented, and was next in rank, to the king, over a shireP or
some wider district. There came to be such distinctions
rPPvpT aS are rePresented by the shire-
reeve or sheriff for the county, and the borough-reeve or
port-reeve for the tow% with the corresponding shire-
gemote and borough-gemote, at which the freemen at¬
tended and gave their pledges. The term “ freeman” has
been well known m late municipal history, chiefly from the
easy political virtue of the men who bore so honourable a
title. Its origin among the Saxon communities was not
associated with general freedom. It was used to distin¬
guish the freemen from the t/imls or slaves. There was
indeed a greater analogy in social condition between our
Saxon ancestors and the southern states of North America,
with their republicanism and their slavery, than it is always
agreeable to acknowledge. ^
Although in all such matters broad classifications are open
that at tLT SeemS t0 be a fair conclusion,
tiat at the time of the Conquest, and during the reigns of
the early Norman kings, the constituency of a burgh,&those
who voted in its great affairs and chose its officers, were the
free male inhabitants,-that is, those who were not slaves.
eaclfoX?’ ^Th TV? municiPal matters equal among
f nth u* , T?e feudal usages of the Norman dynasty
naturally broke in upon the abstract division into frLmen
and slaves, communicating to the latter the modified slavery
of feudal vassdage. But the condition of free men stiU
attached to the citizens, and came to be communicated as
a valuable privilege, by birth, marriage, apprenticeship or
acceptance into the free body of citizeni V serfs of’the
feudal lords were thus often rescued and enfranchised, much
records of Hv thp °f X f Am°ng the corPoration
records of Hy the are the following entries in the year 1399 •—
haTl oTX m?h d V n6 bf°re the jurats in the common
, • > 5 T day ,of 0ct°ber, and covenanted to give for
his freedom 20d. and so he was received and sworn to bear
ealty to our Lord the King and his successors, and to the
commonalty and liberty of the Port of Hethe, and to render
wonX aCC°Unt °f hlS l0tS and SC°tS aS freemen there are
XBe1it.remembered’ that on the last day of the month
of March, m the Common House, John Brandon coven^ed
give for his freedom 6s. 8d., and he was sworn to bear
libertXf X P°rd Vng End t0 the commonalty and
of hXX ieil 0rtf °f ?eth?: and t0 render faithful account
of his lots and scots when they shall accrue, as persons are
wont to do and the said John Brandon is admitted.”1
bpn 6 ?bbfatlonu°f “scot and lot,” to which these men
became liable on their admission to the franchise, is another
cies XvTv88100 ^TTT11 municiPal constituen-
U very exFessively applied to those who participated
in common in the taxation and services of the burgess
The word means a tax, coming from the same oBgin
stinTf ^’ V i the DVISh Skat’ a tax or tribute, a word
Still of practical use in the Orkney Isles. The lot means
ftu tob rX V perform the public services which might
fall to them by due rotation. The freemen—burgessesT
whatever they may be termed—transacted their business’ by
common council; and here we have the origin of another
im familiar in modern municipal nomenclature. The
commune concilium evidently referred to the collective de!
c sion in council of the burgesses—their vote, in short, after
1 For an ample store of information derived from Domesdav tr,TV * 7~ 7T ~    
qumes, and other sources of information on this head, reference may be’mtde to theThree Is °f Pa.rliamen> htigations, Parliamentary in-
fZusZltt °f V Kingdom' by Mereweather and Stephens. The chief defect of thT ° T°f the Boroughs and
tiuous matter contained in it. ^ 2 Tr niet delect of thls book is the large quantity of sunor-
Mer.we.ther and Stephen'. HUtory of Bor^TV?
684 MUNICIPAL CORPORATION.
Municipal consultation or debate. The term seems, by a metamor-
Corpora- pilosjs which would be interesting it' it could be traced, to
v tl0nl j have come at last to apply, not to the act of the burgesses
in transacting their business, but to the select body who
transacted it for them. It was not until after incorporation
had for some time been in use that the management of the
municipal affairs fell into the hands of a select council.
The early Norman kings granted charters to the towns.
These did not grant them privileges, but secured to them
those privileges and systems of internal organization which
they had long been accustomed to. It cannot be said, as
Guizot says of France, that the charters were gained by an
insurrection and a war, and were in fact the terms of a
treaty between the monarch and the insurgents. That act
in the drama of the feudal history had passed over before
the system in its maturity came over to Britain. But the
charters were in some measure extorted from unwilling
granters. It was contrary to the spirit of the feudal mon¬
archy, that there should be within itself acting constitu¬
tions not owning the monarch as the author and regulator
of their functions. The choice lay between the destruction
of the privileges of the boroughs and a frank acknowledg¬
ment of them. The latter alternative was of necessity
adopted. Many separate local reasons concurred in render¬
ing the granting of charter after charter an act of politic
discretion. Not the least of these was the facility of collect¬
ing the taxes. If the king appointed a bailiff' to collect the
revenue of a borough, his task was difficult and dangerous,
if in the end successful; it therefore served the interest of
both parties, that the citizens should agree to collect among
each other, and remit the proper sum, on the condition of
their being privileged from the intrusion of the royal bailiff'.
Sometimes the charters granted not only exemptions from
vexatious interference, but special and exclusive privileges ;
and in the acquisition of these, London, from its predomi¬
nating influence, was from the first conspicuous. Thus the
Conqueror himself, in what may be called the earliest charter
of the city, says with emphatic brevity,—“ William the King
friendly salutes William the Bishop, and Godfrey the Port¬
reeve, and all the Burgesses within London, French and
English. And I declare that I grant you to be all law¬
worthy as you were in the days of King Edward, and I grant
that every child shall be his father’s heir after his father’s
days: and I will not suffer any person to do you wrong.
God preserve you !” (Mereweather and Stephens, 287.)
The terms of peace thus hastily communicated were matured
into the charter of Henry L, which, among other things,
concedes, “ that the citizens might place whom they would
of themselves to be sheriff, and also one to be justiciary for
keeping the pleas of the crown ; that none other should be
justiciary over the same men of London ; that the citizens
should not plead within the walls for any plea; that they
should be free from scot and lot, danegelt, and of murder,
and none of them should wage battel. If any of the citizens
should be impleaded concerning the pleas of the crown, the
man of London should dicharge himself by his oath to be
adjudged within the city. No one was to have lodging
assigned him within the walls: nor any one of the King’s
household, nor of any other, have lodging assigned to him
by force. That all men of London should be quit and free
with their goods throughout England and the ports of the
sea, of toll passage, lastage, and all other customs.”1
In the royal charter we have the foreign municipal system,
consisting as it did of a mixture of the old Roman muni¬
cipalities and of feudality, brought over and superinduced
on the Saxon burgal communities. This could not happen
without the introduction of the Roman law, cordially as it
was hated by the common lawyers. It made a unifor¬
mity in appearance between the English and the continental Municin i
municipality, but the fundamental principles of the old Corpora.
Saxon system still directed the spirit of the English borough. tion.
There was, however, a further change at hand. The early
charters were not charters of incorporation. The corpora¬
tion, indeed, was an ingenious result of the joint labours of
the civilians and common lawyers. The law books speak
of all the boroughs as having been corporations from the
beginning; and great caution is necessary in referring even
to printed records and acts of Parliament on this point,
because the later copyist or editor, saturated with the legal
phraseology of his own age, would insert the word “ corpo¬
rate” beside the word “town,” as if its omission in the original
had been a mere clerical oversight. Among many other such
instances, the title of the act 6th Rich. II., stat. i., chap. 9, in
the ordinary printed editions of the statutes is, “ that no
victualler shall execute a judicial place in a city or town
corporatewhile the qualification of being “ corporate ”
does not occur in the body of the act itself. Perhaps the
earliest known record of an incorporation dates in the year
1412, when the citizens of Plymouth “state that their town
is a great port and resort for ships coming there, and that
oftentimes it had been destroyed by the king’s enemies,
because it had not been enclosed between any walls or
defensible fortress to resist the enemy: and pray that His
Majesty would grant to them, their heirs and successors,
inhabitants and resiants within the same town, power annu¬
ally to elect a mayor for the good governance of the same
town: and that they, their heirs and successors, may be a
body corporate to purchase free tenements for term of life
or in fee without the King’s royal license.”2 In such
charters as this, the citizens at large were to be incorpo¬
rated ; but subsequent incorporations narrowed the sphere
of the corporate basis, for the purpose of including only
that small body of official persons by whom the complex and
artificial character of an English corporation could be kept
up. There had been ecclesiastical corporations of an ear¬
lier date, and the corporation was thus in fact a mechanism
calculated for ecclesiastical rather than for civil purposes.
A few considerations will render obvious how it gradually
modified, and in the end totally changed, the constitution of
the English boroughs. In the first place, the charter itself
gave to the office-bearers of the municipality an authority
from above, competing with their authority from below, as
the elected of the freemen. The power of this sanction
was strengthened by the incorporation, because the persons
incorporated were in reality the officers, not the citizens.
There is a tendency in all elected bodies to strengthen their
position and become independent of their constituencies;
and the royal charter giving certain privileges and functions
to the elected, with that perpetual succession and unin¬
terrupted vitality which are the boasted merits of the Eng¬
lish corporation, naturally aided the office-bearers in the
assertion of a power independent of the community. But
it was the nature of a charter of incorporation not merely
to acknowledge but to confer privileges, and their extent
and character were dictated by the royal authority which
conferred them. The difference between such a process
and the mere confirmation of established privileges is obvi¬
ous. If the rights and privileges of the freemen or burgesses
in any ancient city were confirmed by the crown, their
character had been originally adjusted by these freemen or
burgesses themselves, and in their own way. When thecrown
absolutely conferred the privilege, the crown could impose
conditions on it, and could, in particular, limit the class
who were to enjoy it. Thus, after the system of incorpora¬
tion came to its maturity, the municipal corporations fell into
the hands of bodies of men more or less restricted, who
1 Mereweather and Stephen’s History of Boroughs, p. 295.
2 Ibid,
n fdm!f °r l6C‘ aPPh™"ts for freedom or citizenship,
Tn r° 1 y n factl0us1or capricious regulations for the
*0 • franchise, or m many other ways impart the character of
-v their own opinions or interests to the community. At the
same time, what could be conferred by the absolute will of
the crown was liable to be revoked. The law said, that if
a municipal corporation was false to the tenor of its charter,
that charter should be annulled; and as it had come to be
a fiction of law, that every municipal privilege and power
must be founded on charter, though none could be produced,
the whole municipal system was at the mercy of the courts
of Jaw at a time when these were under the influence of
the crown Hence came those proceedings by writ o? quo
warranto, for stripping their privileges from municipalities
acting independently, which preceded, and in a great mea¬
sure caused, the revolution. That event did not put an
end to charters of incorporation or improve their character,
though, of course, no attempt has since been made to attack
and demolish in a body the corporations acting offensively
towards the ruling interest. During the reign of William
ill., and subsequently, the influence of the crown in creat¬
ing municipal corporations, and adjusting them to the ob¬
jects of the ministry in power, was profusely employed, and
became too conspicuously connected with British history and
5 politics to require commemoration here.
Soon after the era of the Norman conquest we find traces
ofdmumcipal system in Scotland closely resembling that
of England. From the time of Malcolm IV. downwards
charters were profusely granted ; but although they were
named charters of erection, and are supposed to have
created the municipalities to which they refer, yet they ^e-
nerally contain internal evidence that the communities
acknowledged by them enjoyed an earlier existence. In
muniments of the reign of David I., chiefly relating to
ecclesiastical^ houses, there are references to towns which
are the king’s own or royal burghs {e.g., Burgum meum de
Haddington). A capitulary of laws of considerable antiquity
is called the Laws of the Four Burghs {Leges Quatuor Bur-
gorum). If the collection as a whole be perhaps no older than
the fourteenth century, it is supposed that some of the laws
tiiemselves may belong to a far more distant date. The
four burghs to which it applied were Edinburgh, Stirling
Berwick, and Roxburgh. It is remarkable that several of
these laws refer to foreign commerce and the loading and
unloading of vessels ; and could thus have scarcely applied
to any of the four burghs except Berwick. These four
burghs formed an important court, of the authority of which
there is a curious testimony in the year 1292, when a great
part of Scotland was in the hands of Edward I. A ques¬
tion of private right, which came before a Parliament held
by Edward in Newcastle, was referred to the court of the
four burghs, as expositors of Scottish municipal customs.
Ihe similarity of these laws to many of the charters of the
English burghs is a striking evidence of the similarity of
the municipal customs of the two kingdoms. Many por¬
tions of the charter of Newcastle are identical with the
laws of the four burghs f and these bear evident marks of
a unity of customs and laws, even when compared with the
earliest charters of London. As in England, there is no
trace of the corporation proper in the early Scottish muni¬
cipalities. To be a free inhabitant, watching and warding,
and paying the imperial dues, was to be a burgess, with the
elective rights and other privileges of a burgess; and there
was no higher grade but that which was conferred by
office. In some instances the possibility of incorporation
is negatived, by the charter being granted to all the burgesses
spread over a district of country. One charter of William
the Lion confers privileges on all burghs in Moravia or
Moray; another confers liberum ansum (the right of trading,
MUNICIPAL CORPORATION.
685
a term having the same origin as the name of the Hanse Municipal
towns) on all the burgesses north of the Mount, or of the Corpora-
Orampian chain. The system of free election without a tion*
corporation, which separate documents show to have be--
longed to the English boroughs, is distinctly embodied in
the burgh laws of Scotland. The whole election code is
translated as follows in a Scottish version, probably of the fif¬
teenth century, of which it is necessary slightly to modify
the spelling :—“ At the first mute next efter the feast of
Sanct Michael, the Aldermen and the Baillies sail be chosen
thruch the counsale of the gud men of the toune the
whilk awe to be lele and of gud fame, and they sail swear
few te to the Lord the King, and to the burges of the toune,
and they sail swear to keep the customs of the toune, and
t icy sail not hald laugh [hold law] on any man or woman
for wroth na for hatred na for dread or for lufe of ony man,
but through ordinance counsel and dome of good men of
the toun. Alsua they sail swear that neither fbr rudness
na for lufe na for hatred na fbr cosynage na for tinsel of their
sil ver—they sail nocht spare to do right to all men.” In
this succinct little code it will be observed that there occurs
the same expression, the counsale, and in the Latin origi¬
nal the commune concilium, which became so curiously
perverted in England. J
. Thf analogy between the Scottish and the English mu¬
nicipalities remained until the war of independence sepa¬
rated the two nations as hostile kingdoms. During the Saxon
t ynasly there was no more national division between the
north of England and lowland Scotland, than between
one province of Saxon England and another; nor was this
community of nationality entirely severed even by the
Norman conquest of England. After the war of inde-
pendence however, Scotland, alienated from England,
allied herself to England’s greatest enemy, France, and the
pcottish institutions became more or less tinged by the
influence of the alliance. In the early municipal documents
we find reference to the mayor, the aldermen, and the
coroner, as in England. But afterwards the chief magis¬
trate became the provost, or prevost; the inferior magistrates
v eie bailies ; the head of the craftsmen and of the mer¬
chant guild became the deacon, dean, or doyen. The
towns, as every traveller in Scotland knows, were builtafter
tlie f rench fashion ; and m their records the streets are
•sometimes called “rues,” a word which, by a natural transi¬
tion, was corrupted into rows.
Ihe example of France, which had probably given en¬
couragement to the narrowing of the municipaffranchise in
England, was boldly embodied in an act of Parliament in
Scotland. In the year 1469 it was enacted, touching the
election of officers in burghs,—“ Because of great trouble
and contension yearly for the chusing of the same through
multitudes and clamour of commons, simple persons it is
thought expedient that nane officers na council be con¬
tinued after the King’s laws of burrows further than a year
and that the chusing of the new officers be in this wise—^
that is to say, that the auld council of the toun shall chuse
the new council in such number as accords to the toun •
and the new council and the auld of the year before shall
chuse all officers pertaining to the toun.” ' This deliberate
system of self-election, after meeting with some resistance
at first, was the general rule followed, with local modifica-
tl0nS1ao2 pecuhantie^ throughout Scotland down to the
year 1833.
Long before this period the municipal system had come
under deep discredit. In England the charges against it
were, political corruption; general waste and extravagance-
the mismanagement, misdirection, or appropriation of the
property devoted to public purposes; and a general abuse
of the powers and privileges of municipal offices for party
1 See lhe COmp“'e'1 ^ siae “ «>« *<> ‘to Kecord edition of the
686
M U N
M U N
Municipal or personal ends. In all parts of the empire it was remarked
Corpora- t]la^ instead 0f being places of refuge for oppressed liberty,
v ' j the corporations were frequently centres of oppression and
v ^ extortion,—those privileges and immunities which were
conferred on them for protection against feudal and regal
power, being converted into personal monopolies and privi¬
leges, which invidiously excluded the public at large, to the
detriment of the national welfare. In England the exclu¬
sive trading privileges asserted by the corporations were
from an early time checked and modified by acts of Parlia¬
ment. In Scotland monopolies were held and rigidly en¬
forced down to the pursuits of the humblest craftsman. In
the Book of Advice, written by King James for his son,
there occur the following unexpectedly sagacious remarks
on this subject:—“ The craftsmen think we should be con¬
tent with their work how bad and dear soever it be, and if
they in anything be controlled—up with the blue blanket.
But for their part, take example of England, how it hath
flourished in wealth and policy since the stranger craftsmen
came in among them.”
The Scottish system, which was admitted to be far more
exclusive than the English, was reformed in the year 1833 ;
but the exclusive privileges of trade were not abolished
until 1839. In England a general act “for the regulation
of municipal corporations,” abolishing trading privileges, and
providing for vested rights connected with the freeman
system, passed in 1835. The English municipal franchise
is in the resident householders; the Scottish in the ten-
pound parliamentary voters. The Irish municipal system,
which was not indigenous, but a mere artificial imitation
of the English, exhibiting many of its vices, but none of its
virtues, was not reconstructed until the year 1840.
The demand for municipal reform was the companion of
the demand for parliamentary reform. It was often
said, that could the old municipal system be restored, it
would be a rallying-point for the protection of free principles
against a corrupt Parliament. Both the reforms were con¬
ceded at the same time; and the result has been to place
reformed municipalities in an unfavourable contrast with a
reformed Parliament. There is no doubt that, had the muni¬
cipal improvement been achieved earlier and alone, its
importance would have been more keenly felt. At present
the high public spirit represented in the House of Commons,
and the stringent responsibility which that body is enabled
to exact in all quarters where power is exercised, supersede
other popular safeguards; and it is often though*- that the
public languidness towards municipal representation and
responsibility, is apt to leave such power as local corporations
possess, at the absolute disposal of any clever citizens whose
activity or ambition prompts them to conduct public business.
In most parts of the Continent, those municipalities which
were not strong enough to exist as independent govern¬
ments fell before the aggrandizing progress of their sove¬
reignties. In France, in one shape or other, the royal autho -
rity had by degrees displaced all the substantial powers of
the municipalities. In the great towns there was still the
maire, presumed to be the elective head of the municipality,
with a body of adjoints, assesseurs, and comeillers, selected
from the chief inhabitants. But in great cities the maire,
who was the agent of the central government, as well as
the head of the municipality, came to be chosen by the
crown. In garrison towns the governor or his lieutenant
was supreme; and in others the intendant of the province
had a supreme authority over all civic bodies. At the first
revolution the municipalities, such as they had become,
were swept away. In the re-distribution of the country in
1791 into departments, cantons, and communes, the smaller
towns were amalgamated with their communes ; but the
towns containing 5000 or more inhabitants obtained a
separate municipality under the new system. Under Napo¬
leon all the local electorates of any importance were super¬
seded by the intervention of the chef de Vetat. Under the Munster,
government of Louis Philippe the king had the nomina-
tion of maires and adjoints in the communes which had
3000 inhabitants or upwards; and the royal influence was
indirectly exercised by giving the appointment in the infe¬
rior communes to the prefet. This arrangement, shaken
by the revolution of 1848, was re-adopted under the second
empire as convenient and suitable to the policy of the im¬
perial system. From the first revolution downwards, the
word municipal, like many others in familiar use in ancient
France, has practically dropped out of the constitutional
nomenclature of the country. (j. h. b.)
MUNSTER, the most southern of the four provinces of
Ireland, bounded on the N. by Connaught, on the E. by
Leinster, and on the S. and W. by the Atlantic Ocean.
It measures 150 miles in its greatest length, from Brow-
Head, the most southern point of Ireland, to Meelick, the
northern extremity of Tipperary; and about the same
breadth in an eastern and western direction, from Dunmore
Head in Kerry to Waterford harbour; extending over a
superficies of 6,064,579 acres, of which 3,874,613 are ara¬
ble, 1,893,477 uncultivated, 130,415 in plantations, 14,693
occupied by towns and villages, and 151,381 are under
water. Of the uncultivated land, 634,000 acres are
coarse pasture over 800 feet above the sea, and 1,259,000
under that level, including flow-bogs, &c. It has been esti¬
mated that 390,000 acres are improvable for cultivation,
630,000 improvable for pasture, and that the remaining
873,000 are incapable of improvement.
The ancient name of the province was Mumhan (in Latin,
Momonia.) According to the older geographers, its mari¬
time regions were peopled, commencing eastwardly, by the
Brigantes, the Velabori, the Ibernii, the Lucenii, the Vodii,
and the Cangani; whilst its interior was occupied by the
Scoti. At a later period it contained the eight following
principalities:—1. Hy Breoghan, now the county of Water¬
ford ; 2. Osragii, afterwards Ossory, and now forming parts
of the Queen’s County and of Tipperary ; 3. Oir-Mumhan,
East Munster, now Ormond, comprehending the baronies of
Ormond and of Owney and Arra in Tipperary ; 4. Tuath-
Mumhan, Thomond, or North Munster, now the county of
Clare ; 5. Aine-Cliach, or Eoganach Aine-Cliach, now Lim¬
erick ; 6. Ciar or Cerrigia, now Kerry ; 7. Aoibh-Liathain,
containing the northern part of the county of Cork; and, 8.
Corcaluighe, the southern part of the same county, and the
ancient kingdom of Cork. The principal toparchs or heads
of septs in those divisions, several of whom assumed the
title of King, but acknowledged the supremacy of the King
of Munster, were the O’Briens, the Barrys, the M‘Arthys,
and the O’Sullivans. After the arrival of the English the
greater part of the province became the property of the
Butlers, and of different branches of the Fitzgerald family;
amongst the latter of whom the Earl of Desmond long ruled
the whole of its southern portion with an authority almost
independent of that of the English crown. The old Irish
proprietors were dispossessed, and the Anglo-Normans ex¬
tended their feudal tenures to Ireland ; the ancient Irish in¬
habitants becoming the occupying tenants of the confis¬
cated land. On the death of the last Earl of Desmond,
and the subsequent confiscation of his immense estates by
Elizabeth, in consequence of his rebellion, the greatest part
was again parcelled out amongst English adventurers,
amongst whom were the celebrated Sir Walter Raleigh and
Spenser the poet. The province is now divided into the
six counties of Clare (formerly included in Connaught),
Cork, Kerry, Limerick, Tipperary, and Waterford.
According to the ecclesiastical arrangements of Ireland,
Munster formerly constituted the province of Cashel, con¬
sisting of the archbishopric of the same name, with which
were united the diocese of Emly ; the bishopric of Limerick,
Ardfert, and Aghadoe ; the bishopric of Waterford and
M U N
unster
Lismore ; the bishopric of Cork and Ross ; the bishopric
^ of Cloyne; and the bishopric of Killaloe and Kilfenora
This arrangement was altered by the Church Temporalities
Act, 3d and 4th William IV., cap. 37, which reduced the
archbishopric of Cashel to the rank of a bishopric, subordi¬
nate to the archiepiscopal see of Dublin, and consolidated
the whole province into lour dioceses, in the following
mannerCashel, with Emly, Waterford, and Lismorel
Cloyne, with Cork and Ross ; Killaloe, with Kilfenora, and
also the sees of Clonfert and Kilmacduagh (hitherto form¬
ing part of the archiepiscopal province of Tuam); and Lim¬
erick, with Ardfert and Aghadoe, as hitherto.
The northern parts of Munster are, generally speaking,
level. Towards the S. and S.W. the land rises into eleva¬
tions of considerable height, Macgillicuddy’s Reeks, in
Kerry, being the highest mountain range in Ireland. Car-
rantuo Hill, the most elevated of its peaks, is 3414 feet
a^°Xe ^eve^ tlm sea. The mountains in the county
of Cork stretch in the direction of E. and W., and the
lofty range of Slieve-Bloom forms the eastern boundary
of the province. The River Shannon passes through its
northern part, separating the county of Clare from those of
I ipperary, Limerick, and Kerry. The Suir, Blackwater,
Lee, and Bandon water the southern districts. The only
lakes of note are those of Killarney in Kerry, which owe
their celebrity more to the picturesque beauty of their
scenery than to the extent of their surface. The bays,
cieeks, headlands, and islands, which are numerous, and in
most instances worthy of special notice, have been already
mentioned in the general description of the island. (See
Ireland.)
The climate, though moist from its exposure to the pre¬
vailing south-western winds, which pass over it loaded with
the humid exhalations of the Atlantic, is peculiarly mild.
1 he severity of winter is but slightly felt even in its more
elevated regions; whilst in its more level parts, along its
southern shores, the unsheltered myrtle blooms richly, and the
Arbutus unedo, indigenous in Kerry, attains an unusual size.
The soil throughout the level parts is peculiarly fertile,
producing abundantly rich crops of every kind of grain’
and many species of fruits which in other parts of the’
isknd are capable of being ripened only by means of an
artificial atmosphere. The tract of land stretching across
the counties of Limerick and Tipperary, from Askeaton to
the limits of Kilkenny, has long been distinguished by the
name of the Golden Vale, an appellation justly bestowed
upon it from its singular fertility.
1 he extent of land under each description of cron in
1856 and 1857 was— 1
M U N
687
1856. 1857.
Acres. Acres.
Wheat  179,982 199,779
Oats  373,385 351,904
Barley, here, rye, beans, and peas.. 70,918 76,378
Potatoes  287,219 309,447
Turnips     121,207 114,983
Other green crops  28,032 30,745
Plax   3,575 2883
Meadow and clover    384,097 404,’686
Total...,,    1,448,415 1,490,805
The total quantity of live stock in the province in the
same years was—
TT 1856. 1857.
Horses  145,850 152,566
Cattle 1,073,625 1,084,256
Sheep  993,082 892,217
rig8   343,176 427,340
As to its geological relations, the northern parts of Mun¬
ster are included within the limits of the great plain of car¬
boniferous limestone which constitutes the central forma¬
tion of Ireland. The southern parts are mostly of the sand¬
stone and carboniferous formation ; the former being more
developed in the mountains, the latter in the more level Munster,
parts. Bog is abundant and very generally distributed,
although the province lies without the great central band,
which embraces most of the soil of this description. Coal
is found in the interior. There are two fields of this
mineral,—one in Tipperary, where a branch of the great
Leinster coal-field stretches into the province ; the other
peculiarly termed the Munster coal-field, is of great ex¬
tent, occuring in several portions of the counties of Clare,
Cork, Limerick, and Kerry. The contortions of the strata,
however, cause irregularity and uncertainty in the work-
mgs, and the district has not yet been sufficiently exa¬
mined to ascertain the economical value of this great de¬
velopment.of the coal strata in Ireland. The most exten¬
sive collieries hitherto worked are in the barony of Duhal-
low in the county of Cork. In both places the mineral is
of the non-flaming or anthracite species. Several mines
of copper, lead, and iron were worked with profit until
stopped by the failure of timber for fuel, notwithstanding
which a few are still carried on successfully. Mineral
springs are numerous; that of Mallow, which is of the same
nature with the hot wells near Bristol, maintaining a high
character for its medical efficacy.
The population of Munster in 1821 was 1,935,612 souls ;
i" 1841> 2.396,161; and in 1851,
7,412. 1 he peasantry are a large, athletic, and hand¬
some race, exhibiting in their oval faces and dark hair
strong traces of similarity with the Spaniards. Their oc¬
cupation is chiefly agricultural. The raising of grain, and
the pasturage of cattle, which are exported in great num¬
bers from Cork, Limerick, and Waterford, form their chief
employment. The manufacture of frizes and coarse wool¬
lens, as also of coarse linen cloth for domestic consumption
is still carried on; and formerly the country round Carrick-
on-Suir was the seat of an extensive woollen trade,
r f1®v*nce contains several of the largest cities in
Ireland: Cork, with a population in 1851 of 65 745 •
Limerick, with 53,448 ; and Waterford, with 25,297 ’inha-
bitants. /H_ g__E \
Munster, a town of Prussia, capital of the government
ot the same name and of the province of Westphalia is
situated on the Aa, a tributary of the Ems, 78 miles N N E
of Cologne, It is well but irregularly built, and has an air
of great antiquity, the principal streets being lined with
arcades, on which the upper storeys of the houses are sup¬
ported. It was formerly surrounded by fortifications, but
these have been destroyed, and their place is occupied bv
public walks, beautifully shaded with trees. The cathedral
begun in the thirteenth century, is a Gothic buildino- with
two transepts and two pyramidal spires. The oldest clmrch
in Munster is that of St Leger, built in the twelfth cen¬
tury, but its tower is in the later Gothic style of the fif¬
teenth century. The church of St Lambert, also in the
Gothic style, is a very fine building, and on its spire may
still be seen the iron cages in which John of Leyden and
the other Anabaptist leaders were exposed before their exe¬
cution. Besides these, the town contains numerous other
churches. The town-house of Munster is remarkable for
its beautiful Gothic front, and contains in the interior the
hall m which the peace of Westphalia was signed in 1648.
Here are to be seen portraits of the ambassadors who then
met, and also the seats and cushions on which they sat. The
castle, which was formerly the residence of the bishops, is now
occupied by the commandant. It is a handsome building:
and the ground behind it, formerly occupied by the citadel
is now used as a botanical garden belonging to the Aca¬
demy. Munster was formerly the seat of a university, but
this was closed on the foundation of that of Bonn" and
all that remains of it now is an academy, containing theo-
logical and philosophical faculties, besides a medical school
and clinical institute. Ihere are also a deaf-and-dumb
688‘ M U N
Munster institution, two normal seminaries, a grammar school, art
I! union, school of design, and two scientific institutions. The
Muntzer. {0wn Jias also an orphan asylum, several hospitals, and
V'—other charitable institutions. Munster is the see of a bishop,
and is the seat of the highest law court in the province
of Westphalia. The manufactures consist of woollen, cot¬
ton, and linen goods, starch, tobacco, sugar, &c.; and there
is a considerable trade in these articles and in West¬
phalian hams, wine, &c. There is a canal between this
town and the Ems; and it is connected by railway with
the principal towns in the vicinity. Munster was for a
thousand years (802-1803) an independent see, governed
by its own archbishops, who were in many instances re¬
markable for their warlike achievements. The most im¬
portant event in its history was its occupation in 1535-6
by the Anabaptists under John of Leyden ; after which it
was recovered by the archbishop, and the ringleaders were
executed. Pop. 24,664.
The government of Munster forms the north-western
part of the province of Westphalia, and is bounded on the
N. by Hanover, E. by the government of Minden, S. by
those of Arnsberg and Dusseldorf, and W. by Holland;
area 2432 square miles. The surface is generally flat,
except a small portion towards the N.E., and it consists
partly of cultivated ground and partly of sandy and heathy
tracts. Iron and coal are obtained here in considerable
abundance; but the soil is in general not very fertile, and
the produce not more than enough for domestic use. Flax
and hemp are the principal crops raised. The pastures are
large and good, and great numbers of live stock are reared
in this government. Linen is the chief article of manufac¬
ture ; but iron, leather, cotton, silks, &c., are also produced.
The government is divided into ten circles, and has a popu¬
lation of 421,935.
MUNSTER, Sebastian, one of the most learned scholars
of his day, was born at Ingelheim in 1489. At the age of
sixteen he repaired to Tubingen to sit at the feet of Reuch-
lin and Stoffler. There his passion for study induced him
to seek the quiet of a Franciscan convent. But becoming
in course of time a convert to the opinions of Luther, he
threw off his monastic habit, and was appointed professor
of Hebrew at Basle in 1529. His days and nights were
now devoted to study, and several elaborate treatises on
geography, mathematics, and philology proceeded from his
pen. At length the robust constitution which had carried
him through so many severe labours was smitten by the
plague, and he died in May 1552. The most important of
Munster’s works are the following:—An edition of the
JBiblia Hebraica, in 2 vols. fob, Basle, 1534—5 and 1546;
Grammatica Chaldaica, 4to, Basle, 1527; Dictionarium
Chaldaicum, 4to, Basle, 1527; Dictionarium, Trilingue, in
quo Latinis Vocabulis, Grccca et Hebraica respondent, fob,
Basle, 1530; Horologiographia, 4to, Basle, 1531; Orga-
num Uranicum, fob, Basle, 1536; Cosmographia Univer¬
salis, fob, Basle, 1544; and Rudimenta Mathematica, fob,
Basle, 1551.
MUNSTERBERG, a town of Prussia, capital of a circle
of the same name, in the province of Silesia and govern¬
ment of Breslau, is situated on the Oklau, 37 miles S. of
Breslau. It is walled, but not very well built; and contains
several churches, a synagogue, an hospital, and several
courts of law. It has breweries, distilleries, tobacco manu¬
factories, dye-works, &c. Pop. 4500.
MUNTZER, Munzer, or Muncer, Thomas, an insur¬
rectionary leader of the German Anabaptists, was born at
Zwickau about the end of the fifteenth century. He was a
priest, first at his native town, and afterwards at Altstadt, and
he was at one time a follower of Luther. But at length his
tenets assumed a fanatical tone, and his hot-headed zeal
drove him forth to be the apostle of a revolution. Travel¬
ling into Thuringia and Suabia, he preached the abolition of
MUR
all legal penalties and all distinctions of rank, the establish- Mural
ment of a community of goods, and the speedy coming of Circle
Christ to set up the New Jerusalem. Such startling doc- II
trines, falling among a population already excited with iIurat-
discontent against their rulers, hurried the ignorant pea-
santry into open revolt. A force of 8000 Thuringians
rallied round Muntzer, and acknowledged him as their
prophet and leader. He fixed his head-quarters at Mill-
hausen. 1 hither the neighbouring princes, headed by the
landgrave of Hesse, advanced to attack him. Terms of
capitulation were offered to him in vain. He animated
his troops by assuring them that a miracle from heaven
would foil and confound their foes. A battle ensued, which
ended in the complete rout of the insurgents. Muntzer
was soon afterwards caught lurking at Frankenhausen.
He was carried back to Miilhausen, and beheaded in
1625.
MURAL CIRCLE, a principal fixed instrument in all
the great public observatories, is generally of large dimen¬
sions, and is attached to a stone wall, or pier of solid ma¬
sonry, placed in the meridian. It is employed to measure
the zenith distances of stars. Tycho Brahe was the first
who used the mural arc in his observations ; and Flamsteed
erected the first one at Greenwich in 1689. Mural arcs
and quadrants were superseded at that observatory by the
mural circle of Trough ton in 1812, an instrument of much
greater accuracy, and much less liable to derangement.
(See Astronomy, part iv., chap, iv., § 5.)
MURAT, Joachim, a distinguished French general
whom Napoleon created King of Naples, was born on the
25th of March 1771 at La Bastide, near Cahors, where
his father was an innkeeper. He acquired some slight
degree of elementary instruction at a school in Toulouse,
but his taste for dissipation and adventure soon drew him
away from his studies. Having returned to the hostelry of
his father, he engaged in the service of the house along
with the domestics, and then enlisted in the chasseurs of
the Ardennes, from which he soon afterwards either de¬
serted or was dismissed. Having gone to Paris, he fell
into such distress that he was obliged to serve at the table
of a restaurateur. Being remarked for his activity and
bearing, and his father having resolved to send him some
assistance, he was admitted into the constitutional guard
of Louis XVI.; and, on the disbanding of that body, which
followed soon after its formation, he obtained a sub-lieu¬
tenancy in a regiment of chasseurs. Here he showed him¬
self a furious revolutionist, and in consequence obtained
rapid promotion. He was already lieutenant-colonel, and
one of the most fervent adherents of Marat, when, upon
the death of that ferocious tribune of the people, he wrote
from Abbeville, where he was then in garrison, requesting
the Society of the Jacobins at Paris to grant him permis¬
sion to change his name into that of Marat. It is not known
whether his request was positively complied with; but it
is certain that, after the fall of Robespierre, he was, like
Bonaparte, dismissed as a terrorist. Being restored to his
rank at the epoch of the 5th October 1795, he served under
the orders of Bonaparte, when the latter was employed to
disperse the Parisians who had armed against the Conven¬
tion. Attaching himself more and more to this young
general, Murat showed much intelligence and bravery at
the opening of the campaign of Italy in 1796, and became
the confidential aide-de-camp of Bonaparte. During all
that campaign, and the subsequent one of 1797, he greatly
signalized himself by his bravery and success. In March
1798 he proceeded at the head of a column to the confines ot
the Valteline, and united that province to the new Cisalpine
republic. He likewise preceded Bonaparte when, after the
peace of Campo Formio, that general traversed Switzerland
and Alsace on his way to Rastadt. Being sent to Rome with
Berthier, he marched against the insurgents of Marino,
I 1
M U R
Murat. Albano, and Gastello, killed a preat many of them, and
I—caused to be arrested a considerable number of monks and
prelates, reputed enemies of Franee. \Vhen the expedi¬
tion to Egypt had been resolved on, he declared he would
follow Napoleon through the world ; and throughout the
whole course of that expedition he distinguished himself,
particularly at Mount labor, where, by a series of* brilliant
charges, he completed the dispersion of the Turkish army,
and was rewarded with the rank of general of division. On
his return to France with Napoleon, Murat rendered him
effectual service at St Cloud, when he changed the form
of the government.and took possession of power. It was
Murat who, at the head of sixty grenadiers, dispersed the
Council of Five Hundred. He was immediately named
commandant of the consular guard, and henceforth enjoyed
unlimited favour. I o draw still closer the ties which united
them, Napoleon gave Murat his sister Caroline in marriage.
He also employed him as one of his lieutenants in the army
of reserve, and in this capacity Murat entered Milan, oc-
cupied Piacenza, and commanded the cavalry at the battle
of Maiengo. In the following year he commanded the
army of observation, and governed, with the title of gene¬
ral, the Cisalpine republic. On the 1st of January 1804,
he was appointed governor of Paris, with the rank of ge¬
neral-in-chief, and directed the military force when Napo¬
leon was proclaimed emperor. A few days after this event
he was elevated to the rank of marshal of the empire, and
in the following year he was raised to the dignity of prince
and of high admiral.
On the breaking out of hostilities with Austria in 1806,
he passed the Rhine, pursued vigorously the Austrian corps
under the Archduke Ferdinand, overcame the corps of
Werneck, and entered Vienna on the 11th of November.
He then marched against the Russians, and contributed to
the victory of Austerlitz. Being invested with the grand-
duchy of Berg, he assumed the style of a sovereign ; figured
in the two subsequent campaigns, particularly at the battle
of Jena; made his public entry into Warsaw on the 28th
of November 1807; and commanded the cavalry at the
battle of Eylau, and also at that of Friedland.
In April 1808 he entered Spain at the head of a nume¬
rous army, and imprudently provoked an insurrection in the
capital, which spread the flame of discontent throughout
the whole of Spain. Being recalled from Spain, he was,
on the 1st of August 1808, proclaimed King of the Two
Sicilies, under the name of Joachim-Napoleon. As he
succeeded Joseph Bonaparte, whom the Neapolitans de¬
spised, the comparison was to his advantage; whilst by the
pomp he displayed, and his martial air and bearing, the
beau Sabreur readily won the favour of the people. The
invasion of Russia in 1812 recalled him under the banners
of his former master. Being placed at the head of the
cavalry, he took part in all the operations which preceded
the capture of Moscow; he also commanded a separate
corps at Kaluga, where at first he obtained some advan¬
tages, but subsequently experienced great reverses; and
after the departure of Napoleon from the army, he was
intrusted with the command of it in its disastrous retreat
from Smorgoni. Fatigued and discontented, however,
“ the best cavalry officer in Europe,” as Napoleon called
him, also abandoned the army, and took the road to Naples.
On his return to his capital, he made overtures to the court
of Vienna, with a view to the formation of an alliance with
Austria; but the campaign of 1813 soon afterwards opened,
and as the first events proved favourable to Napoleon,
Murat quitted Naples, and once more repaired to the head¬
quarters of the French army. After the loss of the battle
of Leipsic he withdrew to his states, and considering the
star of Napoleon as for ever eclipsed, he opened his ports
to the English, and renewed the negotiations for the acces¬
sion of Naples to the European alliance against France,
voi.. xv.
MUR
His title of king had turned his head ; and he incurred the
double reproach of treachery and ingratitude, without deriv¬
ing the slightest advantage from his dereliction of principle.
Though brave as a lion in the field of battle, he showed
himself one of the weakest of men when not in presence of
the enemy. He had no moral courage. His invasion of
Italy after the ictuin of Napoleon from Elba was in every
view a most headlong and irrational proceeding. In the
space of two months he had lost his army, his fleet, part of
his treasures, his crown, and even his field equipage; and
now, after the second abdication of the man in whose for¬
tune alone he could repose any hope for the future, all
seemed irrecoverably lost. He escaped to the island of
Corsica, where he had many partizans, and began to form
new projects. Resolved to make an attempt to recover his
power, he sailed from Corsica for Italy on the 28th of Sep¬
tember 1815, with seven transports, containing 250 men,
and on the 8th of October reached the Gulf of St Euphe-
mia, where one only of his barks had rejoined him, the rest
being separated in a gale of wind. When he landed at
Pizzo he was accompanied by only thirty men, and knew
not what course to follow. Plaving attempted to raise the
country, the inhabitants flew to arms, and attacked his
troop, upon which the two small vessels immediately stood
out to sea. Murat attempted to launch a fishing-boat
which he found upon the beach; but the task exceeded his
strength, and escape was impossible. Having been made
prisoner, he was lodged in the castle of Pizzo, tried by a
military commission, condemned, and sentenced to be shot.
1 he judgment of the court was carried into execution on
the 13th of October, when this singular man, whom death
had spared in a hundred battles, fell ingloriously in an
obscure town of Calabria, the victim of his own folly and
ambition. He appears to have died in a manner worthy of
his reputation for courage. He refused to allow his eyes
to be bandaged, saw the arms charged, placed himself so
as to receive the concentrated fire of the soldiers, and ex¬
claiming “ Sauvez le visage, visez au coeur,” instantly fell
dead under the discharge. Murat perished in the forty-
eighth year of his age, after having experienced every
variety of fortune; indeed, he was a man whose destiny
may, in some respects, be considered as the most extra¬
ordinary in modern times. Sprung from the lowest class of
society, and raised to supreme rank, his elevation was the
more surprising that he had neither the great qualities nor
the great vices which seem to command events. Fortune
had so blinded him, that he neither perceived the inevitable
dangers with which the fall of Bonaparte and the restora¬
tion of the Bourbons had surrounded him, nor could he
turn to account the resources which circumstances still
placed in his power. (j. g 
MURATORI, Ludovico Antonio, a learned Italian
scholar and antiquary, was born at Vignola, in the duchy of
Modena, on the 21st of October 1672. He received his
elementary education at the college of Modena, where he
signalized himself by his application and the rapidity of his
progress in the ancient languages and in literature. He
then entered the university, where he passed through the
ordinary curriculum, applying himself with equal ardour
to the study of philosophy, jurisprudence, and theology.
Father Baccbini, the learned librarian of the Duke of Mo¬
dena, inspired him with a taste for historical researches,
and taught him to read manuscripts; and so much did he
profit by his advantages, that at the age of twenty he was
considered a prodigy of talent and erudition. In 1694 he
was called to Milan by Count Carlo Borromeo, who had
appointed him a keeper of the Ambrosian Library. But
before quitting Modena he wished to take his degree of
Doctor in utroque jure ; and the theses which he maintained
on this occasion were universally applauded. Having estab¬
lished himself at Milan, and taken sacked orders, Muratofi
4 s
689
Mura tori.
690 M U R
Murcia, entered upon a course of study and research calculated to
justify the hopes which his talents had inspired ; and having
made a selection from the numerous manuscripts intrusted
to his care, he published them, witli dissertations intended
to throw light upon various disputed points in archaeology.
The reputation he thus acquired was great, and the Duke
of Modena, regretting that he had parted with a man who
seemed destined to attain such distinction, offered him, as
an inducement to return, the situation of conservator of the
public archives of the duchy, together with that of keeper
of his library, vacant by the resignation of Father Bacchini.
Muratori returned in 1700 to Modena, which he never
quitted, except to visit the public collections of the principal
cities of Italy. In 1734 Apostolo Zeno offered him the
chair of belles-lettres in the university of Padua; but
Muratori declined accepting a situation which would have
withdrawn him from his favourite pursuits. The publica¬
tion of a number of valuable tracts on the history of Italy
during the middle ages, besides various learned dissertations,
added every year to his growing reputation ; and this inde¬
fatigable writer also found leisure to cultivate polite litera¬
ture, nay, even to take part in the theological discussions
which then occupied so much of the public attention.
Indeed, all the journals and all the literary collections of
the time were enriched with some of his productions. The
freedom with which he communicated the result of his
researches, had put him in communication with the most
distinguished scholars of Italy, France, and Germany, who
had recourse to him on all subjects of difficulty. Literary
societies vied with one another in sending him diplomas of
admission ; and many who had attained eminence in differ¬
ent departments of literature paid him the homage of in¬
scribing to him their works. A rumour got afloat that he
was heterodox, which induced him to write to Benedict
XIV. repudiating the charge. Flis holiness assured him,
however, that he had found nothing reprehensible in his
writings. The health of Muratori, enfeebled by excessive
labour, at length declined ; and after languishing for some
time, he died on the 23d of January 1750, at the age of
seventy-seven. He was buried with much pomp in the
church of Santa Maria di Pomposa, whence his remains
were in the year 1774 transported to that of St Augustin.
Of the works of Muratori, sixty-four in number, a detailed list
will be found in the Biblioteca Modenese of Tiraboschi (tom. iii.,
pp. 326-346). The principal are,—Anecdcta ex Ambrosiance Biblio¬
thecas, Milan, 1697, 1698; Padua, 1713, 2 vols. 4to; Vita e Rime
di Maggi, Milan, 1700; Della Perfetta Poesia Italiana, Modena, 1706,
2 vols. 4to; Anecdota Grceca, Padua, 1709, 4to ; De Ingeniorum
Moderatione in Religionis negotio, Pari?, 1714, 4to ; Belle Antichitd
Estensi ed Italianc, Modena, 1717, 2 vols. folio; Rerum, Italicarum
Scriptores prcecipui, ab anno 500 ad 1500, Milan, 1723-1751, 29
vols. folio ; Delle forze dell’ Intendimenlo Umano, Venice, 1735 and
1745, 8vo; De Paradiso Regnique Ceelestis gloria liber, Verona, 1738,
4to ; Aniiquitates Jtalicce medii oevi, Milan, 1738-1743, 6 vols. folio ;
Novus Thesaurus Veterum Inscriptionum, Milan, 1739-1742, 6 vols.
folio; De Superstitione vitanda adversus Votum Sanguinarium pro
immaculata Deiparae conceptione, Venice, 1740 and 1742, 4to; Qris-
tianesimo felice nelle missioni del Paraguai, Venice, 1743, 4to; An-
nali d'Italia dalV era volgare sino all’ anno 1749, Venice, 1744-1749,
12 vols. 4to ; Liturgia Romana Vetus tria Sacramentaria complec-
tens, Venice, 1748, 2 vols. folio; Della Publica Felicitd oggetto de’
buoni principi, Lucca, 1749; Lives of Segneri, Ligonius, Orsi, Tas-
soni, and others; Dissertations, in various collections; Letters,
Venice, 1783, 2 vols., preceded by a Life of Muratori from the pen
of Lazzari, professor of elocution in the Academy of Pesaro. The
works of Muratori were published at Arezzo, 36 vols. 4to, 1769-80,
and at Venice, 48 vols. 8vo, 1790-1810. (j. B—E.)
MURCIA, a province in the S.E. of Spain, between
37. 19. and 38. 39. N. Lat., and 0. 50. and 3. 5. W. Long.;
and constituting the greater part of tlie ancient kingdom of
Murcia, broken up in 1833. The kingdom of Murcia had
a superficial extent of about 3000 square miles, and had the
following boundaries:—N., La Mancha; E., Valencia; S.,
the Mediterranean ; and W., Granada. The province has
M U E
about 1200 square miles of surface, and is bounded N. Murciu
by the province of Albacete, W. by that of Almeria, S.
and E. by the Mediterranean; having a coast-line of
between 70 and 80 miles. East of Cartagena the coast
is low and sandy; W. of that port it consists, as far as Gra¬
nada, ot a line of precipitous cliffs, having only two other
smaller ports, Aguilas and Almazarron. Of this coast
the most, remarkable feature is the Mar Menor, a kind of
lagoon at the eastern extremity, 10 miles long and 3 broad,
separated (except a small opening) from the sea by a nar¬
row sandbank. The suriace of the province is nearly
equally divided between hill and plain. The most con¬
siderable mountains are those of the Espuna and those of
the Carrascoy series,—the former bounding the province to
the W.,and having sometimes an altitude of 3000 feet; the
latter, rising in the midst of the vast plain (El Campo)
S.W. of the capital, extending eastwards and ending in
Cape Roch. The Almagrera chain enters the province on
the S. and W., and ends in Cape Palos. These mountains
are of igneous formation, abound in copper, lead, and silver,
and contain some singular caves, of which that of Bar-
quillo and that of Don Juan near Cartagena are remarkable
for their extent and the beauty and magnitude of their
coloured crystals. The province is chiefly watered by the
River Segura, and its affluents the Mundo, Mula, &c. The
Segura has a tortuous course, W. to E., of about 170 miles, of
which 92 are included in Murcia; and its waters are made
available for irrigation by means of reservoirs, tanks, and
canals,—Moorish devices, without which the whole pro¬
vince would be as sterile as an African desert. The hu-
ertas, cr tracts watered in this way, are of great fertility,
producing abundance of cereals, the palm, the orange,
carob tree (St John’s bread), silk, wine, &c. The principal
roads of the province—those from Albacete to Cartagena,
from Lorca to Andalucia, and from Murcia to Alicante—arc
bad, the last-mentioned often impassible during winter.
Those in the N. are much worse, from the greater diffi¬
culty of the ground.
Wheat, barley, oats, hemp, and legumes are grown in the
plains ; also in the secanos, the barilla or soda plant, an ex¬
hausting crop. In the huertas of Calasparra, in the N.,
rice is cultivated for domestic consumption. In the huerta
of Murcia, a fertile valley inclosed by hills and watered by
the Segura, extending about 17 miles in length, by about 5
in breadth, are extensive plantations of mulberry for the
silk-worm. Citrons, lemons, oranges, &c., are especially
abundant in the valley of Ricote. Wine is grown to some
extent, but under the discouragement of heavy duties. In
the uncultivated hilly country the esparto, a rush used for
mats and sandals, grows, especially in the plains of Mula,
Albudate, Ricote, and Lorca, and in the marshes of Jaravia
and Cope. Oil is grown, and is an increasing product, in the
partidos of Murcia, Mula, Lorca, and Cartagena.
The chief mineral products are sulphur, alum, copper,
lead, and silver. The mining industry of the province has
recently received an impulse, many of the ancient mines
having been re-opened, and new ones discovered. Lead and
silver are found in the mountains on the coast, between the
Bay of Forman and that of Villaricos. In the partido of
Cartagena, the escoriales (slags) of the ancient mines have
been wrorked with success. Sulphur is found in conjunction
with other minerals; also pure in great quantities at the con¬
flux of the Mundo with the Segura. At Calasparra and
Maratalla are establishments for extracting it. White mar¬
bles and other ornamental stones are found; and there are
considerable mines of alum and red clay at Mazarron.
The population is chiefly agricultural, and the products
of the soil are manufactured elsewhere; even the silk
grown in the huerta being mostly exported in a raw state.
Besides that of silk, and silk fabrics to some extent, there
are manufactures of salt, from salt springs and the salt
M U R
Murcia, marshes on the coast; of numerous articles, especially cables
the esPf f°5 ot white paper in Caravaca, of brandy in
Phego and Calaspana. (See Cartagena, and Lorca.)
From t!le1three P°rts of Cartagena, Aguilas, and Mazarron,
.P°ftCd C?i ea S’ barilla> esparto (raw and manufactured),
silk flints, and minerals. Grain and other articles are ex-
!n0rSnnth°AA gierS' Sllkrof'the P'’ovince finds a market
nm^d , mTCa’ C Way °f By Cartagena are im¬
pel ted colonial products, sugar, cacao, &c. The imports of
Frnma? anM Mazarron are cl,iefly oereals from Andalucia.
I rom La Mancha are imported wheat and saffron, and
cattle from La Jaem Owing to the proximity of Oran and
Gibraltar, a good deal of smuggling is carried on. For the
"\ten"1al ?de there Js,the annual fair of Murcia, the capi¬
tal, 24th August to 8th September ; of Lorca, 8th Septem¬
ber ; also of Caravaca, Cieza, &c. 1
Primary instruction is extremely scanty and deficient,
and the crime and ignorance of the Murcians are prover¬
bial m Spain. In 1844 a normal seminary was established,
and an improvement is said to have already taken place!
ihe seminary of San Fulgencio being in decay, there is a
total want of the higher instruction.
pfh.6 a&ricnltural Murcians of the north differ consider¬
ably from the commercial people of the south ; the former
are grave, dull, apathetic, laborious, and tenacious of ancient
manners. I he huertanos of Murcia preserve much of the
Moorish in manners and physiognomy, and a good deal of
emigration to Algiers has taken place since the French
occupation of that country. Pop. about 400,000.
Murcia, a city of Spain, capital of the province of that
“a?le’ ^ated on the River Segura, in 38. N. Lat., and
l. 11. W. Long nearly in the centre of the valley called
the Huerta de Murcia. The Segura divides the city into
unequal parts. The suburb of San Benito, on the right bank,
is connected with the principal division of the city by a very
fine stone bridge of two arches. It enjoys a delicious cli¬
mate, a kind of perpetual spring; an advantage which it
owes mainly to its sheltered position. It is surrounded by
a brick wall, erected during the civil war, and has three
principal gates on the N., S., and E., besides various smaller
entrances. I he streets are mostly broad, straight, and well
nagged; that of La Plateria is the principal street in the
city, and a great resort of loungers, being covered with
awnings of canvas in hot weather. The principal plaza is
that of San Domingo, in which is a promenade planted with
orange and other trees, and much frequented. The houses
are mostly of two storeys, the lower being inhabited in sum-
nqco fin?St buillling.in the city is the cathedral
Gooo-I4t>7): the fine Corinthian columns of its facade
are the work of D. Jaime Brot, in 1737. The interior
is of semi-Gothic architecture, but is not equal to the ex-
terior. Ihe bell-tower, begun 1521, and finished 1766,
is of three stages, unequal in point of merit, and contains a
peal ot twenty bells. The episcopal palace of the see of
Cartagena, erected 1748-52, is one of the finest edifices
or its kind in Spain, and has a commanding situation.
A ear the palace are the colleges of San Fulgencio and San
iaidoro, which have the appearance of a single edifice. The
other remarkable buildings are—the hospital of San Juan de
Dios; the silk and saltpetre manufactories, on the N.; and
the Alhordiga, a building for the deposit of grain. There
are eleven parish churches, two hospitals, with a foundling
hospital and a house of refuge. The seminary of San Ful-
geneio, founded in 1592, has since 1823 been in a state
of decay. The institute of secondary instruction was
ounded first in 1837, the rents of various suppressed reli¬
gious houses being appropriated ; it has at present two pro¬
fessorships of Latin, two of mathematics, and chairs of phi¬
losophy, natural history, chemistry, and general literature.
A normal school was founded in 1844 for the improvement
ofthe education of the province, and there are numerous
M U R
private schools in the city. In the suburb of San Benito, on
the right bank of the Segura, is a Plaza de Toros rarely used.
. lhe finding country, as far as the huerta extends,
is very beautiful, and richly covered with the olive and mul¬
berry. The olive and the vine are cultivated on the slopes
of the surrounding sierras, but without much success. Silk
jS 7 “nponant product, amounting on an average to
nml dlT Wheat; barley’ &c-’are largely grown,
and all kinds of truit. But few cattle are reared. There
are manufactures of silk and silk cloth in the town ; also of
woollen cloths, of soap, earthenware, and some other articles
but to no great extent. ’
Ihe province of Murcia was the first possession of the
Carthaginians in Spain, and the city was, during the Moor¬
ish occupation, one ofthe seven capital cities of the seven
rmhtary divisions of Spain, a.d. 787. It was taken by
D. Alfonso, son of St Ferdinand, in 1240. Murcia was
plundered by General Sebastian! in 1810, and in 1812 suf-
ered from the attack of a detachment of Soult’s army. On
the 21st of March 1829 an earthquake caused a good deal
Caf«)7o53.ty’the catl'edral beins much “jured-
^ ILLIAM> a Scottish poet, was the eldest
nq4°f ?j%Wl iiam Mure of Rowallan> anb vvas born about
1094. Before his twentieth year he had written some Eng¬
lish verses and had attempted a version of the story of
neas and Dido. In 1617 the visit of the King to Scot¬
land called forth from Mure a poetical address, which is still
preserved in the collection entitled The Muse's Wel-
eame h or some time after the death of his father he
passed his days in rural retirement, adorning the grounds
and mansion of his family estate. The outbreak of the
civil commotions of 1637 summoned him to action. Adopt¬
ing the popular side, he served in the first army that was
rmsed against the King, sat in the convention that ratified
.. , fHin League and Covenant with England in 1643
joined the parliamentary troops in the following year, and
was wounded at Long Marston Moor. Sir William Mure
died in 16o/. Some of his poems, and an account of his
fife, are given m a book entitled Ancient Ballads and
bongs, chiefly from Tradition, Manuscripts, and scarce
Works, with Biographical and Illustrative Notices, includ-
m9^T£v F°e£y' by Th0mas LyIe’ Lond°n, 1827.
MU RE I (or Muretus), Marc Antoine, a celebrated
grammanan was born at the town ofMuret, near Limoges,
m 1526. At an early age he cast off' the uncongenial dis¬
cipline that his teachers imposed upon him, and resolved to
educate himself. Under the friendly eye of the elder
. cahger his progress in classical studies was so rapid, that
at the age of eighteen he was invited to deliver lectures on
Cicero and Ference at the college of Audi. After passing
the next few years in teaching the ancient languages a"t
Villeneuve-d Agen, Poictiers, and Bordeaux, he was pro-
moted to the chair of philosophy and civil law in the college
of St Barbe at Pans. His lectures soon attracted notice
by the lucid, elegant, and flowing style in which they set
forth the most uninteresting legal details. Numbers, in¬
cluding the King and Queen, flocked to hear them. Yet
envy at length marred his popularity by accusing him of
the most unnatural sensuality. He was thrown into prison
and was on the eve of destroying himself, when the'exer¬
tions of his friends secured his liberation. Retiring to
JIure
II
11 uret.
rp , ,   uueiauon. Itetinng to
I oulouse, he was pursued by the calumny, and barely
escaped being burnt as a sodomist and heretic. His next
p ace of refuge was Venice. There he published several
of those clear and learned commentaries on the classics
winch constitute the corner-stone of his fame. But there
also the relentless scandal found him out and drove him to
• •?’u- UthlS t11116,1118 character was gradually vindicat-
ing itself; his accomplishments were recommendmo- him to
tlie friendship of eminent literary men ; and the malicious
C92 M U R
Muret whisperings of his former friends, Lambin and the younger
II Scaliger, were in vain attempting to re-kindle the flame of
Murillo, persecution against him. In 1559 he was invited to Rome
to take up his abode at the court of Cardinal Ipolito d’Este,
a munificent patron of letters. The rest of his life was
passed in unclouded prosperity. He was caressed by popes
and cardinals, crowded audiences applauded his lectures on
philosophy and theology, and when he entered into holy
orders in 1576 several rich benifices were provided for him.
He died at Rome in June 1585. Regarding his rhetorical
powers, his pupil Montaigne represents him as that “Marc
Antoine Muret whom France and Italy recognised for the
best orator of his time.” A collection of his works, pub¬
lished by Ruhnken, in 4 vols. 8vo, Leyden, 1789, contains,
among other productions, Juvenilia et Poemata Varia;
Varies Lectiones; De Origins Juris; De Legibus et
Senatusconsullis ; Notes in Justitiani Institutiones ; and
Orationes. The verses of Muret are nothing higher than
a collection of poetical expressions hiding prosaic and com¬
mon-place ideas. His notes and commentaries, however,
on ancient authors are still valuable.
MURET, a town of France, in the department of Upper
Garonne, is situated at the confluence of the Bheze and the
Garonne, 11 miles S.S.W. of Toulouse. It is well built,
principally of brick; and has manufactures of woollen
stuffs, leather, earthenware, and brandy; and a considerable
trade in cattle. It is celebrated in history for the siege it
sustained in 1213 from Peter II. of Aragon, and for the
battle fought in the same year, beneath its walls, between
that monarch and Simon de Montfort, in which the former
was defeated and lost his life. Pop. 4213.
MURILLO, Bartolome IiIstevan, the greatest ecclesi¬
astical painter of Spain, was the son of Gaspar Estevan and
Maria Perez, and was born at Seville in 1617. In accord¬
ance with a frequent Andalusian custom, he assumed the
surname of his maternal grandmother, Elvira Murillo, in
addition to that of his father. His parents having been
struck with the precocious sketches with which the boy was
accustomed to adorn whatever available surface came in
his way, wisely resolved to place him under the care of
their relative, Juan del Castillo, the painter. Juan taught
him all the mechanical parts of his profession with extreme
care, and Murillo proved himself an apt and docile pupil.
The artistic appliances of his master’s studio were by no
means abundant, and were often of the simplest kind. A
few casts, some stray fragments of sculpture, and a lay
figure, formed the principal aids available in those days for
the Sevillian student of art. A living model was a luxury
generally beyond the means of the school; but on great oc¬
casions the indefatigable youths would strip in turn, anti
lend an arm or a leg to be studied by their fellows. Ob¬
jects of still life, however, were much studied by Murillo,
and he early learned to hit off, with genial humour, the
ragged urchins of Seville pursuing their adventures in the
market-place. Murillo in a few years painted as well as
his master, and equally as stiff. His two pictures of the
Virgin, executed during this period, show how thoroughly
he had mastered the style of his instructor, with all its de¬
fects. Castillo, however, although not a first-rate artist,
was a very kind man, and his removal to Cadiz in 1639-40
threw his favourite pupil entirely upon his own resources.
1 he fine school of Zurbaran w'as too expensive for the
poor lad : his parents were either dead or too poor to help
him ; and he was compelled to earn his bread by painting
rough pictures for the Feria or public fair of Seville.
I he religious daubs exposed at that mart were generally of
as low an order as the prices paid for them by their rude
purchasers. A pinlura de la feria (a picture of the fair)
was a proverbial expression for an execrably bad one; yet
the street painters who thronged the market-place with their
“ clumsy saints and unripe Madonnas,” not unfrequcntly
M U R
rose to be able and even famous artists. This rough-and- Murillo,
ready practice of the market-place doubtless increased
Murillo’s manual dexterity; but if we may judge from the
picture of the “ Virgin and the Child,” still shown in the
Murillo-room at Seville, as belonging to this period, he made
but little improvement in colouring or in general strength
of design. Struck by the favourable change which travel
had wrought upon the style of his brother artist Pedro de
Moya, Murillo in 1642 resolved to make a pilgrimage to
Flanders or Italy in quest of further insight into the mys¬
teries of his art. But how was he, alreadv strusslino- for
existence, and with a poor sister dependent on him, to raise
the means necessary for such an expedition ? The problem
was a difficult one, but he gave it a brave solution. Hav¬
ing bought a large quantity of canvas, he cut it into squares
of different sizes, which he converted into pictures of a kind
likely to sell. The American traders at once bought up
his pieces, and he now found himself sufficiently rich to
carry out his much-cherished design. He placed his sister
under the care of some friends, and without divulging his
plans to any one, set out for Madrid. On reaching the
capital, he waited on Velasquez, his fellow-townsman, the
great court painter, then at the summit of his fortune; and
communicating to him his simple story, asked for some in¬
troduction to friends at Rome. The great artist liked what
he saw of the manly youth, and in the noblest manner
offered him lodging in his own house, and proposed to
procure him admission to the royal galleries of the capital.
Murillo accepted the generous offer, and here enjoyed the
masterpieces of Italy and Flanders without travelling be¬
yond the walls of Madrid. The next two years were chiefly
spent in copying from Ribera, Vandyck, and Velasquez;
and in 1644 he so greatly astonished the latter with some of
his efforts, that they were submitted to the inspection of
the King and the court. His patron now earnestly en¬
treated him to go to Rome, and offered him letters to
smooth his way; but Murillo, from whatever cause, pre¬
ferred returning to his sister and to his native Seville.
The friars of the convent of San Francisco in Seville had
about this time piously determined to adorn the walls of
their small cloister in a manner worthy of their patron saint.
The idea was a good one, but the brotherhood had no
money ; and after endless begging, they still found them¬
selves incapable of employing an artist of name to execute
the task. Murillo was needy, and offered his services ; and
after duly balancing their own poverty against his obscurity,
the good friars ruefully shook their heads, and bade him
begin. Like the rest of their fellow-mortals, they were but
short-sighted, and little dreamt of the fame which was in
store for the little cloister of Saint Francis. Murillo covered
its walls with eleven large pictures of remarkable power and
beauty,—displaying by turns the rich, strong colouring of
Ribera, the life-like accuracy and truthfulness of detail of
Velasquez, and the heavenly sweetness of Vandyck. Among
them were to be found representations of San Francisco, of
San Diego, of Santa Clara, and of San Gil. These pictures
were executed in his earliest style, commonly called his frio,
or cold style. It was, according to Ford, based on Ribera
and Caravaggio, and was dark, with a decided outline. This
rich collection is no longer to be met with at Seville. Soult,
that ruthless plunderer of churches and hospitals, carried off
ten of them, and Mr Ford is now in possession of the eleventh.
The fame of these striking productions soon got abroad, and
El Claustro Chico swarmed daily with artists and critics.
Murillo was no longer friendless and unknown. The rich
and the noble of proud and opulent Seville overwhelmed him
with their commissions and their praises. He found that,
after all, the distance was not so great between the squalid
Feria and the temple of Fame. But genius has always a
curious art of discovering the shortest road to eminence.
In 1618 Murillo married a rich and noble lady, Dona
jrillo.
Beatriz cle Cabrera y Sotomayor, of the neighbourhood of
/ Seville, and his house soon became the favourite resort of
artists and connoisseurs. About this time he painted the well-
known ; Flight into Egypt,” and shortly afterwards changed
his earliest style of painting for his calido, or warm style.
His drawing was still well defined, but his outlines became
softer his figures rounder, and his colouring gained in
warmth and transparency. His first picture of this style
according to Lean Bermudez, was a representation of “ Our
Lady of the Conception,” and was painted in 1652 for the
reata 26 ^ which ^ received 2500
reals (E.26). In 1655 he executed his two famous paint-
ings of San Leandro and San Isidore, at the order of Don
Juan Federigo, Archdeacon of Carmona, which are now to
be seen in the cathedral of Seville. These are two noble
portraits, finished with great care and admirable effect, but
the critics complain of the figures being rather short. His
ChanKr^’ " Th? ?ativity of the VirSin>” Painted for the
Chapter is regarded as one of the most delightful speci¬
mens of his calido style. In the following year (1656) the
same body gave him an order for a large picture of ‘‘ San
X fo^ which he received 10,000 reals
in,'] nf l ThlS 18 OI!e ”f ,US most eeiebrated performances,
and still hangs in the baptistry of the cathedral. It was
however, “ repaired” in 1833, which of course did not im-
prove it. I he grandeur of the design, however, and the
singular richness of the colouring, may still be traced. The
same year saw him engaged on four large pictures of a semi-
circular form, designed by his fast friend and patron, Don
Justino Neve y Yevenes, to adorn the walls of the church
of Santa Maria la Blanca The first two were meant to
illustrate the history of the festival of “ Our Lady of the
know. 1 he one represents the wealthy but childless Ro¬
man senator and his lady asleep and dreaming; the other
exhibits the devout pair relating their dream to Pope Libe-
nus. Of these two noble paintings, the Dream is the finest,
and in it is to be noticed for the first time the commence¬
ment of his third and last style, known as the vaporoso, or
vapoury. Here the well-marked outlines and careful draw¬
ing of his former styles disappear; the outlines are lost in
the misty blending of the light and shade, and the o-eneral
nmsh betrays more haste than was usual with Murillo.” Want
of time may have had much to do with it, as in the case of our
own Turner and Wilkie. After many changes of fortune
t'v0 P'Ctures now hang in the Academy of San Fernando
at Madrid. I fie remaining pieces executed for this small
church were, “ A Virgin of the Conception,” and a figure of
raith. I hat well-known French dealer,” Soult, laid his
hands on these also, and they have not been recovered.
u "i.1?58 Muril,o unctertook and consummated a task which
had hitherto baffled all the artists of Spain, and even royalty
itself. I his was the establishing of a public academy of
ark By superior tact and good temper he overcame the
vanity of Valdes Leal and the presumption of the younger
Herrera, and secured their co-operation. The Academy of
keville was accordingly opened for the first time on the 1st
of January 1660, and Murillo and Herrera the Second were
chosen presidents. The former continued to direct it durino-
the following year; but the calls of his studio induced him to
leave it, now flourishing and prosperous, in other hands.
Passing over some half-length pictures of saints, and
a charming dark-haired “Madonna,” painted in 1668 for
the chapter-room of the cathedral of his native city, we
enter upon the most splendid period of Murillo’s s'plen-
did career. In 1661 Don Miguel Manara Vicentelo de
Leca, who had recently turned to a life of sanctity from
one of the wildest profligacy, resolved to raise money for
the restoration of the dilapidated Hospital de la Candad
of whose pious guild he was himself a member. Manara
commissioned his friend Murillo to paint eleven pictures
for this edifice of San Jorge. Three of these pieces re-
MURILLO.
presented “ The .Amiunmli0,, of tlie Blessed Virgin,”
1 he Infant Saviour,” ami “ The Infant St John.” The
remaining eight also treat of scriptural scenes and subjects,
“<m“ TTlere' Mn" °* oiusterpieces. They consist of
„ “.°rSe,s stnk,nS.the “ Return of the Prodigal,”
Abiaham receiving the 1 hree Angels“ The Charity of
San Juan de Dios,” the “ Miracle of the Loaves and FLhes ”
Our Lord healing the Paralytic,” “ St Peter released from
Prison by the Angel and “St Elizabeth of Hungary”
Ihese works occupied the artist four years, and in i674 he
L 800 T°he “ Mg P4:CTtUreS 78’115 reals> or ^out
« b8 °V ,f Mo®fs» the Loaves and Fishes,” and the
San Juan, are still to be found at Seville; but the French
earned off the rest. On these pictures Murillo evidently
expended all his strength, and he has left in them an en¬
during monument of the grandeur of his genius. For com¬
pass and vigour the “Moses” stands first; but the “Pro¬
digal s Return and the “St Elizabeth,’’aresaid by Bermudez
to have been the most perfect of all as works of art. They
can never, however, display the same excellences elsewhere
as when hanging in the light and position which the artist
designed them to occupy. The front of this famous hosni-
tal was also indebted to the genius of Murillo. Five lar-e
in^He hi? S tlIeS Tre.fXeCUted fr0m his dra^-
inSVor fl?h rfi r 7 (;0m]?leted the Mendid undertak¬
ings for this edifice, when his favourite brown-frocked Fran¬
ciscans again solicited the aid of his pencil. He accord¬
ing y executed some twenty paintings for the humble little
church known as the Convent de los Capuchinos. Seven¬
teen of those Capuchin pictures are still preserved at the
Museum of Seville. Of these the “ Charity of St Thomas
of \ illaneuva is reckoned the best. Murillo himself was
wont to call it ‘ ™ fonzo” (his own picture). Another liule
P1?? ^cxtiaordinary merit, which once hung in this church
is the Virgin of the JSapkin,” believed to have been painted
hrntlSeT lAta> and presented t0 die cook of the Capuchin
brotherhood as a memorial of the artist’s pencil. P
n 1670 Murillo is said to have declined an invitation
of ^0U,1il’ PrtTS t0 abour among the brown coats
of Seville. _ Eight years afterwards, his friend the Canon
Justino again employed him to paint three pieces for the
Hospitai Je los Venerables. 'hey were 'severallv the
Mystery of the Immaculate Conception,” “St Peter
Weeping,” and “ The Blessed Virgin.” The last men¬
tioned is said by Mr Townsend, an eminent, critic, to be
the most charming of all the works of this artist. {Journey
through Spain in 1786-7, vol. iii, p. 297.) As a mark of
esteem, he next painted a full-length portrait of his patron
The0?01 rVeVe’,,n whlch a11 the list's skill is visible
I he sleek spaniel reposing at the feet of the priest has
been known before now to call forth a snarl from a livino-
og as he approached it. His portraits generally, though
ev\, are o great beauty. I owards the close of his life Murillo
executed a series of pictures illustrative of the life of “the
glonous doctor ” for the Augustine convent at Seville. This
brmgs us to the last work of this great artist. Mountinjr a
scaffolding one day at Cadiz to execute the higher pa ”s 0f
a large picture of the « Espousals of St Catherine,” on w u'cb
be was engaged (or the Capuchins of that town he
b ed, and fell so violently, thit he received a holt Ironi whSi
amUh^aiglstretiirned to'hif'belovedSevill^only to’die^He
was covered with a stone slab bearing his name, a skeletal
and the words Vtve mouturus.” Soult and his Vand .lJ
sacked this church, and nought is to be seen of ,T now but
bht.ih. Digging through this heap in 1823
the Sevillians found a quantity of bones in a vault, which
693
Murillo
694
MUR
M U R
Murom they piously closed up again. Let us hope that no foot stirs
II rudely that mound of ruins where rest the ashes of Murillo.
Murphy. If Velasquez holds the first place as the Spanish court
painter,—as the delineator of masculine and intellectual
subjects,—Murillo has the undoubted pre-eminence as
the religious artist,—as the painter of female and infantine
grace. Of the old masters, and of what is called the antique,
Murillo knew little. He painted only what he saw; and
hence all his works are intensely Spanish. His repre¬
sentations of his favourite subject, “ The Immaculate Con¬
ception,” stand unrivalled for grace and feeling ; and hence
the epithet often applied to him ol “ EL Pintor de las
Conccpciones.” As a painter of landscapes he stands next
to Velasquez among Spanish artists. Sir David Wilkie, in
comparing these two great painters, remarks, Velasquez,
by his high technical excellence, is the delight of all artists ;
Murillo, "adapting the higher subjects of art to the com¬
monest understanding, seems of all painteis the most
universal favourite.” {Life of Wilkie, vol. ii., p. 47o.)
(For further information respecting Murillo and his works,
consult, especially, Stirling’s Annals of the Artists of Spain,
3 vols., London, 1848; and the Handbook for Spain, by
Richard Ford, London, 1855. For Murillo’s position in
the history of art, see Fine Arts, and Fainting.)
MUROM, a town of Russia, in the government of Vla¬
dimir, and 75 miles S.E. of the town of that name, stands
on the left bank of the Oka. It has 18 churches, one of
which is a cathedral. Leather and soap are the principal
articles manufactured here; and in the neighbourhood there
are rich iron mines. Some trade is carried on in corn.
Pop. (1849) 9109.
MUROS, a town of Spain, in the province of Gallicia,
pleasantly situated on a bay of the same name, 55 miles
S.W. of Coruna. The houses are old, and many of them
in ruins. There are two principal streets and three
squares ; and the town contains several churches, a court¬
house, custom-house, prison, and school. Fishing and the
manufacture of linen are carried on here ; and there is
some trade. The harbour is defended by a fort, but it is
suitable for small vessels only. Fop. 4792.
MURPHY, Arthur, a dramatist, was the son of a
Dublin merchant, and was born near Elphin, in the county
of Roscommon, in 1727* F rom 1740 to 1747 he was a
student of St Omer’s College. Fie then entered the
counting-house of his uncle, a merchant at Cork. But
four years afterwards he was in London prosecuting litera¬
ture as a profession, and publishing The Gray’s Inn
Journal, a periodical in the style of The Spectator. The
drama was also occupying his attention. He produced the
farce of The Apprentice, and appeared as an actor in the
character of “ Othello.” His dramas were more successful
than his acting. After treading the stages of Covent
Garden and Drury Lane for one season each, he aban¬
doned the profession. His next undertaking was the edit¬
ing of a political periodical called Ihe Test. In this, too,
he was unsuccessful. He next turned his attention to
the study of law, and was called to the bar by the Society
of Lincoln’s Inn in 1757. But the smallness of his practice
forced him to have recourse to his former vocation of writ¬
ing for the stage. Among his many popular dramas, The
Upholsterer, in 1758 ; The Way to Keep Him, in 1/60;
All in the Wrong, in 1761 ; The Grecian Daughter, in
1772 ; and Know your own Mind, in 1777, were very suc¬
cessful, and secured for their author both fame and wealth.
He also published in 1792 an Essay on the Life and Genius
of Dr Johnson, and in the following year a translation of
Tacitus. Towards the close of his life the office of a com¬
missioner of bankrupts, and a pension of L.200, were con¬
ferred upon him by government. He died in June 1805.
Murphy, James Cavdnah, an architect and antiquary,
was born in Ireland, probably about the middle of the
eighteenth century, and resided for some time in Dublin.
In 1789 he repaired to Portugal for the express purpose of
examining the curious and uncommon Gothic architecture
of the church of Batalha. His attention was also directed
to the manners, trades, arts, and antiquities of the Portu¬
guese provinces through which he passed. After his re¬
turn he published, in 1792-96, Plans, Elevations, Sections,
and Views of the Church of Batalha; in 1795, Travels in
Portugal; and in 1798, A General View of the State
of Portugal. These works were favourably received by
the public, and their author was thus encouraged to pro¬
ceed in the same line of research. Landing in Spain in
1802, he devoted the next seven years to the study of the
architecture, arts, customs, and history of that country.
The results of this investigation were published under the
titles of The Arabian Antiquities of Spain, 1815 ; and The
History of the Mahometan Empire in Spain, 1816. During
the publication of this latter work Murphy died.
Murphy, Roberta, mathematician, was the son of a poor
shoemaker, and was born at Mallow in Ireland in 1806.
At the age of thirteen, while working as an apprentice in his
father’s shop, he became known to certain gentlemen in the
neighbourhood as a self-taught mathematician of wonder¬
ful precocity. Through their exertions, after attending a
classical school in his native town, he was admitted to Caius
College, Cambridge, in 1825. His talents gained for him
the degree of B.A., and the position of third wrangler in
1829. He was elected in the same year a fellow, and in
1831 the dean of his college. But the temptations of pro¬
sperity were too strong for him. A course of extravagant
dissipation soon led him into debt; his fellowship was seques¬
tered lor the behoof of his creditors ; and he was obliged to
leave Cambridge in December 1832. After living for
some time with his relations in Ireland, he repaired to
London in 1836, a penniless literary adventurer. He had
already contributed several mathematical papers to the
Cambridge Philosophical Transactions, and had publish¬
ed a work on Electricity, 8vo, Cambridge, 1833. His pen
wTas now employed in writing for the “ Library of Useful
Knowledge” a Treatise on the Theory of Algebraical Equa¬
tions. This w ork was published at London in 1839. He
was labouring diligently to throw off the load of debt that
still pressed heavily upon him, when a disease of the lungs
cut short his career in March 1843.
MURRAY, Dr Alexander, an eminent philologist,
wTas the son of a shepherd, and w as born at Dunkitterick,
in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, in October 1775. Flis
elementary education was almost entirely self-acquired.
The few books that a peasant’s cot possessed were conned
over with eager avidity as he sat by the family hearth in
the evening, or lay amid his flock on the hillside during
the day. At length, in 1789, he was enabled to attend the
school of Minnigaff. The next five years were spent by
him in studying in the school during the summer, in teach¬
ing the children of neighbouring families during the winter,
and in greedily devouring knowledge at every opportunity.
Books of all kinds were bought or borrowed; grammars
and dictionaries of several languages, old and obscure trea¬
tises, histories, and poems, were perused and re-perused;
he acquired a knowledge of the French, Latin, Greek, and
Hebrew languages, and of the Anglo-Saxon, Welsh, and
Arabic alphabets; he also wrote and prepared for publi¬
cation a volume of poems. In 1794 his lame as a self-
taught scholar, which had for some time been spreading in
the neighbourhood, reached the ears of the Rev. Dr Baird
of Edinburgh. By that gentleman’s assistance he was en¬
abled forthwith to enter the metropolitan university. In
the course of two years a bursary was conferred upon him,
and he began to study lor the church. I hough compelle
to earn a scanty livelihood by giving private lessons, he
continued, during every spare hour, to cultivate his literary
M U R
Jiray. tastes, and to gratify Ins ever-growing desire for o-eneral
S.,—' information. He contributed several miscellaneous articles
to the Sm/s Magazine and the Edinburgh Review He
also aojuired an intimacy with all the European languages!
Ab^"-His
M U R
i i7 x* 4.1 i * ■r*-*-iybsinian dialects. His
riSolTr f 16 "I0' recommended him,
n 8°2, for the task of editing Bruce’s Travels. The
edition appeared three years aftenvards, in 7 volumes
8vo, accompanied by a Life of the author, and by copbus
piidoiogica1 and antiquarian notes. Shortly after this in
1806, Murray was ordained assistant and successor to’the
minister of Urr m the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, and
succeeded o the sole charge of this parish in 1808. Mean¬
while his edition of Bruce’s W/, had been extending die
fame of his scholaiship, and had been opening up a road to
honour and preferment. Accordingly, in 'iSU he was
employed to translate a Geez letter that had been sent to
the king horn the governor of Tigre; and in 1812 he was
elected to the chair of oriental languages in Edinburgh.
I he degiee of D.D. was also conferred upon him. Murray
had now attained his proper position in life. At the same
time, the stores of learning which his daily and nmhtly
studies had amassed were beginning to assume a tangible
foim in a History of the European Languages. He set
himself to his academical duties with more than his wonted
enthusiasm. But long before the end of his first session Ids
oi -worn eonstitutHm broke down, and he died in April
181o at the age of thirty-seven. His philological work was
edited in the same year by Dr Scot of Corstorphine. An¬
other work of Murray’s, The Outlines of Oriental
had appeared in 1812.
Murray, ./o/^, an eminent chemist, was born in Edin-
niigh in 1778, and became a pupil of the celebrated Dr
Joseph Black. Murray commenced his career as an apo-
t becary in his native city; but soon began to give chemi¬
cal lectures, winch were remarkable for clearness of dic-
mn and a happy mode of illustration; so that he was
just y considered one of the ablest and most popular teachers
of chemistry in the present century. His System of Che-
ZTZZ t r 8v°’ TT throu£h four large editions, and
uas egaided as one of the very best works on the subject
i that period. The first volume contains a very ad¬
mirable statement of the doctrines of heat in relation to
chemistry, as promulgated by Black and later philoso¬
phers. His smaller work, entitled Elements of Chemistry,
m ~ vols., was also very popular. Dr Murray afterwards
gave annual courses of materia medica and pharmacy
winch were numerously attended ; and he published a good
> ys ew of those branches of medicine, which went through
two editions The publication 0f Playfair’s admirable
Illustrations of the Huttonian Theory of the Earth, in 1802,
quickly called forth Murray’s Comparative View of the
Huttonian and Neptunian Theories. He was a zealous
(e ender of the latter; and although the igneous origin of
mineral bodies is now generally received, Murray has given
us by far the best and most ingenious defence of the Nep¬
tunian doctrines ever given to the world. Dr Murray was
the author of several papers in the Transactions of the
itclinburgh Royal Society; one of the most interestino- of
w iich is “ The Analyses of several Mineral Waters,” in
winch he showed how salts obtained by their evaporation
niay be different from those actually dissolved in the waters.
, Murray was much respected and esteemed by those
who best knew him. He died prematurely, of disease of
the heart, on 22d June 1820. (T. s. T.)
r |MU^U;VY’ J°hn> an eminent publisher, was the son of
John M‘Murray, a bookseller in Fleet Street, London, and
was born in November 1 778. His education was received
at the High School of Edinburgh and at several seminaries
in England. In his fifteenth year he was left, by his fhther’s
Jeath, to conduct the business, with the assistance of the
shopman, Mr Highley. On his coming of age, he made
lus assistant a partner. The partnersliip, however was
dissolved in 1803; and Murray began a career of publica¬
tion unrivalled in the history of literature. His acuteness
in detecting the merits of an author, and his knack of dis¬
cerning the taste and wants of the public, soon rendered
him one of the most successful of publishers. In 1807 he
suggested to Canning the project of establishing a Tory
periodical that might prove a worthy rival to the Edin¬
burgh Review. The plan received the approval and
heai ty co-operation of Walter Scott in 1808; and in 1809
Murray published the first number of the Quarterly Re¬
view. In 1810 he sought the acquaintance of Lord Byron
vhose high poetical powers were not yet recognised, made
him a liberal offer for the first two cantos of CJtilde Harold
and commenced a literary connection with him which
increased the fame of both publisher and poet. To other
eminent authors he was equally generous. They re¬
ceived princely sums for the copyrights of their works. If
ie sale surpassed expectation, the stipulated price was in-
hhdilv hnnn S°r!etirnes evcn c!ouhIed. Such generous and
ghly honourable conduct soon raised Murray to the posi¬
tion of a patron of literature. Authors began to freauent
the shop in Albemarle Street, to which he S removed in
oK. In his little back parlour there might have been
Soeut}ievanw Ven,0°n STUCh men aS BJ’ron’ Scott> Crabbe,
Southey Washington Irving, and Lockhart, enjoying the
racy and humorous conversation of the publisher. ' Amono-
the many undertakings which he continued to conduct was
the Family Library, begun in 1829. He sometimes pub-
hshed with great success works, such as the Sketch-Book
. nth had proved failures m the hands of other publishers
Murray, Bindley, the author of a well-known English
Grammar, was born at Swatara in Pennsylvania in 1745.
AJtei receiving his education at Philadelphia and New
oik, he entered his father’s counting-house; but after-
wards studied law, and practised at the bar until the break¬
ing out of the war of independence, when he became a
merchant, and soon amassed a handsome fortune, which
enabled Inm to retire. He spent the remaining y’ears of
Srfin"] 78? 1P°Wer Religion on the
Mind in 1787, and his English Grammar in 1795. Several
other schoo -books, both English and French, followed.
Ills last publications were A Selection from Horne’s Com¬
mentary on the Psalms, 12mo, 1808; and The Duty and
Benefit of a Daily Perusal of the Scriptures, 1817 He
died m hebruary 1826. Memoirs of Bindley Murray were
published by Elizabeth Frank, 8vo, York, 1826. }
Murray, Sir Robert, one of the founders of the Royal So¬
ciety, was the son of Sir Robert Murray of Craigie, and was
born about the beginning of the seventeenth century
After serving in the French army, and rising to the rank of
colonel, he returned to Scotland during the civil broils, and
The dowmfrofB ^ ti;ustwortIly supporter of Charles I.
ic downfal of the royal cause compelled him to betake
himself once more to France. He appears to have d“t
1 !r,vr,t0 !tUC, 'e ‘ a comm|ssiot! in the French army
lfi-0 Ch.a' l“ IL l,lieel1 himself at the head of the Scots in
16o0. His loyalty was rewarded in the following year by
h,s being promoted to the important offices of inslice-clerk
and a lord of session in Scotland. These amiointments
rendered null ami void by the complete overthrow of the
th bn Tem confinTOd O" the restore-
, 011 in 16u(]. It was at this time that Sir Robert Murrav
began to take a prominent part in a small club that had
been founded by Robert Boyle, Lord Brounker,and others
"iene- » it wafS
caueci, tiic J\ew 1 Milosophy.” He was nrpspro u
meeting of the 28th November 1660. when it was prised
696 MUR
Murray, ‘‘that some course might be thought of to improve this
meeting to a more regular way of debating things.” He
undertook to advocate this proposal to the court. His suit
was successful; an encouraging answer was returned by
the government; and on the loth July 1662 the club was
incorporated by charter under the designation of “ The Royal
Society.” Sir Robert was its first president. During the
rest of his life he continued to be one of its most active
members, and delivered before it several learned papers.
He died in June 1673. Sir Robert Murray is described by
Burnet, in his History of My Own limes, as “the wisest
and worthiest man of that age.”
Murray, William, Earl of Mansfield, a celebrated Eng¬
lish lawyer, was the fourth son of David, Earl of Stormont,
and was born at Perth on 2d March 1705. He received
his education in England, first at Westminster School, and
subsequently at Christ Church College, Oxford, where he
took the degree of Bachelor of Arts in 1727, and that of
Master in 1730. Having completed his academical studies,
he shortly after became a member of Lincoln’s Inn. Being
called to the bar, Murray early acquired reputation as a
speaker, and obtained a good practice in his profession. As
early as 1736 we find him professionally employed against
the bill of pains and penalties, which afterwards passed into
a law, against the city of Edinburgh on account of the riot¬
ous murder of Captain Porteous. In 1738 he married Eli¬
zabeth, daughter of the Earl of Winchelsea; and in 1742
he was appointed solicitor-general, and chosen representa¬
tive of Boroughbridge, for which place he was afterwards
returned in 1747, and again in 1754. In 1748 he acted as
one of the managers for the impeachment of Lord Lovat by
the Commons, and in his observations on the evidence, in
reply to the prisoner, displayed singular candour and ability.
In 1754 Mr Murray was appointed attorney-general in
the room of Sir Dudley Ryder; and in 1756 he succeeded
the same person as chief justice of the King’s Bench. He
took his seat on the bench on the 11th of November, and
was immediately afterwards raised to the peerage by the
title of Baron Mansfield. Owing to various reforms which
he introduced, the business of the court increased to an
extent never before known, and continued to be despatched
with exemplary regularity. It is stated by Sir James Bur¬
row, in the preface to his Reports, that at the sitting for
London and Middlesex there were as many as eight hun¬
dred causes set down in a year, “ and all disposed of.”
During the very unsettled state of the ministry in 1757
Lord Mansfield accepted the office of chancellor of the
exchequer, and was the means of effecting a coalition of
parties, out of which was formed a strong and successful
administration. In the same year he was offered the great
seal, on the retirement of Lord Hardwicke, but declined it.
His political sympathies were not on the popular side, and
at the commencement of the reign of George III. he was
marked out as an object of party rancour, and continued
for many years exposed to violent and unsparing invective,
the most vigorous specimens of which have come down to
us in the Letters of Junius. The affair of Mr Wilkes’ out¬
lawry served to rekindle the animosity with which he had
been regarded by the popular party, and exposed him to
renewed attacks. On the day when judgment was to be
given on this case, not only the court, but the whole of
Westminster Hall and Palace Yard, were crowded with
anxious spectators. Lord Mansfield took notice of the
popular excitement which had been directed against the
judges of the court, particularly himself; and declared his
contempt for all the threats which had been employed to
deter the court from doing their duty. “ I honour the King,”
said he, “and respect the people ; but many things acquired
by the favour of either are, in my account, objects not
worth ambition. I wish popularity ; but it is that popularity
which follows, not that which is run after.”
M U K
In the beginning of 1770 Lord Mansfield was once more Murray,
offered the great seal, which he again declined ; and a simi-
lar offer, renewed the following year, found him equally
inflexible. About the same time he was attacked, in both
Houses of Parliament, on account of his direction to the jury
in the case of Woodfall the printer, who had been prosecuted
for a libel. He maintained the dangerous principle that the
question of law belonged exclusively to the court, and that
the only point competent for the jury to try was merely the
fact of publication, leaving it to the judges afterwards to de¬
cide whether the matter published did or did not amount to
a libel. In 1776 his lordship was raised to the dignity of earl.
During the excitement and lawlessness of June 1780
Lord Mansfield was marked out as an object of popular
vengeance, and his house in Bloomsbury Square, with every
thing it contained, including his library and manuscripts,
were wholly consumed. His lordship submitted to his loss
with calmness and dignity, and declined a proposed in¬
demnification by the House of Commons.
Prom this time it seemed as if popular hatred had spent
its force; and during the remainder of his life all parties
united in a common feeling of respect and reverence for his
character and virtues. Notwithstanding his advanced age,
he continued until 1787 to discharge his judicial functions
w ith his wonted regularity ; but from that time his infirmi¬
ties increased so rapidly, that in June 1788 he came to the
resolution of resigning his office, and withdrawing into the
shade of retirement. His health continued to decline, but
his mental faculties remained unimpaired almost to the last.
He died on the 20th of March 1793, in the eighty-ninth
year of his age, leaving his immense fortune to his nephew
Lord Stormont, who also, in virtue of a new patent granted
in 1792, succeeded to his title.
As a politician, Mansfield had too little courage to be the
leader, and too much ability to be the dupe, of any party.
He was not a forward nor a frequent speaker, but reserved
himself for occasions worthy of himself, and never spoke
except on subjects which he had carefully considered. In
debate he was eloquent as well as judicious; displaying
wisdom and good sense, set forth in the clearest method.
He affected no sallies of imagination nor bursts of passion,
and he never condescended to personal abuse or virulent
altercation. His character as a judge has always stood high,
although his legislation was more successful in commercial
law than in that of real property ; and the depth of his legal
learning has been frequently questioned. He was tolerant
in matters of religion; and in private life he was easy, friendly,
and engaging; extremely sensible of worth in other men,
and ready upon all occasions to countenance and patronize
it. (See Life of Lord Mansfield, by Henry Roscoe, in
Lardner’s Cabinet Cyclopaedia.)
MURRAY, the principal known river of Australia, rises
in the Australian Alps, or Warragong Mountains, in S. Lat.
36. 20., E. Long. 148. 15. It flows in a very irregular
course towards the N.W., forming the greater part of the
boundary between New South Wales and Victoria. In
E. Long. 142. it takes a general direction towards the W.,
in 140. it turns S.S.W., and finally falls into Lake Vic¬
toria, and through it into the ocean, in S. Lat. 36. 30., and
E. Long. 139. This river and its tributaries water a most
extensive tract of country, comprising the whole of Vic¬
toria and New South Wales, with the exception of a nar¬
row strip that extends along the coast. The length of the
main river is not more than 700 miles ; and though seveial
of its affluents much exceed it in the length of their course,
yet they are all inferior to it in the volume and rapidity o
their water. Not far from its source it has a breadth of
100 yards; and in 143. E. Long., where it receives the
Murrumbidgee, it is three or four times as broad. From
its junction with the Darling, in E. Long. 142., to its
mouth, the breadth of the river is on an average from 100
MUR
Aft.-ay,
^ >;ards’ and, wher1e 11 enters Lake Victoria it is
T , yarfSf WI,de,1 and often as deeP as 10 fathoms.
Ihus like most of the rivers of Australia, the Murray,
while broad, full, and rapid in the higher parts of its coursl
becomes gradually less as it approaches the sea, receiv-
mg no tributaries for a considerable distance above its
mouth and flowing through a marshy and alluvial soil. The
tmj?r,Sh i C1 the Mu7ay fl0WS is in ^neral low and
flat slightly sloping towards the sea, and in about 144.
L. Long, the course of the river winds through extensive
tracts of reeds. Further down, the banks are lined for a
very long d,stance with trees, which give to the river the
appearance of an avenue; and it is remarkable that the
same kind of wood is never found on opposite sides. Be¬
low its junction with the Darling, the Murray forces its way
between precipitous cliffs of limestone rock, which rJin
some places to the height of 200 feet; but these, as the
hillT ianPfSn°aCheK t lG g'Ve plaCe t0 lower undulating
hills inclosing between them large tracts of marshy land
f°“ refds: The river is very much subject to
Hoods. Its annual rise is about 16 or 20 feet- but tho
h6 M!'rru'nb!<!gee frequently cause it to rise 30
or 40 feet above its usual level. When the river is in flood,
t navigable as far up as Albury, about 90 miles from
its source; and steamers and barges now ply regularly as
far up as that place, when there is sufficient depth of water
which is about six months in the year. The entrance into
tn hl JTT 7 7 Se7 difficuIt’if not dangerous, owing
to the violent surf and to the constant changes in the position
of the channel, which is also very shallow. In order to
avoid the inconveniences of this navigation, a tramway has
on thpT °/S iS7Ce °f 8 mi!eS’ between Goolwa,
on the Murray, and Port Elliot, on the ocean. This is now
working in connection with the river steamers.
The tributaries of the Murray form the greater part of
the entire system of that river. The Murrumbidgee rises
m the same mountains as the Murray, a short distance to
the north of that river, and flows for the most part of its
course in a direction nearly parallel. The country through
which it flows resembles, in its low, flat character/that near
e Munay; and it passes through many tracts of marshy
and reedy ground in its course. As it proceeds westward
t is gradually diminished in volume and rapidity, and finally
discharges its waters into the Murray. The Lachlan River
mes in the mountains to the west of Sydney, and flows first
. and then S.W., until it is lost in marshes which are
drained by the Murrumbidgee. The Macquarie rises in the
same chain of mountains farther to the N., and flows in a
• • direction ; but it soon becomes gradually less, till it
is absorbed in an extensive morass. The longest of the
affluents of the Murray is the Darling, a river which rises in
e .E. of New South Wales, and flows in an irregular course
towards the S.W., till it falls into the Murray. In the
upper part of its course it receives many tributaries, of
wuich the principal are the Balonne, from the N., which
! alls into it by several branches, and the Macquarie from
tne S.E., through the marshes in which that river ends. It
also receives the River Bogan, which runs parallel to
e Macquarie ; but in the lower part of its course it has
no important tributaries. The water of the Darling is salt
near its source, but below its junction with the Bogan it
is fresh, and quite fit for drinking. The flats through which
ne Darling flows, near its union with the Murray, differ
rom those of the latter river in the beauty of their scenery,
I md m being covered, not with reeds, but with the most
uxunant vegetation. Its current here is generally slug-
^ psh, and its waters, which are muddy, do not in general
contribute much to increase the volume of the Murray;
!ut, ,lke aU the Australian rivers, it is subject to inunda-
■ons, and is very variable in its condition, sometimes rising
1 or 4 feet In the course of twenty-four hours. Its banks
VOL. XV.
M U S
like those of the Murray, are thickly covered with timber.
hp:enr77 °ffthe Doning,1S Very uncertain 5 but it has
7 M e 7 7 a- 30 J7es ab°ve its confluence with
e Murray. Ihe basin of the Murray is bounded on the
and f by rnountains, which skirt the coast, and which are
known by various names at different parts. On the W it
is bounded by a range running N. and S., near the bound-
NeW 87h fales and South Australia; and
F 74 Wther77elieVed 1° be an0ther ranSe ^tending
E. and W., and forming the watershed of the rivers of
Australia. The general character of the basin of the Mur¬
ray is flat. It is in some parts dry and destitute of water
and in others alluvial and marshy. The best part of this
region is that at the N.E. corner, called Darling Downs, an
extensive region of rich pasture grounds. This country
seems to be very thinly peopled, and in some places, as far
as the eye can reach, there is no trace to be seen of human
habitations. I his is almost the only portion of the interior
of Australia that has been explored, and this has only been
befnerplni ^ParativeIyrecent times. No attempt was made
before 1813 to cross the mountains which form the eastern
boiindai-y of the Murray River system, and it was not till
-9 that its mouth in Lake Victoria was reached. In that
year Captain Sturt followed the course of the Murrum-
^ r 777 ,t0 the Murray, and that river down
to the sea. The Lachlan and the Macquarie had been ex¬
plored by Oxley in 1817 and 1818; and part of the upper
course of the Darling was discovered by Sturt in 1828, who
also penetrated, m 1844, for some distance up the Darling
and thence into the centre of Australia. g’
• .i Hindustan, a sanatarium for British troops
in the Punjab, situated on a hill between the rivers Indus
and Jhelum, and established in the year 1851. The place
is already attracting a considerable population. Barracks
have been constructed, and houses are rising in every direc¬
tion. Cherries, strawberries, raspberries, currants, apples,
pears, and apricots are abundant. Elevation of the station
MUR VIEDRoV661' A"' 33' 54" L°ng- Y3- 27-
MUR VIEDRO (anc. Sagunlum), a town of Spain, pro¬
vince of Valencia, is situated at the foot of a hill on the
Palancia, 16 miles N. of Valencia. It is surrounded bv
Moonsh waUs, and there is a citadel on the summit of the
bill. 1 he town itself is irregularly built, with mean houses
and narrow streets. It has two churches, several convents
and hermitages, a town-house, custom-house, prison, hospital
schools, &c. Murviedro is more remarkable1 for its remains
of antiquity than for any of its modern buildings; but
most of these have been very much neglected, and many
of the marble fragments have been built into modern edi¬
fices. The site of the ancient temple of Diana is now
occupied by the convent of La Trinidad, which has several
Homan inscriptions built into the wall. The plan of the
ancient theatre may still be traced on the slope behind the
town, and there are some remains of the circus in the neieh-
ouring orchards. The inhabitants are chiefly employed in
agriculture; but the town has several distilleries and flour
and oil mills. The ancient town was a seaport, but the coast¬
line has now retired to the distance of 4 miles from the
town. Corn, wine, fruits, and oil, from the surrounding
country, are the principal exports. The fortifications are
Pop 5349^^ Murv,edro is reckoned the key of Valencia.
MUSA, IbnNosseyr, a famous Mohammedan conqueror,
was the son of a liberated slave, and was born a.d. 640.
At the court of Damascus he rose high in the favour of
Abd-u -aziz, the brother of the Caliph Abd-ul-malek It is
probable that he was early employed in high military offices;
but not until his fifty-ninth year did his talents for war obtain
full scope. He was then appointed governor of Eastern
.•u7;7d, 7? er7arge,d Wlth the subju£ation of the wild
tribes that bordered on that province. His armies, under
4 T
697
Milrree
Musa.
698
M U 8
M U S
Musa, himself and his sons Abdullah and Merwan, were every-
where triumphant. They pursued the Berbers into their
native deserts, and forced them to adopt the faith of Islam.
Marching westward through Northern Africa, they did not
halt in their victorious career until, in 709, they had stormed
the cities of Tangiers and Ceuta, and had encamped by
the shores of the Atlantic. At this juncture, when Musa
was beginning to look around for new fields of conquest,
his aid was solicited by the sons of Wittiza, the late King
of Gothic Spain, who were endeavouring to wrest their
father’s crown from the brave usurper Roderick. The
occasion was eagerly seized by the Mohammedan con¬
queror. An expedition was forthwith sent into Spain, and
returned soon afterwards laden with booty. A still greater
force, under Tarik Ibn Zeyad, landed at Gibraltar in April
711 ; and in September of the same year, Roderick was
defeated and slain in a great battle on the banks of the
Guadelete. No sooner had Musa heard of this victory,
than, jealous lest he should be eclipsed by his own lieuten¬
ant, he commanded Tarik to prosecute his successes no
further, and at the same time he set out in person for the
scene of war. But long before his arrival, in 712, his
orders had been disregarded, and Cordova, Malaga, Granada,
Orihuela, and Toledo had been captured by the victorious
troops. Chafing under this insult to his authority, he set
himself with vigour to bring his reputation out of the
shade into which it had been cast by the exploits of Tarik.
Carmona, Seville, Beja, and Niebla fell before his attack.
After an arduous siege he took Merida, and then marched
towards Toledo to meet Tarik. No sooner had he met the
disobedient lieutenant, than he struck him with his whip
in the sight of the whole army, upbraided him for his
neglect of orders, and threw him into prison. He was
even meditating his death, when an order came from the
caliph to set him at liberty and restore him to his command.
Tarik was accordingly reinstated in the favour of his supe¬
rior, and was placed at the head of a division. Then Musa
prepared to subjugate the rest of the country. Entering
Aragon, he marched northward, subduing Saragossa and
its districts, and receiving the submission of the inhabi¬
tants. In a short time Spain was almost entirely under his
power. His next enterprise was to cross the Pyrenees,
and to make an inroad into France. But as he met with
no encouraging success, he returned to Spain, and addressed
himself to the invasion of Asturias and Galicia. An order
from the caliph to repair to Damascus did not deter him
from executing his project. He was at Lugo, in the midst
of new conquests, when a second and more peremptory
command reached him. With extreme reluctance he re¬
linquished the design he had been entertaining of carrying
his conquests westward through Gaul, Italy, and Germany,
and of thus opening a direct communication between Syria
and Spain. Consigning the government of Spain into the
hands of his son Abd-ul-aziz, he embarked for Africa, on
his way to the East, in 713. On his landing, he astonished
the inhabitants of the districts through which he passed by
the pomp of his march. Numerous waggons and camels,
laden with costly spoils and treasures of gold, silver, and
precious stones, went before him. Behind him marched in
long array 30,000 captives, including 400 nobles in gor¬
geous attire. As he approached Damascus, he is said
to have been met with the intelligence that the Caliph
Alwalid was at the point of death, and that Suleyman, the
heir to the crown, desired him to delay bis entrance into
the city, and the exhibition of the Spanish spoils, until the
commencement of the new reign. This request Musa set
aside, and marched straight into Damascus. Accordingly,
on the death of Alwalid, the resentment of Suleyman fell
heavily upon him. All those illustrious services by which he
had added so many territories to the government of the caliph
were forgotten. He was cast into prison, lacerated with
scourges, and exposed to the sun till almost lifeless. A
severe fine was then imposed upon him, which stripped
him of his immense wealth, and left him to beg his bread
from door to door. In the midst of his affliction, the head
of his murdered son Abd-ul-aziz was shown to him by the
tyrant. At length, overborne with misery and old age,
Musa died at Wadal-Kora in 717. (See History of the
Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain, London, 1840.)
MUS.EUS, an ancient Greek poet, flourished at Athens
in the mystic period of Grecian history. Some legends
represent him as the son of Orpheus. At any rate, he is
generally supposed to have been the disciple and imitator
of that famous poet. He presided over the Eleusinian
mysteries, and in that capacity he composed and sung his
hymns. A hill near the citadel of Athens, to which he was
wont to resort for meditation and study, and on which he
was afterwards buried, is said to have been called Museium
after him. His works are only known in a few detached
passages quoted by Plato, Pausanias, Clemens Alexandri-
nus, Philostratus, and Aristotle. They are said to have
consisted of oracles, precepts addressed to his son Eumolpus,
a hymn to Ceres, a theogony, a poem on the War of the
Giants, a treatise entitled Sphcera, and a work on Mysteries.
Mus^etts, a grammarian, supposed by the elder Scaliger
to be the same as the preceding, is considered, from the
internal evidence of his style, to have flourished in the later
periods of the Roman empire. His only extant work, a
poem on the famous love story of Hero and Leander, was
first discovered in the thirteenth century; and ever since that
time it has continued to be a great favourite with scholars.
Among the many editions, those of Passow (Leipsic, 1810)
and Schaefer (Leipsic, 1825) are the latest. It has been
translated into English by Stapleton, into German by Stol-
berg and Passow, and into French by Marot. Marlowe’s
poem is rather a paraphrase than a translation of Musaeus.
MUSCAT, or Maskat, a city and seaport of Arabia,
capital of Oman, is situated at the head of a small cove on
the Indian Ocean, in N. Lat. 23. 38., E. Long. 58. 42. It
is built along the shore in the form of a horse-shoe, and is
surrounded by steep hills, through which it communicates
with the interior by only one pass. These hills are occupied
by a circle of forts, which defend the town, and, along with
the domes and minarets of the mosques, present a very fine
appearance when seen from the sea. The interior of the
city, however, is very far from bearing out the impression
which a distant view produces on the traveller ; most of the
bouses being mere mat-built huts ; and even the better
class, of which there are a few, being seldom more than one
storey in height. The streets are very narrow, and partly
shaded from the sun by mats of palm-leaves laid across from
roof to roof; and the numerous and generally crowded
bazaars are extremely dirty. The principal buildings in
Muscat are the residences of the imaum, of the governor,
and of some of the other public officers. The heat in the
town is extreme, in consequence of its being surrounded
by bare rocks ; the temperature is generally as high as
90° in the shade. The harbour is very good, being shel¬
tered from every wind except the north; but with some
winds it is not easy for vessels to enter. A little to the W.
of Muscat is another bay, less sheltered, which opens to
the N.E., and on which the town of Matarah stands. The
climate here is more temperate ; and here many of the
rich merchants of Muscat fix their residence. Muscat
derives importance from its natural strength and defences,
from its excellent harbour, and from its commanding posi¬
tion at the mouth of the Persian Gulf. The surrounding
country is dry and barren ; and the inhabitants depend
principally on trade for their means of subsistence. The
manufactures are few, consisting chiefly of sugar and coarse
cloth. An extensive trade is carried on through Muscat
between Arabia, Persia, and India. Cloth and corn are
Muscat,
''-yv
M U S
us. the principal articles of import, and the annual value of
these is estimated at more than L.600,000. The exports
consist of dates and madder, which are sent to India •
sharks fins to China; salt fish, horses, asses, hides, &c.
Commercial transactions are here carried on principally by
means of bullion and pearls. The harbour abounds in fish
and pearls may be obtained in the gulf not very far off;
but the fishery has been for a considerable time neglected.
The inhabitants of Muscat are a very mixed race, consisting
of Arabs, Persians, Hindus, Syrians, Koords, Afghans,
Belooches, &c.; and the prevailing language is a sort of
corrupt Hindustanee, the use of the Arabic being con¬
fined to the native Arabs. The Sultan of Oman, whose
capital is Muscat, is generally known by the ecclesias¬
tical title of Imaum or Iman of Muscat; and his de¬
pendencies extend along the shores of Arabia and Africa
as far south as Zanzibar. I he present ruler ascended the
throne, at the age of sixteen, in 1803; his father having been
killed in 1802 by the pirates who then infested the Persian
Oulf, and his uncle, who assumed the power as regent,
having been murdered the year after. The beginning of
his reign was disturbed by the pirates and by the Arab
tribe of Beni-boo-Ali, who joined with them in attempting
to introduce by force the doctrines of the Wahabee sect of
Mohammedanism. The British government of Bombay,
being desirous of suppressing the piracy that was carried
on in the Gulf, made common cause with the Imaum
against his enemies; and the result was, that the pirates
were subdued in 1820, and the Arabs in 1822. Being thus
in secure possession of his dominions at home, the Imaum
turned his attention to his more distant possessions; but
those who lived on the mainland refused to submit to his
authority, and retired from the coast when he attempted to
reduce them to subjection ; so that all his dependencies,
with the exception of the islands of Mombas and Zanzibar,
are now merely nominally subject to his authority. No
prince in the East is more highly esteemed than the Imaum
of Muscat. 1 he liberality of his government, and the pro¬
tection and toleration which he affords to merchants of all
nations and of all religions, have induced very many from
different countries to settle in his capital. He has a con¬
siderable fleet, which is chiefly employed in commerce. He
continues in alliance with the British government, and a
British consul resides at Muscat. Under the sway of the
Imaum the country is rapidly rising in wealth, commerce,
and civilization. Pop. of Muscat, together with Matarah,
variously estimated from 25,000 to 60,000.
MUSCULUS, Wolfgang, a German theologian, was
born of poor parents at Dieuze in France in 1497. He
entered the Benedictine abbey of Lutzelstein at the age
of fifteen, and was soon afterwards ordained priest.
Chancing, however, to meet with the writings of Luther,
he became a Protestant, threw off the gown in 1527, and
married. Danger and poverty now assailed him; and it was
not until he had been compelled to skulk from place to
place, and to earn a scanty pittance by the labour of his
hands, that he was appointed minister of Augsburg in 1531.
During the next seventeen years, the time not devoted
to his pastoral duties was occupied in defending the doc¬
trines of the Reformation against the Anabaptists and the
Papists, and in studying Greek and the oriental languages.
He left Augsburg in 1548, and wandered through Switzer¬
land, with his wife and eight children, for some time after¬
wards. At length he was appointed to the chair of theology
at Berne. He held this post till his death in 1563. The
works of Musculus contain, among others, Commentarii in
Genesim, fob, Basle, 1557; Commentarii in Matthceum,
fob, Basle, 1541 ; and Loci Communes, Basle, 1554.
MUSES, The, were the inspirers of poets, and the
patron goddesses of arts and sciences. Their number is
given differently by different authors. According to Pau-
M U S
699
sanias they are three-Melete. Thought; Mueme,Memory; Museum,
and Acede, Song. In Cicero there are four mentioned—.
I helxmoe, The Heart-delighting ; Arche, Beginning ;
i mde; and Melete. Their genealogy is also disputed.
Ihey are variously represented by different writers as the
daughters of Ccelum and Terra, of Pierus and Antiope,
and of Jupiter and Minerva. But the prevailing notion is,
that the Muses are nine in number, and that they were the
offspring of Jupiter and Mnemosyne, Queen of Eleuthera;.
1 hey were born in Pieria, at the foot of Mount Olympus,
and were called Clio, Euterpe, Thalia, Melpomene, Ter¬
psichore, Erato, Polymnia, Urania, and Calliope. Their
nurse was Eupheme; and they are said to have been edu¬
cated by Harmonia in Attica. According to Hesiod, they
usually dwelt on Mount Helicon. There they danced
round the altar of Saturn, and bathed in the waters of
Permessus, Hippocrene, and Olmeius. When the night
came on, they set out on the discharge of their duties,
lu edflin C ™ds’ and chanting the praises of the gods as
they floated through the air. Descending upon the earth,
they visited those mortals who were the special objects of
their care. They infused dignity and power into the words
of rulers, and filled the souls of poets with light and har¬
mony. By their presence every tormenting care was
allayed. At times they dwelt in a magnificent palace on
the summit of Olympus, There they stood in the
presence of Jupiter, telling the secrets of the past, present,
and future, or warbling festive songs at the banquets of the
immortals.
. The worship of the Muses began around their birthplace
in 1 ieria. Thence it was transferred into Bceotia, and in
course of time it became firmly established in that district
A temple was erected to “ The Nine” at Thespise. The
neighbouring Mount Helicon, with its wells of Aganippe
and Hippocrene, was consecrated to them, and became the
site of their sanctuaries and grottoes. From Bceotia the
adoration of the Muses gradually spread through the rest
of Greece. It was established in Parnassus by the erection
of a temple, and by the consecration of the Castalian
spring and of the entire mountain. A sanctuary was
erected for its observance in the Academy at Athens. In
course of time it was transferred to Italy. Poets and mu¬
sicians were the principal votaries of the Muses, and on
that account were sometimes called their sons. Thus
ancient writers say that Hyacinthus sprung from Clio
Rhesus from Euterpe, the Corybantes from Thalia, and
the Sirens from Melpomene. Yet it sometimes happened
that those who had been the worshippers of the Muses
became their rivals in the art of music. In such a rivalry
the Sirens failed, and were punished with the loss of their
wings. Thamyris hazarded a similar competition, and was
smitten with blindness.
From being indiscriminately the patronesses of song, the
Muses latterly came to be severally regarded as presiding
over particular kinds of poetry and particular arts and sci¬
ences. (For an account of their distinctive offices, see the
names of each.)
MUSEUM, a name originally applied to a part of the
famous palace of Alexandria, on account of its being set
apart for the worship of the Muses and the study of the
sciences. Here were lodged and entertained the men of
learning, who had each a handsome revenue. Its founda¬
tion is attributed to Ptolemy Philadelphus, b.c. 280 who
heie placed his library. The word museum is now applied
to any place set apart as a repository for things which have
an immediate relation to the arts. The most famous insti¬
tutions in England bearing this name are those of Oxfords
founded in 1679, and the British Museum, founded in 1753.
(bee London, and Libraries.) Galleries of paintings are
likewise included under the term museum in Italy and
r ranee, ouch are the Vatican, the Louvre, &c.
TOO
MUSI C.
Music.
Introduc
lion.
Within the limits necessarily prescribed to this article,
it is impossible to do more than touch upon a few points
belonging to the subject. A complete treatise upon the
theory and practice of music, according to the received
doctrines, would contain about six thousand articles, and
would fill several volumes. In writing this article, we
have frequent]}' availed ourselves of materials offered by
the best and latest musical authorities. When so many
works have been published by skilful professional musi¬
cians upon their art, we have not the presumption to sup¬
pose that we can add much that is new; more especially
as we have no new theory to propose, and to maintain with
Quixotic zeal and recklessness. Whenever we differ from
authorities generally followed, we express our dissent, and
give our reasons for it. Our main purpose is to direct at¬
tention to some useful musical objects, hitherto in general
too much overlooked; to point out some errors in the
theory and practice of music; and to show the utter use¬
lessness of pursuing the old routine of building up false
theories of music, and spending years in the vain study
of what is called thorough bass, and is even still consi¬
dered, by too many persons, as comprehending the whole
art and science of music. To attempt to make any one a
composer of music by means only of dry treatises upon in¬
tervals and chords, is just as absurd as to attempt to make
a poet by means of Bysshe’s Art of Poetry, or other books
of the kind. Genius and observation, and a careful study
of the best models, are really the only things that can ever
make a good poet, or a good painter, or a good composer
of music. The aid of a skilful master will be of great im¬
portance, if he is not wrapped up in a theory. In the ab¬
sence of a master, two or three of the best modern trea¬
tises, such as Reicha’s and Cherubini’s, may help the stu¬
dent to understand the construction of those models of
composition which he ought to have constantly before
him. We suppose the reader to understand musical nota¬
tion, and to be able to sing, or to play upon some musical
instrument. If this should be the organ, or piano-forte,
so much the better for his more easy attainment of a know¬
ledge of harmony; although he must always remember
that both these instruments are out of tune, and do not
produce perfect intervals or perfect harmony. If the stu¬
dent of musical composition would acquire a real dominion
over the materials of his art, he must not trust entirely to
his organ or piano-forte. He must learn to read, in si¬
lence, any piece of music in score (in partition), and to
hear, “ in his mind’s ear,the effect of the whole ; and he
must learn to compose in silence, and without the aid of
any instrument. All great composers have acquired these
powers. This seems, to the vulgar musician, impossible. To
mention only one instance of such powers among living ar¬
tists ; Cherubini composes all his music with the aid of no
other instruments but pen, ink, and paper. We have seen
him at work. An accomplished composer is able to form in
his mind, with no aid from any instrument, the whole plan
and details of a complicated piece of harmony, before he
writes a note of it. In his “ mind’s eye’’ he sees the whole
score ; in his “ mind’s ear” he hears the effect which the
piece would produce if performed. Until the student ac¬
quires this power of abstraction, he must consider himself
as only on a par with those every-day musicians whom
the “ fatal facilities” of the organ or piano-forte raise into
the ephemeral class of pseudo-composers.
Some persons consider music as a frivolous and useless
ait. I hey do not feel nor understand music, and they are
not to be blamed for this when nature has denied them a
musical ear, any more than a blind man is to be blamed
for not admiring painting or sculpture, or a blind and deaf
man for not admiring poetry. But really, when musical
compositions are frivolous and useless, the fault is in the
artist, not in the art. If men choose to write bad poetry, to
paint bad pictures, to chisel bad sculptures, this can never
prove that poetry, painting, and sculpture, are frivolous
and useless arts. Every one of the fine arts may be ren¬
dered frivolous and useless by misapplication of its means ;
nay, some of them may be made highly dangerous and mis¬
chievous, as has often happened. No doubt all the fine
arts may be considered in one point of view as superfluous
things, not at all contributing to the necessaries of human
existence. Food, clothing, fire, and shelter, are really all
that man’s mere animal existence requires to keep him
alive. But if poetry and music, and painting and sculp¬
ture, cannot till the earth, nor build hovels, nor make cloth¬
ing, nor kindle coal-fires, they can at least add ornaments
to the structure of civilixed society, and contribute to the
innocent pleasures and happiness of man’s transitory life.
And it seems to be proved by experience, that the cultiva¬
tion of these arts, how unimportant soever they may be
to mere animal existence, has always tended to divert the
attention of mankind from the sole indulgence of their ani¬
mal appetites, and of their more dangerous passions. If
so, it would not be wise to deprive man of such sources of
innocent and pleasing occupation, or rather relaxation, and
to reduce him to the merely animal state of the savage,
who enjoys and admires nothing beyond his animal com¬
forts, and his murderous triumphs over his rivals or his
enemies.
Many persons are so constituted, or so trained, as to
have no relish for poetry, or painting, or music. So much
the worse for them, perhaps, since their wmnt of feeling or
imagination deprives them of sources of innocent pleasure
open to others. If a mere mathematician should be dis¬
satisfied with the works of a great poet, because these
works prove nothing mathematically, a lover of poetry
must not take offence at the mathematician. The lover
of poetry, perhaps himself a poet, may be totally insen¬
sible to the beauties of the most profound mathematical
reasonings, or the finest musical compositions. This often
happens. But it rarely happens that the real lover of
music is not also a lover of poetry and of painting. We
have known men high in the literary and scientific world,
upon whom the best music produced no other impression
than that of an agreeable or a disagreeable noise. But
this never made us respect them the less for their own
peculiar powers of feeling and thinking. They were not
so organized as to feel and think as we did. That was all.
I he wiser and more philosophical plan is, not to be angry
with any of our fellow-creatures for not feeling and ad¬
miring as we do; but to regret that they cannot feel and
admire with us, because such communion of feeling and
admiration would serve to draw those persons closer to
us in human fellowship. To call a man a blockhead, be¬
cause he does not, or cannot, feel and think in every thing
exactly like ourselves, is merely to be at once ill natured,
uncharitable, and unphilosophical. It is, « not to know
ourselves.” Non omnia possumus onines. We find no fault
with men who cannot perceive the beauties of music. We
find fault with the perversions of an art which we our¬
selves feel to be a fine and expressive one, too often de¬
formed and perverted.
Most treatises on this subject begin with a definition of
1USIC. I O nprsrmc    i . ■» . _
Music.
t' "T UCS1U wun a aennmon o
icfinition musi£: To persons who already understand sic tho-
f music. T & y* any attempt at such a definition is unnecessary.
They have already formed their own ideas of music as an
art To persons ,gnorant of music, any such definition is
qm e unmtelhg.ble. The extent, the complexity, and the
mutability of the art, render all such definitions imperfect
Of thefe V'6 hT Way in th'S’ as in all others
finit Olf t,’ V° lave the student to form his own de-
low^this phm ^ haS thorouS}l,y studied the art. We fol-
« t/T 0f fb-e IateSt and best works on music’ we find
a definition of it attempted in this manner • “ The art
sounds”688^^ an a.gre^abIe Play of feelings by means of
° f ^.ut mus.,c °ften expresses the most painful and
ragical feehngs. Another is, “ The art of expressing de-
terminate feelings by means of regulated sounds/' And
then follows a long description of the nature of all the va¬
rious branches of music; which is just tantamount to a
confessmn that the definition is unintelligible and useless
without the lengthy description.
Leibnitz had a strange metaphysical notion of music,
which he thus expressed : « Musica est exercitium arit£
meticm occultum nescientis se numerare animi; multa
emrn facit m perceptionibus confusis seu insensibilibus,
qum distincta apperceptione notare nequit. Errant enim,
qui nihil in amma fieri putant, cujus ipsa non sit conscia.
Amma igitur etsi se numerare non sentiat, sentit tamen
mjus numerationis insensibilis effectum, seu voluptatem in
consonantns, molestiam in dissonantiis inde resultantem.
fX „meuItl" enim congruentiis insensibilibus oritur volup-
tas, Descartes entertained similar notions; and Euler,
m his Tentamen Novae Theoriae Mmicae, assures us that
the ear is pleasingly or unpleasingly affected by musical
intervals, according to its perception of the simplicity or
of the complexity of their ratios of vibration. His mea-
sures of these ratios do not agree with practice. But the
absurdity consists in supposing such an auricular arith¬
metic, by which the ear judges of the ratios of intervals.
Does the milk-maid calculate the ratios of the intervals in
her untutored song, and take pleasure in it, or the reverse,
according to her perception of their simplicity or complexi¬
ty. In Italy we may hear persons who cannot read music,
singing very agreeably in two, or three, or four parts, in
harmony. Do such persons know any thing of the harmo¬
nic ratios of the sounds they combine together in this way?
1 hey have no more idea that even an octave is in the ratio
°t 1 : than they have of the distance between the earth
and the moon. Similar false applications of mathematics
have tended greatly to produce that mysterious obscurity
w ich has hitherto been artificially thrown over the beau¬
tiful and inviting regions of musical melody and harmony,
ihere, genius and perseverance have culled the sweetest
flowers; while mathematical investigationshave,asyet,only
groped among the soil from which these blossoms sprang.
ofasic Zm6 Stat,e ?Lour, knowledge of acoustics, one of the most
subtile and difficult of sciences, is still too incomplete to
permit of the formation of a perfect theory of music, even
were music, as a fine art, entirely dependent upon the phy-
sico-mathematical science of acoustics, which it is not.
Of late years, however, the beautiful experiments of Dr
Chladm, M. Oersted, Monsieur Savart, Professor Faraday
and Professor C. Wheatstone, have thrown much light upon
some of the obscurer parts of acoustics.
In another work, we have expressed ourselves in the
following terms regarding proposed theories of music.
1 fie mischievous effects of false principles have been
experienced in every branch of physical science. The
blind rashness of premature generalization has operated
with as great absurdity in music as in any other branch of
MUSI C.
701
uman knowledge. While music was in its infancy, and Music,
while the observations and experiments which had been' 
made respecting it were confined within limits by much
oo narrow to permit the formation of just and compre¬
hensive general principles, musicians, both practical and
speculative, misled by a false philosophy, and by erroneous
ideas of simplicity, attempted to establish one single prin¬
ciple as the sole basis of musical harmony and composition.
Confounding together the essentially distinct methods
proper to physical and to mathematical science, they seiz¬
ed upon a particular phenomenon belonging to acoustics,
and endeavoured to torture it into a principle which might
aPP .y t0’ and explain, the whole phenomena belongin°- to
musical composition. From a particular fact, which had
no necessary connection with musical composition, they
attempted, with some ingenuity, and with much sophistry
and ineffectual labour, to deduce the whole system of that
art; while they were not aware either of the imperfection
and incompleteness of the system which then existed, or
of the improper method of induction which they had adopt¬
ed. I hey employed the synthetical method of induction
proper to mathematics, instead of the analytical method
of induction, which is the true guide to physical investi-
ga ion. In mathematics, we make discoveries by reason¬
ing from definitions, axioms, and postulates; in other
words, by reasoning from generals to particulars; but in
physics, we extend our views and consolidate our know-
edge by the opposite method of reasoning from particu-
ais to generals.. In physical science, when our observa¬
tions and experiments have been sufficiently numerous
and extensive, we may then, but not till then, establish
§fn5ra . aw®’ or first principles, and reason from these syn¬
thetically ; but if, on the contrary, the facts from which we
generalize have been gathered from a narrow and unen-
ig itened survey of the field of physical science, we shall
almost inevitably draw false conclusions, and form prin¬
ciples which involve error and absurdity in relative pro¬
portion to the obscurity and contraction belonging to our
investigation of particulars. 8
“ was ]ong ago observed, that a musical string, or wire,
capable of rendering a grave and powerful sound when
thrown into a state of vibration, produced, in that state,
not only a principal sound, corresponding to its length
ension, thickness, &c., but also two audible, concomitant,’
and accessory sounds related to the principal sound bv
the intervals of a twelfth, or double (replicate) fifth, and
seventeenth major, or second replicate major third. For
example, the fourth string, or largest string of the violon¬
cello, when strongly vibrating, may produce these acces¬
sory sounds, or harmonics ; which, although feeble in com¬
parison with the principal sound, may, however, be heard
^ delicate and attentive musical ear.
“ Upon this acoustical phenomenon, Rameau, a French
musician, attempted to found his theory of harmony. We
shall afterwards quote the opinions of some of the’highest
authorities in Europe upon this theory, and also upon that
or lartim, to which we now proceed.
“ Iart'm’ in his Trattatodi Musica, published at Padua in
1754, informs us, that if two sustained sounds (forming for
example, a third or a fifth) are produced at once fronr two
violins, two trumpets, &c the result will be the generation
of a harmonic third sound, distinctly perceivable by the
ear. 1 his phenomenon was observed by Rameau in 1753.
lartini seems to have mistaken the pitch of the third
sound, or grave harmonic, produced in this experiment
s,„ce M Serre of Geneva, in his Principles of Harmony
tells us that the grave harmonic sounds produced by ma-
jor and minor thirds are each an octave lower than Uiose
mentioned by Tartini. This phenomenon gave rise to
Tartim s theory of harmony. We now make the quota¬
tions which we promised. The first is from the woVs of
702 M U
Music, the late Professor Robison, whose authority, on such a
point, is of indubitable weight. He is writing of Rameau’s
theory. ‘ Rameau has made this,’ the generation of acute
harmonics, ‘ the foundation of his system of music, assert¬
ing that the pleasure of harmony results from the success¬
ful imitation of this harmony of nature. But a little logic
should convince these theorists that they must be mis¬
taken. A little mathematics, too, or mechanics, would
have convinced them. His theory is a very forced accom¬
modation of this principle to the practice of musicians and
taste of the public.’ Speaking further of Rameau’s theory,
he says, ‘ It is a mere whim, proceeding on a false as¬
sumption, namely, that a musical sound is essentially ac¬
companied by its octave, twelfth, and seventeenth, in alto.
This is not true, though such accompaniment be very fre¬
quent, &c. Are these acute harmonics musical sounds or not?
He surely will not deny this. Therefore they too are es¬
sentially accompanied by their harmonics, and this abso¬
lutely and necessarily ad infinitum' Of Tartini’s theory
he says, ‘ Tartini prized this observation,’ the generation
of grave harmonics, ‘ as a most important discovery, and
considered it as affording a foundation for the whole science
of music.’ After some farther remarks, he adds, ‘ The
system of harmonious composition which Tartini has, with
wonderful labour and address, founded on it, has, there¬
fore, no solidity.’
“ Dr Chladni, in his celebrated work Trade. d'Acous-
tique, expresses himself as follows regarding the theories
which we have just mentioned: ‘ It is not conformable to
nature to desire, like many authors, to derive all harmony
from the vibrations of a string, and especially from the co¬
existence of several sounds with the fundamental sound.
A string is only one species of sonorous body.
“ ‘ In many other sonorous bodies the general laws of vi¬
brations, which were not known, are differently modified,
consequently the laws of one sonorous body cannot be ap¬
plied to that which ought to be common to all. A mono¬
chord cannot serve to establish the principles of harmony,
but only to give an idea of the effect of ratios.’ ‘ Many
authors have regarded the co-existence of sounds com¬
prised in the natural series of numbers (which, according
to true principles, is nothing but a particular phenomenon)
as an essential difference between a distinct sound and a
noise. They have taken this quality for the basis of all
harmony, believing that an interval is consonant, because
the acute sound may be heard along with the fundamental
sound. They do not know that, if more than one sound is
heard at the same time, this is nothing more than a con¬
sequence of the existence of many species of vibrations ;
that in many sonorous bodies the series of possible sounds
is very different from the natural series of numbers ; and
that we may produce each manner of vibrations, where
there are nodes, without any mixture of other sounds, by
touching the nodal points, or lines, which ought to be in
motion in other manners of vibrating.
According to their principles, the perfect minor chord—
if one does not make use of sophisms—would not be con¬
sonant ; and, on the bell of the harmonica, the ninth
(4: 9) would be the first consonance, since it is the first
sound which can mingle itself with the fundamental sound,
&c. Daniel Bernouilli and Lagrange have sufficiently re¬
futed these false principles.’
“ With respect to Tartini’s theory in particular, he says,
‘ Tartini pretended that this third sound was more acute
by an octave than it really is. He regarded this pheno¬
menon, combined with the pretended co-existence of the
series of sounds 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, &c. in each fundamental
sound, as the basis of harmony. Mr Mercadier de Belesta
has very well refuted some false assertions of Tartini, in
his Systeme de Musique, Paris, 1776.’
“ Choron, in his work upon composition, says, ‘ It has
S I c.
been attempted to deduce the laws of succession from the Music,
multiple! resonance, or from the sub-multiple resonance.
Tartini had hardly discovered this last phenomenon, when
he hastened, in order to satisfy the taste of his time, to
rear up upon it a system, which he gave to the world in a
very unintelligible work. J. J. Rousseau, who was almost
equally a stranger to geometry and to the science of com¬
position, produced, without having even comprehended it,
a very imperfect analysis of it (Tartini’s system) in his
shapeless dictionary, and exalted it to the utmost of his
power, for the pleasure of mortifying Rameau, with whom
he had some quarrel.
“ ‘ With the phenomenon of the multiple resonance, of
which he had considered no more than the three first
terms, Rameau had propped up his system of the funda¬
mental bass. Without entering more into detail, I shall
remark, that this phenomenon has no connection with the
laws of harmony. That if one absolutely would apply it to
them, it would be necessary, in order to be consist¬
ent, to suppose, at least implicitly, that the sounds of the
system are those of the series of aliquots: first absurdity.
Second, That all the notes of the bass ought to be accom¬
panied by all their aliquots, moving in a parallel manner
with each other: second absurdity. Every other conse¬
quence is illegitimate, and tends, not to give a foundation
in nature to the rules of harmony, but to reconcile, as one
best can, the phenomena with the rules of harmony, which
is a very indifferent matter.’ ”
In 1753, M. Serre, a miniature painter at Geneva, pub¬
lished his Essais sur les Principes de VHarmonic. He as¬
sumed three essential fundamentals in the scale ; the to¬
nic, the fifth, and the fourth. He described the nature and
use of what he termed diacommatic intervals, or slides ne¬
cessary to perfect intonation in various modulations; and
he laid down as a principle, that it depended upon the na¬
ture of the intervals of a chord whether that chord should
have one or two, or even three fundamentals. These opi¬
nions of M. Serre’s have been of late years, and with some
modifications, reproduced as new. In some works recently
published, we have observed an analogy pointed out, as
new, between the harmonics above mentioned and the cu¬
rious phenomena of complementary colours. In Black¬
wood’s Edinburgh Magazine for February 1823 (pp. 159-
162), will be found a letter of ours in Italian, in which this
analogy is particularly noticed, and a short description of
some of the phenomena given. In the same letter there
are some remarks upon the analogy between the harmo¬
nic series 1, 3, 5, 7, &c. and the progression of numbers
1, 3, 5, 7, ascribed by Newton to the squares of the dia¬
meters of the coloured circles produced by him on apply¬
ing to the plane side of a plano-convex lens one of the con¬
vex sides of a double convex lens.
A strange error has long prevailed regarding the co-ex¬
istent vibrations of a musical string. The total vibration
which gives the gravest sound of the string, can by no
means co-exist with the vibrations of the aliquot parts of
the same string. The thing is physically impossible, as
could be easily demonstrated. In fact, to assert that a
vibrating string can move in a number of different and op¬
posite directions at the same instant of time, is as absurd
as to maintain that a man can run backwards and forwards,
to the right and to the left, &c. all at the same moment.
The following diagrams represent the three primary curves
of the harmonic series 1, 2, 3.
h
c
Music.
M U S I C.
The co-existence of all these curves is a physical impos¬
sibility. For how can ACB coincide with Ar/eB, or with
AfghiB ? It is needless to go farther. There may be
many co-existent vibrations of traction and torsion in the
string, but not any co-existent vibrations in directions quite
opposite to each other.
I he musical treatises of Choron, Catel, and Momigny, &c.
among the French, and of Reicha and others among the
Germans, are still too much tinctured with peculiar and
arbitrary theories and systems, for which there are no suf¬
ficient grounds in either acoustics or aesthetics. By this
last term the Germans have long chosen to designate, not
very appropriately, the theory of taste in the fine arts. It
is indeed impossible, by any purely mechanical and ma¬
thematical theories, or even by any metaphysical ones, to
explain all the varieties of human sensations, affections,
passions, that enter into our perceptions of beauty, sub¬
limity, &c. in poetry, painting, or music. It cannot be too
often repeated, that all the rules laid down by theorists for
the construction of works belonging to the fine arts, are
drawn from models of art previously in existence, and re¬
late merely to the mechanical portions of these arts.
Had the rigid rules formed for (and from) the ancient
Greek drama been always adhered to, we should never
have possessed Shakspeare’s plays. The magnificent mu¬
sical works ol Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, not to speak
of many other great German and Italian composers, were not
produced by blind adherence to old rules of art, but by an
enlightened view of things, far beyond what the authors
of these rules contemplated. Biihle has remarked, that
the mechanical rules laid down in treatises on the fine arts
may be compared to telescopes, which assist the vision of
those persons who already see. A remarkable instance of
this is found in the case of Beethoven, who happened to
be placed under a master destitute of genius for melody;
but a profound harmonist, and a learned writer of fugues
and canons, &c. Under this man, Beethoven laboured
most industriously, and went through the whole drudgery
of thorough bass, and all the rigid ancient rules of compo¬
sition ; but evidently with frequent misgivings as to the
general truth and application of what was taught to him.
But the result was, that these lessons and rules served him
as a “ telescope,’’ to enable him to perceive a wide field
of composition far beyond them all. In short, he was a
man of first-rate musical genius, and therefore by nature a
great melodist; and, fortunately for the world, his inju¬
dicious training could not extinguish his passionate feel¬
ing for melody, and his charming expression of it in his best
works. In some of his works, especially among his last,
we find unpleasing traces of the predominance of his early
training over his native genius. But his latest works
were composed when he had been for many years perfect¬
ly deaf.
various parts that compose the human ear are bv no means
well understood. ' .
The perceptive powers of the ear differ considerably
among mankind, especially as regards the perception of
the various qualities and relations of musical sounds. In
like manner, we find that the perceptions of form, propor¬
tion, colour, &c. are by no means always the same in every
human eye. Perfection of the eye is requisite to the pain¬
ter; perfection of the ear to the musician. Sometimes
persons are found who cannot distinguish colours, or shades
of colour, from each other. Perhaps more frequently in-
stances are met with of persons whose perceptions of the
differences between musical sounds are very imperfect
We have been informed that Mr Pond, the late astrono¬
mer royal, though a real lover of music, and capable of
hearing distinctly sounds of a grave pitch, or of a middle
pitch, was incapable of hearing very acute sounds, whether
musical or not, which were perfectly audible to other per¬
sons; for example, the loud chirping of a number of
enckets in a room, and the very piercing sound produced
by turning round the ground-glass stopper of a bottle con-
taming calomel. The stopper was turned round close to
, r Pond s ear without producing any sensation. All this
clearly proved that Mr Pond’s ear, however perfect in other
respects, was incapable of conveying any perception of
very acute sounds.
All vibrations sufficiently rapid and powerful to act up¬
on the auditive organs produce the sensation of sound,
io enable us to hear slow vibrations as well as more rapid
ones, it would be necessary, according to Riccati, that the
intensity of each simple vibration should be in proportion
to its duration. For this reason, says Chladni, and on ac¬
count of the different organization of each individual, and
each kind of animal, there exist no absolute limits to the
perceptibility of sounds.
I he ear does not distinguish the very small differences
of the exact ratios between sounds. Were it not for this
illusion, music would have no existence. But this is not
to make us seek the less for true intonation, wherever it
can be obtained. Few persons are aware how great is the
difference between the true intonations of a fine voice, 01
a„v‘o irh and the false intonations of such instruments
of fixed sounds as the organ, piano-forte, &c. Many sing¬
ers, trained to the intonation of a piano-forte, have their
ear and voice so misled that they can never afterwards
learn to sing in tune. The famous Madame Mara con¬
demned the use of the piano-forte in learning to sing. She
said every singer ought to learn to play on the violin, in or¬
der to know what true intonation is.
The different quality (timbre) of a musical sound and its
articulations, says Chladni, are among the most remark¬
able objects of audition. They do not appear to depend
on the manner of vibration, nor (or very little) upon the
form of the sonorous body; but rather on the matter of
the sonorous body, and that of the body by which it is
rubbed or struck, as well as on the matter which propa¬
gates the sound. We have not the least idea of the na¬
ture of these different characters of sound, nor of their
propagation.
I he limits usually assigned to musical sounds, reckoning
from grave to acute, or the contrary, are as follows:
703
-O.
m
?iise Notwithstanding the laborious investigations of many
•“g* eminent anatomists and physiologists, from Comparetti
downwards to Magendie, the uses and functions of all the
Two octaves lower
than written.
m.
Two octaves higher
than written.
Music.
The lowest of these sounds will be such as is produced
by an open organ-pipe of 32 feet in length, and The num-
704
MUSIC.
Music, ber of vibrations of the reed will be 32 in a second of
time. The next octave above will be produced by an
open organ-pipe of 16 feet, and the number of vibrations
in a second will be 64; the next octave above that, pipe
8 feet, and 128 vibrations; and so on. The highest sound
above noted will have 16,384 vibrations in a second. This
last sound is not to be taken absolutely as jndicating the
extreme limit of acute sounds that may be used in music,
and may be appreciated by the human ear; for it has been
calculated that a sound produced by 24,000 vibrations in a
second is appreciable. We shall give, in a wood cut, p.
618, a copy of a very useful table of the compass of voices
and instruments, published by Monsieur Choron, in his large
and expensive work upon composition. As all the plates
of that work were destroyed some years ago, copies are
now extremely rare and valuable.
Production If we take a vibrating musical string or wire, perfectly
of series of unifornl in thickness, and homogeneous throughout, and
sounds divide it into its aliquot parts, its half, its third, its fourth,
its fifth, and so on, we shall obtain, by this division of the
monochord, as it is called, a great many of the sounds be¬
longing to our musical, system. A number of these sounds
can be obtained from it by lightly touching it at these di¬
visions, as happens when we produce harmonics on the
open string of a violin, he.; and all these sounds are
true, or nearly true, if the string is perfect; otherwise
they are not. This frequent imperfection in the uni¬
formity and homogeneity of strings is one great obstacle
to perfect intonation. Again, if we take an organ-pipe,
or a French horn, &c., and blow into it in such a man¬
ner as to produce its natural series of sounds, we shall
have, beginning with the lowest, a series corresponding (in
ratio of vibrations of the column of air contained in it)
to the arithmetical series 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, he. thus:
^J>
■o 3Z£
&c.
These sounds also are true harmonics, supposing the sono¬
rous tube properly constructed, and the force of the blast
suitably regulated. If we push this harmonic generation
of sounds still farther, we may obtain a number of other
sounds, some of which, though apparentlyas regards
our artificial temperament on instruments of fixed sounds
(such as the organ, piano-forte, &c.), are yet true, or nearly
so, as regards the intervals which occur in true intonation.
There is no room here to enter into a discussion of this
curious and intricate subject. We shall content ourselves
with giving a table of the harmonics obtainable from an
open cylindrical glass tube furnished with a suitable mouth¬
piece, and fitted to an organ-bellows. This table shows
that the gravest sounds obtainable from the tube are re¬
moved from each other by wide intervals. Thus the two
first sounds, C1 and C2 are separated by the interval of
an octave. G3 is a fifth above C2, and C3 is a fourth
above G2, and so on. This is the series followed by the
natural sounds of such instruments as the horn, trumpet,
serpent, he.; but it is extremely difficult, or nearly im¬
possible, to produce on these instruments the sound cor¬
responding to Cj. Even C2 is very difficult to produce ;
and the first sound that usually occurs corresponds with
G2. As the sounds become more acute, that is, as the
column of air divides itself into a greater number of parts,
they approximate each other more and more. By and by,
chromatic intervals occur, represented by flats and sharps;
and, at last, intervals so small that they cannot be repre¬
sented by any of the common signs of musical notation.
But these smaller intervals are necessary to perfect musi¬
cal intonation, and are employed by the best singers and
performers on instruments of the violin kind. In France, Music,
a number of experiments were tried with Viotti’s perform-
ance, and it was ascertained that he employed a vast num¬
ber of very minute intervals, in order to play perfectly in
tune in all keys.
1 = 0,
2= C2
3 = G2
4= C5
5=E3
6 = G-
7 = B^3
8 = C4
9 = D4
10 = E4
11 = Gb4
12 = G.
13 = G“
14 = B^4
15 = B4
16 = C5
17 = C]
18 = D5
19 = E^3
20= E5
21 = F5
22 - G^
23 = G5
24 = G<
25 = A^- —
26 = G^
27 = A5 +
28 =
29
30 = B
cb5-
31 = C6
32 = C6
33 = D1^
34 = Cj
35 -D6
36 = Dr
In treating of the musical sounds produced by sonorous
bodies, such as vibrating strings, or wires, or springs, or
columns of air in tubes, he., it is rarely kept in view that
in these, as in all mechanical phenomena, allowance must
be made for the mechanical conditions which may render
the actual phenomena not exactly correspondent to the
mathematically calculated results. From want of atten¬
tion to this, many false theories of musical intonation have
been adopted. It is quite true, mathematically speaking,
that if all the hypothetical conditions of a sonorous body
were, as they are assumed to be, in the course of a mathe¬
matical reasoning regarding them, the physico-mathema-
tical result deduced by such reasoning, supposing this rea¬
soning accurate, must be perfectly correct. But, in gene¬
ral, such reasoning and deduction are carried on with ab¬
straction made of some of the inevitable physical circum¬
stances which attend the real phenomena. In this way,
pure mathematical reasoning is often, in some degree, at
variance with mechanical phenomena. A badly formed
string, or wire, &c. will not conform to the mathematical
calculations as to the sounds that it must produce when
divided in such and such ways. Neither will its real vi¬
brations agree with those mathematically calculated. In
like manner, the friction, and inequalities and imperfec¬
tions, of any piece of machinery, will, in the real operations
of the latter, produce results in some respects contradic¬
tory to the abstract mathematical theory of what the ope¬
rations of the mechanism ought to be.
A musical interval consists in the difference between Musical
two given sounds, in respect to their relative acuteness and interval*
gravity. Thus it is evident that the unison is not an in¬
terval, although it is often improperly so called. Aristotle,
in the tenth section of his thirty-ninth problem, very cor¬
rectly designates the unison as being “ only the same sound
multiplied.” But the slightest departure from unison, by
one of the sounds becoming a little more acute, or the
other a little more grave, forms an interval, though it may
be so veri/ small as not to belong to those intervals gene¬
rally recognised in melody and harmony. The measure of
the relative lengths, or vibrations, of two musical strings
producing an interval, will be the difference of their re¬
spective logarithms, as has been remarked by Dr Smith in
his “ Harmonics,” and by various other subsequent writers.
Among these, the late Professor Robison, of Edinburgh
lusic.
o~
“cr
MUSI C.
University, pointed out some useful applications of the lo- monies, by means of their octaves above or below we shall
garithmic subdivision of the circumference of a pasteboard obtain the following series of sounds
circle, fitted with a moveable concentric circle, &c. as de- -fl—    —  
scribed in his article Temperament, in the present work.
He atyis: “ Or a straight line may be so divided, and re¬
peated thrice; then a sliding ruler, divided in the same
manner, and applied to it, will answer the same purpose.”
We may remark, that these suggestions of Professor Ro¬
bison have been employed in the construction of similar in¬
struments, without any acknowledgment; and also, that at the top, we shall have the major diatonin c™]! r r
705
Music.
and so on. If to the last of these series we
an organ-pipe, and producing various sounds from the re¬
gular and rapid opening and shutting of the stop-cock,
nears great analogy to the syren instrument recently con¬
structed by M. Cagniard de la Tour. Professor Robison, scale of C minor
speaking of his stop-cock apparatus, says, “ The intelligent
reader will see here an opening made to great additions
to practical music, and the means of producing musical
sounds, of which we have at present scarcely any concep
tion. Wp 1i;ivp alroorUr   1  i_ • n i
three tubes, we shall obtain a number of other intervals
(see the table), and among these the ones suitable to the
o- o
jzi:
The subject of intervals has been involved in frightful
confusion by the number and complexity of names intro-
fill f*Qf\ o rv H f h  I'.j.  , . . n
tion, &c. We have already mentioned, very briefly, how duced’ and tIle contradictory statements of various writers
intervals are produced by the subdivisions of a sonorous uPon ^s'c* We have no space to devote to the clearing
string or wire, &c. or of the column of air in a wind-instru- U.P. c^aos 5 but we may remark, in general, that in
ment, or in the glass tube before described. . 8 matter, as well as in many others connected with mu-
If we suppose such a tube to produce, as its gravest f'c’ t1here is great need of a reformation in terminoW
lo glance at only three or four of the misnomers in dally
11SP. Wlthnnf ~  .VT -.1. _ i J
sound,
SE
, its primary harmonics will be 33ZI
ISI’
viz. octave, replicate of fifth, and replicate of third. Car-
rying the series farther, we shall have one similar to that
already given in the table of harmonics. Supposing two
other such tubes, the one having for its gravest sound
and the other
the harmonics re¬
sulting from these respectively will be
XT
XU
and
XT
and so on, as in the case of the first.
XT
use, without meddling with the more abstruse terms : the
nttn diatonic sound of an ascending scale is called the do¬
minant of the scale, which signifies the ruling ox governing
sound; while, in fact, the tonic, or key-note, and no othen
is the chief and ruling sound of the scale, the sound from
which, as a common centre, all the others of the scale may
diverge, or to which they may converge, like the radii of
a circle. This use of the term dominant seems to have
arisen from the predominance of the fifth of the key in an¬
cient church-chants. The term subdominant is improper
too, as applied to the diatonic fourth of a scale. The terms
double octave, double third, double fourth, &c. are wrong as
applied to intervals, because they imply that these inter-
va s are doubled in the unison, while it is meant to express
only the acuter or graver replicates of these intervals in the
octave. The same with regard to triple octave, &c. When
we read of diminished ox augmented unisons, false fifths su¬
perfluous fifths, seconds, &c. &c. we must regret the obscu¬
rity of such terms ; but meantime we shall use the common
terms as we find them, because to introduce new
By bringing closer together these dispersed pritnary bar- abruptly wouid only 'add to^conf^onleady^elurg
Table of Intervals in general use.
Minor Augmented Major „
Seventh. Sixth. Seventh. ElShth.
it -otX
Inversions of the above Intervals.
^Seventh■ ^Octove.8^ Se^n?h. S ^ventt** slX Fifth' ^^eS.^ DiFia;Shed Fourth. ^ Bimi„i,hed Minor Major Diminished Minor TTn;
I C.~? ^  l. V h—v t—s. r—K     1 1 Z! Third. Second. 111
Unison.
Inversion of an interval takes place when the graver
sound is carried an octave higher, or the acuter an octave
lower. The effect of inversion of intervals may be repre¬
sented by the following two rows of figures, where it will
be seen that 1 or unison, becomes 8 or octave; 2, or se¬
cond, becomes 7 or seventh, and so on.
By looking at the above table of intervals, and their in-
VOL. XV.
versions, we perceive that mmor intervals inverted become
major, and major, minor; diminished intervals become aua-
mented,nn& augmented, diminished. We have placed IT>
before Cl, and Eb before Dl, and so on , because contrary
to the common oprmon, the Db in the above series is a
graver sound than the Cl, and the Eb than the Dl and so
of the others. Plus is not easily understood by a mere
player on the organ or piano-forte, but can be exemnlified
by any accomplished singer or violinist. ^
In writing for voices, especially in the strict or serious
4 u
706
MUSIC.
Music, style, many of these intervals are not used. The follow-
“-'v'-*'''ing are generally prohibited in that style: Augmented
second, diminished fourth, augmented fourth, diminished
fifth, augmented fifth, major sixth, diminished seventh,
minor seventh, major seventh, augmented third.
Musical
scales,
modes,
keys.
Scale is the more comprehensive of these terms, since
all appreciable musical sounds between the extremes of
grave and acute form the general scale or system of sounds
employed in melody and harmony. A mode is a certain
arrangement of tones and semitones, &c. between a given
sound and its octave above or below, /iey properly sig- Music,
nifies a character employed at the beginning of the staff,
to fix the names of the notes; but it has long been used
as nearly synonymous with scale or mode, since these
terms are often employed the one for the other. What is
called the key-note, or tonic, is the principal sound of a
mode, or that from which we begin to reckon its degrees
upwards or downwards. Suppose we take the note C as
tonic, or key-note. The arrangement of notes No. 1 will
form the mode or key of C major, and the arrangement of
No. 2 the mode or key of C minor.
No. 1.
  #=a=
  —
No. 2.
irzn
/ or
V*
Both these are called Diatonic scales, although they are
not strictly such, since they contain other intervals be¬
sides tones. The chromatic scales formed from these
consist of a semitonic (or so-called semitonic) series be¬
tween the key-note and its octave above or below, ascend¬
ing or descending. These two modes, major and minor,
and their respective chromatic scales, may be considered
as the types or representatives of all other major and minor
modes and chromatic scales No. 3 and No. 4 are two
forms of the major and minor mode not generally adverted
to, but which are very effective when skilfully used, as,
for example, by Haydn in the andantino in C minor of
his symphony in E flat. As an octave series or scale
may be formed anywhere within the limits of appreciable
musical sounds, we thus obtain a variety of scales, diato¬
nic and chromatic, all of which, however, are to be consi¬
dered as only so many fragmentary formulae, comprehend¬
ed within, and belonging to the whole series of the gene¬
ral system. Thus we shall have the modes or scales of C
flat, C sharp, major and minor; D major and minor, D
flat and D sharp, major and minor, and so on with E, F,
G, A, B, and their chromatic alterations, flat or sharp.
The term key is usually applied to these. Thus we speak
of the key of C major, of C minor, of C sharp major or
minor, and so on. As concert-pitch is not one and the
same in all countries, keys of the same name do not every¬
where correspond exactly. The production of what is called
the sharp series of keys arises from a regular succession of
perfect fifths taken in ascending, or fourths in descending,
beginning with C for the major ones, or A for the minor
ones. Thus the first step of a 5th ascending from C brings
us to G as a new key-note. G major, with one # at the
clef. The first step of a 5th ascending from A brings us
to E as a new key-note E minor, with one ft at the clef.
A 5th, again, ascending from G brings us toD major with
two sharps at the clef; and a 5th ascending from E brings
us to B minor, also with two sharps at the clef; and so on
progressively with the major keys of A, E, B, with 3, 4, 5
sharps at the clef, till at last, at the twelfth 5th from C,
we reach B sharp, which, when brought down by octaves to¬
wards the original C, will be found not to correspond with
that C in unison or octave, but to be too sharp. The same
thing will occur after a similar series of twelve perfect
5ths from A, as tonic of A minor, up to G double sharp,
which last will not be in unison or octave with the original
A, but will be too sharp in the same proportion as the
other extreme of the series of twelve ascending 6ths from
C to B sharp. We may mention here, that composers sel¬
dom go beyond the keys of Ffl or Clt major or minor, in
their notation of a piece of music, on account of the mul¬
tiplicity of sharps and double sharps in the subsequent
keys of Gfl, Du, Ajj, Ej!, Bj), and the difficulty of reading
these, and of playing in tune in such keys \ipon musical
instruments even of the most perfect kind.
What is called the flat series of keys, arises from a suc¬
cession of perfect 5ths, the converse of the former. That
is to say, when, beginning with C, or with A, for the ma¬
jor or for the minor series, each key-note, in regular suc¬
cession, is a 5th in descending below, or a 4th in ascend¬
ing above the key-note immediately preceding. Thus,
from C to F in descending, F major with one flat at the
clef; from this F to Bb in descending, Bb major with
two flats at the clef; and so on with Eb, Ab, Db, major,
and with 3, 4, 5 flats, &c. at the clef. Then, again, the
minor flat series, beginning from A as tonic of minor,
D minor with one flat at the clef; from D tonic to G
tonic of G minor, with two flats at the clef; and so on with
C minor, F minor, B flat minor, &c. with 3, 4, 5 flats,
&c. at the clef. We may here remark, that what is com¬
monly called the relative minor key of a major key, has
its tonic at the interval of a minor third below the tonic of
that major key, and bears at the clef the same number of
sharps or of flats. Thus the relative minor of C is A,
without any sharps or flats at the clef; the relative mi¬
nor of G is E, with one sharp at the clef; and so on with
D major and B minor, A major and F sharp minor, &c. with
2, 3 sharps, &c. The same kind of relation occurs in the flat
series of relative major and minor keys. Thus C major, A
minor ; F major, D minor ; each of the latter two with one
flat at the clef; B flat major, G minor, each with two flats
at the clef; and so on with the rest, 3 flats, 4 flats, &c.
The remoter flat keys beyond D flat are rarely used, for
reasons similar to those assigned for the infrequent use of
sharp keys beyond C sharp. To render more intelligible
what has been said regarding the production of the sharp
and the flat series of keys, we subjoin the following expla¬
nations. Suppose a musical string to render a sound
equal to the lowest C of the violoncello, and to be nume¬
rically represented by 1. If this string be divided into
three equal parts, any one of these parts will (tension and
other circumstances remaining the same) render a sound
equal to the first octave of the 5th above that C, and will be
expressed by i Two of these parts taken together will
O
render the 5th above that C, and such 5th will be ex-
pressed by |, and will be equivalent to the lowest G of
MUSIC.
Mu^the vioJoncello.^ Taking, again, the length of the string shall obt^n the series represented in the following dia- Music,
represented by ,, and dividing it into three equal parts, K tK^S ^
two of these parts will render a sound equivalent to D of £essive 5th’ the exponent of the number 3 increases
second open string of violoncello, and this D will be ex- one, while that of the number 2 sometimes increases
pressed by JJ. By proceeding in i/inTt! by ^,according as the new term
r y y proceeding m the same manner, we ln the 5th above, or in the 4th below, the preceding
2_
32
HI
32
6T
Hi
32
HI
33
HH
34
HI
3s
29
3^
0#sr
gio
3?
2^-
HH
37
-f®-
2^2
38
214
39
215
310
217
S1'
218
312
tr
H!!
3I2
We shall find that the B#, the twelfth 5th of this series, Bjf will be the neuter sound of the two. In reversing the
Will not be in unison with C,, the octave above the original
Cl, but will be more acute than that c|. If we suppose °f the 5th wil1 be 2' If’ then’ we set out from the C re-
ShK B#?ndqietstionnwmbehave FreSented ^ °n’ ^ ^ t0 ^ “ -nes
these while the r1 ™ 'll 1 1 i , i°f ®Peratl0ns similar to the former, we shall obtain the fol-
these, while tlie C- will have 531,541; and therefore the !owlng expressions for the flat series of keys by descend¬
ing 5ths. J J
at
3^
22
HI
24
$4
33
25
j2s:
3*
27
HI
w
HI
210
HI
212
HI
213
39
215
310
2l6
jeh:
HI
218
bb"®"
312
219
The Dbb, the twelfth 5th from C^, will be found to be >Thich exceeds the whole length of the string, and would
therefore produce a graver sound than Cl. The follow-
a graver sound than Cl, the octave below that C^; for, sup- lng, d'agram of the scales by 5ths ascending (sharp series)
posing the whole string = Cl divided into 584,288 equal tile differen^Tn "pl'tch between^Uie 'sounds’tif'^h re'a'
parts, the Dblt would require 531,541 of these parts, series and of the other dS °f‘he 0ne
707
Scale of Ascending Fifths.
C
il
3°
G
-H!
31
.D
23
32
A
_2_4
S3
E
.HI
34
B
_27
35
F8
_2_9
36
C»
HI
37
G»
212
38
2M
39"
A«
HI
31°
E«
2i7
3U
B#
HI
312
Scale of Descending Fifths.
Dbb
312
219
Abb
HI
218
Ebb
31°
2^
Bbb
HI
2ls
HI
2i.t
Cb
HI
212
Gb
HI
210
Db
HI
2«
Ab
HI
27
Eb
HI
25
HI
24
F
HI
22
If we compare with each other the corresponding terms
ot these two scales or series, we perceive that the sounds
ot the sharp series are more acute than those which cor¬
respond with them in the flat series, because the strings
which produce the latter surpass the others in length by
the difference between 524,288 and 531,541, = 7253. A
slight consideration of these processes, and their results,
will show the necessity of what is called temperament upon
such an instrument as the organ, the piano-forte, &c. By
U the fifths are rendered a little false, in order to obtain all
the octaves true.
C
HI
21
W hat are called the ancient ecclesiastical scales or modes,
emg, in rcahty, nothing but certain conventional scales
°fithe ?ommon maj°r and minor scales,
and differing from these in nothing but the disposition of
narticukrlv^T^ ? ^ necessa,7 here to n°tice them very
SI II pi' The fbur most ancient of these were the Do¬
an, the Phrygian, the Lydian, and the Myxo-Lydian. The
first of these was^equivalenMo the series d, e^f g, a, Q,
d; the second to e,f g, a, b, c, d, e ; the third to/ g, b^c,
d, eji and the fourth to g, a, Q, / ^ g, X’he’ ^
708 M U
Music, ferent positions of the semitones is indicated by the curved
v'—"V"'*'''line The reader will find a full explanation of all the
ecclesiastical modes, authentic and plagal, in the first part
of the first volume of Padre Martini’s Saggio di Contrap-
punto. A good many years ago, a Frenchman, Blainville,
pretended to have discovered a new scale or mode, which
was really nothing more than the Phrygian mode above
indicated. Reicha, in his volume of thirty-six fugues, pro¬
posed what he considered as a new system of scales, harmo¬
nies, and cadences, which he considered as relative to the
usual major and minor scales, &c. These relative scales,
however, were merely the Dorian and others above men¬
tioned, with the addition of the series a, b, c, d, e, f, g, a.
The relative cadences were those that might be used be¬
tween the assumed dominant and tonic of such scales, there
being no chromatic alteration made in the sounds of the
scale. For example:
Reicha says, enthusiastically, “ according to this sys¬
tem, we should have two primitive scales, a major and a
minor, and five relative ones ; and, by transposition, twelve
primitive minor scales, and sixty relative scales; in all
eighty-four scales, and as many cadences. What resources
unknown till now 1” We cannot join Reicha in this burst
of enthusiasm. The formulae of these scales and cadences
are to be found in a great many old church chants, and
even national melodies. We must not mistake these frag¬
mentary formulae for entire and peculiar scales, indepen¬
dent of the general system of musical sounds. Reicha
adds, “ It remains for philosophers and men of genius at a
future period to deduce all the consequences from this im¬
portant system, as well as from the compound measures, and
their use. But the subtilty of a conventional taste, the
ignorance and the prejudices so fatal to the progress of the
arts, and which are peculiar to narrow minds, will be long
opposed to such deduction.” We should rejoice if Reicha’s
anticipated deductions could be verified in our day; but,
with all respect for that excellent musician, we rather think
that he has too often suffered his reason to be led astray by
the incomprehensible idealism and metaphysics, so general
in Germany upon almost all subjects of art, science, and
literature.
Some peculiarities that have been observed in certain
national tunes, such as the omission, in some instances, of the
fourth and seventh of the key, have been referred to scales
of a particular kind, while it seems more reasonable to refer
them merely to the imperfections of some of the musical
instruments employed ; for instance, the ancient flageo¬
let, and the chalumeau, &c. Scales, seemingly anomalous,
may arise from such causes, or from caprice, or conven¬
tional usage; but all such scales are only fragments of that
general system of sounds which comprehends all manner
of appreciable intervals, many of which last are much smal¬
ler than is commonly believed. It has been denied that the
ancient Scotish music contained any semitones; but that
this is an error, is proved by the Skene manuscript in
the Advocates’ Library, Edinburgh. In the ten Indian
scales given by Sir William Jones, we find two that want
the fourth and seventh of the key note, and one that wants
the third and seventh. The former are the scales called
Mdravi and Gaudi, equivalent to c, d, e, g, a, and g, a, b, d,
e ; the latter is the one called Saindhavi, equivalent to a,
b, d, e, f The Asdveri, Bahairava, and Malava, corre¬
spond exactly with the Dorian, the Lydian, and the Myxo-
SIC.
Lydian modes above mentioned. The Friraga is the same Music,
as the Malava, the Todi is the same as our scale of C major,
and the Varati and Bengali correspond with our scale of
A minor with minor seventh. As to the Hindu, Persian,
and Chinese scales, and the use of quarter tones, or other
minute intervals, we refer the reader to what we publish¬
ed on that subject in No. iv. of the New Edinburgh Re¬
view, April 1822, pp. 521—528. We have examined a num¬
ber of Chinese wind and stringed instruments brought
home in June 1837, and have found semitones in all of
them. Professional musicians who followed Napoleon into
Egypt, remarked the frequent and dexterous use of very
small intervals by some singers in that country. Dr Bur¬
ney, in the second volume of his history, p. 424, mentions
that the Arabian scale of music is divided into quarter
tones, and that each of the twenty-four of these, into which
the octave is divided, has a particular denomination.
At the head of these must be placed the human voice. yj;ugjeai{n.
The nearer any artificial instrument approaches to it in qua-struments.
lity and power of expression, the more excellent it is.
Much controversy has arisen regarding the mechanism of
the vocal organs which effect the modulations or inflexions
of the human voice in singing. Some physiologists have
considered this mechanism as similar to that of a reed in¬
strument; others as similar to that of a stringed instrument.
It is indeed neither, according to our artificial instruments,
but a mechanism of wonderful delicacy and complexity,
infinitely surpassing all artificial instruments in variety of
timbre, in delicacy of intonation, and in power of melodic
expression. Some of the most curious inquiries into this
subject were made by the late Dr Francesco Bennati, an Ita¬
lian physician and surgeon, and an accomplished amateur
singer, who died a very few years ago in the prime of his life.
He says ihdX,phonation has hitherto been confounded with
modulation; the sounds of the voice in speaking, &c.
with those of the voice in singing. We would observe,
that the ancient Greeks, in their writings on music, made
a marked distinction in this. Dr Bennati says that the
muscles of the larynx are by no means, as hitherto assert¬
ed, the only ones employed in the production of the sounds
of the human voice in singing; and that from leaving out
of view a number of elements which belong to the real me¬
chanism in such production, the theories of the whole mat¬
ter that have been proposed and received are erroneous.
Among these omissions of real elements, he instances the
muscles of the os hydides, of the tongue, of the tipper ante¬
rior and posterior part of the vocal tube, besides other ana¬
tomical parts that contribute to modify the voice. We can¬
not here enter into the curious details given by Dr Benna¬
ti ; but may add, that he rejects the received terms of note
di testa and note di petto, as conveying false ideas ; and pro¬
poses to substitute for them the terms supra-laryngean and
laryngean notes or sounds. His proofs of all that he as¬
serts are drawn from his own frequent observation of the
actual functions of the whole mechanism of the voice in
the cases of a number of the most celebrated male and fe¬
male singers, his contemporaries. Stretched strings of gut
or silk, either plain or spirally covered with wire, are the
sonorous bodies employed to produce musical sounds on
instruments of the violin kind, or of the guitar kind, or on
the harp. Stretched wires of brass or steel, &c. plain, or
spirally covered with wire, produce the sounds of the piano¬
forte, &c. Other instruments are constructed of glass
bells or rods, &c. made to sound by friction or percussion;
others, again, of metal springs, made to sound by a re¬
volving toothed barrel, as in the Geneva musical boxes;
or by a current of air directed against them, as in the Ger¬
man toy called the mouth harmonica, or in the iEolophon,
or the Accordion and Symphonion. Several other instru¬
ments of a similar kind were invented before these. It
Music
^may be mentioned, that Professor Robison of Edinburgh
this toki„re m f0r const™cti"g instruments°of
In the year 1785, the Abbate Gattoni constructed at Co-
m.° a “ost singular Asolian harp. He stretched fifteen iron
wires, of different tlncknesses, from the ton ofa towerfiftv-
housf“boutni50Sht (abj°-Ut ninet3'feet), to his dwelling.
House, about 150 paces distant. This giant-harn bv i?i
mysterious sounds while the air was calm, indicatod cIiLinoes
of the weatlier. This was ascribed to electric influence
The same phenomena occurred in a similar harp construct
ed by Captain Haas of Basle. The effect of the vibrations
of the wires m each of these giant-harps, prior to changes
describabYe’ “Th!.™8 'Y™8’ ir Said t0 have been <luite'in-
inYTn the willist sounds swelling and dying, and combin-
^ the Wlldest harmonies, were sometimes heard for
meml ^r°UIJd\ Tind instruments are tubes of wood or
etal, in which the vibrating body is the column of air
ntamed in them. They are sounded either by a pecu¬
liar mouth-piece, like that of the old flute or the flageolet •
in tlfe f apertUre °n °ne side tube a
n the fife, german flute, &c.; or by means ofa reed, as in
the oboe, clarinet, bassoon, &c.; or, as in the case of the
mrn, the trumpet, &c. by means of a cup-shaped mouth-
and^hel^mk aPpHed in 3 manner,
the lins and th produ1ced^ comPressions and dilatations of
the lips, and the regulated force of the breath, and, in some
the hand within the be^
aped end o the instrument. Other instruments are
drums7 fS .tlianSles’ cymbals, bells, gongs,
drums,_ &c., and have their sounds fixed. The harsh and
irzae uT 0, the seems owing to itspecu-
n itfir l We ,as,t0 the numerous abrupt inequalities
in its thickness and density. 4
With reference to Choron’s table of compass of voices
•''e l,a''v°remark in «e,''rai> ^ “>0
u ,d , , , °;ces an,d lnstruments are their medium
sounds, and that this ought to be carefully attended to bv
the composer. The frequent neglect of this in modern
composmons produces a detestable chaos of screaming"
inenmrv8’ 7 e™'bhng. We add tiie following supplf.
mentary and explanatory information, which is of import-
Xws°: 16 StUdeDt- T,'C medium of voiceY^s as
MUSI C.
Soprano. Contr’ Alto. Tenor.
Bass.
to sc!ioSsinf triCti<?nSIare’ of .course> not intended to apply
Parts1 wnfferS’,VV 10 laVj vo‘ces °f great compass, but to
arts written in songs, duetts, trios, &c. for voices of or-
for YoiceYofYie ^ Sl,°Uld be ia ‘hat in wrLng
go beTond i 1 COm,,aSS a“d <‘ualitl'- W£! can hardl?
tirt'Cl T Y or “ qoartett without producing a poor
beaTwhencirci ? m°St tr,°.S’ °f t,lis tind> are therefore
for rm w ‘rc,imstances require such combinations. But,
tions three° fG eCtS’ and fre.edom °f harmonic combina-
S’tv ouYht ,1^ Y m,°re V0,“s of different ““paaa and
uti | almost always to be preferred in vocal trios,
quartetts, &c. bor duetts of this contrasted kind see the
ZLaSJ ?m£ra’ MoZart’ Cherubini’ HimmeT&c To
skill edf^tl^e Parts in harmony for voices, requires great
wY' ha”d JUdgTr- In 8 V0cal 1uartett’ forYxanXi?
we throw any of the voices out of their best medium com¬
pass, and do not carry them all on in correspondence with
that compass, we shall produce poor and ineffective bar-
monies; for instance, it we place the tenor Part too low
and too near the bass while the treble and contr’ alto re¬
main in their best medium compass. Again, we mav ren-
dm ! 7r^al Pait 1,1 3 soprano a secondary Pa7t (to
the ear), by bringing it and the contr’ alto too close to the
fhe°h and ,baSS ; and may thus re»der the tenor, or even
the bass, the most prominent Part, when we intended the
contrary. In vocal Parts for many voices, such as choruses
&c. great simplicity of structure and of performance is re’
quired to produce any good effect. In 1819 we witnessed
the famous Grescentim’s training of a chorus at Bologna
is eai caught in an instant the slightest defect of intona-
t on in any of the voices ; the slightest excess of dispro-
pordonate^o or forte; the slightest attempt at any em¬
bellishment, even an appoggiatura. He stopped the whole
performers immediately, pointed out the fault, and made
tisfiTd^TT116 “T0 °Ver and °Ver aSain tiH he was sa¬
tisfied. This was the true way to train a perfect choral
such easel0 ^ ^ eXample Were Poilo'ved in a11
Its powers and compass as a solo instrument are verw v
great, although too often misused. In orchestra music it 10 m’
is seldom carried above F in alt. 1US1C 1(;
In writing for an orchestra, the viola is rarely usedv »
above G, two octaves and a fifth above its Jowes/sound
G. Not unfrequently, m modern music, it crosses the
second violin, and rises above it for a short time in the
Llo Pan BuTth-611’ eVenpWhere ifc is n°t Performing a
solo Bait. But this generally occurs for the sake of pre
serving a melodious progression of the Parts, or of pnfdu
«zzizjzrsz '
rin^s, and are tuned A, D, G. In writing for the double
bass, rapid passages ought to be avoided, because thevnro
duce no effect, but only a confused noisk In muS a
u orchestra, the double basses are reinforced by the te¬
nor violins and violoncellos, or by the bassoons7- or bv
the tiombones, serpent, &c; sometimes by the horns and
trumpets, by the lower notes of the clarinet or of the
oboe, even by the flute in its upper octaves or hv the
ahu?6! hUte’ th?.U?h the latter combinations’ are often
abused by some hving composers. Sometimes, in a florid
passage for the double bass, a good effect is produced by
reinforcing it by the second violins. In orchestra ,
the violoncello generally goes (an octave above) with thecTflo
double bass Part: but beautiful effects are often produced
by giving the violoncello a principal melody, accompanied
by other instruments. When the treble clef is used in
passages for the violoncello, care must be taken to wrile
npfn fording to the real pitch of the sounds, and not an
octave higher, as is too often done.
In writing for the German flute, all rapid passages in n
keys having more than one or two sharps or flats sliould 63-
be avoided 38 they are very difficult of execution. We
have correeted Ghoron s table, by extending the compass of
t0 CT downwards, as most flutes now have^he C
ger-key. Its compass upwards is to B flat on the fifth
ledger line m alt. In modern orchestra music, the octave
flute, or piccolo, is too much employed. Its shrill nn i
piercing sounds ought to be reserved for particular effects
In military music there are other kinds of flutes used,*
TOO
Music.
particular voice or instrument!6 ^ ^ beSlllninS Wlth a capital, to signify that portion of a musical composition assigned to a
710
MUSIC.
Oboe.
Music, the piccolo in E flat, and the piccolo in F; the former
being a semitone higher, and the latter a minor third
higher, than the octave flute. There are also what are
called third and fourth flutes, the former being a minor
third, and the latter a fourth, higher than the common
German flute in D. Parts for these flutes are written m
Flageolets. D. There are five sorts of flageolets, in C, D, E flat, h,
and G, for the sake of facilitating their performance in
different keys. Double and even triple flageolets have
been contrived in London by Mr Bainbridge. On the
former, two parts can be played at once; on the la^r?
three. The oboe requires attention in writing for it. I he
easiest scales for it are C major, F major, G major, and
D major. In some modern oboes, there are, in the upper
part of the instrument, finger-keys for h and A flat; and,
in the middle part, for F sharp, E flat, and C. Some ha\ e
a finger-key for the lowest C sharp. Some players have
two or three upper and middle pieces, to serve for altering
the pitch of the instrument to different keys, on the same
principle as flutes and clarinets, &c. are made of different
lengths to avoid difficulties of fingering. In orchestra
music the oboe is not used beyond E flat in alt.
The English horn, or vox humana, is an instrument of
the oboe kind, having the same relation to the oboe that
the viola has to the violin. It has the same number of
sounds as the oboe, only the scale is a fifth lower; so
that pieces of music in F are written in C for the English
horn, pieces in E flat are written for it in B flat, and so
on. _ .
The clarinet, or clarionet as it is often called, is an in¬
strument of great power and compass. We have correct¬
ed Choron’s table, by extending its compass upwards to C
  1 The sweetest sounds of the
clarinet are comprised between
The sounds between B on third line of treble clef and Cfl
on second ledger line above are the most penetrating and
brilliant. The sounds above that Cfl are very difficult to
produce without harshness of tone. It requires great skill
to play in tune on this instrument, particularly in the
lower part of its compass. On this account, as well as to
avoid difficult fingering, clarinets of different sizes are used
to suit different keys. The most common used in orches¬
tras are those in C, in Bt>, and in A. Besides these, there
are used, in military bands, clarinets in D, Eb, F, and G.
These changes alter the pitch of the instrument, but the
fingering remains as before. Thus the pitch of a Bb cla¬
rinet becomes in its lowest sound ; that is, a
Music.
tone lower than the C clarinet.
rinet in its lowest sound becomes
The pitch of the A cla-
and so on.
English
horn.
Ciarinet.
above fifth ledger line in alt.
Clarinet in Bb.
It is the custom to consider the principal key of every
clarinet, whatever that may be, as if it were C. The
composer must attend to this in writing for the clarinet.
The Bb clarinet serves to lessen the number of flats at
the clef, and the A clarinet to lessen the number of sharps,
and so of the others. When the piece of music is in Eb,
the Bb clarinet plays in F. The A clarinet plays in C
when the piece is in A. If the piece is in Ab the B flat
clarinet plays in Bb, and so on. An example or two will
make this rather puzzling matter more clear.
Clarinet in A.
Clarinet in Bb.
Basset-
horn.
A few years ago, a German instrument-maker invented
a bass clarinet and a double-bass clarinet. The former is
an octave lower than the C clarinet, and reaches Bp, the
lowest note of the bassoon. The double bass clarinet has
a compass of two octaves and a half upwards from the
lowest F in bass clef. It therefore extends to a fourth
below the bassoon. The union of these with common clari¬
nets permits the formation of a clarinet quartett, and, of
course, new orchestral effects.
The basset-horn is an instrument of the clarinet kind,
although differing in form from a clarinet. Choron has
omitted it in his table. As it is sounded and fingered like
a clarinet, any clarinet-player can play upon it also. It
holds a middle place between the clarinet and the bassoon.
Some authors give it a compass of four octaves from
_OL
others a compass from
to
is generally
As it is an instrument difficult to manage, it
confined to the keys of C, F, Bb, and G. Mu-
B'Soon.
Rass*
bassca.
erpe;;.
sic for the basset-horn is written in the /-lac j
fourth or a fifth higher than the red Sou„ds°b Lep ’tathe
case of arpeggios, &c. in its lower octave, wh“h a e ev
pressed in the bass clef. For instance, if the music is hi’
C.0ForFextahmnfeasrtof0'itthe basse‘-h“rn "'il1 be written in
Fiffaro, his Clemenza di Tito, alfd Ids EnPh1^' hlS
dem Semi/ ff .‘o e , ’ llls J'le -tjtijuhrunq aus
™ u ■ t0.° much neglected in orchestra m„=,v
16 ^assc,en 18 an instrument of the oboe kind though it
MUSIC.
compass to be from
^ or even to
among solo-players. Music for the bassoon is
tenor clef for th 1 f ^ ^ °^er sounds’ and in the
are C F Rh the hJgher ones. The easiest keys for it
are C, F, Bb, and G. In general it wants the sound
-> and the sounds
St
or
are very bad,
tf-cr
and must be avoided.
Of late years, some bassoon-players and instrument-
makers have facilitated the execution of certain nasTafs
and^t? in|trUme,nt by a new disP°sition of the finger-holes
and the finger-keys. In orchestra music, bassfons are
important instruments. They serve as a bass to the flutes
oboes, clarinets, and horns; they may fill up and enrich
he harmony of the middle parts; they may go alonHSh
dn.fofo 0hCtavet,or tl?e] un,son» as may suit) and reinforce the
double bass, the violoncello, the viola, the violin, the cla¬
rinet, the oboe, the flute, the horn; or they may perform
M domnufifi K r °Wn gr°at efe'- Compose™
but tooPnft h ba,SSOO,nS t0 their proPer and effective use,
other bas:ttr™ts m “ rei“lbr““a"‘ ‘be
The bass-bassoon (fagottone or contra fagotto) is an
octave lower than the common bassoon. It is not men-
foTr? ^ ^h°r0n m !lis table- The first bass-bassoon seen
-n England was made by Handel’s orders, for the use of
mSffoen06116111 fbaS7S00"-PIayer’ and author of the
music of the Dragon of Wantley. Being an unwieldy in
Sme me aXSco“e. US’ ^ WaS t0 fix il in a
nf W6 f rpen.t 18 cbmfly used in military music, but has
fhp 1^ been "tr°duced int0 orchestra music to reinforce
the basses. Mersenne says that a serpent played by a
mo^kT8 Onr^ t0 SUStam the V°iceS °f tvventy stout
monks. Of late years some improvements have been made
on it by the addition of keys, though it is still an imperfect
instrument. Writers differ in the compass assigned to it
Some give it a compass from the lowest B flat of the piano¬
forte, up to G on the second line of the treble clef, with all
the semitones. Others state its compass to be from lowest
E of violoncello, up to C in third space of the treble clef
Ene eminent writer says that its compass is four complete
ctaves ; that is, from C an octave below the lowest C of
loloncello, up to C in the third space of the treble clef.
d;* SanS the ?'ver notes’ in this Iast compass, are very
riicult to produce, and their intervals not easily apprecia-
oie. Keicha assigns to it a compass of three octaves viz
M°”,'7es,tr.Cof Tloncell°' l,Pft0 C in space of tre-
me clef. Fhe safest compass for ordinary players is the
,r°5rst of ;l,cse oclaves1 on|y. leoving oufthe highest of
the three. It is a singular fact, that there exists at this
day, even among many professional musicians, a great deal
of misconception regarding the real compass of a numbe '
of musical instruments of the wind kind. We have often
been surprised to find that a performer unon a horn fo?
instance, did not know its real pitch or compass and il at
he even supposed these to be just what appeared from the
notation in the treble clef. Now a C hnL / om
is a tube of eight feet or so in length ; and,’whenXplayId
upon, becomes a tube stopped at one end by the Infs and
therefore may render, as its lowest possible sound!one equi¬
valent to that produced by an organ-pipe of sixteen fopi-
r"owesb«0C *“! 1 \ 4 = Can „eSe
me lowest E of the violoncello. The sernent if i tnhp
of the same length, will, when played on with all the finger
Greek ^i^mid^a^sjg) sig^fifi^g ahkefyedsMpent!^ ^mophU
been introduced into orchestras. It is too noisy an instru-
ment for any place but a large locality. There are seve-
ral kinds of ophicleides, as of trombones, and music for
the former is written in the same manner L for Scatter
seen“n foer/ 6 JU^do,US use of the °phicleide may be
seen in the GW and subsequent movements, and Marche
SOIem"mass
which horns are'employ'ed ktheirfp*ts areCal °f mUS''C '"f”™
in the key of C. tL Ul'g ^, SmoK"^" Cm“•,
s.on of sounds producible by the horn, without anv aSt
ance from the hand introduced into the bell. ^
^ The sounds marked + are, successively, = to B flat
harmonic; G flat, ditto; and G sharn diff/ « , ’
rlSTnSlfSte^r^
a monies, but do not correspond with the sounds found
ino-1 hf i83"16 nom!nal places in the diatonic scale. In treat-
mg of harmony „ will be seen that these same chromafc
harmomes-called false sounds from their not belonging
to the diatonic series—are frequently employed in modern
harmony and melody. The dominant seventh eontTnuX
memeYfif 1 eSSreiqUent'Tthe dimMshed fifth and the aug-
mented fifth, which are the other two harmonics in mm?
tion. It must be observed, that if a horn in C, of eight feet
tube, performs the above notes, the real sound of each l
an octave lower than the notation indicates! Of htn
years it has been attempted to remedy the imperfections
of the horn^nd to render it capable of playing in aT
fafd °f .dlflerfnt. k^s without difficultv: This was so
far done in Italy m 1822, by means of eight finWevs
men^ha^rnffbe^genenlf/y adoptedb tfis”nl)i0^e*
strument-makers hafeTo LmXed .toSTo be™3" in;
712
Music.
MUSI C.
in E, in F, in G, in A flat, in A, in B flat, and even in C the horn, it is necessary to mark, at the beginning of its ^ Music,
above. There are two B flat horns, the one an octave Part, for what key it is intended, as in the following ex-
lower than the other. The lowest B flat horn goes a tone amples. The Italian word corni (horns) is generally used
lower than the lowest C of the C horn. In writing for in partitions.
Corni in D.
Corni in Eb •
Corni in A.
Ditto. .tt15'110- J-» ,
J irFr^ rgiSTiT
In general, in writing for an orchestra, there are two
horn Parts, the first of which does not (by notation) go
lower tnan the lowest C in the treble notation, and the
second one not higher than E in the fourth space of treble
clef. The compass is generally limited to the following
sounds,
But in solo Parts
for the horn, the compass is as follows, a number of the
semitones being produced by a dexterous use of the hand
within the bell of the instrument.
Trumpet.
d
The notes marked + may be used in passages of some
quickness, but should never be sustained. ’Ihe sounds of
the middle part of this compass, or at least from G on
second line of treble clef to G above the fifth line, are
the best. In modern orchestra music, the proper use of
the horns is too often lost sight of. They are either too
much employed, or used in passages quite unsuitable to
their character and powers. Their best effect lies in sus¬
tained sounds, not in rapid passages. They should be
used to enrich the harmony in proper places, or to sus¬
tain a principal melody, or to produce contrast by their
solos judiciously introduced. By using at once three or
four horns tuned to different keys, a number of rich and
beautiful harmonic effects have been produced by modern
composers. As the sounds of the middle compass of the
horn are the best, judicious composers for that reason of¬
ten make use of horns in a key different from that of the
piece of music in which these take part. Sometimes, but
rarely, we find horn Parts written in the bass clef, as more
truly representing the compass of the instrument; but it
is better to avoid difficulty in reading such notation, by
conforming to the usual practice of writing horn Parts in
the treble clef. Skilful horn players expend but little
breath on their instrument, and thus produce its finest
tone. Others not only exhaust themselves by strong
blowing, but produce a harsh tone, and fill the tube with
water from their condensed breath. This water contri¬
butes to spoil the quality of the tone, and to break it into
gurgling sounds.
Trumpets in the keys of C, D, and Eb are those most
commonly used ; but there are also trumpets in A, Bb,
E, F, and G. It must be observed, that in some of these,
F and G, for example, the gravest sounds are very diffi¬
cult to produce. Some very skilful performers execute
all sorts of passages on the trumpet; but, in writing for an
orchestra, we ought not to go beyond rapid passages of
double or triple tongueing upon a reiterated sound, or cer¬
tain arpeggio passages. The trumpet may be either
played softly, like the horn, or loudly with tongued pas¬
sages, as in military music. To perfect the trumpet,
finger-keys have been applied to it by some makers, and
a sliding "tube by others. Whatever the key of the music,
the trumpet Part is written in C. The pitch of the trum¬
pet is an octave higher than that of the horn. Its natu¬
ral scale is
i!
.a.3
The notes marked +, like those of the horn, do not
correspond with the diatonic series, and should not be
used in sostenuto passages. The best notes are from
up to
I, and those higher had better be
avoided.
Jusic^ _ Trumpets, as well as horns, may be muted by introdu
'-^cing a pasteboard tube into the bell of the instrument.
The sound then becomes extremely feeble, and the pitch
is lowered a semitone. By using two trumpets in differ¬
ent keys (as in the case of horns), a number of harmonic
combinations in minor keys may be introduced which
could not otherwise be effected; also by combining to¬
gether two or more horns in one key, with two or more
trumpets in another. The penetrating and warlike sound
of the trumpet renders it very effective in pieces of mili-
feeiings810’ ^ m mUS1C exPressive °f heroic or exulting
The trombone is a most powerful and effective instru
t- Knf irz-iyrT   , _ _
MUSIC.
Inn
\ettl-
irutn
England, there are three kinds of trombones, the bass, the
tenor, and the counter-tenor. There is also a double-bass
trombone, which goes a fifth lower than-the common bass-
trombone, but is not much used. The treble trombone is
very rarely used ; and it is better to add to the three
former another counter-tenor trombone when four trom¬
bones are to be employed, than to add a treble one. In
the performance of solemn, religious, or warlike music, the
combination of three or four trombones produces a great
effect ; for instance, in the statue scene in Mozart’s
G-wmnm, where the supernatural voice is accompanied bv
    - —o. ^uwcoui aim enective instru ‘T bfsoons’two clarinets, and two oboes.
ment, but very difficult to manage correctly. In Italv the borrowSu^£han* 80 accompanied is terrific, Mozart
bass-trombone only is used; but in France, German/and the voice X ^
Bass, with semitones up to
Scales of Bass, Tenor, and Countertenor Trombones.
lenor, with semitones up to •
Countertenor, with semitones up to
Parts for trombones are written in the above clefs • and
as in the case of bassoon Parts, the key is marked at the’
beginning, or accidental sharps or flats introduced when
required. It is to be noticed, that there are trombones in
different keys, for different purposes: in F, C, G. Sus¬
tained sounds are most suitable to the trombone’ espe-
cmlly m orchesstra! combinations. A very few players are
so skilful as to be able to execute very difficult solos on
the trombone; such as Schmidt, who performed on it in
London m 1829. The trombone can be muted, like the
horn or the trumpet, and then its effect in funereal music
ecomes very striking. Chromatic passages ought, in
general, to be avoided on this instrument.
Kettle-drums, called Timpani in Italian, are tuned to
various keys, as occasion requires. They are generally
in pairs; one of them sounding the key-note of the music,
used chiefly m military bands, but occasionally in great
orchestras. In Haydn’s symphony, called the Surprise,
it is used with startling effect. Its Part is written in the
bass-clef thus
and the other the 4th below, as *
~r>~
-CL.
&c.
The Part for them is always written in thelceyofC, whether
the key of the music be C or not; but if it be another key,
this is marked at the beginning, as
Drums in D. Drums in Eb.
IZZ
-CL.
j &c. It has been pro-
posed to introduce into orchestras three drums tuned to
different sounds ; and perhaps there might often be advan¬
tage in this. We have seen a vocal and orchestral com¬
position for forty voices and forty-two instruments, in which
eight kettle-drums were employed. They were to be play-
ed by four persons, and were tuned thus: from G upwards,
A flat; A, B flat; C, D flat; D, E flat.
The roll of these drums, when executed piano, has
a sombre and mysterious effect. It is usually marked
or ff over the notes. Clarinets, horns, trumpets,
and drums, may be changed for others in the course of a
piece of music, provided a sufficient number of bars of rest
are given.
Tamburone in Italian, or vulgarly cassa grande. This
is a very large drum, of the usual cylindrical shape, and is
fldJtergffiS.0CcCaSi0n^ USed in theatrical music, to Go**
dominate6 °f SCeneS WherG tem)r and confusion pre- ^ ^
_nJbe CKhl1nese Pavilion, the triangle, the common drum, Chinese
and cymbaJs are almost entirely confined to military mu-pav!K,
sic, though they are sometimes used in theatrical orches-
clfestraV1?3^ ^ n EntfUhrund aus de™ derail, the or-
dnW/ 6 ^ “ Vivat Bacchus" contain bass-
drum {tamburo grande), triangle, and cymbals (piatti).
arts for the triangle, Chinese pavilion, and cymbaL, are
written in the treble-clef upon C the third space.
Io point out all the difficulties of the wind-instruments
a ove mentioned, and all the particular passages that should
be avoided in writing for them, would occupy a volume.
We shall merely notice, that in the flute, oboe, clarinet
and bassoon, the finger-keys of these instruments often
render the performance of certain legato passages imprac-
icable, and that therefore the composer ought to make
himself acquainted with all these niceties. If he do not
his music, however excellent in other respects, can never
produce the effects that he intended. We have dwelt
more at length upon these matters regarding voices and
instruments, because they are really of greaf importance
to the musician and the composer, and because they have
been hitherto too much neglected in our British treatises
upon music. What we have stated in our general vTew of
voices and instruments will preclude the necessity of en-
tering mto cletads regarding most instruments under their
alphabetic heads in other articles of this Encyclopedia
The guitar, the harmonica, the harp, the organfand the
piano-forte, are mentioned in Choron’s table; but we have
no partmular remarks to make upon them in this place!
We shall have something to say of the organ and the
Kepr'eSm ‘iS. ® °f aCC0mPa'’im“t> course of
|
if
4 x
VOL XV
714
MUSIC.
Table of the Compasses of Voices and Instruments,
a Z
a
^ a
Qj C
<U U
f Harmonica 
I Piano-Forte 
c Mandoline 
J Cistrum 
Guitar 
LHarp  
f "
| (Alto 
i Tenor 
i-i I
O I
u !
Bass...
Serpent  
Trumpet  
m r in &c 
S J in D 
^ (_in C 
Clarinet 
Bassoon 
English Horn....
Oboe 
Flutet 
Flageolet 
Octave Flute....
^ Flute 
g a
« £
r Violin 
| Viola, or Te-\
J nor Violin... J
| Violoncello 
IDouble Basses...
p £ 1st Soprano
s -Is
2d Soprano..
^ (Contr* alto..
I /Tenor 
I § J Baryton 
[fiass 
Organ Pipes..
Octaves 
<
.. vzj'cet
I
£
l£\
IT
w
| ^" V ^
> >
e \ mcfus
\ I
 , / i
^ vnr
MUSIC
Melody may be considered in relation to a single voice
or instrument, or as accompanied by one or more voices or
instruments. In the latter case it is called the principal
melody. There are many simple and expressive melodies,
of such a kind that they will hardly bear any accompani¬
ment without injury to their effect. Too often such me¬
lodies are spoiled by the addition of crowded and elaborate
accompaniments, having nothing in common with the me¬
lody in style or character. This is one of the great mis-
takes of the modern schools of music, though we have no
doubt that a better taste will prevail when more study is
bestowed upon melody as the most important part of mu¬
sical composition. We cannot too often repeat, that har¬
mony ought always to be considered as subordinate to me¬
lody, although we are aware that certain great and peculiar
effects may be produced by harmony, independent of melo¬
dy in the true sense of the latter term; for instance, such
enects are heard in certain forms of solemn ecclesiastical
harmony that contain hardly a vestige of melody. The ef¬
fects of mere harmony are often very striking when pro¬
duced by a certain combination of voices, or of instruments,
or ol both, and in a building sufficiently spacious and suit-
ably constructed, or even in the open air when heard at
a certain distance, and especially if they pass over an ex¬
panse of still water. In ancient ecclesiastical music, the
length of the sounds and the simplicity of the harmony
were well calculated to produce a great effect in large
cathedral churches. In such places, rapid changes of
sounds, and chromatic harmonies, never produce anything
but confusion ; and this ought to be kept in view by the
young composer. He must calculate the effect that his
music will produce in a cathedral or in a theatre, a con-
cert-room or a private room. No one who has not ob¬
served the difference of effect produced by the same mu¬
sic in places of different size and construction, can un¬
derstand how important it is to attend to all this. But
we must not encroach here upon another section of this
article.
Ihe study of melody is by far too much neglected.
Harmony has generally in these days usurped its place ;
and we find ten good harmonists according to rule, for
one good melodist. The reason is, that a man without real
musical genius may become a very good scholastic har¬
monist, while a great melodist must be a man of great
S®j^us' Handel was in his day one of the most remark¬
able musicians for general excellence in both melody and
armony ; but he was a man of the highest musical genius,
and his profound skill in all the harmony of his time could
never altogether check the flow from the spring of melody
which existed in his mind. In his oratorios and his operas
that spring is never failing. It is a pity that Handel’s ope¬
ras are now so little known. They contain much beauti¬
ful melody, although that is often disfigured (as in his ora¬
torios) by conventional passages of a formal kind, which
must, like all other such passages, become quite antiquat¬
ed after a short time, having no foundation in any thino-
but temporary fashion of style.
In the proper order of musical study, melody ought to
precede harmony. It is from reversing this order that so
many dry unimaginative harmonists have been produced; 
men actually rendered incapable of composing good me¬
lodies, or of appreciating their beauties when heard. The
student ought to have daily before him specimens of the
most beautiful and expressive melodies in all styles, and
of all nations. It is much to be regretted that there has
not been published any judicious and comprehensive ed¬
it would be invaluable to the Music.
Measure i|.
lection of such melodies,
student.
One of the earliest writers who treated of melody was
Salinas, a Spaniard, and blind, but an eminent musician, and
professor of music in the university of Salamanca. His work,
which is now very rare, was published in Latin in 1577, at
Salamanca. Ihe fifth, sixth, and seventh sections of it
aie devoted to the consideration of the nature of musical,
oratorical, and poetical rhythm. There is a great deal of
curious and instructive matter in these sections, and he illus¬
trates his text by numerous fragments of melody, some of
which are very interesting, being old Moorish, Spanish, or
Itahan melodies. We have given some of these as curio¬
sities in Plate III. Salinas says (page 235), “ In the three
following books (sections) we have to treat of the rythmi¬
cal part of music, a part of it not less useful, and even more
delightful, than the harmonical part.”
Another of the earliest writers on melody was G. B. Doni,
tie Florentine musical amateur and antiquary. Amon^
his published works (3 vols. folio, 1763) we find many sen¬
sible remarks upon melody, and some curious notices of
the distinguishing characteristics of national melodies
(see, in pai ticular, his Tratlato della Musica Scenica, vol.
ii. of his works). Speaking of the remarkable difference
in i ^ ^rrnUnC*a^0n by the French, Spaniards,
and English, as compared with its pronunciation by the
Italians and Greeks, he says, “ This difference arises from
the diversity of the accents, and the elevations and de¬
pressions of sound.”...« We may say that common speech
is a kind of outlined melody; and the mode of speaking in
the recitation of poems, a kind of shaded melody, half fi¬
nished; while true melody, called by the Greeks
/xeAos, is perfect and finished, and, as it were, complete¬
ly coloured.’ (P. 18 of Trattato.) With regard to set¬
ting of words to music, he says, “ One of the most im¬
portant remarks, and one perhaps not attended to by any
person at present, is, that the music should not imitate
the words, but the whole sentiment of the poetry; for in
this consists true musical expression.” He adds, that
“ Mimics and buffoons adopt the other mode; and, by ex¬
aggerated looks, and gestures, and noises, attempt to en¬
force the words they utter, or to represent the passions
they are supposed to feel. (P. 29.) “ Melopoeia is the art
of composing beautiful melodies, without any reference to
counterpoint, which belongs to another part of music.” (P
35.) As to modulation, he says, “ The moderns are too
scrupulous in wishing to keep always in the same key • a
custom perhaps derived from the ecclesiastical chants, but
quite unsuitable to varied and scenic melody.” (P. 33 )
Chapter xvii. of Doni’s Trattato contains a number of ideas
which Reicha has borrowed and developed in his Treatise
on Melody. Doni proposes the use of quinary, and even
septenary measures, such as | |, &c., or 1&c. Reicha
has also proposed the adoption of the quinary measure, and
gives a specimen of its use in a national dance-tune of the
district of Kochersberg, on the Lower Rhine, in the old
province of Alsace. Reicha says, from information sent
to him, “ The manners and customs of the inhabitants of
Kochersberg distinguish them completely from the other
people of Alsace. Their dances have a particular and
remaikable character, and nothing in common with those
of their neighbours. The tunes of these dances have a
very decided measure of five times. Tradition, in the
country, carries back this music to the remotest antiquity.”
715
716
MUSIC.
Musk.
William Shield, a clever English composer, introduced
a movement in this quinary measure into one of his instru¬
mental trios. Two or three other Englishmen, and seve¬
ral Germans, have attempted the same measure; but it
has not been generally adopted, though there is no reason
but custom and habit why it should be rejected. Doni
says (p. 74 of Trattato), “ If the septenary measure could
be conveniently adopted, it would produce a more remark¬
able effect upon the ear than any other, and it would suit
lachrymose and compassionable subjects. But we let this
alone, because it will be no small matter if we bring the
quinary measure into use.”
The following passage from Doni relative to national
melodies is interesting, as having been written more than
two centuries ago: “ Although Italian music seems the
most excellent and varied of all, still let us remember that
non omnisfert omnia tellus ; but that one nation abounds
in one thing, another in another thing, according to the
different genius of each. Therefore the judicious com¬
poser may draw from French airs (which have great va¬
riety and lightness in lively subjects), good passages and
spirited and pleasing melodies. From the old Spanish airs
he may derive many hints regarding melody and rhythm,
for grave and majestic subjects; for example, from the Pa-
vana t and from modern airs, and those borrowed from
the Moors, he may also draw beautiful and lively melodies,
but more soft and effeminate. Portuguese melodies may
afford him very tender and affecting passages; and, for
mournful and lugubrious subjects, he may enrich his ima¬
gination with Sicilian melodies, although they have little
variety ; and if he will go farther, he will find in Eng¬
lish” (Scottish ? Irish? Welsh ?) “ and German airs some¬
thing to imitate in certain bold and military conceptions ;
there being perceptible in these airs, especially the Ger¬
man, a certain manly and military character,” &c. (P. 131,
Trattato.) The Spanish ex-jesuit Eximeno, in his work
Dell' Origine, 8$c. della Musica, published in 1774, says,
“ In Italy national airs are not common, for most of the
people have so fine an ear that it is enough for them to
hear the opera airs, in order to amuse themselves after¬
wards by singing them in the streets.” However, he adds,
“ The country people and villagers have their songs and
tunes in a simple style, but in good taste. The roma-
nella, which they sing accompanied by the colascione, is
full of good taste, and still more so the tamburo of the
Trasteverini. The taste for songs reigns chiefly in Venice;
and although they are usually composed by professional
musicians, the people learn them easily”
In Plate III. we give the tamburo, No. 1, and a beau¬
tiful Venetian air from Eximeno, No. 2. The tunes
to the Spanish romances Eximeno thinks “ monotonous
and tiresome,” and believes them to be remnants of
Moorish melody, or else ancient sprouts of the Canto
Fermo. “ The most tasteful popular songs of Spain are
the Seguidillas, of which there is an endless variety.”
(See Plate III., No. 4.) We have given a few other
specimens of curious melody which have not before been
published in Britain. Among these are (Plate IV.), No.
15, a German melody of the year 1425 ; No. 17, Egyptian
air, performed “ with all their might” by the musicians of
Grand Cairo, when the principal inhabitants, headed by all
the sheiks of the town, went to meet Bonaparte on his return
from the Syrian expedition. It was dictated by the chief
of these musicians to one of Napoleon’s. The performer
accompanied it on the instrument called in Arabic a/ ceoud.
Hence the English name of lute, Spanish laudo, Italian
liuto, French luth. No. 18 is a song and chorus of canni¬
bals. This curiosity was written down by a Russian voya¬
ger (Councillor Tilesius) in 1804, and published in the
Leipsic Musical Gazette, No. 17, in 1805. Tilesius passed a
night in listening to this music among these savages, in
one of the islands of St Christina. He says, “ there was Music,
something frightful in this melody, which almost drove
one to desperation, and seemed to make one hear his own
funeral dirge.” He mentions, as a curious circumstance,
that the voices of these savages passed, by sliding through
very small intervals, from the E to the G of this chorus,
or the converse. The savages, several hundreds, men and
youths, sung it in unisons, or octaves, and danced at the
same time. They marked the measure by clapping their
hands, and also by beating drums. Tilesius explains the
meaning of this chorus. “ The warriors have returned
from battle. It is night. One of them perceives a dis¬
tant fire on the enemy’s island. He asks, £ Where is the
fire?’ The chorus answers, ‘ Upon Tanhuatah Montanioh,
among our enemies 1 they are roasting our dead and the
captives!’ This renders them frantic ; they call for fire
immediately, and feel a pleasure in being able to use it in
reprisal against the dead, and prisoners taken from the
enemy, but not without compassion in thinking of the wives,
the children, the relatives, who will weep at that moment.
Finally, they reckon the days from the first to the tenth,
indicating the time fixed for feasting upon the victims,
and for solemnizing the victory.” An English writer of the
last century, when speaking of Scottish music in one of his
essays on various subjects, says, “ Who was it that threw
out those dreadful wild expressions of distraction and
melancholy in Lady Culrosis Dream ? an old composition,
now, I am afraid, lost; perhaps because it was almost too
terrible for the ear. I’ll venture to swear that David Riz-
zio was as innocent as any lamb of all such frantic horrors.”
The examination of the melodies Nos. 1 to 18 inclusive
will suggest matter for reflection. We would point out
especially the elegance of No. 2, the expressive charac¬
ter of No. 4, the beauty and absolutely modern modulations
of No. 14 (of fifteenth century), the curious rhythm and
changes of measure in No. 15, the wild and singular cast
of the Egyptian air, No. 17, and the hideously lugubrious
character of the cannibal chorus, No. 18. Burckhardt,
Bowdich, and some others, have published curious speci¬
mens of African melodies. We can only refer to these,
and to a great variety of national melodies, Russian, Da¬
nish, Swedish, Norwegian, Polish, Bohemian, Hungarian,
Greek, Spanish, Italian, Sicilian, Welsh, Irish, Scottish,
&c. &c. that have appeared from time to time in collec¬
tions, or detached. Among foreign national airs, we may
mention some rescued from obscurity among the moun¬
tains of Auvergne, by that admirable English amateur and
accomplished composer, the Honourable George Onslow.
He has introduced some of these interesting national tunes
of Auvergne into his violin quartetts, &c.
Reicha, in his Traite de Melodie, is the latest writer Rhythm
upon this subject. Several valuable works upon it by Ita-and struc-
lian and German writers had preceded Reicha’s treatise, tur0 of
Among these writers may be mentioned Pisa, Sacchi, Ni-11160
chellman, Riepel, Koch, &c. A translation of Reicha’s
Treatise on Melody, with some judicious notes and modi¬
fications, would be a useful offering to British students of
music. Before we proceed farther, we must advert to
what we consider as an error in treatises on melody or
harmony. We allude to what are called passing notes, or
unreal notes, and which are said not to form any real part
of the melody or the harmony. It appears to us very
plain that this is a mere fallacy, and that every sound that
is actually heard in a melody or a harmony is just as real
a sound as any other can be. For example, we take the
following melody :
No. 1.
ii:
it
MUSIC.
U8ic. And then this one, No. 2.
We shall be told that this No. 2 is nnlv TV„ i -a
or embellished by notes of erarp i! • y N°- 1 vaned’
notes that dn nnt ^ aCe’ Passvn9 notes, unreal
notes, mat do not belong to the melody. But No 2 is a
melody rer se as much as No. 1; and supposing No 1 had
never existed, No. 2 would still be a real metodv and all
its sounds rm; sounds. It would startle us were a ooe
to say, “ Such and such words in my poem are not to be
word" that^do Z h:,bUt tmerfIy,as shadows of
harmony or mo. ' ""r^ ° ^ Ie anSuaSe> or melody, or
-ttK^S ^Sn diord" we‘may say
that any sound that does not form one of the sounds of
exemplified!8 ”0t " S0U"d be'0ngi”g t0 ;t- This :s «.si'y
No. 1. | j
&0.
^ §==eeS=E=§^3$1
S4f&jcirwhat tben becon,es °f their“”-
No. 2.
sTininn? rf uncertainty «f as to we
all take these passages as if performed on the organ or the
pmno-lorte. All that we could rationally say in such cases
would be, that the ear may be pleased by the one harmony
thaTfl o88 by‘he.otkhcr> according to circumstances; bin
that the melody in both oases is a real melody, and canno*
be explained harmonically in either case by the qeneralll
received system of the fundamental bass.
Musical rhythm, in its general sense, applies to the sym¬
metrical arrangement of the sounds of a melody. Y
vUuJT-T6 18 maaner in which these sounds are di-
reDrese1ntedPi,nrtIOnS-°fieqUal duration’ and this division is
represented in musical notation by means of bars • the
hig a measure&C' C°ntained b6tWeen ^ barS COns'itut-
Times, as they are called, are the subdivisions of a mea¬
sure into its simpler aliquot parts, binary or ternary or
quiiternary or senary, &c. It might ?be better to use the
weahtimeT^i T Una.CC™tedali9™ts, rather than strong or
reformation B It nomenclature squires a thorough
eform^ion. It is the perception of a decided rhythm in
the sounds of a measure that has given rise to these terms
strong and weak times. Certain modifications of two or
three, or more aliquot parts of a measure, in regard to’ac-
centuation, how faint soever this may be, or the regulated
succession of sounds of unequal duration, will impress the
ear with a particular rhythm, binary or ternary,?or qua¬
ternary or senary, &c. &c. y q
Were all the sounds of the following passage (a) nerform-
iwrZcJkdmp eqUafeofintensityand duration, no strong
nor weak times would be perceived ; and yet it is divisibll
producing different
fSrf: .‘l0 pr0duce a l,articu|ar effect, tl,e accent or
emphasis is thrown upon the weak times of the measure.
mn-M- &iP am enou^h that the simplest elementary forms of
rcomoolTf are the bin/ry and the ternaryf and thal
phcatioTr fr0m 3 duplication, or quadru-
&c of thp&t f he bluary’ °r a duphcation, triplication,
“C-0t th6 ternary, or by certain combinations of the bi-
narj with the ternary. In the latter case, we have qui-
00 (
nary and septenary measures. The last of these is not in
ustvbut the former is occasionally employed. It may be re-
maiked, that although these quinary and septenary mm
sure*, are generally avoided by composers, yPet pJiZSlf
elody containing five or seven measures are oi frequent
occurrence. In binary and quaternary measures we often
meet with triplets which really belong to a measure ter
nary or senary, &c. & measure ter-
iliBIiliigill
$WflL
bedn^?m‘h" “T ^ ^ AatXre wuld whileXu“Psign°C ‘at" “he °f ?™!Soun,d ternary measures ;
larghetto movemen, of Beethoven, charming W ^TrelScfoTco^uttlK
718
MUSIC.
Music, companiment, is that of compound ternary measure. A
curious instance of the intermixture of different measures
in melody and harmony occurs in the dance-scene near
the end of the first act of Mozart’s Don Juan, where there
are three different orchestras, each playing a different
3 3 2
tune, one in —, the other in—, and the third in —. Inter-
4 8 4
mixtures of different measures were not uncommon in the
works of composers of the fifteenth and sixteenth cen¬
turies, but generally produced nothing better than confu¬
sion.
The only modern music that is not divided into mea¬
sures is simple recitative. It has often been desired by
composers of music, that the inflexions, the varying sounds
of declaimed language, could be reduced to a musical no¬
tation more delicate and accurate than the one in common
use. To enable us to express such inflexions, a notation
for very minute intervals, as well as for peculiar accents,
would need to be contrived. The attempts to express such
declamation are represented by recitatives and arie par-
lanti. Some of these are remarkably expressive, from their
near imitation of the inflexions of the voice in declama¬
tory and impassioned language; among others, those of
Gluck and Piccini. Beethoven, among the very few re¬
marks that he has left to us upon recitative, says, “ Reci¬
tative ought to be declaimed as if it were spoken. It is a
discourse sometimes accelerated, sometimes retarded, ac¬
cording to what is required by the impassioned expression
of the words. The comma, the semicolon, the colon, the
period, the sign of interrogation, and of exclamation, each Music,
require a different accent.” “ To compose a recitative v'—“n-"*
well, it is useful, previously, to declaim the poetry to one’s
self, as an intelligent actor would do. Any composer who
has not ability to do this, ought not to be ashamed to have
recourse to some one who can aid him.” The best com¬
posers of recitatives have carefully studied the declama¬
tion of the great actors of their day. The danger lies in
imitating false inflexions of the voice, intended to express
natural feelings or passions.
We shall now give a brief statement of some of the chief
points in Reicha’s Treatise on Melody, referring the reader
to that work for all developments and minutiae. The trea¬
tise consists of a hundred and twenty-three quarto pages
of letter-press, and seventy-five plates. “ Melody is no¬
thing but a succession of sounds ; but if these sounds were
placed at random, they would form no sense, that is to say,
no melody. It is the same as in regard to words not con¬
nected by syntax, nor directed by the understanding. The
circumstances that connect sounds together so far as to
form a musical sense, are, 1. the key ; 2. the measure ; 3.
the different durations of the sounds; 4. the slurs which
connect these more closely ; 5. the rhythm ; 6. the perfect
equality of the timbre; 7. the period in which the sense is
more developed ; all this being guided by feeling and taste.
Ideas and periods are separated from each other by points
of repose, which are cadences of different kinds. In order
to see how all these objects form melodic ideas, and con¬
tribute to connect them together, it will not be superflu¬
ous to analyze here the following period:
PERIOD.
First Melodic Phrase, composed of three designs. Second Melodic Phrase, composed of three designs.
( First Member. First Rhythm. ) ( Second Member. Second Rhythm. )
g *
Allegretto. £ cadence. J cad.
Pi
4 cad.
\ cad.
| cad.
Perfect cad.
The following are Reicha’s explanations of technical
terms, which he uses in his treatise on melody.
“ 1. A quarter cadence, or a point of repose weaker than
a half cadence, and which serves to separate one melodic
design from another.
“ 2. A half cadence, which separates one member and
one rhythm from another, and which ought consequently
to be stronger than the preceding cadence.
“ 3. A three-quarter cadence, which is stronger than the
half cadence, and weaker than the full cadence, but which
terminates a period as well as the latter, the difference be¬
tween them existing only in the key in which we end.
Thus, the first period of an air of two strains which ends
on the dominant, would be only a three-quarter cadence,
because another period is required in order to return to the
tonic.
“ 4. Perfect cadence, which terminates the period in a
positive and indubitable manner; but which does not hin¬
der other periods from being added, if this be thought proper.
“ 5. Interrupted cadences, where, instead of the final
sound, we fall upon another, or else leap suddenly from
the final sound to another sound.
“ 6. Melodic design, a short musical idea separated from
another by a quarter cadence. Two or three of these de¬
signs may form a member, which last ought to form a half
cadence.
“ 7. A member of a period is composed of one or of se¬
veral designs, and ought to make up a rhythm, and form a
half cadence.
“ A period may be composed of different designs and
of different members. Its cadence is final, or else a three-
quarter cadence, which may be called a perfect cadence
relative to the key.
“ 9. Rhythm is the extent or the symmetrical and com¬
parative number of the melodic members. It may have
all the cadences except the quarter cadence Measure
divides into equal parts a series of simple times, as, for
example, crotchets in common time; and rhythm divides
into equal parts, and consequently in a symmetrical man¬
ner, a series of measures. Hence we may say with pro¬
priety, that measures are simple times of rhythm, as the
crotchets and rests are the simple times of a measure.
“ 10. The complement is a little melodic design that fills
up the pauses which occur between the members.
“ 11. The supposition is a measure which, in the theory
of rhythm, counts as two ; 1. as final measure of the first
rhythm ; and, 2. as initial measure of the following rhythm.
“ 12. The echo is the repetition of a part of a melodic
design, executed by other instruments, and which is not
reckoned in the rhythm.
“ 13. The coda is the confirmation of the end of a piece
of music. It is also sometimes employed at the end of a
period, either at the beginning or in the middle of the me¬
lody ; but in this case it is short. When it terminates a
piece, it ought to increase the animation of the music. It
is for this reason that interrupted cadences and the suppo¬
sition are employed in it, and that it is often executed with
an accelerated movement. As to the length of the coda,
it depends upon the duration of the piece. When the
coda finishes a grand piece, it may be compared to the per¬
oration of an oratorical discourse.”
We pass over Reicha’s explanations of “ Le Retard ds
Ifusic.
la Cadence,” and of “ Le Conduit,” as these relate merely
^ to arbitrary embellishments introduced just before a final
cadence, or between one period and another.
To please a vitiated public taste, most modern performers
Tre cafled0^^1 °f/UC-h embdlish^nts, as they
are called. Among singers, for instance, none would be
listened to who did not prepare to conclude every melody
no matter how simple and unsuited to such tra^S
with a flourishing cadenza and a long shake. PietSVfr’
n very properly abominates all such formal shakes and
cadences, and desires all rational melodies to be finished
181 /of rPle aP/0,fgiatUra* G- M- Raymond, writing in
1811 of singers of that time, says: “ L’un chante avec les
epaules, les bras, les coudes, le corps tout entier; I’autre
pousse des cris et pratique des glans qui prouvent suffis-
amment ses bonnes intentions; celui-ci se livre k des mou-
vemens convulsifs qui peignent I’exces du sentiment; ce-
ui-la a des efforts semblables d ceux qui accompaVnent
les nausees, et qui ne remplacent pas mal les mouvemens
de 1 ame et les accens du cceor,” &c. All this apXnoo
nearly to many of the singers of 1837.
Among most writers upon music, we find great confu
rhuthm^Vjf^K Phrases' clauses’ sections, times,
^ „ r i , tn.nk lliat5 in general, Reicha has been more
successful in clearing up and simplifying these matters. His
4’ 2’ and 4 cadences come in place of the confusion of cm-
MUSIC.
modulation is wanted; also one upon the accommm-
ment of melody. We refer to Plate V., No. 19 for an
example of the mixture of different rh^hms in’a me-
lody of Paesiello. There is an almost inexhaustible store
of melodies, in all their forms, in the works of anc ent
and modern composers. The student who examines these
works wd! find, that the modern melodists have, in general
httle to boast of m originality. To give an instance! one
of the most popular vocal compositions in England, Oh
appy Fair, is framed in its commencement, in melody
and harmony, upon a church chant of C. P. E. Bach. ^
719
Music.
sures, phrases, clauses, &c. He shows, by numerous ex-
3 V natUle ?f theSe melodic cadences, and of the
final cadence or period ; and also of melodic designs, mem-
bers of periods, periods, rhythms, &c. A discrepancy oc-
curs in what he says (above cited) regarding 1 and 1 ca-
nh!ZfJn Tel0f‘C des^ns and members; and we have to
J o what he says about the supposition (article 11
supra) as being a measure that counts as two in the the¬
ory of rhythm. In a matter of this kind there are really
o suppositions mz&o by the ear. It hears neither more
nor less than what it hears. As to the echo (article 12)
ounXbteoT/eC Onedinithe rhjthm” we COnc(eive that R
ou ht to be just as much so as any other passage in the
refers ,0.Haydn “"“Mozarlas Sels of
sin m the development ot a melodic subject, and we cor¬
dially agree with him. He says that a treatise upon melodic
Harmony has been defined by an eminent French nhi w
losopher of our day, “a succession of chords, subjected to rra0"''
certain laws, according to which several different melodies
governed by a common rhythm, and heard together, pro¬
duce an agreeable effect to the ear.” This definition is
like many other technical ones, unintelligible to every per¬
son who has not studied harmony. But we shall mak J only
one objection to it, which is, that very frequently harmony
contains little or no melody, properly so called/ It must
be kept m view that harmony has its own peculiar means
of producing effects, independent of melody, or, at least
of any prominent melody. It is more vague in its effects
ian melody; and, being more complicated, is less gene-
rally relished and understood than the latter. A chorus
of Handel, or a symphony of Beethoven, requires a train¬
ed ear to relish and understand it fully. The progress of
both melody and harmony was slow in improvement3s
the history of music shows. As the material! of each we!e
increased, like the enrichment of a language, mefody and
andTxTre^ir t!T 3*’ ^ beCame m°re C°Piou«
ana expressive. J o assign limits to what may be called
improvements in melody or harmony is impossible si3
tie plastic nature of the human ear is such as to be ca
Pabl.e being Gained to relish almost any peculiarities fn
music, as m the sounds and inflexions of iLguage When
we find that, in ancient times, a rude, unmefodious, eccle^
astical chant, and its accompaniment by another voice
m consecutive octaves, fifths, and fourths, were considered
as the perfection of melody and harmony, it is hard to say
hat the human ear may or may not be trained to relish7
Herbert, in his work De Cantu el Musica Sacra, gives se¬
veral specimens of this strange harmony of the foLSenth
century. See vol. i. pp. 376, 392, 435, 6, 7, 8, and
ut something still more curious than this is given by
i anchino Gaffono in the fourteenth chapter of the third
uqr ° nm, WOrvk Practica Musica, published at Milan in
ti *«. Gnder head “ De Contrapuncto Falso,” he says
that it was anciently the custom to sing a counterpoint
composed of dissonances ; that is to say, of second major
ami minor, perfect and major fourth, seventh, and ninth :
and that such counterpoint was used in the fourth century
in solemn vigils, and in certain masses for the dead. He
gives the following example of this horrible counterpoint
as having been sung in the cathedral of Milan, from an
ancient mass for the dead. He confesses it to be hideous-
y bad. We avoid the alto clef, for the reader’s sake ; so
the example should be performed an octave lower than it
is here written.
voices i3'hg^ ^nd
pistols, jingling of post.hoJ beli; .If
sorts and sizes, thrumming „„ the EussSXfaS, beat
720
MUSIC.
Music, ing of drums, and so on, and all this received with rapture
“""■'v"—"'by a civilized European audience, we may well be justi¬
fied in saying that it is hard to tell what the human ear
maj' or may not be trained to relish in music, or rather in
noise. Such music reminds us of the pewter dish, the
tongs, the bellows, and the salt-box, used as solo or con¬
certo instruments, according to No. 90 of the Babbler ; or
of the hog-concert, produced by order of Louis XI. Bayle
gives the passage on this subject from Bouchet, Annales
d'Aquitaine. A great number of hogs of different ages
were confined in a tent covered with velvet. In front of
the tent there was an apparatus with keys like an organ.
These keys communicated with the hogs in the tent, and
were armed with needles, so that when the.performer touch¬
ed the keys, the hogs were pricked by the needles, which
“ les faisoit crier en tel ordre et consonance, que le Roy,
et ceulx qui estoient avec luy, y prindrent plaisir.”
The opinions of theorists on the subject of chords alone,
without reference to their successions and modulations,
are very much at variance. Some reckon only one single
fundamental chord, formed from the first harmonics of a
vibrating string, and which chord, they say, contains all
the other chords. Other theorists assume two fundamen¬
tal chords, others seven, others twelve, others thirteen,
others seventy, and so on. Another theorist reckons so
many as 3600, and among these, 700 dissonant fundamen¬
tal chords. Besides all this perplexity and contradiction,
these theorists give no satisfactory explanation of a mul¬
titude of phenomena belonging to modulation and har¬
monic combination. We would advise the student to
pay very little attention to theories, but a great deal to
the works of the best composers. Our space permits us
to make only a few occasional remarks upon some re¬
ceived opinions regarding harmony, which seem to us to
be erroneous.
Hitherto, what is called thorough bass has been con¬
founded with figured bass; and both, as if one and the
same thing, have been ascribed to L. Viadana as their in¬
ventor, in the beginning of the seventeenth century. But
it appears that Viadana was not the inventor of figured
bass, and that his thorough bass {basso continue) has no¬
thing whatever to do with figured bass, or with the doc¬
trine of the progressions of chords. This appears clearly
from his Italian work published at Venice in 1603, in five
volumes 4to. It contained what he called “a hundred
ecclesiastical concertos for one, two, three, and four voices,
with the continuous bass {basso continue) to be played on
the organ.” He says he invented these pieces in 1597, at
Rome, and that his chief reason for composing them was,
that there were no pieces of the kind constructed for one,
two, or three voices, with organ bass. In these concertos,
the organ bass had no pauses, and was therefore called
basso continuoy that is, continuous or thorough bass ; but it
was not figured. The organist played this bass, and the
voice part, or parts, as they lay before him. G. Sabba-
tini, a contemporary of Viadana, was the inventor of the
figured bass, as appears from his wwk published at Venice
in 1628, in which all the basses are figured, and in which
he claims this invention. But this invention, which might
serve well enough in these days for slow and simple music,
accompanied on the organ according to certain fixed rules,
has been, unfortunately, brought down to our day, when it
is worse than useless, although the teaching and practice
of it are still persevered in, to the great disadvantage and
perplexity of musical students. Besides, different compo¬
sers and different nations have different ways of figuring
their basses, which adds to the confusion and difficulty.
This clumsy contrivance should be entirely abandoned by
all modern composers, who ought to write down in the
common notation, fully and exactly, the accompaniment
as they wish it to be performed.
A chord, as it is called, consists of two, or three, or four, Music,
or more sounds, heard at the same time. A primary
consonant chord consists of intervals such as those given
in the following examples, No. 1, A, B, and No. 8, a, b.
Examples of primary dissonant chords are given at No.
4, a, c. Other dissonant chords will be afterwards no¬
ticed. The tonic or key-note of every scale may be con¬
sidered as the central point to which, in the course of a
melody, or a harmony, the other sounds of the scale con¬
verge, or from which they diverge ; in the former case pro¬
ducing tonic cadences or reposes, and in the latter, im¬
perfect cadences and inconclusive passages. We have al¬
ready seen that the sounds of a scale, whether major or
minor, maybe derived from the harmonic products of three
sonorous bodies, representing the tonic, the dominant, and
the subdominant. In the scale of C major, for example,
the simplest harmony belonging to the tonic, the dominant,
and the subdominant, considered as bass sounds, will ap¬
pear in the three following chords, either as they stand at
A, or with a changed position, or inversion, of the two
upper sounds in each, as at B.
No. 1.
Subdominant Tonic Dominant
Common Chord. Ditto. Ditto.
Changed Position.
A.
B.
These chords, as they stand, cannot form a harmonic
succession, on account of the consecutive fifths between
them. In harmony, as in melody, the intervals are reck¬
oned from the lower sound upwards. Each of these chords
is called a major common chord, and consists of lowest or
fundamental sound with its major third and perfect fifth.
The change of position at B makes no difference in the
name of the chord, but only in its effect. The closest pos¬
sible position of the intervals, as at A, is called close har¬
mony. Their altered position at B is called extended or
dispersed harmony. By making the thirds of these chords
the bass sounds, we obtain the following inversions, called
chords of the sixth. The lowest sound of a chord is the
bass for the time being.
No. 2.
~e~
_GL
_ZZ-
731
TT
ZHZL
XJ-
~rr
-©-
Diatonic or chromatic successions of chords of the sixth,
with or without the third, are very frequent in harmony.
If in each of the preceding common chords we make the
fifth the bass, we shall have the following inversions, called
chords of the sixth and fourth.
No. 3.
Most writers on harmony consider the interval of the
fourth as a dissonance, while in truth it is a consonance,
as is clearly shown by its forming one of the intervals in
the perfect common chord, which contains no dissonance
of any kind. Besides these three principal chords of the
major scale, with their inversions, and which are all con¬
sonant, there is an important dissonant chord formed by
adding the minor seventh to the fifth and third of the do¬
minant. This is named the dominant seventh. We sub¬
join it {a), and its three inversions {b).
M U S I C.
Xo. 4.
Dominant
Seventh.
(a)
First
Inversion.
V)
Second
ditto.
Third
ditto.
cr
Tile chord at /j, with imperfect fifth, is rarely used in
what are called fundamental progressions.
1 he chord of the dominant seventh contains two pri¬
mary dissonances which are the least harsh of any in use
and are therefore the most frequently employed ; the in¬
terval between the bass sound and its seventh, and the in-
No. 6.
O)
terval between the third of the chord and the seventh ; see
n, o, p. This last is an imperfect fifth, and requires a par¬
ticular resolution (as it is called) in the next succeeding
chord, unless some chromatic alteration intervene to change
the simple progression ; see q, r, s, t For the most com¬
mon resolutions of the seventh, see u, v, w.
kJ    
imperfect fifth are neglected.8^ ^ SUCh paSSages as tIl0Se at V and where the resolutions of the seventh and ofthe
No. 7.
(y)
if/-- Q n
(^)
“ZZ
o-
uz
-CL
~rj
:cl
-©
-©-
1
No. 8.
Subdominant.
(«)
Tonic.
Dominant.
(c)
Such passages are bad, whatever number of Parts there
may be besides to fill up the harmony; but they are in¬
tolerable when there are only two Parts. 1
« ^ PrinciPal common chords of the minor scale
are the following, at a, b, and c.
sionally used. The 'same remark aif.li'es't.f t hem a'ftoThe" chordTf'the S’and f speciaII7 in ancient harmony, we find a
common chords on the second, tid'd, six”h and sevemh hr wl,... I,T 0CCUrr,n« °" eve^ 50und scale,
sounds of the major scale Of course all ’the w,iat are 9aIled sequences or chains of sevenths, in which
Chords in the minor scale'may be inverted t the“Ze or7eSr/fifthf' TlmsTd"'5 aHaSC,e,,<ii,'g f°Ur,l’S
manner as those in the major scale therebv nrnrIiinintT ^ ’ -locse dry and formal passages, and
many chords of sixth andThird ^ them tnyerstons are now rare. There are some other kinds
The positions of their intervals above the bass may also be bass Jrnnd'^' suctlas ‘he filth and sixth on each
varied in the same manner as formerly shown ^ " st.h on each iZs s"'0 ^ ”,he se'e"th a"d
^ sixth on eacb bass sound of a descending diatonic series.
No. 9.
Besides these dissonant chords, there are many other
dissonant ones, such as the chord of ninth and seventh
or ninth only ; the chord of fourth and fifth ; and so on. *
No. 11.
-f) *7 9 -©- 7]°-&r k-©-!>9 4
VOL.
It is evident that every common chord, or either of its
inversions, consists of three distinct sounds only • so that
in composing for four voices, for example, a gap would
occur m the harmony whenever a common chofdf or one
of its inversions, had to be employed, unless one of these
three sounds should be doubled in the unison or octave
This doubling accordingly takes place when there are more
than three Parts in the harmony. Which of these sounds
4 Y
721
Music
-3-
The sounds above the bass, in earb nf fi.—Jf^r, , . ^c*
be placed in various positions, som^ofwhich6 Ch°ridS’ may cu,ar circumstances, the second, third, sixth, and seventh
(c) and (d). The first inversion of the chord oTtheTnmf S0Unds, of the. major scale may each, as a bass, bear a com-
nant seven* Is called the chord of *e sixth fifth Td tTt" ch”rd »lt.h a mi"»r See No. 5 (e), (A,
thmd ; the second inversion, sixth, fourth, and’third- and kmd f.”™?6 "’vers,°ns But harmony of this
the third inversion, sixth, fourth, and second. In par* of the ancienf stvie° t0 anC,ent mUSiC’ °r in,itations
No. 5. ^
(/) (y) (h) (i) ^
722
MUSIC.
Music, it is best to double, depends entirely upon the nature of
—V-—' the melodic and harmonic succession of sounds in this or
that particular passage, and cannot be rightly learned but
by a careful study of the best compositions in four, five,
six, and more Parts. The chord of the seventh, again, or
any of its inversions, consists of four distinct sounds, and
therefore requires no doubling of any of its sounds in wri¬
ting for four Parts. In other cases where the Parts are
more than four, the doubling of any of the sounds (except
the third, or the seventh of the primary chord) must be
regulated by the circumstances of the case. The third
and the seventh of the dominant chord of seventh do not
bear to be doubled, because the progression of each of
these sounds tollows a certain course in resolution by the
third rising a semitone and the seventh falling a semitone,
or a tone, into the next succeeding chord, unless in the
case of some chromatic alteration which interferes with
the simpler progressions of these two sounds. In writing
for three or for two Parts, it becomes necessary to omit
one or two of the sounds belonging to the chord of seventh,
or any of its inversions. Whether the third or the fifth of Music.
the primary chord should be retained along with the se-'
venth, depends upon the effect intended to be produced.
In the former case the effect will be more piquant, in the
latter more soft and undecided. Again, in writing for two
Parts, suppose a duett for two voices, it is necessary to
use only two of the sounds of a common chord, or two of
the sounds of a chord of seventh. In the former case none
of the sounds ought to be doubled, except at the beginning,
or at a close, or in preparing a cadence, when the unison
or octave of the lowest sound of the primary chord, or of
its fifth, may be used. In the other case (chord of seventh)
there is a choice among the intervals of primary sound and
seventh, third and seventh, or fifth and seventh, or the in¬
versions of these. The effect intended must guide the
choice. In these cases none of the sounds should be dou¬
bled in unison or octave.
What are called the 'preparation, xhepercussion, and the
resolution of dissonances, may be made sufficiently clear by
the following examples of Padre Martini.
No. 12.
No. 13.
At No. 12, (a), the seventh is prepared by the previous
consonance of sixth, and is resolved upon the consonance
of third. At (b) the ninth is prepared by the previous con¬
sonance of tenth, and is resolved upon the consonance of
fifth. At (c) the sevenths are both prepared by previous
fifths, and resolved by the consonances of fifth in the first
case, and third in the second case. At (rf) the second is
prepared by third, and at (e) by sixth, in the preceding
chord.
At No. 13, (<?), the ninth and eleventh wee prepared by
previous tenth and twelfth, and are resolved into eighth
and tenth. At (h) the ninth and seventh are prepared by
previous tenth and eighth, and are resolved into eighth and
sixth. As to what is called the percussion, or striking of the
dissonance, it means simply the actual occurrence of the
latter. The dissonance of the dominant seventh has no
need of preparation; and the diminished seventh, the
ninth, and the diminished ninth, are often struck unpre¬
pared.
The chord of the ninth,
and of the di¬
minished ninth,
are susceptible of three inver¬
sions. These, with their resolutions, are as follows:
No. 14.
XL-
-O-
JCL
b-e-
gMr
CL.
1
%-
.O-
-CL
:ez
-CL
IJ-
-GT
-O-
GT
In the chord of the ninth, and in its inversions, the sound
forming the fifth in the direct chord is generally omitted.
The ninth itself is not inverted, and care must be taken to
xeep the ninth in its proper interval above the lowest sound
of the direct chord, so as to form a ninth or higher octave
of ninth above that sound. The following infractions of
this rule produce in general a bad effect, especially when
prolonged.
No. 15.
 Q
o-
Zf*
n
—C/? ■
m
is
i
2Z.
~o~
&c.
~zr &c.
The ninth may be used in the following manner, without
any preparation :
No. 16.
TT ii-
In Haydn’s beautiful canzonet, Fidelity, there are ex¬
amples of the use of the major seventh, the ninth, and the
diminished ninth, all without preparation. In the same
canzonet we find the augmented octave and augmented
fifth employed very elegantly. His tenth canzonet shows
a very effective use of the diminished seventh, at the word
“ grief;’’ and also, at the same passage, the skilful intro¬
duction of an interrupted cadence. In the second section
of the first movement of Mozart’s third quintett in G mi¬
nor there are many diminished ninths, and ninths and se¬
venths, introduced very boldly without any preparation.
In Italy, about 1580, Monteverde began to introduce m«*
prepared sevenths and ninths; but it would appear, from
the following very curious passage, that Jean Mouton, a
Frenchman, had used these unprepared dissonances long
before. J. Mouton was born in 1461.
r|j
eisii
MUSIC
EmTtUnprepared Smmths ani Nin,hs’and^ s ^^^ »/ ^
No. 18
Chops
‘ucc^si
Passages of tins kind often puzzle the student, as seeming
to contradict the rules given for the resolution of dissonances.
In a series of chords, the progression from one to another
may take place by similar motion, oblique motion, or con¬
trary motion. 1 he latter is the most frequent and the most
useful, as it gives greater variety to the harmony, and enables
us to avoid displeasing consecutions of octaves and fifths.
No. 19.
Similar Motion.
In similar motion, the Parts move together by conjunct
or disjunct degrees, ascending or descending.
In oblique motion, one of the Parts remains on the same
degree, while the other moves upwards or downwards.
In contrary motion, the Parts move in opposite direc¬
tions ; the one ascending, the other descending.
Oblique Motion.
Contrary Motion.
-ri
I
An examination of all the possible successions of chords,
• consonant and dissonant, direct or inverted, diatonic or
chromatic, is beyond our limits and our purpose. These
successions must be learned from an extensive perusal of
the best compositions. We must confine ourselves to a
few examples and a few general remarks. First, with re¬
gard to common chords in succession, two or more of them
are not allowed to succeed each other diatonically, or by
leaps in similar progression, or what is called similar motion
ascending or descending.
No. 20.
m
zm
-e-
m
22'
.L,' 
22:
The bad effect of such progressions is much more strik¬
ing in compositions for voices, or for different instruments,
than it is upon such an instrument as the piano-forte, on
which the progressions of the different parts are not so dis¬
tinctly perceived by the ear, owing to the quality of tone
or timbre of each sound being of the same kind. It ought
to be remarked, that this last circumstance is too much
neglected in writing for the organ or the piano-forte, and
that in consequence many particular passages of harmony
written for one of these instruments produce little or no
effect, or even a bad effect, while the same passages, if per¬
formed by d.fferent voices or different instruments, wiuld
be good and effective. In the above successions of common
chords (No. 20) there are consecutive fifths and octaves,
both of which, and especially the former, are prohibited in
all cases where t/ie ear perceives them and is displeased by
them. There is no other rational rule against their use.
With regard to consecutive unisons or octaves, daily ex¬
perience proves that they are not in themselves displeas¬
ing when they are employed in the reinforcing of some
particular melody or passage of melody. Were this not so,
there would be no such thing in choruses or in orchestras
as ten, or twenty, or more voices or instruments, perform¬
ing the same melody in unison or in octaves. Haydn said
that one of the most overpowering effects he ever experi-
enced from music, was when he heard the singing of the
subjoined melody in unison by a vast number of trained
children in St Paul’s Cathedral at London.
MUSI C.
724
Music.
No. 21.
-©■
"cr
In a composition for two, or three, or four voices or in¬
struments, where the intention is to interest by means of
harmony, the casual occurrence of consecutive octaves is
felt unpleasingly from the poorness of their effect, from
the deficiency of that richness of harmonic combination
generally expected in such compositions; but still only
a musical and trained ear would perceive this poverty of
effect, and be displeased by it. The fewer the number of
Parts, down to the duett, the more perceptible would this
poverty be. The bad effect of consecutive fifths also rests
upon the ground of poverty and want of variety. Some
modern theorists assert that the reason why two or more
consecutive fifths produce a bad effect, is, that the ear sup¬
plies the major third of the lower sound of each fifth, and
thereby perceives a succession of major common chords
forming so many disjoined tonic chords, which give an im¬
pression of a series of different keys unrelated to each
other. This hypothesis is erroneous, because the ear does
really supply no such thirds, nor any other sounds. The
ear, in harmony as well as in melody, supplies nothing be¬
yond what it actually hears. It has to do with nothing
but its own actual sensations. The imagination may sup¬
ply or suggest what it pleases; but that is quite a diffe¬
rent matter. Cherubini says of consecutive fifths, that
“ a succession of them forms a discordance, because the
upper part moves in one key, while the lower part moves
in another. For example, if to the scale of C major we
add an upper Part moving in perfect fifths with the former,
it will result from this, that one Part will be in C, while the
other will be in G. It is from this double concurrence
of key that the discordance arises, and consequently the
prohibition to employ several fifths in succession.” The
best way to avoid the effect of consecutive fifths and oc¬
taves, is to employ contrary motion of the Parts. The se¬
cond examples (No. 22) should never be used in music for
two Parts only, or between two extreme Parts of a harmony,
though they may be used in two middle Parts between the
bass and the highest Part where the harmony is full.
No. 22.
We have seen that the three principal common chords
of a scale are those of the tonic, the dominant, and the sub¬
dominant ; and that the principal dissonant chord is the
chord of the dominant seventh. We shall first examine
these common chords in their simple diatonic successions,
direct and inverted; and afterwards as undergoing cer¬
tain chromatic changes, and other modifications. The let¬
ter T will stand for tonic chord, D for dominant chord, and
S for subdominant chord.
No. 23.
At a and b and c we have three progressions from T to
D producing three imperfect cadences (see preceding sec¬
tion, Melody) of harmony and melody together. At rf, e,
and/, we have three other progressions from T to S, pro¬
ducing also imperfect cadences, but not so decidedly im¬
perfect as those at a, b, and c. Indeed these last might,
not improperly, be called reversed cadences. At g, h, i,
we have three progressions the reverse of a, b, and c, and
forming tonic cadences more or less complete. At g, the
cadence is complete, from the third of dominant rising se-
mitonieally, in the upper Part, to the tonic itself. The
cadence at h is less complete, from the fifth of dominant
descending to tonic by a whole tone in the upper part;
and at i the cadence is still less conclusive by the fifth of
dominant rising by a whole tone to the third of domi¬
nant. At g and h, if the dissonance of seventh were
added to the dominant, the determination of the com¬
plete cadence from D to T would be more striking.
A perfect cadence from the chord of the dominant seventh
may be interrupted in various ways. The following are
examples.
No. 25.
-&*- -cr "cr ^ ~u~ #o
The successions at k and m, No. 23, may be considered
as imperfect cadences, although in some cases, in eccle¬
siastical harmony, the cadence from the chord of the S to
the chord of the T is used as a final cadence. The suc¬
cession at l is an imperfect cadence, the most imperfect
that occurs in the scale, if we except n and o.
The succession at n from S to D is used in ancient and
modern music ; but the contrary succession at o, from D
to S, is very rarely attempted, on account of its harshness
and striking discontinuity. No satisfactory reason has
XJU
T>- -or -zr ~cr -rx
been assigned (theoretically) for the avoidance of such
successions ; nor why the progressions of common chords
(properly managed) between the tonic and its second, as¬
cending or descending by conjoint degrees, or between
the dominant and the sixth of the scale, ascending or de¬
scending by conjoint degrees, should be frequently used
with no displeasing effect. And, again, vtha.1 fundamental
bass can be assigned, according to received theories, to
such successions as chords of sixth and third ascending or
descending by conjunct degrees? Not to speak of many
M U S I C.
plicable by the system of fundamental basset ^ommonfv tosh ear three,of thev anci.ent conjunct Greek tetrachords
received as the true one. It may be remarked that sin/ ng 10 ascendinS>there is no difficulty in the intonation.'
ers, in attempting to sing the ascending major scale, al- n No. 27. „ ^
ways find great d.fficulty at first in executing; in tune, the =#=rr: r°—. 1 j-r1-i-i.U_
series^ sounds from the fourth upwards to the seventh.
-Q   1  cJ
1 he ancient Greeks seem to have known more about frag¬
mentary scales than our modern theorists do. °
I he partial inversions of the preceding successions of
common chords are as follows :
tr-cT
-QI This is a practical fact, not ex¬
plained by any theory. If you give the learner (with a
No. 28.
abed e f g
* u* n
At b the progression might be
passage is harsh in its effect, from the more natural pro¬
gression of the third of the dominant being by a semitone
ascending, instead of by a leap. Another harsh progression
No. 30.
rfiz-^LeJq
mi9ht be (accordinS t0 some composers) in¬
troduced at b. But such progressions ought in general
to be avoided, though they sometimes occur in the free
style of modern music; not, however, in the works of the
best masters. It may be here remarked, that although the
perfect fourth is a consonance, as we have said before, still,
when it occurs between the bass and an upper Part, it re¬
quires a certain management. This is the reason why it
has been erroneously called a dissonance. It would re¬
quire a great many examples to show in what manner the
perfect fourth should be treated when it occurs between
the bass and an upper Part. We shall merely remark.
No. 31.
that, except in such successions as >r—
-I) &c.
the fourth must, in general, descend by a semitone, or a
tone, to the third of the same bass sound; or, if the bass
moves upwards or downwards to the following chord by a
tone or a semitone, the sound forming the original fourth
must either be continued in that following chord, or must
descend a semitone or a whole tone. Such are the tech¬
nicalities regarding the treatment of the fourth in harmo¬
ny. The quantity of printed disputation regarding the
nature, &c. of the fourth is most unreasonable.
A great deal of the variety and colouring, as it is called,
of the free style of modern music depends upon the use
of chromatic changes of the intervals of the simple com¬
mon chords, and their inversions. To make the nature of
725
Music.
more clear, we shall again have recourse, in the first
place, to the same successions of common chords that we
have already given, and show how their forms and effects
can be altered by means of these chromatic changes. Of
course, it is not upon every occasion that these chromatic
langes are to be used. Some clever composers of the
more modern schools indulge in these chromatic altera-
tmns to such excess that many of their compositions are
httle better than continuous lamentation, or caterwauling.
By such abuses, the manly simplicity, energy, and dig-
tZ °u ^ertain styIes music are entirely destroyed.
I he whole practical principle of these chromatic changes
s the division of a tone into two smaller intervals, ascend¬
ing or descending. We do not say “ into two semitones;'
ecause that is not really the case in correct intonation
ot such passages. In a succession of chords such as we
have given, one at least of the Parts may rise or fall by a
tone to one of the Parts of the next succeeding chord,
t is therefore obvious that an ascending or descending
tone may be divided into two smaller intervals; and this
hy 116 chr°matic deration,-sharp in ascending,
and flat m descending, as shown in Plate VI., Nos. 20
to 27 inclusive. We give these merely to show how the
t nng may be done. When such chromatic alterations
may be introduced with good effect, is to be studied in
the compositions of Hadyn, Mozart, Clementi, Beetho¬
ven, and some others. All our examples of mere chords
are to be considered by the student as no more than some
£ t'm dry and detached bones of a skeleton of harmony.
He will find them all knitted together in their proper
places, and clothed in living beauty of form and substance
in the works of the best composers. It is there that he
must seek for their use, and not in theories.
false relations must be avoided in melody as well as in False rela
harmony. W hen a sound passes to its diminished or aug- lions,
merited octave, above or below, there is a false relation ?n
melody; as,
No. 32.
No. 33.
1
In harmony, such octaves struck together, and prolonged
for some time, would be intolerable. Such passages as the
following contain false relations. 1 b
4 l
IZZ
rT
r~F
M-
u -J P-e-
i
MUSIC.
In these passages, the chromatic alteration is not made in harsh effect. These examples, when corrected, will stand
the same Part; hence arise the false relations, and their as follows :—
No. 34.
l
-d—b u
-Gh- -Gh
o
-p-
J2-
©-
5
r
r
rr
Such passages as the following, where dissonances occur along with the chromatic alteration, are not objectionable.
No. 35. I
£-19-
JGL
jci.
nr
mm
zrnz
-tf-Q.
Sfusic,
r
o
“cr
Such as the following are permitted.
No. 36.
r
I
j2:
H9-
-G-
I !
-9-
4-o- W
h9-
J3L
—to _
-Q-
Dr Burney, in criticising some of Purcell’s harmonic
combinations, blames him severely for using the t}6 and $3
No. 37. ) or |
gZjfcgjzj, and says that this chord is “ detestable,”
r f
have found many instances of the elegant and effective
use of the chord of t]6 and #3; also in Mozart’s works,
both vocal and instrumental. Another chord that Dr
Burney finds great fault with in Purcell, is the chord of
No. 38.
9 —
but this chord is found in the works of the
and is jargon at all times and in all places.’’ It so hap¬
pens that this same detestable chord is very frequently used
in modern music; and, if Dr Burney had looked into
the works of Emanuel Bach and Haydn, of which he
speaks with unmingled commendation, he would there
best modern composers. Among chromatic chords we shall
notice only two more, of considerable importance, which
frequently occur in harmony. They are the chord of the
diminished seventh, and the chord of the augmented sixth.
No. 39.
Diminished Seventh.
Inversions.
Augmented Sixth.
SLa.
-Or
-U-
1Z2Z
;2=S
nz
JZ22
It
±§:
rr
-O-
-nnz.
-CL
'W
Q
These chords occur more frequently in minor scales than
in major ones ; and when they do appear in the latter, the
notation is generally wrong. For example,
No. 40. Instead of
No. 43.
the French sixth when it consists of
-Q-h-©;
zZ
-1-
Of
-te
rEz
T~d.
ru:
J
f
=%
■rt
TT
\
r
these, the Italian sixth is the most simple and elegant,
and the German sixth the most powerful in its effect.
The French sixth is harsh and poor. In writing for
four Parts, the third of the Italian sixth is doubled:
The effect of the diminished seventh is mournful and pa¬
thetic. Among other instances, see “ He was despised,”
in Handel’s Messiah, at the words “ a man of sorrows.”
Sometimes we meet with a series of three or four chords
of diminished seventh, or their inversions, in which all the
Parts ascend or descend together by semitones. With
regard to the chord of the augmented sixth, it is called
No. 41.
-A—
ttfi  ^ —
the Italian sixth when it consists of ^
No. 44.
The third and fifth of the German sixth
be
are usually prolonged in the form ^ upon the next
bass sound ; but there are some exceptions to this prac-
These augmented sixths are rarely inverted ; but
tice
rzznSz:
the
No. 42.
86 U
German sixth when it consists of 5
3
some instances are to be found in good composition. In
the chord of the diminished seventh, it depends upon the
position of the upper Parts, whether or not we may double
No. 45.
„ b-&- , iv
rtHrr>. 'Tir- ~
its third. When in this position
we can-
Sic. not; but we may in the following position, where the di¬
minished seventh occurs in a middle Part, and below the
M U S I C.
No. 52.
No. 46.
third
: We have a few remarks to make
tr
upon what are called enharmonic changes of modulation,
made by means of the chord of the diminished seventh,
or of the chord of the German augmented sixth, or inver¬
sions of these. What is termed enharmonic, is really nei¬
ther more nor less, in practice, than a change of signs in
notation ; which change, being merely addressed to the
eye m all such pretended enharmonic transitions, leaves
the sounds exactly as they were before upon all our im¬
perfectly-tuned instruments, such as the organ and piano¬
forte. For example, we strike the following chord on a
No. 47.
piano-forte
If we choose to alter the signs
No. 48.
of this chord, and to write
There is not the slightest difference of effect. A real en¬
harmonic change in such a passage, if effected by voices
or instruments in perfect intonation, would produce a very
perceptible difference of pitch, and no agreeable result.
In passing from one chord to another, one or more of
t le parts of the first chord will (in compact harmony) as¬
cend or descend by a tone, or a smaller interval, to one
^  or "™re of the Parts of the next chord that follows. The
:drg2=, all this makes no change whatever in the f °"e or "1ore of these ascending or descend-
° wnatever in the ing parts of the fim chordj after one or monfof the
of the second chord has been introduced, gives rise to a
variety of dissonances termed suspensions, or syncopations,
and so on. These may be single, or double, or triple, or
even quadruple. In order to make the nature of this part
o our subject intelligible, but without entering into many
details, we shall again have recourse to the successions o'f
common chords already given in this section, and also to
the chords of seventh, and of diminished seventh, and of
diminished ninth.
sounds heard on the piano-forte. The very same sounds
are produced, because the very same finger-keys are struck.
No. 51.
In the case of the German augmented sixth
ro
No. 54.
At 1 we have a single suspension, that of the fourth ;
and at 2, a double suspension of sixth and fourth. These
are two of the cases formerly alluded to, in which the
perfect fourth, though a consonance, is treated as if it
were a dissonance when it occurs between the bass and an
upper Part. At 3 occurs a single suspension, a major
seventh ascending a semitone to its resolution in the oc¬
tave ; at 4, a single suspension of ninth resolving down¬
wards, as the ninth almost always does, by descending a
tone or a smaller interval, according to the nature of the
passage in which it occurs; at 5, a double suspension of
ninth and major seventh, in which the ninth is resolved by
ascending a tone, and the seventh by ascending a semi¬
tone ; at 6, a double suspension of ninth and fourth ; at
7, a triple suspension of ninth, b sixth, and fourth ; at 8, a
quadruple suspension of ninth, seventh, sixth, and fourth.
Such combinations of dissonances as this last are not fre¬
quent ; but they sometimes occur in the best instrumental
compositions. This legato and syncopated style belongs
more to the old schools of composition than to the modern.
ne effect of such passages is good on the organ as an ac¬
companying instrument, or as a principal instrument, on
account of its powers of producing the sostenuto and the
legato; but is almost null on such an instrument as the
piano-forte, from its deficiency in these powers olsostenuto
and legato. Voices and wind-instruments produce great
effects in this style of music. It is not so effective in mu¬
sic for stringed instruments. Besides a great variety of
suspensions that may take place in an upper Part, there
are many that may occur in the bass when its progression
is by conjunct degrees ascending or descending. Of the
following examples, 1 and 2 are the best, though 3 and 4
are from Beethoven. These last may be used in cases
where the combinations of different voices or instruments
are suitably arranged, or in the course of a rapid move-
727
Music.
we might change the notation into ^—iTTS ~: hut
the sounds would remain the same on the piano-forte; so
that the real differences between the sounds represented
by these different modes of notation, cannot be made by
such an instrument as the piano-forte, and therefore all
pretended enharmonic changes and modulations upon it
are mere delusions and non-existences. Again, to take a
very plain case: Suppose that we were playing on the
piano-forte a passage written in Eb, and that we chose to
change the notation suddenly to Djf, where would be the
enharmonic modulation in such a case ?
No. 53.
M U S I C.
728
]V1 jsic
Music.
The nature of what are called anticipations (the con¬
verse of suspensions or retardations) will be understood
from the following examples.
No. 56.
fgcfQT
i t & -[~&r
fr r f f r
At 1 the anticipations are in an upper part; at 2 they
are in the bass. Anticipations such as those at 3 are fre¬
quent in music of the time of Handel, and before then.
We give a few examples of what are called passing
notes, changing notes, transient notes, &c. which (as w^ell
as suspensions and anticipations), are said by theorists to
be unessential or accidental notes.
These so called passing notes are marked with a small zero.
It is needless to multiply examples here, and we shall only
refer to one remarkable instance of the use of passing
notes, which occurs at the beginning of the first movement
of the first quartett in Beethoven’s fifty-ninth work. The
violoncello begins with a fine and dignified subject (key F
major), accompanied by the viola and second violin, in the
No. 58.
following manner for six bars and a half,
when the harmony changes.
The first violin comes in at the ninth bar, imitating the
preceding passage of the violoncello, and accompanied by
the three other instruments forming the chord of the se¬
cond inversion of dominant seventh, as far as the seven¬
teenth bar, where the following bold passage occurs.
No. 60.
Sf. J2_
-*¥«■ *>«r-
o rj-
<21
=3=3:
-CL-
&C.
tic.
/•:
ff’
With regard to passing notes, notes of grace, anticipa¬
tions, substitutions, altered or chromatic notes, and so on,
the truth seems to be, that theorists have always found
them inexplicable upon their favourite principle of the
fundamental bass ; and that, not knowing how to account
for them rationally upon that principle, they have been
obliged to treat all such sounds that occur in melody and
in harmony as sounds that have no foundation in the real
structure of the composition; and to assign to them, by
way of salvo, any names that might pass current in an ob¬
scure and erroneous terminology. But if theorists will
adhere to the received systems of fundamental basses,
they ought to be able to apply these systems to all the
phenomena of melody and harmony. This is not the case ;
for it is utterly impossible to refer all the combinations of
modern (or even of ancient) harmony, to the received
systems of fundamental basses. Every candid and intelli¬
gent musician will admit this to be true. Among all the
systems of fundamental basses, Serre’s theory (formerly
alluded to) seems the most plausible, although still very
imperfect. He assigns to a chord, one, or two, or three
fundamentals, which are to correspond to the diatonic or
chromatic nature of the sounds and intervals of the chord.
But other theorists have their fundamental suppositions
and substitutions ; their after notes ; their changing notes ;
their passing notes ; their altered notes; their appoggia-
ture ; their suspensions ; their anticipations ; and, in short,
such a chaos of hypothetically unessential and unreal
things, that it is no wonder if the study of harmony is
looked upon with horror and despair by all students who
are trained in the ordinary schools of composition. They
meet, at every step, with contradictions as absurd and
perplexing as the long established algebraical dogma that
there are quantities less than nothing. A little common
sense and logic might have showm that this puzzling dog¬
ma is a mere contradiction in terms. Nothing being no
quantity at all, it is obvious that there can be no such
thing as a quantity less than nothing, or even equal to no¬
thing. If such absurd contradictions in terms pass so long
current in the most severe and exact of all sciences—ma¬
thematics—it cannot surprise any thinking man that mu¬
sical theories and systems should abound in similar ones.
It is wrong to say that the ear recognises or suggests
what are called suppositions and substitutions in funda¬
mental basses; sounds that are not heard, but are as¬
cribed, by erroneous theory, to such and such chords.
The ear hears none of these imaginary and hypothetical
things. Were it otherwise, and to carry this hypothesis
to the reductio ad absurdum, the ear ought to hear all the
chords that can possibly be applied to the accompaniment
of any given melody. In fact, if two voices, or two in¬
struments, perform a duett, for example, the lower Part is
usic
—baSS f°r th,G tIrae be!nS> and there is no
other 1 art felt, or supposed, or substituted, by the ear. The
imagination may suggest an additional Part below the
-Thifr °rtfb0Ve th.e lli^her Part» or intermediate;
but this has nothing to do with the theory of the funda-
fhmtf an°t?er1 l0Wer Part is t0 this same
duett, then the ear feels that Part to be the bass; and
]owerThg 3 m a Part’ and 80 on, added still
® ’ the" such added Part becomes the bass, in so far
ed bhv&thar ,S COncerned-, If lowest Part is overpower-
ftdhm nM,,PPeTeS- then the ear no attention to
it, but to the predominant upper or middle Part or Parts.
Expenmont will prove this. If a melody is performed by
a sing e voice or instrument, or by a great number of voices
or instruments m unison or in octaves, does the ear sup¬
ply a fundamental bass, or any bass at all ? Surely noPt.
As to what are called passing notes, chromatically Iltered
notes, suspensions, anticipations, and so on, in melody or
armony, a these sounds are just as real as any other
sounds that are heard in the course of the melody or of
the harmony; and if theorists adhere to the received fun¬
damental bass system, then every sound that is heard in a
melody, or in any Part of a harmony, must have its own
fundamental bass, just as much as any other sound that
exists in the melody or the harmony. ' This inference is
inevitable from rational logic. One of the most absurd
hypotheses in musical theories is found in the attempt to
explmn, according to the fundamental bass system, a se¬
nes of chords of 6th and 3d ascending or descending by
conjunct degrees. It is said that in such passages there
is an ellipsis of a chord between every two chords of the
series, and that the ear understands this to be the case
and supplies the omitted chords !
When musical theorists meet with passages that cannot
be explained by the hypotheses advanced, such passages
are called licences. Unfortunately these licences are so
numerous in music, that the rules are overwhelmed by
exceptions. I he easy way for a puzzled system-monger
to escape from the difficulties that beset him is, no doubt,
to have, recourse to such convenient words as licences, ex¬
ceptions,^ so on, which are not unwillingly received bv
the public as substitutes for truth. In the works of the
greatest composers are found many passages of excellent
effect, though prohibited by the rules of theorists. Such
being the case, we would again earnestly urge the student
totorm an extensive acquaintance with the best models of
ie art, rather than trust to any theories on the subject.
He ought never to give up his reason and his feelings to
any tneoretical authorities. If he do, he will become ti¬
mid and uncertain. Every thing he meets with different
rom what his dry rules have taught him, will perplex and
terrify him. His energies will be paralyzed, and he will
be incapable of producing any thing but cold, feeble, and
formal music. To escape this result, he must take a com¬
prehensive view of the art and its accessories; devote
himself to no particular composer or school of composi¬
tion ; study the best music of every kind and of every
country; and not allow himself to be captured and mana¬
cled by any theorist. He ought to keep in view that, in
music, nothing is out of rule except what offends the
ear, the taste, and the judgment; but that he must not
venture to imitate the freedom and the bold effects of the
greatest masters, until he has acquired great knowledge
and command of the materials of the art. This cannot be
acquired but by a well-directed course of study. Young
painters are generally ambitious of handling the brush
and colours before they have learned to draw correctly
with a pencil or a crayon. If they are permitted to fol¬
low this course, they never attain eminence in their art.
Hie case of the impatient musical student is analogous*
iiefore he has learned to write correct melody, or correct
VOL. XV.
MUSI C.
armony for two voices or two instruments, he burns to
signalize himself by writing a chorus or a symphony, an'
opera or an oratorio. _ The lamentable failure of such a
premature attempt disgusts and disheartens him. He
abandons study as hopeless; and, if a man of genius, de-
pnves the world of an excellent composer by neglect of
the old maxim, festina lente. It is well to remark here, that
Haydn, in the height of his reputation, declared to his
lends that he did not recollect having passed a day with¬
out working sixteen and sometimes eighteen hours. We
may also remark that Haydn formed his own admirable
style by the indefatigable study of every good composition
within his reach; by neglecting no opportunity of gaining
information regarding his art; and by forming for himself
ns own theory and principles of musical composition. In
t le earher part of his life he studied intently the works of
c,. x. E. Bach, a musician of the highest order of genius,
and also the works of G. B. San Martini of Milan, a com¬
poser of great genius and originality, but not possessed of
patience enough to cultivate his abilities to the uttermost,
in Huydn s earher works, among others, some of his So¬
natas, the resemblance between his style and that of Ema-
nuel Bach is most striking. Indeed, the two styles are
hardly distinguishable. But. as his musical horizon ex-
tended he sail- that neither E. Bach, nor John Sebastian
Bach the father, nor G. B. San Martini, nor many more
whom he studied and imitated, would suffice to make him
a great and original composer. So he applied himself to
the improvement of instrumental music, and to the inven¬
tion of a new style of composition in instrumental quar-
tetts and symphonies. His best quartetts and sympho-
mes still remain unrivalled, for the admirable management
mpnf cSl!nJeatSa-and niodulatlons> the judicious employ¬
ment of the different instruments, the unity of design in
each movement, and the clearness of construction and of
harmony. Haydn was a great advocate for melody. He
used to say, “ Every composition that has a fine melody
s sure to please; and experience proves the truth of
Haydn s assertion. He was of opinion that the most re-
cherche and learned harmony without melody was only
an e aborate noise which, if it did not displease the eJ,
excited neither the feelings nor the imagination. We
shall close this part of our subject with a few remarks
that may be useful to the student.
The practice of composition ought to begin with me¬
lody for a single voice, with or without a bass Part The
next step is to learn to write correctly for two voices
then for three, then for four, and so on. The custom of
writing for voices will induce a habit of correctness not to bef
acquired by persons who begin by writing for instruments.
a 6iffi ,RPer ™an"er of acconTanying vocal music forms
a difficult branch of the art, and cannot be studied with
advantage till considerable skill has been acquired in vocal
composition The compass and quality (timbre) and powers
of different instruments, and their effects in combinadon
must now occupy the student’s attention. He ought to
well nVr7 0ppartUnity f bearing good instrumental music
ell performed, not only by orchestras, but also by mili-
nrodueed S 5 f ®bserv‘n^ actively the various effects
nv ouahftnh1 W,,Tif he composes’ clearness of harmo-
y oUftht to be carefully preserved. Obscurity of harmo¬
ny arises from the following causes: Too rapid a succes¬
sion of sounds, chords, and keys; a complication of dif-
eient movements that take place simultaneously in the
different Parts, especially when these movement! are at
the same time accompanied by a series of chords that suc-
Two °ther Very qUicklj’ °r hy Sudden modulations.
I w o different movements at the same time, unite easilv •
thiee not so easily; four may produce obscurity, if they
aie not very skilfully arranged, and especially ff care il
not taken, at the same time, that the chords do not suc-
4> z
l 4V
Music.
730
MUSI C.
Music, ceed each other, but at the distance of a bar at least. More
than four different movements at once almost inevitably
produce confusion. It is therefore mere waste of time to
attempt to give a different movement to each of the Parts
of an orchestra. Harmony for three, and especiall y for two
Parts, is much less liable to become confused than harmony
for more than three Parts. For this reason, harmony in two
or three Parts should be frequently used, particularly in
music written for the public. Besides clearness of harmony,
there is another kind of clearness not less important. It
depends on the choice of ideas, and the order in which they
are connected. Wherever there is neither unity of ideas,
nor •proportion, nor symmetry, there is confusion.
That excellent composer Piccini, the rival of Gluck and
of Sacchini, occasionally employed full and rich harmony
in his orchestra, but disapproved of the common practice
of keeping all the instruments continually busy. He wish¬
ed to make the voice the principal Part in his operas, and
that the instruments should only sustain the voice, or ex¬
press what was indicated by the words, or by the action of
the persons of the drama, or by the place and circumstances
of the scene. He was opposed to those disegni ostinati in
the accompaniment, which Jomelli brought into fashion,
and which are uniformly prolonged through nearly the
whole extent of a piece of music, although the words pre¬
sent shades of feeling or ideas which would require cor¬
responding shades in the accompaniment. Multitudes of
different instruments, continual orchestral effects, crude
masses of harmony, and a perpetual affectation of disso¬
nances, were considered by him as musical monstrosities.
He said, “ It is not difficult to know what can be put into
a harmony. The difficulty lies in knowing what should
be left out. The four Parts for stringed instruments, which
form the basis of the orchestra, lend themselves almost
equally to every kind of expression. This is not the case
with the wind instalments, and instruments of percussion.
The expression of the oboe differs from that of the clari¬
net, and that of the clarinet very much from that of the
flute. The horns change their expression according to the
key in which they are used. The bassoon, whenever it is
not confounded with the bass, becomes sad and melan¬
choly. The trombones can express nothing that is not lu¬
gubrious. The trumpet, nothing that is not warlike and
brilliant. The kettle-drum is altogether military. If each
of these instruments were reserved for its proper employ¬
ment, we should produce varied effects, succeed in describ¬
ing every thing, and continually diversify our musical pic¬
tures. But we are lavish of all these means, all at once,
and always. We exhaust and harden the ear. I should
like to know what we shall do to awaken it when, as will
soon happen, it will be accustomed to this uproar. What
new diablerie shall we contrive ? Perhaps we shall then
wish to return to nature, and to the true means acknow¬
ledged by art; but you know what happens to persons
accustomed to drink brandy.” Some combinations of
harmony, and treatments of dissonances, &c. not explicable
by common theories, will be found in Plates VI., VII., Nos.
28 to 71.
Modula- We mentioned, in the section on Melody, that a trea¬
son. tise on melodic modulation is wanted; and we think that
a satisfactory treatise on the modulation of harmony is
also a desideratum. But neither can be written to any
good purpose in the present state of the theory of music,
taking the word theory in its most comprehensive sense,
as applied to this art. Philosophers seldom understand
music ; and the greatest practical musicians have neither
leisure nor inclination to attempt to analyse its nature;
so that, for want of properly conducted investigation, we
are likely to remain in the same “ acre senza stelle” which
at present darkens the depths of the art.
Modulation signifies, properly, the regular constitution
of melody and of harmony in any given key, but is com¬
monly used to express the art of conducting a melody or
a harmony from one key into another, or through several
successive keys. This change of key might be more pro¬
perly called transition. Many persons believe that there
can be no modulation where there is no change of key.
But this is an error, since modulation takes place even in
the simplest melody confined to one key. Transition is
only one kind of modulation, and is worthless if injudi¬
ciously employed. We may make a transition from one
key to another suddenly, and without any intermediate
sounds; or by means of one or more intermediate chords
through which we modulate into the new key.
The art of good modulation from one key to another,
consists in the choice of these intermediate chords, and in
their relative durations. The use of sudden transitions
from one key to another, without any intermediate chords,
requires attention to a variety of circumstances, in order
to produce a good effect. Such transitions should be but
sparingly employed in any regular composition. Every
regular piece of music is composed in a particular key, in
which it begins and ends, and which generally predomi¬
nates over all the other keys that may happen to be in¬
troduced in the course of the piece. If the key is major,
what are called its relative keys will be two major ones
and three minor. If a minor key, its relative keys will be
three major ones and two minor. The following tables
will show what these relatives are:—
Music.
C major, principal key.
D minor, first relative key.
E minor, second relative key.
F major, third relative key.
G major, fourth relative key.
A minor, fifth relative key.
A minor, principal key.
C major, first relative key.
D minor, second relative key.
E minor, third relative key.
F major, fourth relative key.
G major, fifth relative key.
These six keys offer, in their modulated connection, 720
combinations. The nearest related keys to a major key,
taken as principal, and into either of which it may easily
pass without any intermediate chord, are its dominant, its
subdominant, and its sixth; thus, from C major to G ma¬
jor, or to F major, or to A minor.
The keys most nearly related to a minor key, are its
third below or above, or its dominant, or its subdominant.
It may pass into any one of these without an intermediate
chord; thus, from A minor to F major, or to C major,
or to E minor, or to D minor. In such cases we do not
properly modulate, but make a sudden transition into a
new key. In the following examples, we modulate by an
intermediate chord :
No. 1.
C into G.
C into F.
C into A.
_(2_
I
-ri,—cr
-spiej:
-Q.
-e-
:z2-
-©—e-
-G-
P'
-Sh¬
into D.
into C.
A into
-I 1-
-e-
-Q-
Music.
MUSIC.
'live key by means of one single6inatermeJifte'!cll"oriiawlffah" 0i lnl.ermflJ,at.e dominant sevenths, or their inversions oc
chord is the dominant seventh! or someInver ^’of rte T, 7^ 7 C1‘lle;1 the “ T<>“r da Clavier,Cr harmo.
dominant seventh, of that relative key. We may remain ° °f ke;S', II 18 needless to give more of this
in the new key for sometime, or we^may LTt it imme! k>n ofSeT ! 7 Way °f etamPle' ‘“"g enece"
diately, and modulate into a third key, and so on An short k , are, "ot “s<;d m modern music. Only
example of rapid modulation from keyto key by mean! dem com^shiol!^ modulati»” « the best mo!
-4-
isj- rA
1
-G—
f f
tozligz
r
 O.
—-G-
-©- ~P~
Jative keys brought abouTby meansTf afhuermedi^e' C Tk ^ f ^ maJ°r’ If the firSt key is
common chord. For example: eaiate minor, the second kev should ho /• ^ ^
No. 3.
minor, the second key should be major. Thus, from C
minor to A flat major, a major third below. 2. Transition
to the fourth below. The two keys ought to be both mi-
nor or both major, otherwise they will not be relative 3
Transition to fifth below. The two keys ought to be
both major or both minor, for the same reason5 that has
just been given. To make a real change of key whhout
ntei mediate chords, we must introduce at least one en-
In passing from one key (o another, a third, a fourth, or Xi! and ZS'f ThX?,6"' (*ee Mdoi^ for
fifth below, without using any intermediate rhnrrl u ;a F a^ter a. subject in C major, we
c k„i xi / ^ iniiu, a lourtn, or
a fifth below, without using any intermediate chord, it is
proper to keep in view the following remarks : 1. Tran¬
sition to third below. In this case, if the former key is
major, the second should be minor. For example, C ma-
jor, A minor. Here the transition is to the minor third
below. A bolder and more unusual transition is from one
major key to another major key, a major third below;
No. 4.
niight introduce a period bGm^^F m^rTbA
minor, and afterwards return to the key of the subject
Sometmies, hut much more rarely, a transition is made
Mrd ab^rit yt° “ er 3 majOTSe“"d or a >»i"or
tion'just°mentionetl.an inS‘anC6 °f ^ ki"‘' °f ^
:fc
minor third above it, th^firs^^muM ^^mTno^and of a mSke^ma m n ^'T the d°m‘nanfc common chord
the second major; for instance, from A minor to C ma- dominant ns It V key 3 1Jnmor second above that
jor. This kind of transition i found in certab short Hawb Mn V u ^l0W’ may be fo,lnd in works of
pieces of music, and, among others in some Russl S ’ u’ Beet.hoven’ .^d other composers. An
airs. Another transition (if so it may be called) which No fiTabcmUhe^bddV0 fi? Fmale t0 Hxaydn’s Symphony,
is not unfrequent, occurs when we change the mode with- tion s from ^
out changing the key; for example, then we change mabn ^
C major into C minor, or the converse. We mav nass On 1ft tl10 • ° °,t 16 drst in Beethoven’s
immediately from a major key into a minor key J fifth nani of F m!j!^
below; for example, from C major into F minor. Again measure filV k Y f D maJor> In the sixth
after making a cadence upon the dominant of a minor Op. 95 we find aver^sT6111!6^ °f Be.ethaven’s quartett,
key, we may proceed immediately to the key of the ma- nant of the kev f P ^ ar tranfltlon f*'°m the domi-
jor third below that dominant, or to the key of the minor I 7 ° F mino^to^ key of G flat major,
second above that dominant. For example, from domi-
nant common chord of C minor, we may make a transi¬
tion into the key of E flat major, or of A flat major. Of
the former kind of transition a very beautiful example oc¬
curs in the Adagio sostenuto in Haydn’s second quartett,
Up. 16, where, from the dominant common chord of C
minor, the change of key is made into E flat major. Also
another in the “ Hodie mecum” of Haydn’s “ Seven last
Words of the Passion,” at the 21st measure of the move-
monf T»-»     . . . * *
In the allegretto vivace - in the first quartett of Beet-
vi me j. assioii, ac me /iist measure of the move- 8 quariett ot j
In the same movement, at the beginning of its hoven’s Op. 59, there are some curious transitions
section, a very effective modu ation occurs from E ^he beginning there is a transition from the dominant
oi into F minor, by means of the following nassagp. fbt major to the kev nf A flo*  i p
Near
of B
ment.
second section a very ettective modulation occurs from E tbe beginning there is a transition from the dombant nf I
flat major into F minor, by means of the following passage. flat major to the key of A flat major, and fmm the domi-
Nn. 5. b* „ ”ant of this last key a transition to the key of C flat ma¬
jor. Sometimes, in order to produce a powerful effect of
contrast, a transition takes place directly from the tonic
& °f a to the major key a semitone above or a
major third below. For example, from C major to D flat
major, or to A flat major. ““jur to u flat
rrr
kit
/• i
♦ -.©• -»•
32:
731
Music.
No. 7.
M
U S I C.
No. 8.
^-4
At the beginning of the second part of the first movement
in Beethoven’s first sonata, Op. 12, there is an example of
the second kind of transition just mentioned. It is from
A major to F major. See another example about the
middle of the andante in Haydn’s Symphony, No. 4 ; tran¬
sition from tonic G major to E flat major. Also another
in the adagio cantabile of second quartett of Haydn s
Op. 72 ; transition from E major to C major. All such
powerful contrasts as those we have just spoken of, espe¬
cially the transition from a given key to another a semi¬
tone above, ought to be very sparingly used. In drama¬
tic music, and symphonies for an orchestra, these transi¬
tions may be very effective. The judicious composer may
occasionally introduce them in music of a different de¬
scription; for instance, in a cantata, or an instrumental
quartett or quintett, &c. Excepting the cases we have
mentioned of transitions made from one key to another
without any intermediate chords, the general rule to be
followed in modulating is to connect together the different
keys by intermediate chords. In the proper selection of
these intermediate chords consists the art of modulation
taken in its widest sense. It depends entirely upon the
relation or non-relation between the keys from and into
which we modulate, what number of intermediate chords
may be necessary to render the modulation smooth and
agreeable. The manner in which these intermediate
chords are to be disposed—direct or inverted, with or
without dissonances or altered chromatic notes, &c.—rests
with the composer’s skill and imagination. One, or two, or
No. 10. , I ,
A. jL | *: 1
7 b a-
31 jL
-Sh-
i?-CL
-b#-
fpr . .
LUJ—1 i
At A the modulation from B flat major into D flat ma¬
jor is gradually conducted. At B the same modulation is
brought about too rapidly, and sounds harsh and unsatis¬
factory. Some good examples of Haydn’s judgment in
dwelling upon the intermediate chords when modulating,
may be seen in the movement “ Ecce mulier,” in his
“ Seven last Words of the Passion.” See the first nine
measures of the second part of that movement, and from
thirty-fourth to forty-fourth measures of same part.
A modulation frequently takes place into a key which
is not a relative one to that immediately preceding, though
both are related to the principal key of the piece. For
example: 1. When the principal key is major, a mo¬
dulation may occur from the second of the key to the
third, from the third to the fourth, from the fourth to
the fifth, from the second to the fifth. 2. When the
principal key is minor, we may modulate from the fourth
degree to the fifth, from the fifth degree to the sixth,
from the sixth degree to the seventh, from the fourth
degree to the seventh, and the converse of all these cases.
Music.
three, or four intermediate chords may be necessary, ac¬
cording to circumstances ; but there is hardly any modu¬
lation that cannot be effected by means of four of these.
It is necessary to observe that, in many cases, the in¬
termediate chords used in modulating from one key to
another must have a sufficient duration given to them ;
otherwise the effect of the modulation will be harsh and
displeasing.
No. 9.
From C major to D flat major. From C major to D major.
j&l:
Both of these examples of modulation are harsh and un¬
pleasing, because the intermediate chords are too few, and
have not sufficient duration allowed to them ; and yet they
are given in a set of elaborate tables for modulation by
Hudl, a German musician. Haydn never falls into errors
of this kind. By taking care to prolong his intermediate
chords sufficiently, he produces the smoothest and at the
same time the most unexpected modulations. The fol¬
lowing example, though not Haydn’s, will illustrate this:
, n
In modulating into a key not are lative one (for instance,
from G major into F major), care must be taken that the
two keys are relatives to a principal key which has pre¬
viously been sufficiently established; for it is only in such
case that a modulation of that kind can be suitably employ¬
ed. One may easily modulate from G major into F major
by means of two intermediate chords in a piece of music
of which the principal key is C major or A minor; but one
could not do so if the principal key were D major or E mi¬
nor ; so that a modulation which is good in one case may
become bad in another. This must always be kept in view
with regard to modulations of the kind just mentioned. In
order to modulate smoothly into a key more or less remote
from the one we quit, we may employ two, three, or four
modulations instead of one only. These may be called
compound modulations. For example, to modulate from
G major into F major, we may employ two modulations
instead of one; the first, from G into A minor; the se¬
cond, from A minor into F major.
As we can make a transition immediately from a major
H
MUSIC.
sic
key to the minor key of its fifth below, so we can modu¬
late into all the relative keys of the latter in settin- out
from the former; for example, into all the relative keys
of t minor, beginning to modulate from C major. A^ain
we can modulate into all the relative keys of C minor, in
setting out from C major. It is easier to modulate into
keys that increase the number of their flats, than into keys
that increase the number of their sharps. For instance it
is more difficult to modulate smoothly from C major into
A major, than from C major into A flat major.
Sometimes, instead of using intermediate chords, a pause
of some duration is employed between two keys that are
not related to each other, and a modulation, or transition,
effected in this way from the one key to the other. The
longer the pause, the smoother the* modulation in such
cases. A single prolonged intermediate sound, not a chord
placed between two keys not relative, and followed by a
pause, may also render the transition from the one to the
other sufficiently smooth. For instance, after the chord
733
No. 11.
of G minor, introduce a prolonged E flat
Hzz:
1?-©-
and a pause, and then pass at once into the key of A flat
major. Towards the end of the last movement of Beet¬
hoven’s third Piano-forte Trio, Op. 1, there is a curious mo¬
dulation from dominant of C minor into B minor by means
of two prolonged sounds, G and Fff. We may modulate
from one key to another far remote, by means of a series of
chromatic notes performed by one Part that seems to wan¬
der uncertain in quest of something. “ Or su, or giu, ed or
ricirculando.” The finest example that we know of this kind
of modulation is in the Adagio Fantasia of Haydn’s sixth
Quartett, Opera 76. Ihe whole movement is charming.
As to what are called enharmonic modulations, or tran
sitions, we shall pass them by, since they have no real ex
istence upon keyed instruments. We refer to what we
have said on this subject in the section on Harmony. We
must remark, however, that they are dangerous delusions,
and are continually giving rise to a number of harsh and
intolerable pseudo-modulations in the music of young com¬
posers, and even in the music of experienced composers
No. 2.
who ought to know better. No sooner has a young com- Music,
poser (not wisely taught) got acquainted with the formula
of these pseudo-enharmonic transitions, than he is eager
to use them on all occasions, in order, as he thinks, to dis¬
play his learning. He deceives himself, for his indulging
in such things only betrays his ignorance of his art. “Mo¬
dulation, said Piccini, “ like all the other processes of the
art, ought to be employed as a means of just expression
and judicious variety. To modulate for the sake of modu¬
lating, is to prove one’s ignorance of the object and princi¬
ples of music. It is to affect a superabundance of imagina-
tion and of knowledge, in order to conceal the want of both.”
We advise the student to examine carefully the works
of the best composers, Italian and German, for examples
of modulation, as well as of harmony and melody. There
is no other way for him to acquire even a respectable
nowledge of his art. As to the books published express¬
ly upon modulation, some of them are written by Germans,
and generally contain only mere formula of the shortest
ways in which modulations can be effected. These for¬
mulae the student ought to shun, except for mere refe¬
rence; because, although the study of them might render
him able to modulate in a dry and formal manner, they
could never teach him that grace, and freedom, and effect,
without which the most elaborate modulations are worthless.
Imitation is a musical artifice, by which a Part, called Imitation,
t ie antecedent, proposes a subject, or melody; and ano- canon,
ther Part, called the consequent, repeats the same melody,
a ter some rests, in any given interval, and so continuing
to the end. &
No. 1.
Example.
Imitation in the Unison.
  1 1__
- tJ
^t=3t
r r
fTN
; &c.
&c.
In an imitation the consequent is not always obliged to
answer to the antecedent in the whole extent of the sub¬
ject proposed by the latter. It may imitate only a part of
the subject, and the consequent proposing a new melody,
becomes, in its turn, the antecedent.
Consequent.
Antecedent.
=1:
Consequent
Imitation may take place in several ways. It is called
regular or constrained when the nature of the intervals
proposed by the antecedent is strictly observed in the re¬
sponse of the consequent. This of course happens when
the consequent imitates the antecedent in the unison or the
No. 3.
Consequent.
octave. Imitation in the fourth or the fifth is the next
nearest to exact correspondence of intervals.
Imitation is called/ree or irregular when this exact cor¬
respondence is not observed.
. Imitation is by similar motion, by contrary motion, by
similar retrograde motion, by contrary retrograde motion.
7^
-o-
I
iJ:
&C.
j~  »  
&C.
-o-
T -fTN ITTf
Similar. Contrary.'' II Retrograde and contrary.
The other kinds of imitation are by augmentation, by di- Canonical imitation is that in which the consemipru- on
mterrUl“ed' Ptriodi. swers to the antecedent, note for note, from thfbeginnf";
cat, canonical, &c. t0 the end An imitation of this kind is what h |
734
MUSIC.
Music, canon, and may be treated in two ways. It may end with to the beginning as often as we please, without stopping. Music.
^ a coda, or complete close; or it may be made what is Another kind of circular canon is one which modulates
termed an endless or circular canon, when it is so con- through all the twelve keys,
structed that we can return from the end of the imitation
Double
counter¬
point.
No. 4.
A canon written upon one stave, with particular signs
to indicate how and when the different parts follow each
other, is called a close canon. Latin enigmatical mottos
were often applied to these close canons, to direct the per¬
former mysteriously. Padre Martini has given a list of
fifty-six of these mottos. When the canon is written fully
out in score, or partition, it is called an open canon.
The artifice of this kind of composition consists in com¬
bining the Parts in such a manner that they may, without
inconvenience, be transposed from acute to grave if they
are placed above the theme, and from grave to acute if
they are placed below it, while the theme suffers no change
in its melody, whether it exist in one of the extreme Parts,
or in one of the intermediate.
These inversions may take place in seven ways, so that
there are seven species of double counterpoint. In the
ninth or second; in the tenth or third; in the eleventh or
No. 1. Double Counterpoint in the Octave.
1 -+-i—rrm..
fourth; in the twelfth or fifth ; in the thirteenth or sixth; in
the fourteenth or seventh ; and in the fifteenth or octave.
Those most commonly used are in the tenth or third ; in the
twelfth or fifth ; and in the fifteenth or octave.
In double counterpoint the Parts ought to be, as much
as possible, distinguished from each other by the different
lengths of their notes. The Part which forms the coun¬
terpoint ought to begin after the theme. The Parts must
not be allowed to cross one another without some cogent
reason. In all double counterpoints, except that in the
octave, it is not only permitted, but it is necessary, to alter
intervals when inverting the Parts, especially when the mo¬
dulations require this.
From what has already been said regarding the inver¬
sions of intervals, the following very short examples of
double counterpoints will be more easily understood. But,
for full explanations, we must refer to Marpurg and others;
and, above all, to the works of the great masters.
Inversion of the same.
 ——*  
T~
T T 1
No. 2. Double Counterpoint in the Tenth.
Prf
-4—4
•M=-
-e-
jiaaE
t-t
zzz
-e-
Inversion of the same. |
* ' • 1 1 ^
Inversion of the same.
I 1^4 I n n J I J, I ^ J
r\ r ' I  ^4
Here occur some of the alterations of intervals lately mentioned.
Here occur some of the alterations of intervals lately mentioned.
No. 3. Double Counterpoint in the Twelfth.
- J-
Uf
-e—fi.1—
Inversion of the same.
j
*
II LL1C saiiicr*
fill
at
V j
-o-
“ Double counterpoint in the twelfth,” says Cherubini,
“ is one of the most used, and one of the richest in re¬
sources.” See his “ Cours de Contrepoint et de Fugue,”
published in 1835. In this work he specially recommends
Marpurg’s Treatise on Fugue and Counterpoint, as the most
complete of any. We would advise the reader to consult
Cherubini’s work also, as containing admirable examples of
his own composition. Reicha and Cherubini seem to be at
variance as to the nature of Marpurg’s work. Reicha says)j
“il ne parle,pourainsi dire,quedes imitations et des canons.
M U S I C.
Mmc.
igiie-
/ ^ie symphonies, quartetts, &c. of Haydn and Mozart, in¬
stances are frequent of the freest and boldest melodies bein^
used in counterpoint with the best effect; but it is only the
highest genius and most consummate skill that can do this.
Triple Counterpoint in the Octave.
735
No. 4.
There are also triple and quadruple counterpoints, sus- Music.
ceptible of being inverted in various ways. Of these the' y-^-
best and most usual are in the octave, the tenth, or the
twelfth.
Quadruple Counterpoint in the Octave.
In these triple and quadruple counterpoints, where the
subjects are merely doubled in thirds, there is a dryness and
want of variety which had better be avoided by writing,
in a free style, accessory accompaniments to the counter¬
point. Our limits do not permit us to enter farther into
this extensive subject. We refer to Marpurg, and Reicha,
and Cherubini, for full explanations.
We must add the following passage from Cherubini:
All these examples give rise to an important remark,
which is, that in spite of the denominations of triple and
quadruple counterpoint, in the tenth or in the twelfth, there
is no veritable triple or quadruple counterpoint, but that in
the octave.”
The fugue is a very complicated piece of music when it
is carried to its highest pitch of artifice. It comprehends
all sorts of imitations, canonical contrivances, and double
counterpoints. Studied with proper views and within pro¬
pel limits, so as not to interfere with the supremacy of
melody and with the genius of a true composer, the fugue
is extremely useful as an exercise of the student’s inge¬
nuity, and as tending to show him all the resources of ar¬
tificial harmonic combination. To those who have learned
to understand the artificial mechanism of fugues, and who
can enjoy them on that ground, they are often very admi¬
rable things, though composers of great genius might have
been better employed than in constructing them. Homer,
Milton, or Shakspeare, would not have done justice to them¬
selves, had they spent their time in writing difficult poeti¬
cal puzzles, such as anagrams, acrostics, single, double, and
triple poems in the shapes of crosses and triangles, or in
which every word began with the same letter, as in the
famous Pugna Porcorum, beginning “ Plaudite porcelli
porcorum pigra propago Progreditur,” and so on for five
closely printed pages. All such poetry is beyond the verge
of the enchanted circle of poetical inspiration. So of all
calculated artifices in music. If musical imitations, or
canons of any sort, suggest themselves fluently and grace¬
fully to a man acquainted with all the elements of the art,
it is well; otherwise not; for mere dry labour ought to
have no place in music. Since such artificial harmonic
combinations can give pleasure to the initiated only, who
have gone through a long training, there seems to be no
reason why the laboured contrivances of imitation and
fugue should have any preference over the simplicity of
beautiful and expressive melody, and its adjunct, appro¬
priate and effective harmony. We know well that this is
all heterodox doctrine among a certain class of musicians,
but do not the less adhere to our long-established opinion.
With great respect for the knowledge and ingenuity of all
eminent writers of canons or of fugues, we must remark,
that all these artifices arose at a time when melody was in
its infancy, and had not acquired, like Hercules, the power to
strangle the serpents that besieged its cradle. Amono- the
greatest fugue writers are certainly to be reckoned G. P.
Golonna, Handel, the Scarlattis, John Sebastian Bach, and
his son Emanuel; and more recently Haydn, Mozart, A.
Reicha, and Cherubini. Beethoven did not attempt much
in this style, and what he attempted in it is not to be classed
amongst bis best productions. It is no wonder if a man
o his towering genius and impetuous character was early
disgusted by the arbitrary rules and restrictions imposed
upon him by some of his unimaginative teachers, in such
laboured music.
Cherubini says (we translate from the French), “ The
fugue, in spite of the ancient origin of the word, is, then
a creation of modern times, which was not practised in
church-music until contrapuntists had freed themselves
from the self-imposed obligation of working upon plain
chant ..Ihere are two kinds of fugue, from which a
third kind emanates, and from this arise all the others
Jhe two principal are, the fugue of the key, and the real
fugue; the other is the fugue of imitation.1 All the others,
children of caprice, are irregular fugues of imitation, or
pieces in fugue style. The indispensable conditions of the
fugue are the subject, the response or answer, the counter¬
subject, and. the stretto. To these conditions may be added
the pedal, which is almost always employed in a fugue
somewhat developed All the artifices which can be in¬
troduced into a fugue depend on the knowledge, the skill,
and the choice of the composer, and at the same time on
le nature of the subject and of the counterpoint, either or
both of which may be more or less susceptible of yielding
to these artifices. These artifices consist, in brief, 1. Of
the employment of imitations, in detaching, to form them
a portion either of the subject or of the counter-subject]
2. in the transposition of the subject into different keys, and
in the advantage which may be derived in this respect
from double counterpoints; 3. in the inversion of the sub¬
ject h\ contrary motion ; 4. in a new subject which may
be introduced, and which can be combined with the first
subject and the first counter-subject; 5. in the manner of
introducing the stretto in several ways, by drawing closer
and closer, each time, the answer to the subject; 6. in the
means that may be employed to make the subject and its
inversion by contrary motion be heard simultaneously; 7.
in the manner of combining the subject, the counter-subject,
and the stretto upon the pedal; and in the address and the
taste employed in enchaining together and introducing
these artifices in the course of a fugue. All these combi¬
nations, and others besides, may be employed in a studied
fugue ; but, in a fugue for the public, a selection must be
made from them, and they must not be all employed,
otherwise the fugue would be too long and tiresome.”
Reicha says, “ it is essential tp remark, that in our days
the ancient fugue (or in the rigorous style) is no longer
toy, rclfug^UnAfiguc jlniMion, Srve'to'con'i,* om:
736
Music.
MUSIC.
composed quite under the same restrictions as in the time
''of Palestrina. At present we modulate in it a little more
boldly, and employ more of dissonant chords. We some¬
times introduce little chromatic phrases, and employ a
greater variety in the values of the notes. We choose sub¬
jects of a more modern cast;—from time to time we per¬
mit successions of notes formerly prohibited, such as the
diminished fourth, the augmented fifth, diminished seventh,
minor seventh ;—we add a coda ;—we compose these
fugues in all kinds of measures, &c.; so that we may say
there exist three kinds of fugues: 1. The fugue entirely
in the ancient style ; 2. the modern or free fugue ; 3. the
mixedfiigue, which participates in these two styles.” (P. 4,
part ii.)
No. 1. Subject.
Cherubini remarks, that “ although the denomination of Music.
fugue with two, with three, and with four subjects is gene- V''*
rally adopted, this denomination is, in my opinion, impro¬
per. I think so, because a fugue cannot, and should not,
have more than one single principal subject, to serve for
its exposition. All that accompanies the subject is only
accessory, and neither can nor should bear any other name
than that of counter-subject. Thus, according to this prin¬
ciple, the fugue that we are accustomed to call fugue with
two subjects ought to be called fugue with one subject and
one counter-subject; that with three subjects should be called
fugue with one subject and two counter-subjects ; and, lastly,
that with four subjects ought to bear the name of fugue
with one subject and three counter-subjects f &c. &c. (P. 111.)
Counter-subject.
Octava Alta.
No. 2. Example of the Stretto, which consists in making the Answer follow the Subject as closely as possible.
1
Subject.
H—I—f-
Answer.
z2:
-o-
=fE=fc^zf:
-o-
£
ICE
--P-
Z2I
Octava Alta.
No. 3. Example of the Pedal.
' r\
Z2:
"cr
ZZ
Z2Z
F7
_©_|—
-G-
TT
■ZL
IT
:zz
-JT
TT
TT
ZT
ZE
The pedal is a prolonged sound, sustained for several
measures. It may be placed in the upper Part, or in a
middle Part, and may occur on the key-note or the domi¬
nant ; but in general it is best to place it in the lowest Part,
and upon the dominant of the key.
For examples of vocal fugues, we refer the reader to
Padre Martini’s Saggio di Contrappunto ; Paolucci’s Arte
pratica di Contrappunto ; Choron’s large work on compo¬
sition, and his collection of musical classics, dementi’s
collection, entitled Practical Harmony, contains a great
variety of examples of instrumental fugues by different
composers. Among the best of these are the fugues by
Handel and the two Scarlattis, in the second volume. All
Handel’s fugues are excellent studies, having more melo¬
dy, force, and freedom, than most others of that period.
Among what are called free fugues, we would point out
two beautiful specimens in Mozart’s overture to the Magic
Flute, and in the last movement of his first violin quartett
in G.
Cherubini gives an advice which the student will do
well to follow. He says, “ we will add here, that in all
the kinds of counterpoint of which we are to treat, as well
as in the fugue, the scholar ought to write for voices, and
not for instruments. He ought to write conformably to
the natural compass of the different kinds of voices. By
this practice he will have the advantage of learning to
MUSI C.
ic^ produce effects by voices only,—a difficult study, and one
< perhaps too much neglected,-and he will find himself,
afterwards, much more at Ins ease when he writes for in¬
struments, and consequently is no longer obliged to con¬
fine himself within the limits of voices.” Speaking of mo¬
dulation (after having given general rules for it), Cheru¬
bini says, Modern composers have freed themselves in
their compositions from this simple and rational method
of modulating, replacing it by a manner too free, and
often incoherentbut if their deviations are tolerated in
modern works, it is essential, and it is even expressly en¬
joined, not to follow these wanderings in the case of a
composition so severe as the fugue.”
re By imitative music we do not here mean the imitation
of one melody or passage of melody by another, which has
been already treated of in the section connected with ca¬
non and fugue ; but the employment of music, more or
less appropriately and successfully, to imitate certain na¬
tural phenomena, audible or visible. The great mystery
of music lies in its power of suggesting and exciting ideas
and feelings in persons endowed with a sufficient degree
of sensibility and imagination. In this respect it resembles
poetry, for poetry is a dead art to all who have not sensi¬
bility and imagination enough to receive and expand its
suggestions. We speak of the higher poetry; not of that
which attempts in vain to be minutely descriptive or imi¬
tative, and which, by so doing, loses the nobler essence of
poetry, without attaining the object proposed.
I here are many musical compositions that do not aim at
imitation or expression of any determinate kind. Such are
the great majority of pieces of instrumental music. Some
fanciful persons have gone so far as to imagine a story
told, or a scene described, by a quartett or a symphony, al¬
though the composer gave no indication of any such pur-
pose, and would have transgressed the true imitative li¬
mits of his art by doing so.
One of these fanciful persons, Momigny, in his Cours
Lomplet d Harmonic et de Composition, has ventured to
give what he calls “ a picturesque and poetical analysis”
of the introductory movement and succeeding allegro of
Haydns eighth Symphony in Eb, and to add words here
ana there, to show what the music is intended to express.
Mcmigny has also adapted words (see his third volume) to
the first movement of Mozart’s second Violin Quartett in D
minor, and tells us that “ he thinks he has discovered that
the feelings expressed by the composer were those of a
oving f emale on the point of being abandoned by the hero
^ or?. f ad°res>” «md that this luckless woman was Dido !
All this, however, is mere imagination, and every one is at
liberty to exercise his own fancy in such cases. In such
a composition as Beethoven’s famous Pastoral Symphony,
it would certainly be impossible for any person to divine,
merely from hearing it played, what was meant to be ex¬
pressed or imitated by the different movements of that
remarkable work. Unless he were previously told that
such a movement was meant to express the sensations ex¬
cited by visiting a country scene; such another, those felt
beside a river ; another movement meant to imitate a storm,
and so on; certainly his imagination might lead him to
guess very wide of Beethoven’s intentions. The only
things that he could have no doubt of, if accustomed to
such rural sounds, would be the notes of the quail and the
cuckoo, introduced in the river scene. As to the nightin¬
gale, he could make nothing of it, because the notes that
Beethoven uses do not express the subtle song of that
bird, any more than Handel's notes do in his song “ Sweet
Bird,” in the Penseroso. In the oratorios and operas of
eminent composers are to be found many instances of at¬
tempted imitations, most of which had better have been
omitted. To attempt to imitate, by music, a hail or a
VOL. XV.
snow storm, the leaping or creeping of animals, the falling
of walls, and so on, is to mistake the powers of the art. A
particular style of music may sometimes be effectively em¬
ployed to enforce the ideas conveyed by descriptive words,
n Haydn s Creation, and Seasons, we have several in¬
stances of this. Among other passages, we may cite the
song m the Seasons (pp. 396 to 408 of Leipsic Partition),
describing the traveller wandering bewildered among the
Tie C!lorus’ “ 0h ! the temPest comes” (PP.
^03, 230). In other parts of the Seasons we find passages
intended to express the rustling of leaves, the running of
a brook, the buzzing of flies, the crowing of a cock the
croaking of frogs, &c. but most of them unworthy of
Haydn s genius. The overture to the Seasons is intended
to describe the transition from winter to spring; the in¬
troduction to summer (p. 138), “ the dawn of day the
introduction to autumn (p. 252), “ the husbandman’s satis-
taction in contemplating the abundant harvestthe in¬
troduction to winter, “ descriptive of thick fogs.” All
these are phenomena not susceptible of musical imitation ;
and the consequence is, that the fancy of the hearer might
In nw t0 associate the pseudo-imitations with ideas to¬
tally different from those which Haydn intended to sug¬
gest^ 4 he philosopher D’Alembert says, “ Si j’avois a
expr.mer musicalement le feu, qui dans la separation des
demens prend sa place au plus haul lieu, pourquoi ne Je
pourrois-je pas jusqu a un certain point par une suite de
sons qm irment en s’elevant avec rapidite?” and, a little
after, Si je youlois pemdre le lever du soleil, pourquoi
ne le pourrois-je pas par une musique dont le son auroit un
progres assez lent, mais iroit tout a la fois en s’elevant et
en augmentantd eclat, precisement comme le soleil quand
d se eve f Haydn, in the representation of chaos in his
Creation, and m the introduction to the recitative “ In
splendour bright, in the same oratorio, seems to have had
L) Alembert s ideas in view.
Many striking instances of indirect musical imitation
may be found in the operas of Gluck. One of them oc¬
curs in his opera of Iphigenia, in the scene where Aga¬
memnon deplores his daughter’s lot in these words : “ J’en-
tends retentir dans mon sein le cri plaintif de la nature,”
&c. This plaintive cry of nature” is expressed by the
wailing notes of the oboe heard at intervals,
737
-CL
 1 &c* while the il oracles of
destiny ’ are expressed by the gloomy and obstinate re¬
sponses of the bassoon,
3S
Se
n
&c.
This remarkable passage is given, with a criticism upon it
and some others from Gluck, in the first volume of For-
kel s Musikahsch-Kritische Bibliothek.
Music.
The famous painter Leonardo da Vinci, in his Treatise m • <
on Painting (c. xyi.), thus expresses himself regarding thebvemila
aids to pictorial invention that may be derived from the
contemplation of confused objects: “ Se riguarderai in
alcum mun imbrattati, o pietre di vary miscl| potrai qui"
vi vedere linventione e similitudine di diversipaesi di¬
verse battaghe, atti pronti di figure, strane arie di volti
et habiti, e infinite altre cose ; perch5 nelle cose confuse
1 mgegno si desta a nuove inventioni.” A painter of such
genius as Leonardo da Vinci may have his imaginative fa¬
culties thrown into action by “ a blotched lall, or by
stones of various colours,” or by other objects that would
O A
738
MUSIC.
Music, produce no impression upon an ordinary man. So it is
'—>   with the musical composer endowed with genius. To
persons who feel and understand both poetry and music,
poetry is well calculated to suggest musical ideas. We
should think little of the musical genius of a man who
could peruse the Allegro, or Penseroso, or Comus of Mil-
ton, and feel their beauties, without having his musical
imagination strongly excited. To the musician of a poe¬
tical temperament (such as Beethoven), the glories of
sunrise or sunset—the various gentler lights and shadows
of morning or of evening—the more solemn and mysteri¬
ous lights and shadows of the moonlight landscape—the
wildness and vastness of mountainous scenery under all
the aspects of “ skyey influences”—the calm or the agi¬
tated sea—the dreary sounds of the tempest—the thril¬
ling sublimity of the thunder storm—will suggest musi¬
cal ideas by some strange alchemy of mind yet unknown
to musical theorists.
Musical invention, like poetical or pictorial, is really
no more than the art of combining, in new and remarka¬
ble forms, certain elements presented to us by nature or
by art. In music, vocal and instrumental, sounds are
those elements ; in poetry, sounds and language, signs that
fluctuate in their nature and uses, and in their indications
of innumerable external objects and endless shades of hu¬
man feelings and passions; in painting, forms of infinite
variety, and colours contrasted or combined in all the pos¬
sible diversities of light and shadow. As to musical in¬
vention, or originality in melody and harmony, those who
have the most extensive acquaintance with the musical
compositions of the last two centuries must perceive that
there is very little originality to be found in the composi¬
tions of our day. Melodic ideas and phrases, except of
the most artificial kind, were nearly exhausted before the
commencement of the nineteenth century. The works of
Galuppi, Piccini, Sacchini, Paesiello, Sard, and many other
Italians, are now hardly known to the public; and yet from
them the more modern melodists have drawn most of their
best ideas of melody. The artificial combinations of har¬
mony, and successions of modulations, had been carried to
a great extent by some of the Italian composers—the Scar¬
lattis and others—and by Handel and the Bachs and Ben¬
das, and others among the Germans—before Haydn, Mo¬
zart, and Beethoven directed the public attention, not so
much to a new style of melody and harmony, as to a freer
style of both combined. They threw aside a number of
fetters imposed upon composers by unreasonable rules
drawn by theorists from anterior compositions of a con¬
ventional kind. Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven—espe¬
cially the two former—seem to have carried artificial mu¬
sic nearly as far as possible without rendering it void of
pleasing melody, clear design, and intelligible harmony.
Most other composers who have come after them, or who
were their contemporaries, have done little more than ca¬
ricature their styles. Some of the more fashionable com¬
posers who have deigned to keep any thing like melody
in view, have had recourse to the older and forgotten
masters, and pillaged them without mercy. But, after
all, it must be confessed that no limits can be assigned
to change and innovation in an art so vague and arbi¬
trary in its general signification as music, and so depen¬
dent upon the training given to the public ear. That
beauty and deformity are mere mental affections, and not
existences separate from the sentient being who feels them
and judges of them, is proved every day by the diversity
of human opinions regarding productions of the fine arts.
It is vain and absurd to argue upon these matters. The
old proverb that says “ there is r.o disputing of tastes,”
holds not only in things affecting the nerves of thq, tongue
and palate, but also in things affecting the eye and the ear.
It is not unworthy of remark, that the word “ taste” has
been so transferred from its original signification as to be
applied, by common consent, to the senses of sight and
hearing, and even to what may be supposed to be more
intimately intellectual judgments regarding the merits of
poetry and oratory. Where are we to find a perfect theory
of poetry and oratory ? although these arts stand at the
head of all human arts. Choron writes as follows regard¬
ing musical invention : “ In music, and in the arts in ge¬
neral, we call idea that which in a more exact language
we call thought. However that may be, the musical
thought or idea is usually a passage of melody which pre¬
sents itself to the mind of the composer with all its suit¬
able accessories. From this we perceive that there are
many kinds of different ideas, according to the sort of
effects, whether simple or compound, which they employ.
We ought also to distinguish ideas into principal ideas
and secondary ideas. The first are suited to form the
basis or foundation of a composition ; the others are applied
to the development of the principal ideas. It requires
art and experience to discern whether an idea belongs to
the one or to the other of these classes ; and also to per¬
ceive whether an idea is suited to the free or to the severe
style of composition; and to be able to develop it accord¬
ing to the rules applicable to each of these styles. The
art, or, more properly, the faculty of finding ideas, is called
invention. This term sufficiently indicates that we look
upon invention as almost entirely a gift of nature. No
rules whatever can be laid down upon this subject. We
can only offer some observations which may be useful.
We distinguish two kinds of invention ; invention pro¬
perly so called, and invention by imitation. What we
have just said applies particularly to the former kind;
that kind of invention which creates new and original
productions that do not resemble preceding ones, and that
serve as models for succeeding productions. It is the most
distinctive characteristic of genius. It is found in the de¬
tails as well as in the general structure; in the manner as
well as in the matter. An artist often showrs as much ge¬
nius in treating, in his own way, a common idea, as he
could by producing new ideas. Invention by imitation
consists in approximating, in peculiarities of style and
manner, to some production already known.1 Although
this seems more easy than the other, it has its dangers and
difficulties. The chief objection to it is the danger we in¬
cur of falling into plagiarism; a danger which cannot be
avoided if we have not enough of imagination, taste, and
skill, to enrich by accessories of our own, or to disguise
dexterously, the materials which we endeavour to appro¬
priate to ourselves. On the other hand, a happy imitation
may be as good as a real invention. The talent of inven¬
tion is developed by a continual application of mind to the
object of invention, by the study of original works, and
by directing the attention to seek in all things for the re¬
lations that they may have to the art which we cultivate.
A thousand things that appear indifferent or useless to an
inattentive man, become very significant to him who refers
every thing to a principal object. We are often astonish¬
ed that artists should have been so happy in their inven¬
tion, and ascribe this to superior genius. We should be
much more astonished if we knew to what circumstances
they owe these advantages. The greater part of their talent
consists in neglecting nothing, and in perceiving in what
surrounds them every thing that can have connection with
Music.
1 See dementi’s admirable preludes in imitation of the different styles of Haydn, Mozart, Dussek, &c.; and J. B. Cramer’s
jiarudy of one of Dussek’s Sonatas for the piano-forte ; and Mozart’s compositions in imitation of Handel’s style.
MUSI C.
•their art. If we are attentive in collecting every thins
that presents itself, and take care to treasure up the ideas
which occur in favourable moments, we shall soon form a
rich collection of materials from which we can draw when
occasion requires. Finally, we must never torture our-
selves to find ideas; and must especially shun that mania
of originality which induces us to reject easy and natural
ideas, and to run after fantastical and perplexed ones.
One may often present novelty under a guise almost com¬
mon. On the contrary, as Boileau says,
II est certains esprits dont la fougue insense'e
oujours loin du droit sens va chercher leur pensee,
scroirment s’abaisser dans leurs vers monstrueux
ns pensoient ce qu’un autre a pu penser comine eux.
And all this is often mere lost labour; for an idea which
at first seems new, on account of the manner in which it
is presented, is frequently reduced to nothing when it is
brought back to its true expression.
If the gift of invention is invaluable, we may say that
the art of conducting and developing ideas is not less im¬
portant. We might cite many authors who, though not
. remarkable for variety or originality, have yet acquired a
great reputation by the talent which they have shown in the
evelopment of their ideas. Among such authors are Sac-
Sym. I. Allegro.
-Sr
EE
Srzi
-©T-
chini and Anfossi; and in the works of authors very rich
in invention might be pointed out pieces that have be-'
come highly celebrated, and of which the sole merit lies
in the taste and the art shown in the development of the
i 11!|1ost °f Haydn’s compositions are unrivalled mo¬
dels of skill and judgment in the development of musical
ideas, and the conduct of the melody, harmony, and modu¬
lation. I he study of double counterpoint, especially of
that m the octave, is of essential importance to the attain-
ment of skill m developing musical ideas. A knowledge
of double counterpoint offers numerous resources to the
composer of a symphony, an overture, an instrumental quar-
tett, &c.; and, indeed, without such knowledge, it is im¬
possible to make the most of one’s musical ideas. This
kind of knowledge is far remote from the dry and cum-
bious learning of most of the older contrapuntists ; learn¬
ing which generally served no better purpose than to en¬
able them with great labour to construct music for the
eye, and not for the euv. do show the advantages that a
composer of symphonies may derive from a knowledge of
double counterpoint, we have only to refer to Haydn, Mo-
zai t, and Beethoven. Among Haydn’s symphonies, the
following movements occur to us at this moment as con¬
taining examples of what we have just been discussing.
We refer the reader to the Partitions.
&c.
t=W-
739
Music.
Sym. X
Sym. XVI. Allegro.
No writer on composition has treated so fully as Reicha
of the uses of double counterpoint in the development of
musical ideas. (See his Traits de Haute Composition Mu-
sicale, a large and expensive work, of 596 folio pages.) It
is to be regretted that Reicha, in his two large works on
composition, does not give examples from the works of the
best composers. He does not even give direct references
to such passages in the works of these composers as might
illustrate his rules and observations. A man so versed as
was in music of all kinds could have done this easily ;
especially as his treatises were of great extent, and could
1 have admitted of many classical examples, instead of those
which he gives composed by himself or by his pupils.
He says (p. 140 of first volume), “ Now-a-days, it is re¬
quired that the employment of any counterpoint should
be effective. If a composer has not genius enough to ac¬
complish this, he will do well not to make use of counter¬
point. .. In all the treatises where counterpoint is spoken
of, there is a defect, inasmuch as they neglect to show,
in a satisfactory manner, the true resources offered by
counterpoint. This is the cause that the public has never
had a just idea of invertible harmony, and of its utility.
Here is an example of a double counterpoint in the oc¬
tave.
-Or-
i
tec
ir-**-
:p:
4=
“ This model of four measures gives eight in reckoning
its inversion. This is nearly all that is generally known.
But what is to be done with eight measures, it is asked,*
if there are no more ? I hese eight measures may serve
as follows.
“.!• To form a canon for two unequal voices—(f.e. voices
of different pitch and compass).
“ 2. To form an entire double fugue for two, three, or
four Parts.
And, which is more important in our days, these
eight measures can be employed, 3dly, in the course
(chiefly in the second section) of a movement in a sym¬
phony, &c. where a very advantageous use of them may
be made; as, for example, fragment of a movement in a
740 M U
Music, symphony for a grand orchestra, formed entirely from the
v—'' preceding counterpoint.”1
Reicha then proceeds to show, by a Partition on the five
following pages, the use and development of this counter¬
point in the fragment above alluded to. We must refer
to the passage in the original work.
Accompa- This term sometimes signifies the harmonic support
niment. given to a melody or to a principal voice by one or more in¬
struments, and sometimes means that knowledge of chords
which is required in playing from a figured bass, or from
a Partition. Since a voice or an instrument, or several
voices or several instruments, may be accompanied by one
or more instruments, the variety of combinations of this
kind are almost endless. Melody, which forms the most
expressive part of musical language, and regulates the
march of composition by different rhythms, usually occu¬
pies either the highest, or the lowest Part of a piece of
music, in order to become more conspicuous. But some¬
times, to produce a particular effect, the melody is placed
in a middle Part. When this happens, or when it occu¬
pies the lowest Part, the accompaniment must be disposed
accordingly, and constructed in such a manner as to pro¬
duce the best possible effect in union with the melody.
Since accompaniment is always subordinate to melody,
some persons have looked upon it as an accessory of little
importance, and have improperly compared it to the frame
of a picture, or to the pedestal of a statue. This compa¬
rison, though having an appearance of justness, is really
so absurd as to merit no refutation. Other persons con¬
sider accompaniment as a purely mechanical work, which
requires only patience and application. If those persons
mean by such work, the adding of some insignificant
chords to a melody, they are not in the wrong; but such
accompaniment is not that which we find in the works of
Gluck, Piccini, Sacchini, Mozart, Winter, Cherubini, and
other great composers.
Organ and Two of the most important instruments used in accom-
piano-forte- paniment are the organ and the piano-forte. The organ
is, in reality, a collection of wind-instruments of different
kinds, forming in itself a species of orchestra, but not
capable of the varied expression that can be given to a
number of different wind-instruments played upon by dif¬
ferent performers. Its noble and solemn effect renders it
highly appropriate for the accompaniment of church-mu¬
sic; and it is much to be regretted that, in more modern
times, its true character and powers have been too often
lost sight of by injudicious composers and organists, who
have introduced a style of performance and accompani¬
ment quite unsuitable to the organ and to sacred music.
The simple and legato style of accompaniment is that most
suited to the nature and powers of the organ. In a me¬
moir upon church-music (in the Italian language) by J.
P. Schulthesius, there are many sensible observations upon
this subject. The organ forms the best accompaniment
to choral music, and in this case the organist ought to
adhere to a simple and legato style. As an effective ac¬
companiment to other sacred compositions, such as masses,
&c., the organ is too much neglected by modern com¬
posers. The organ accompaniment ought always to be
written in notes as the composer intends it to be per-
S I c.
formed, and never left to be guessed at by the organist Music,
through the puzzling and uncertain signs of a mere figured
bass. We refer to what we have said on the subject of
thorough-bass in the section on harmony. When the or¬
gan is used along with an orchestra, as in Haydn’s and
Mozart’s masses, and others, it would often be better for
the effect, if the organ were more employed in strengthen¬
ing the bass Parts than in giving the full harmony of
the chords; because, in the latter case, the peculiar ef¬
fects of some of the orchestra wind-instruments would be
obscured or overpowered. Fine effects may be produced
by a judicious use of only certain stops of the organ, even
in accompanying with an orchestra. In some modern or¬
gans, the compass of the finger-keys (reckoned upwards
from the eight-foot stop, or an open pipe eight feet long)
is from the lowest C on the piano-forte up to F in alt,
with all the intermediate semitones. In many other or¬
gans, the compass is not so extensive. There are, besides,
stops of sixteen, and sometimes (in the largest organs)
of thirty-two feet pipes, for the pedals. It must be ob¬
served, that in different organs the stops vary much in
kind as well as in number, and that all the stops do not
extend throughout the whole finger-keys, but in most or¬
gans serve for only one half of these keys. This is not
the place to enter more minutely into the structure of the
organ. Most foreign organs have pedals, or foot-keys,
which generallyextend to two octaves of the lowest sounds.
It does not appear to us that the extension, of late years, Piano-fciti
of the compass of the piano-forte, beyond its former com¬
pass of five or five and a half octaves, has been any real
improvement of the instrument. The piano-forte is much
used in accompanying music of various kinds, vocal or in¬
strumental, or both. Songs, cantatas, vocal duetts, trios,
quartetts in chamber or concert-room music, instrumen¬
tal solos, orchestral symphonies or overtures, operatic
music, and so on, are all generally accompanied by a piano¬
forte. If the pianist understands his instrument thorough¬
ly, has a knowledge of composition, and is well practised
in reading from Partitions, he may give important assist¬
ance to the performers whom he accompanies, even when
there is a complete orchestral accompaniment besides.
He may do this more especially where singers are accom¬
panied by an orchestra. Supposing that a pianist has to ac¬
company a piece of vocal music of the old Italian school, and
with nothing but the voice Part or Parts and a figured
bass before him; he must not only be a good harmonist,
but also well acquainted with the peculiar style of har¬
mony and accompaniment suitable to such compositions,
and really intended by the author, although not expressed
by the imperfect system of thorough-bass notation ancient¬
ly employed. Among these ancient composers, who were
almost all excellent harmonists, there was a method of ac¬
companiment practised by them as appropriate, and which,
from tradition and habit, was clearly understood even by
means of the imperfect and conventional signs of thorough
bass. But this is no longer the case ; and a modern pi¬
anist who would accompany a cantata of Alessandro Scar¬
latti, or a duett of Clari, or a psalm of Marcello, and so
on, as the composer intended, must make a particular
study of the older style of accompaniment, otherwise he
will fail in his attempt to accompany such compositions.
1 u Ibis fragment being placed in the second section of the movement, supposes that the first or the second subject of the counter¬
point, or both, have been previously heard in the first section. Without this precaution, the hearer would feel it as something
foreign to the movement, as out of place, which would be a fault on the composer’s part. To render this counterpoint appropriate
to the movement, it is enough that the four measures
a—Gh
-©r
9*
#2=
form a part of the
subject of the movement.
I
fusic. ]
a
He will make the harmony too full, or too thin, or dispose
it in an unsuitable manner. As we ha.e not room for ex-
MUSIC.
741
c ^ , . a vvc noi room lor ex-
a pies of the style of accompaniment suitable to such
music, we refer the reader to the edition of Marcello’s
nPuS roSf?Uhbhr-ln ?ans SOme years aS° bv Mirecki, a
In t at wo^k th ^ 1 WaS revised by Cherubini himself.
In that work the accompaniments are given as they ought
tube, and may serve as models for the accompaniment
of such music, and of much of the music of that period-
the latter part of the seventeenth and the earlier part of
the eighteenth centuries. The accompaniment of the com!
positions of that period for voices is generally attempted bv
modern pianists in mere dry chords read from the thorough
bass figures and notes. Such an accompaniment is qufte
becauTtV" fe° ^ 38 regard/ the comPoser’s intemion,
because the accompaniment of these pieces was an acrom-
pagnamentofigurato for three Parts, each of which Parts
Had its own melodic progression, and the whole three were
t^XT hf t0 SUS,tain the V0ice or voices’ and enforce
tne effect of these without overpowering them
selec°tann0Hrny f Parti^0n ^ which the Piani^ has to
select, on the instant, those parts most important to the
effect, while he leaves out others, or portions of others, re¬
quires great practice and knowledge, especially with re¬
gard to more modern Partitions. Formerly, tlJmost im-
poi tant parts of a Partition were the two violins, viola, and
violoncello, forming a quartett that represented the essen¬
tial structure of the composition. The wind instruments
ere at that time employed much more sparingly and less
effectively than they afterwards were in more modern mu-
sic. 1 here are other circumstances in the structure of the
older Partitions which render it less difficult to accompany
them than the more modern ones. But, with regard to the
pianists accompaniment of Partitions, especially modern
ones, we may remark, that the attempt too often made by
injudicious accompaniers to crowd into the piano-forte ac-
compamment all the orchestral effects that they see in a
Partition, ,s worse than useless. The thing is impossible,
from the nature and powers of the piano-forte, and its uni¬
formity oUimbre. We have already alluded to this in the
section on Harmony. Where there is any particular and
prominent design m the Parts of a Partition, the pianist
ought to adhere to it in his accompaniment, in so far as the
nature of such design and the powers of his instrument
will permit. In many cases he must be content to sacri-
fice much of the design, and of the grace and freedom of
movement, found in the Parts of the Partition, and to ar¬
range his accompaniment in such a way as to make the
most of the difficulties presented to him by the construc¬
tion of the Parts. I his will frequently occur to him in ac¬
companying modern Partitions, which often contain so ela¬
borate a construction of Parts as almost to defy any at¬
tempt to represent even a shadow of them in the piano¬
forte accompaniment. The best way of learning how such
intncate Partitions may be suitably accompanied by the
piano-forte, or how they may be arranged for the piano-
torte, so as to accompany the voice Parts (for example)
without any other instrument, is to study carefully the best
Italian and German arrangements of the best Italian and
German operas, oratorios, masses, &c. for the piano-forte,
with the voice Parts ; for example, dementi’s admirable
arrangement of Haydn’s Creation; the best French or Ger-
man echtions of the similarly arranged masses and operas
of Mozart, Winter, Cherubini, Beethoven, &c. To render
t ns study really useful, the accompanier must, at the same
time, have before him, and consider attentively, the Parti¬
tions from which these arrangements were made. No ab-
stract rules can teach the art of accompaniment. Nothino-
out talent, experience, and observation can do so; and
therefore we would urge the student to go at once to the
interesting fountain-head of good models, and not to waste
eaTv mattneidrnfteChn,Caht-eS' Many P!anists make a very Music,
easy matter of accompaniment, by reducing it to a series v v—
the vH fS ^accolds Pla^s) or else broken chords in
the vulgar form of what some musicians used to term
ment ofm ^ ^ pr°per Pian°-forte accompani¬
ment of modern songs, duetts, &c. the reader may consult
he composumns of this kind by Haydn, Mozart, Cherubini,
Bee hoven, Himmel, &c. where the accompaniments are
written by the composers themselves. The harp, although
introduced of late years into orchestras, is not very effec¬
tive in such a situation, unless when occasionally left near¬
ly alone to accompany some vocal Part in an opera, or in
concert-room music. It serves better for an accompani¬
ment in chamber-music. The guitar, skilfully managed
forms a pleasing accompaniment to a single voice in sono-s
fn a Chara?ter- Alth°ugh the greater part of its
sounds belong to the bass and tenor range, music for the
guitar is written in the treble clef; so” that the sounds
heard are really each an octave lower than they are repre¬
sented by the notation. y P
Before we conclude this section, we must advert to a
fault not uncommon in the compositions of Germans for
voices with orchestral accompaniments. Even Mozart
Himself Has sometimes committed this fault. It occurs
w ien the harmony for two or three voices is incomplete
and a succession of fourths, for example, is left to have the
armony compJeted by some of the instruments of the or¬
chestra This filling up of the harmony by the instru¬
ments does not produce the desired effect; for the imper¬
fect harmony of the voices,—from their peculiar and pro¬
minent timbre, ,s still perceived. The best modern Italian
composers are more careful in this respect. They make
the harmony of their voice Parts complete in itself, and inde¬
pendent of completion from the orchestral accompaniment.
The comparative simplicity of orchestral combinations^, ,
in the works of the older composers has been adverted to 0rcl?estral
m the preceding section. Gluck, in the latter part of the mUS1C-
eighteenth century, was one of the first composers who in¬
troduced wind instruments into the orchestra in a manner
more effective than had till then been practised. Any mu!
sician who will take the trouble to examine Gluck’s Par¬
titions will perceive that they suggested to other com¬
posers many ideas of orchestral effect from the use of wind
mstruments,—ideas more fully developed by Haydn, Mo-
zait, Cherubim, Mehul, Beethoven, and others. The in
ventmn of new instruments, the improvement of old ones
the introduction into orchestras of instruments formerly
confined to military music, have produced a superabun¬
dance of materials for orchestral effect; a superabundance
sadly abused by many modern composers. The conse-
quence of such abuse has been too frequently nothing
better than a chaotic confusion, arising from the simulta-
neous combination of so many heterogeneous instruments
1 he elaborate noise of a modern orchestra is sometimes so
great as to stun all ears but those petrified by custom
Men who serve artillery get so accustomed to the din and
roar of cannon that they suffer no more annoyance from
such noise than other untrained persons do from the dis¬
tant explosion of a spent rocket in its highest altitude.
ley come at last to relish the martial din that deafens a
common bystander. a
In the section upon voices and instruments, we have oc¬
casionally adverted to the most suitable employment of
some of the latter in orchestral music. We shah here of-
tra i„“kkS UP°" “P™ -het
. A complete orchestra consists of a number of string]
^percussion the'1 ‘"Str“ments> and a instruments
OX percussion , the latter being generally kettle-drum«
ie nature and magnitude of an orchestra must be regu-
742 M U
Music. Jated by the locality, since a large orchestra in a small
' y-^ theatre or concert-room, or the converse, would be ineffec¬
tive, though from different causes. The relative propor¬
tion of the instruments in an orchestra is of much import¬
ance to its effect. The orchestra of the Italian opera at
Vienna is small, in order to suit the locality. It was re¬
cently as follows : one conductor, one violin obbligato for
accompanying particular parts of the vocal music, one
leader and five first violins, six second violins, four viole,
four violoncellos, four double basses, two flutes, two oboes,
two clarinets, two French horns, two bassoons, two trum¬
pets, three trombones, one drum, one double drum, one
piano-forte ; in all forty-three instruments. This is about
the same number and proportion as in the orchestras of
Dresden, Francfort, and the Italian opera at Paris. The
orchestra of the opera at Berlin is much larger, on account
of the greater size of the house. In those smaller orches¬
tras, the wind instruments are suited in size and tone to
the fewness of the stringed instruments. The double
basses, too, are small sized, and have four strings, except
the principal one, which has five, to facilitate the execu¬
tion of difficult passages. The orchestra of the grand
opera at Paris lately consisted of twenty first violins, twen¬
ty second violins, fourteen viole, thirteen violoncellos, six
three-stringed double basses, three four-stringed double
basses, four harps, four flutes, four oboes, four clarinets,
four bassoons, three trombones, horns, trumpets, kettle¬
drums, one serpent. The number of performers in the
orchestras of the Scala at Milan, and San Carlo at Naples,
used to be, at most, about ninety-three ; but their number
varies, and has of late been reduced.
Trumpets, trombones, the serpent, and kettle-drums, are
too noisy to be suited to a small orchestra; and the judi¬
cious composer will, in such a case, avoid them. In wri¬
ting for an orchestra, the stringed instruments form, as it
were, the body of the composition, or a complete harmony
in four Parts among themselves. This quartett consists
of first and second violin, viola, and violoncello; the double
basses being employed to enforce the violoncello Part.
The number of violins, viole, and violoncellos, makes no
difference in the real harmony of this quartett, because if
there are twenty first violins they all play the same Part,
and so of the second violins, and viole and violoncellos
respectively. But, for the sake of variety, the full quartett
is not always continued through a whole movement, but is
sometimes interrupted by harmony in two or three Parts,
and by passages in unisons or octaves. Occasionally, also,
but more rarely, the stringed instruments cease altogether
for a short period, to allow a passage for wind instruments
alone to be heard with more effect from contrast; for in¬
stance, in the trio of Beethoven’s first symphony in D major,
Op. 36 ; in the trio of his symphony in C major, Op. 21; and
in the trio of his Sinfonia Eroica, Op. 55 ; and, passim, in
the orchestral compositions of Haydn, Mozart, Cherubini,
Weber, Spohr, &c. The stringed instruments of the or¬
chestra are often employed without being accompanied by
any of the wind instruments. By the addition of wind in¬
struments of different kinds, and in different ways, to the
stringed instruments, a great variety of combinations and
effects take place, which open a wide field of resources to
the composer. It is important to remark, that whether
the stringed instruments form a quartett, a trio, or a duett,
their harmony ought to be good in itself, independently of
the addition of any wind instruments. The same remark
applies to the harmony of a duett, trio, or quartett, formed
by a combination of wind instruments. The harmony
must be good and pure, independently of any filling up by
the addition of stringed instruments. It is hardly neces¬
sary to say, that the uses which may be made of all these
oossible combinations of the wind instruments with the
SIC.
stringed ones, or of wind instruments with wind instru- Music,
ments, depend entirely for their good effect upon the skill
and judgment of the composer. One of the wind instru¬
ments added to the stringed ones, may either double one
of the parts of these, if its nature permit it to do so, or
may have a distinctive melody given to it, and be accom¬
panied by all, or by only one, or two, or three of these
parts; and thus, in the latter case, form with them a
quintett, or quartett, or a trio, or a duett for the time
being. Thus, the bassoon or the horn, for example, may
double the bass part of the stringed instrument quartett
of the orchestra, or any of the other parts, to produce a
particular effect of reinforcement; or it may have a dis¬
tinctive melody, and be accompanied as before mentioned.
The same remark extends to the flute, the oboe, the cla¬
rinet ; with this exception, that instruments of a high
pitch, like these, are not properly employed to double the
bass parts of the orchestra. By this doubling of a part is
to be understood the addition to it of another instrumental
part, which performs the same melody in unison, or in
octave higher or lower, according to the nature and com¬
pass of the added instrument. When accompanying a wind
instrument of a great pitch with two violins, the accom¬
paniment is generally above the melody. In this case,
the melody should form a good bass to the accompanying
harmony; and if it does not, then the orchestral basses
must be employed to supply the defect. To accompany a
bass instrument which has a principal melody, with other
instruments of a higher pitch, often requires much dexterity
in the management of the harmony.
The number of possible combinations of the different
instruments in an orchestra is so great, that we cannot
here enter into the subject. To study the art of orches¬
tral combinations with most pleasure and most advantage,
one must have recourse to the partitions of the best
German and Italian composers of operatic and orchestral
music, from Gluck and Piccini downwards to Haydn, Mo¬
zart, Cherubini, Beethoven, Spohr, Rossini, Weber, &c.
In studying the partitions of some of the latest composers,
one should guard against being led away by the love of
noise and the affectation of singularity too often found in
them.
If what we have had space for upon a subject so ex¬
tensive should be of use to the professional student, or to
the amateur, our object—the advancement of music in our
native country—will be so far attained. We conclude by
requesting the musical student to keep in view that there
is no royal road to a true knowledge of his art; and also
that in music, as well as in other things, Condillac’s obser¬
vation holds true:—“ Les regies sont comme des garde-
fous mis sur les ponts, non pas pour faire marcher les voya-
geurs, mais pour les empecher de tomber.”
The limits prescribed to this article necessitated the greatest pos¬
sible condensation in every section of the subject. Therefore the
reader is referred, for additional information, to the introduction
and the appendix to this treatise, published in a separate form,
under the title of Essay on the Theory and Practice of Musical Com¬
position. It is necessary to observe, that of late years various wind
instruments mentioned in the article Music have received great
improvements, and that some new ones have been invented. By
giving additional finger-keys, &c., to flutes, oboes, and clarinets,
passages that were formerly very difficult or impracticable on
these instruments, are now rendered comparatively easy. Among
the brass wind-instruments similar improvements have been intro¬
duced, and the semitonic scales within their compass completed.
Sax, of Brussels, and his son have become celebrated for the excel¬
lence of their wind-instruments, both of wood and of brass, some
of the latter being new inventions. In England, France, and Ger¬
many, also, wind-instruments have been much improved. Besides,
several new wood and brass instruments have been introduced into
orchestras and military bands, such as the bass clarinet, the Saxo¬
phone, &c. (G- F-
M U S
nf iyUS n’ a •JeC?Ilnr s,ecretion fbund in the preputial gland
of a small animal of the natural order Ruminantia. The
musk animal (Moschus moschiferus, Linnaeus) is found in
Asia, and is often called the musk deer, but it cannot pro-
perly be classed under the genus Deer. (For information
respecting it, see Mammalia.) The gland! or^ aTit is
technically called, from which the musk is obtained, varies
from one inch and a half to an inch and three-quarters in
width, and often exceeds two inches in length. When first
removed, it contains the secretion in a soft, almost liquid
hfnnt bU L hfr(kns,by careful drying, and when removed
is not unlike dark-coloured snuff, coarsely granulated. A
good musk-pod contains about two drachms and a half of
musk the great value of which (L.3 to L.3, 10s. per ounce)
leads to a variety of ingenious adulterations, in which dried
biood and grain tin are much used. The Chinese even
imiLMe the pods, and tms, too, with so much success, that it
s difficult to detect the fraud, except by very nice and ex¬
perienced examination. It is imported in catty-boxes
usually containing from twenty to twenty-five pods. Musk
is employed in perfumery and medicine; and, considering
the powerful nature of this perfume, and the only source
from which it can be obtained, the quantity used is very
considerable. In 1856 the import was rather more than
5000 ounces, and as each pod weighs nearly an ounce when
dry, this would necessitate the destruction of 5000 animals
for the supply of England alone, where musk is not afavourite
perfume, except in combination with other materials.
One of the most remarkable qualities of musk is the
extraordinary persistence of its perfume. Specimens have
been examined one hundred years old, the scent of which
has been as powerful as recent musk; and the nicest balance
has failed to detect any loss of weight in musk which has
been so placed as to perfume a whole room for upwards of
t^rty Years- In medicine, musk is occasionally used as an
antispasmodic. It is also slightly narcotic, but it is not
often administered The duty on musk was reduced in
and repealed entirely in 1845. (T. c. A )
MUSLIN, a fine kind of cotton cloth, with a downy nap
on its surface. The name is said to be derived from Mosul
in Asia, where it was originally manufactured. It was first
imported into England from India in 1670, and is now
manufactured in immense quantities both in Britain and on
the Continent, rivalling in quality, and surpassing in cheap¬
ness, the finest products of the eastern looms. (See Cot¬
ton, and Cotton Manufacture.)
MUSONIUS, Caius Rufus, a Stoic philosopher, was
the son of a Roman knight, and was born at Volsinii {Bol-
sena) in Etruria about the beginning of the first century.
He early became a disciple of the doctrines of the Porch.
But his maxims, as quoted by Stobmus, A. Gellius, and
others, have a more direct reference to practical than to
speculative ethics. Since the ills of life are essentially paltry,
he held that they ought to be met by quiet resignation,
not avoided by suicide. The cultivation of the virtues of
austerity, disinterestedness, chastity, and temperance, is the
sure and the only means of securing happiness. “ Every¬
where, said he, “ one can be happy, for everywhere one
can be virtuous.” The happiness of man is thus lodged
within himself. It is not therefore necessary that we
should defend ourselves from the injuries of others by in¬
flicting retribution in return. The best way to make our
fellows respect us is to respect ourselves. Such an elevated
tone of morality was not palatable to the depraved court of
-Nero. Musonius accordingly fell into disgrace. Under
fheprete.t of having been privy to the famous conspiracy
of Piso against the emperor, he was banished to the isle of
Gyaros ( Ghioura) a.d. 66. He appears to have returned on
the accession of GaJba in 68 ; and he is found shortly after-
M U S
743
™ ^ in nc is iLMiiiu Miuniy airer-
wards among the deputies who were sent by the Emperor
V itellius to Antonius Primus, the victorious general of
Vespasian. Yet he subsequently rose high in the favour of Musschen.
Vespasian, so that he was allowed to remain in the city br«ek.
w len all the other Stoics were driven into banishment for '
their intolerant precepts. The date of his death is un-
known. 1 he extant fragments of his works have been col-
lected and published by Peerlkamp, under the title of G. Mu-
8vo’Haarlern’1822 ■
MUSSLHLNBROEK, Peter van, an eminent natu-
lal philosopher, was born at Leyden in March 1692
Studying at the university of his native city, he became a
proficient m classics under Perizonius and Gronovius, and
in natural philosophy, chemistry, and medicine, under Sen-
guerd, Bulloo, Le Clerc, Burman, Albinus, Boerhaave, and
itau. 1 he teacher, however, from whom he derived the
most, profit was the eminent mathematician Gravesande
A scientific partnership was formed in 1717 between the
master and the pupil, for the prosecution of natural philoso¬
phy according to the principles of Newton, and in opposi¬
tion to those of Descartes. Gravesande concentrated his
attention on the theoretical part of the study; Musschen-
broek conducted the experiments ; and both, by their sepa¬
rate investigations, corrected or confirmed the results ob-
tamed by each other. The consequence was, that the
downfall of Cartesianism, and the establishment of New-
tomamsm, were very much accelerated in Holland. In in¬
creasing the knowledge, and in determining the future
studies of Musschenbroek, the effect was also great. An
inaugural dissertation which he delivered in 1718, on the
occasion of taking his degree, brought out into full promi¬
nence his taste and talent for experimental science. It was
entitled Be xEris Preesentia in Humoribus Animalium,
and was full of experiments, carefully prosecuted and clearly
explained. His fame was now established. He was ap¬
pointed professor of natural philosophy and mathematics,
and professor extraordinary of medicine in the university of
Duisburg in 1719 In 1723 he was promoted to the chair
ot natural philosophy and mathematics at Utrecht. He
was now placed in his proper sphere, and began to prose¬
cute his favourite studies with increased vigour. His first
important production was Epitome Elementorum Physico-
Mathematicorum, 12mo, Leyden, 1726,—a work which was
afterwards gradually altered as it passed through several
editions, and which appeared at length in 1762, under the
new title of Introductio ad Philosophiam Naturalem. The
publication in 1729 of his next great work, Physicce Ex-
perimentales et Geometricce Bissertationes, raised his repu¬
tation to its acme. It threw new light on the subjects of
the magnet, capillary attraction, and the cohesion of bodies,
scarcely less instrumental in advancing science was his
Latin edition, in 1731, of the Italian work Saggi di Natu-
rah hspenenze fatte nelV Accademia del Cimento The
numerous notes which he appended to this translation con¬
tained, amid many other curious investigations, a descrip¬
tion of a new instrument, the pyrometer, which he had in¬
vented, and of several experiments which he had made on
the expansion of bodies by heat. His great eminence was
acknowledged in this same year by an invitation from the
King of Denmark to Copenhagen. He declined this honour
and was promoted in consequence to the chair of astronomy
at Utrecht in 1732. The attempt of George II. of England
int. to attract him to newly-established university
of Gottingen was also unsuccessful. At length, however,
tiie claims of his native city overcame his resolution to re¬
main at Utrecht, and he took possession of the mathemati¬
cal chair at Leyden in 1739. Here he resolved perma-
nently to settle. Offers of preferment from Berlin, Madrid
and bt I etersburg, were tendered to him in quick succes¬
sion; yet, declining all these honours, he continued peace¬
fully to instruct his pupils, and to pursue his favourite in-
vestigatmns till the day of his death in September 1761
Musschenbroek is also the author of Elementa Physic*
744
M U S
M U S
Mussel¬
burgh
Musset.
8vo, 1734, translated into English by Colson, in 2 vols. 8vo,
1744. He contributed a dissertation on Barometers to the
Memoirs of the Academy of St Petersburg, and several
papers on Meteorology to the Memoirs of the French Aca¬
demy of Sciences, and to the Transactions of the Royal
Society of London.
MUSSELBURGH, a royal burgh of Scotland, county
of Mid-Lothian, at the mouth of the Esk, 6 miles E. of
Edinburgh. The town proper stands on the right bank of
the river ; and on the other side is the village of Fisherrow,
with which it communicates by three bridges, one of which
is believed to be of Roman architecture. The principal
street of Musselburgh extends E. and W., and is nearly
straight; the houses being in general well, though not re¬
gularly, built. The parish church stands on a hill to the
S. of the town; and there are also Free, United Presby¬
terian, Episcopal, and Independent churches. In the prin¬
cipal street is a town-hall, with a jail attached, the latter
having been built in 1590, out of the remains of the ancient
chapel of Loretto, which existed in the vicinity. The town
contains several schools, two libraries, and a savings-bank.
Some Roman antiquities have on different occasions been
discovered at Inveresk, where it is supposed that a Roman
colony was once settled, and where traces of ancient baths
have been discovered. The links, which stretch along the
shore of the Firth of Forth, are extensive, and on them the
Edinburgh races are annually held. They are also much
used for the game of golf. The manufactures are few and
unimportant, being chiefly leather, sail-cloth, and fishing-
nets. The inhabitants of Fisherrow are, as the name of
the place implies, chiefly employed in fishing ; and this vil¬
lage, along with Newhaven, supplies the inhabitants of
Edinburgh with fish. The harbour of Fisherrow is small,
dry at low water, and is only visited by a few vessels of
small size. Musselburgh is connected with Edinburgh, by
a branch of the North British Railway ; and large quan¬
tities of coal are conveyed from the pits in the vicinity to
Edinburgh and Leith. The town is historically important
on account of the battle of Pinkie, which was fought in the
neighbourhood in 1547, when the Scottish army was de¬
feated by the English under the Earl of Somerset. Oliver
Cromwell also encamped here in 1650; and part of his en¬
trenchments remain near the church. Musselburgh forms
one of the Leith burghs which join in electing one member
of Parliament. Pop. (1851) 7092.
MUSSET, Louis Charles Alfred de, a distinguished
poet, novelist, and dramatic writer of the nineteenth century
in France, was born at Paris on the 11th November 1810.
He was of noble descent; his father, M. de Musset-Pathay,
held the office of chef du bureau to the minister of war,
and was favourably known as an author. His Histoire de
la Vie et des Ouvrages de J. J. Rousseau is still held in
estimation. Alfred received his education at the same in¬
stitution with the eldest Prince of the House of Orleans,
and the intimacy formed at this early period between the
prince and the poet was fondly cherished in after years.
The loss sustained by De Musset in the early death of his
noble friend, was afterwards consecrated in Le Treize Juil-
let. After completing his elementary education, Alfred de
Musset engaged successively in the study of medicine, of
law, of art, and of trade ; but turned aside from each with
equal disgust. He subsequently laid the blame of his want
of success in those studies on his superficial education, his
indolence, and desultory habits of reading. His first ap¬
pearance as an author was in 1828, in a pamphlet entitled
L’Anglais Mangeur <TOpium, and signed with his initials.
He published in 1831 his Contes d'Espagne et dHItalic, a
series of licentious tales in verse, exhibiting vast powers
and wild extravagance, possessing singular merits in point
of form, and abounding with impassioned and vigorous
writing. Un Spectacle dans un Fauteuil appeared in
1833, and possessed all the merits, and many of the defects, Mussouree
of his previous poems. They display a power and beauty
seldom to be met with, and are never wanting in that subtle
wit and delicate observation which so remarkably distin¬
guish his prose works; but they are justly chargeable with
extravagance, indecency, and irreligion. His charming Pro¬
verbs, which appeared in the Revue des Deux Mondes in
1833, are much less exposed to censure, and are full of
poetical beauties of the highest order. Ten years after¬
wards they were brought upon the stage at St Petersburg,
by Madame Allan, whence their fame travelled back to
Paris, and soon called forth the enthusiasm of the Theatre-
Fran^aise. In 1835 De Musset visited Italy in company
with Madame Dudevant (George Sand), in the ostensible
relation of private secretary. In fullness of tone, wealth of
colouring, and rich sustained melody, the language and
style of these two distinguished contemporaries resemble
each other not a little. La Confession dune Enfant du
Siecle appeared in 1836, and is alleged by some to be in
a great measure autobiographical. The theme is familiar
to all readers of modern French fiction ; and finds its origin
in the conventional view of the mental history of Byron,
whose writings have exerted a profound influence over the
current literature of France. Musset was poor, and his
habits of dissipation did not increase his wealth. When his
purse was full, he lived in Paris till it was empty, and then
retired to the country. He declined to occupy the dis¬
tinguished place in society which his genius and manners
might have secured for him. By the influence of his early
friend the Due d’Orleans, he was appointed librarian to
the minister of the interior. He was deprived of this sine¬
cure office in 1848, but it was subsequently restored to him
by the emperor. His Nouvelles, originally published in the
Revue des Deux Mondes, are among the most remarkable
of modern tales. These charming stories, so slight and
unpretending in their structure, are masterpieces of a fine
and subtle genius ; and it is only to be regretted that their
beauty is so much marred by the dangerous sensualism
with which they are pervaded. The beautiful tale of
Frederic et Eernerette contains the most delightful por¬
trait of the French grisette ever drawn, and is a special
favourite with the Parisians. Musset’s earlier collection of
Premieres Poesies comprise the period between 1829-
1835; his second Poesies Nouvelles embrace the period
1836-1852. At the beginning of this second collection
stands Rolla, marking the turning-point between the youth
and manhood of the author. It is the wildest of all his
productions, and in many respects the most remarkable;
but the English reader is shocked by its impiety, and his
feelings are outraged by the feverish delineations of certain
modes of life which are fortunately not known beyond the
French capital. Despite all these serious drawbacks, how¬
ever, the genius of Alfred de Musset possesses qualities
seldom hitherto known in French poetry. He occasionally
reaches heights of imagination unknown perhaps to the
greatest writers of his country ; and his lyrics display a pas¬
sion, tenderness, and musical beauty almost alien to his
native soil. Those who consider the life of an author the
best commentary on the tendency of his works, will find
little difficulty in denouncing Musset’s as pernicious; while
those who regard works of art from a purely artistic point
of view, will find much in his writings to call forth the
highest praise. He was not a voluminous writer. A few
small volumes contain all his works. His Nouvelles occupy
less space than an ordinary romance, his poems may be
read in a few hours, and his plays are by no means bulky.
He died at Paris on the 3d of May 1857.
MUSSOUREE, in Hindustan, a sanatory station on the
northern frontier of the Dehra Dhoon, established by the
British to relieve and remove the consequences prejudicial
to health from the sultry climate of India. There is no
M U S
fuaijraanlevel area of any extent at this station; so that the houses
Musrd aT. uUllt ,at cfnsic^erable distances from each other, on sites
■iZ whl(;h lt has been necessary to level, on a ridge, a crag or
* on the southern slope of the mountain. The views are very
beautiful, comprising on the N. the Himalaya Mountains
clad in perennial snow; and on the S. the rich and varied
expanse of the Dehra Dhoon, beyond which the prospect
extends over the vast plain of Hindustan. In the latter
part of winter there are smart frosts, with occasional falls of
snow; neither, however, occurring after March, when spring
sets in. Then succeeds delightful weather, which continues
till the middle of June, when the periodical rains commence.
Mussouree is abundantly supplied with provisions. It has
a church, which was erected in 1837. The little settlement
is well managed, and flourishing. Of the diseases contracted
in the plains, the effects of a residence here are found fa¬
vourable to fevers, dyspepsia, dysentery, liver complaint,
pulmonary consumption, rheumatism, and general debility.
Tlevation above the sea, 6282 feet; N. Lat. 30. 27., E. Long.
MUSSULMAN, or Moslem, the general name given
to all who profess the faith of Mohammed. (See Moham¬
medanism.)
MUSTAPHA, the name of several Turkish sultans.
Mustapha I. succeeded his brother Achmed I. in 1617, was
deposed a few months afterwards, was restored to the throne
in 1622, was again deposed in 1623, and was strangled in
1639. Mustapha II. succeeded his uncle Achmed II. in
1695, was deposed in 1703, and died in 1704. Mustapha III
succeeded his cousin Othman III. in 1757, and died in 1774.
Mustapha IV. succeeded Selim III. in 1807, was deposed
in 1808, and was murdered by his brother Mahmud in 1809.
(See Turkey.)
MUS I ARD, the English name of a genus of cruciferous
plants, of which several species yield useful seed. The best
known and most used is Sinapis nigra (Linn.), an indige¬
nous plant, which is extensively cultivated for its seed in
some parts of England, particularly in Northumberland and
Yorkshire. Large mills are employed for grinding the seed,
and for converting it into flour of mustard, the condiment so
universally used at our tables. 1 able-mustard is, however, a
compound, as it would not, in the opinion of some, be agree¬
able in an unmixed state. (See Christison’s Dispensatory.')
i he materials added are varied by different manufacturers
according to taste. It appears, however, from the published
evidence taken before the select committee on the adul¬
teration of food in 1856, that the adulteration of mustard is
so extensive, that as a medical appliance it is generally in¬
effective. (Dr Challice’s evid., Blue Book, p. 94.) In con¬
sequence of the extreme difficulty of obtaining pure mustard,
a manufactory of that article has recently been established
by government in Her Maiesty’s victuallinfr-vard at. Dptm-
M U Z
ported to this country for the same objects under the names
of rape and surzee seeds. The total imports of these seeds
from India in 1856 was 21,417 quarters, all consumed in
the manufacture of oil. Some of the oil so made is used
for burning, but the greater portion is employed in dressing
woollen goods. /T r \ ^
MUTINA. (See Modena.) V '
MUTINY. (See Military Law.)
MUTIUS, Caius, surnamed Codrus, and afterwards Scce~
vola, was one of the illustrious Roman family of the Miitii,
and rendered his name famous in the war between Por-
senna, King of Tuscany, and the Romans. That prince
having resolved to restore the family of Tarquin the
Proud, went to besiege Rome in the year 507 b.c. ; but
Mutius determined to sacrifice himself for the safety of his
country, and boldly entering the enemy’s camp, killed Por-
senna’s secretary, whom he took forPorsenna himself. Bein°-
seized and brought before Porsenna, he told the king boldly
that three hundred young men like himself had sworn to
murder him ; “ but since this hand has missed thee,” con¬
tinued he, “ it must be punished then putting his rio-ht
band on the burning coals, he let it burn with such con¬
stancy as astonished the beholders. The king, amazed at
745
Mutina
I!
Muziano.
j --   — uccu cauimibiiet
by government in Her Majesty’s victualling-yard at Dept¬
ford, so that the Royal Navy is now supplied with mustard
peiiectly pure. The chief adulterations are flour, turmeric,
and gypsum. 1 urmeric is used to improve the colour of
the mustard, and especially to increase the profit of the
manufacturer. Its presence may easily be detected by the
use of ammonia. (Gay’s evidence, Blue Book, p. 103-5.)
Mustard was not known at our tables in its present form till
I 1 (20, when a Mrs Clements of Durham fell upon the pre¬
sent mode of preparing it. Her mustard met with the ap¬
proval of George L, and soon became highly popular.
Mustard is also of considerable importance in the materia
medica. Smapis alba (Linn.) is also cultivated for this
purpose, but not to a very great extent. It is the sort which
is commonly grown with cress in our gardens as a salad
herb. The genus has a very wide geographical range, some
species being indigenous in Europe and others in India.
In the East Indies Sinapis nigra, S. glauca, and S. Toria,
are very extensively cultivated for the purpose of expressing
oil from the seeds, very large quantities of which are ex-
VOL. xv.
1 N. • -A MU. dlUdZcU dX
the intrepidity of the young Roman, ordered that he should
have his freedom and return to Rome, and soon afterwards
concluded a peace with the Romans. From this action
Mutius obtained the surname of Sccevola, or left-handed
which was enjoyed by his family.
Mctius StUEVOLA, Q., surnamed the Augur, was an
excellent civilian, and instructed Cicero in the laws. He
was made praetor in Asia, and afterwards became consul
when he performed important services for the republic
He must not be confounded with Quintus Mutius Scawola
another excellent civilian, who was praetor in Asia, tribune
of the people, and at length consul 95 b.c. He <m-
verned Asia with such prudence and equity, that his ex¬
ample was proposed to the governors who were sent into
the provinces. Cicero says of him, that he was the most
eloquent orator of all the civilians, and the most able civi-
han of all the orators. He was assassinated in the temple
of Vesta during the wars of Marius and Sylla b.c. 82.
MUTTRA,in Hindustan,aBritishdistrictunderthe juris¬
diction of the lieutenant-governor ofthe north-west provinces
It lies between Lat. 27. 14. and 27. 58., Long. 77. 20. and
(8. 34. ; and includes an area of 1607 square miles, with a
population of 862,909. Muttra, the capital ofthe district, is
described by Bishop Heber as a striking town, much resem¬
bling Benares, its houses being lofty, with the same sort of
ornaments as in that city, i he place is regarded as sacred
m Hindu mythology, from being the birthplace of the divi¬
nity Krishna. Towards the close of the last century the
town of Muttra was seized by Scindia, the Mahratta chief
who conferred it on the French adventurer Perron, on con¬
dition of military service. In October 1803 it was, with¬
out resistance, occupied by the British troops, and in the
same year permanently ceded to the East India Company
by bcindia, under the treaty of Serjee Arjengaum. Muttra
is m N. Lat. 27. 30., and E. Long. 77. 45.
MUZIANO, Girolamo, an eminent Italian painter, was
born at Acquafredda, near Brescia, in 1528. Under Ro-
manino, an imitator of iitian, he studied his art, and be¬
came an adept in designing and colouring according to the
principles of the Venetian school. But it was not until he had
left his native place, and had repaired to Rome about 1550
that he came into notice. There his pictures soon gained
for him the surname of II Giovane de’Paesi (“ the vouny
man of the landscapes”). Stimulated by success, he tried
the more elevated style of historical painting. He imitated
Michael Angeto ln £'ving great prominence to the anatom-
of Ins figures, and became fond of painting persons ema¬
ciated by abstinence or disease. His great picture of the
5 B
746 M Y C
Mycenae “ Resurrection of Lazarus” at once established his fame as
II an historical painter. Michael Angelo praised it, and pro-
Mycone. nounceJ its author one of the first artists of that age. It
was placed in the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, but was
afterwards transferred to the Quirinal Palace. Muziano,
with dogged perseverance, continued to proceed in the path
on which he had so successfully entered. He grew excel¬
lent in depicting foreign and military dresses, and in in¬
troducing landscapes into his historical pieces after the
manner of Titian. Mosaic working also occupied his atten¬
tion ; and from being a crude art of inlaying coloured stones,
it became under his hands a perfect imitation of painting.
His ability and industry soon gained for him a handsome
fortune. Part of this he expended in assisting to found the
Academy of St Luke at Rome. He died in 1590, or, ac¬
cording to another authority, in 1592, and was buried in
the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, where his great mas¬
terpiece was placed.
Many of Muziano’s works are in the churches and palaces
of Rome. There is his group of “ Anchorites listening to
a Saint,” in the church of the Carthusians; his “ Circum¬
cision,” in the church of Gesu; his “ Ascension,” in the
church of Ara Cceli; and his “St Francis receiving the
Stigmata,” in the church of the Conception. A picture by
him, representing Christ washing the feet of his disciples,
is in the cathedral of Rheims. (Lanzi’s Storia Pittorica.)
MYCENAE or Mycene, an ancient city of Greece, stood
about miles N.E. from Argos, on a rocky height in a
recess of the mountains that border the Argeian plain. Its
name is said to have been derived from Mycene, daughter
of Inachus, or from the Greek word It was founded
by Perseus ; and, according to a favourite legend, its mas¬
sive walls were reared by the strong hands of the Cyclopes.
After the death of Perseus it was ruled in succession by
Sthenelus and Eurystheus; then coming into the power
of the Pelopidse, it gradually rose into importance until,
under the sway of Agamemnon, it became the first city of
Greece. But no sooner had that powerful prince died, than
Argos began to assume a supremacy over the other towns
of the plain. The Mycenasans were soon fain to trust to
their strong walls, and to an alliance with Sparta for protec¬
tion against their aggressive neighbours. At length, in 468
b.c., the Argives, summoning to their aid the inhabitants of
Tegea and Cleonae, sat down before Mycenae. After a
blockade, the city was forced to capitulate, and was ever
afterwards abandoned to desolation. In the second century
a.d., its ruins were visited by Pausanias. 'I hey are still very
extensive, and are the most ancient in Greece, next to those
of Tiryns. The walls of the Acropolis exist, in a greater or
less degree of preservation, round almost the entire circuit.
They consist in some places of huge misshapen blocks piled
up irregularly, and in other places of stones, skilfully hewn
and regularly placed. At their N.W. angle is a gate, formed
of three long massive stones, surmounted by two enormous
lions in bas-relief, and called on that account the Gate
of Lions. On the S.W. of the Acropolis the site of the
lower town is indicated by the remains of a wall extending
from N. to S. In this part of the ruins there are four subter¬
raneous erections in which, according to Pausanias, the
treasures of the Atridse were deposited. One of these,
called the Treasury of Atreus, consists of two apart¬
ments, the outer of which is large, and the inner compara¬
tively small. (Leake’s Morea, and Mure’s Tour in Greece.)
MYCONE, or Miconi, a small island in the-Egean Sea,
situated in N. Lat. 37. 29., E. Long. 25. 21. It is of a
triangular form, and in length is 85 miles from E. to W.;
in breadth from N. to S., 6 miles. The surface is rugged,
but does not rise to a very great height, and the soil is dry
but fertile. Wine and fruit are the principal products of
the island, and it also contains abundance of game- There
is very little water here, and the wants of the inhabitants
M Y M
are for the most part supplied by rain water. The town of Myhere
Mycone stands on the N.W. coast, and is chiefly inhabited I
by sailors, who are reckoned among the best in these seas. Mpiun.
The roadstead is exposed to all winds except those from the ^ 81Dg'
N.N.E. Pop. of the town about 5000; of the island, about
6000.
MYHERE, in Hindustan, a petty native state in the
territory of Saugor and Nerbudda, containing an area of
1026 square miles, and a population of 100,000. The pre¬
sent chief is a minor, and arrangements have been made
for his education at Agra, under the direction of the British
government. Mvhere, the principal town, is in N. Lat.
24. 16., E. Long." 80. 49.
MYLE {Milazzo), an ancient town of Sicily, was situ¬
ated about 30 miles W. from Cape Pelorus, on the isthmus
of a peninsula of 5 miles in length. It assisted, according
to Strabo, in 648 B.C., in colonizing Himera. It was for
many centuries a dependency of the Greek colony of
Messana. Laches took it in 427 b.c.; and the Rhegians,
in 394 b.c., attempted to make it the seat of an opposition
to Messana. It enjoyed separate municipal privileges in
the time of Pliny; and its importance as a military station
is still great.
MYLASSA, or Mylasa (Melasso), a noble city of Caria
in Asia Minor, situated about three leagues from the Sinus
Ceramicus, in a beautiful plain at the foot of a steep moun¬
tain, containing fine white marble, of which its buildings
were composed. It was the capital of Hecatomnus, King of
Caria and father of Mausolus, and the birthplace and resi¬
dence of the Carian kings before Halicarnassus became the
capital. The chief citizens of Mylassa were made priests
of Zeus for life; and the splendour of its temples was the
wonder of all who visited it. Caria was taken by Mithridates,
and afterwards by Labienus, whose father had been one of
Caesar’s generals. Hybrias, whose eloquence and valour
entitled him to a distinguished rank amongst his country¬
men, in vain encouraged them to make an obstinate de¬
fence. Fie himself was obliged to yield to necessity,
and to take refuge at Rhodes; but scarcely had the con¬
queror quitted the city, when Hybrias returned and restored
liberty to his country. Pliny calls it Mylasa libera ; and
Strabo informs us that it was one of the most magnificent
cities of antiquity, and that its temples, porticoes, and other
public monuments were highly admired. W hen Pococke
visited this place it was comparatively perfect, but at pre¬
sent few traces of it remain. (See Leake’s Asia Minor, and
Fellows’ Journal and Discoveries.)
MYLNE, Robert, the architect of Blackfriars Bridge,
London, was the descendant of a family of architects, and
was born in Edinburgh in 1734. Having adopted at an
early age his hereditary profession, he was sent to the Con¬
tinent to complete his studies. His enthusiastic prosecu¬
tion of his art soon brought him into notice. He became
a most distinguished pupil, and ultimately a member of the
Academy of St Luke at Rome. Returning to England,
he executed a design for Blackfriars Bridge, which was
chosen from among twenty others. The bridge was begun
in 1760, was finished in 1769, and established the fame of
its architect. He was employed to erect or improve many
edifices throughout the kingdom. The office of engineer
to the New River Water-works Company, and the sur-
veyorship of St Paul’s Cathedral, were conferred upon him.
While holding this latter appointment he suggested the
famous inscription to the memory of Wren in St Pauls,
“ Si monumentum quaeras, circumspice.” He died in 1821.
MYMUNSING, a district of Hindustan, in the province
of Bengal, situated between the 24th and 26th degrees of
north latitude. The boundaries of this territory are the
Garrow Mountains and the district of Goalpara on the N.,
Dacca Jelalpoor on the S., Silhet on the E., and Bogra and
Rungpoor on the W7. The country is intersected by the
M Y N
ngSoi™"Lso?rcausing very abu"d“n‘ ™p“ »f
and arebut / „ abS" rT"
l>ary. The pop, lat on is 1 iS7 mn ef 'S,BySon-
provinces o^Bengd.’ On“ eNUisr “V^ "0;th-«sto"
of Budaon, on the N W and W h bp,lnilef ''yt 'eprovince
by Etawah and ^L^he YhT/SCd ^if
a^W 30 f^d‘"T-Lat-2a54 “"<* 27.», Lo„gd78 "S!
d , •30-’ and contains an area of 2000 square mi?e« 'I'l,-
populat,on amounted ml853 to 832,714; of whom 619,659
M Y K
747
I Tr#
2< 1*1 )93 Molilnunedamand ml’.er” H'"‘|U] n0"-:lSricul'ural; Myriapod.
of those various cl^rnon^l^rTr,;aa?df3,i?4?
this province forms part was included in tho M ]1 °f wh!ch
empire of the Afghans, overthrown by Bab^r oT the
dismemberment of the empire of Delhi 1 °
the transient realm of Nuiuf Khnn • • ecame part of
Mahrattas, and in 1803 was ceded to the'lSvtTtf the
a p“nppooTi’i>w.p ™-:
«»">S7>hetenus ScoenoeRf°''merlyfSt0 CalIed’ °f 'vllicl'
most characterfsoc examr A °f Lin"a!,,S) fom ‘h«
rate class of the articulated trtbes"ln * Sepa'
views of Dr Leach anrl r>ti ’• n con^ornilty with the
their structur^e^^VnlTt^StrtV'^^
TriffToS ^'rScio f8'1 ^‘rSdt^a
ing forms have been already exh’ibited’fi"'1"011 the P''6™'1-
oor representations of inserts) on plite CCI.rr fl*
work. We owe the establishment of the clamo Dr if, h?
M. Lamarck having viewed tho Mvrio ® ^ass to ^^Leach,*
while M. Latreillp ldpoda as arachnides,3
. except in a single work * recrnrHcirl f i,
ss true insects Aq ^ ^^.^ueci tnem
SSs -
•SiimSSBSSB
-ion of the firs'.: is Sited SaS^
lor the most part by a single boot Pm f • gS’ terminated
ings for respirationTare pfaced on eac^al a> °r 0pen'
a circumstance which has indnpprl ternate segment,
eard the ]*ttZ I induced some observers to re-
garu me latter as only semi-seo-mpnte in c ■
insects each ring has its na.Y nfPcT; 1 ’/ ,/ar 38 ln true
necessity for the establishmpnt- /mata• .But we see no
s:t:^t"hj<eprodra gr-eater
(double) segment, a coupl^fpS?',"!,‘0 ^3'^
are b.-articulate, and are followed by a piece in tlm fnl^ e?
Ik le 5 q"a,d, ifid- Witb a''ticul“led ^ SembTin0/
o 1 Crus“ceaCOrTrnndinS ‘l P0Si,i°n t0 the
Bsligspss?
as maxillary feet, lire antennas are two Xmber^Thek
may tecmse’ a]th»“«'' ‘^y
articulations also varies m-patlv Tha ~ nui«Der ol the
usually formed hv ! f, -g r y‘ , 0rgans of vlsion are
y med by a union of smooth or simple eyes; but
MYRIAPOD A,
imeZVt’f PartS T ana,0S°us t0 the compound eyes of
insects, the facettes, however, beimr nrnnni-t-mr, n i 01
rounder, and more distinct All Mg ProP°ltlona,Iy Jarger,
appear, from the observations of Savi the youL?" hat Ilm
genus Zu/us is born withnm- fpof. ^ unger, that the
observed, that those Myriapodes are subiwlit ^ ha§ be1n
Sw'bf ,iVeh' t0 a,ragU'ar “ctam'orphosirDeS
had Jong before observed, that the nnmhir nf • egeer
tncreased with the general growth of ,he ^dy. ‘r PartS
genus Zulus) before th’e development of^ ^at leaS- m the
tem; but it must be bornetamind ll sys-
for a length of time in the larva state ftowh-'T';?8 eX',St
condition of the Myrianodes sn ^1^. i 1 h h the ear]y
are thus of equal longevity with thel/anv?^°a dS u-3nd
of our present inquiry. The MyrianodeJ; °0ted SU,bJfcts
the light. They conceal thptlll P T general shun
the bark of traes!““t old fmrrU:ndr St°neS' be"eath
wounded victims. 3 poisonous juice into their
In our subdivision of the rlass oo *1.
.rM^s"^
Which differ from each other both'inha'wtI’anTrtSS
Order I—CHILOGNATHA.
•See the article Entomology of this work vol iv n os c .
Aninxaux sans Vertsbres v 24 ’ . lx' ?• foot note.
, V. 44. Famt/kj du ^ ^
Li„™susprimT7eEpirrrds to the „f
of a crustaceous consistence The anm" cyll"dncal, and
of seven joints, „f nearly eVufee fhTr 5°uP0Sed
thick, without palpi distinpilv d; -a j • e mandibles are
by a median a/tica&ran/wSteaTmr ^
concavity of their upper extremifv r lmP,anted m a
labium or lower lip, divided at Be”e.ath 18 a kind of
up, divided at its exterior surface, by
* Linn. Trans, xi. 376.
Menwric Scientifiche, Pisa, 1828.
748
MYRIAPOD A.
Mynapo- notches and longitudinal sections, into four principal areas,
da- tuberculated on the upper margin, and of which the two
intermediate are short and narrow, and placed at the up¬
per extremity of another area, which serves them as a
common base. The feet are very short, and always ter¬
minate in a single hook; four anterior feet placed imme¬
diately beneath the labium, resemble the others in form,
but are more approximate at their base, with the radical
joint proportionally longer. Most of the other legs are at¬
tached by double pairs to a single segment of the body.
The male organs are placed beneath the seventh pair of
legs, those of the female behind the second pair. The
stigmata, as usually described, are very small, and placed
on alternate segments outside the origin ot the legs.
The Myriapodes of this division are slow of movement,
and advance, as it were, by a gliding motion. They as¬
sume in defence a round or spiral form. Ihe first seg¬
ment of the body, in some the second, is larger than the
others, and presents the form of a corselet or buckler.
The double pairs of legs do not occur until we reach the
fourth, fifth, or sixth pair; the first three or four pair
being free from their origin, or adhering to their respec¬
tive segments only by a median or sternal line. The two
or three terminal segments of the body are usually with¬
out feet. On each side of the body there is a series of
pores, formerly regarded as stigmata, but which, accord¬
ing to M. Savi, merely emit an acid liquor of a disagree¬
able odour, and probably intended as a means of defence ;
the true stigmata, or respiratory openings, as described
by the Italian naturalist, being placed on the sternal piece
of each segment, and communicating internally with a
double series of pneumatic pouches, disposed en chapelet
along the body, and giving out tracheal branches, which
ramify over the other organs. These pouches or vesicu¬
lar tracheae, according to M. Straus, are not connected
with each other, as among ordinary insects, by a princi¬
pal trachea. .
The form of the newly-hatched bodies of the luhdae, as
observed by M. Savi in the vicinity of Pisa, was somewhat
kidney-shaped, quite plain, and without appendages. Af¬
ter the lapse of eighteen days they underwent their first
moult, and only then assumed the form of the adults; but
they were still composed of only twenty-two segments,
and the total number of their legs amounted to twenty-six
pair. These observations are in some measure inconsist¬
ent with the assertion of Degeer, who in the young state
of these creatures counted only three pair ot legs and eight
segments: but is it certain, asks M. Latreille, that the
moult described by M. Savi was actually the first; or ought
we not rather to presume that they do not pass suddenly
from an apodal state to the possession of twenty-six pair
of legs; in other words, that they are subject to certain
intermediate changes, which may have escaped the obser¬
vance of M. Savi P1 After the second moult, however, the
last-named naturalist informs us, the genus lulus exhibits
thirty-six pair of legs, and after the third, forty-three, and
the body then consists of thirty segments. In the adult
state the number is considerably increased. Two years
afterwards another moult takes place, and it is only then
that the generative system is developed. From the period
of birth, which takes place in March, the renewals of the
skin were observed by M. feavi to take place almost month¬
ly till November, and the exuviae were seen to contain
even the membrane which lines the interior of the alimen¬
tary canal and tracheae. The organs of the mouth were
the only parts not there observed by M. Savi.2
The food of these Myriapodes consists both of animal Myriapo
and vegetable substances, generally dead and decomposed. da.
They deposit a great number of eggs. The generic groups “
are as follows. We shall enter into few details, as we
have illustrated so many of the prevailing forms by means
of accurate figures.
Genus Glomeris, Lat. Body convex above, concave
below, with a range of small scales along the lower sides.
It is composed of twelve segments, exclusive of the head.
The male has thirty-two legs, the female thirty-four.
The species are not numerous. Although G. ovatus
inhabits the sea, the greater proportion are terrestrial, oc¬
curring under stones, particularly in mountainous coun¬
tries. G. marginata (Plate CCLII., fig. 1) is common in
most European countries.
Genus Iulus, Lat. Body cylindrical and extended,
without any projecting crests or cutting margins.
The larger species are terrestrial, and live in woods ;
the smaller attack fruits, roots, and various kitchen produce,
to some of which they are very destructive. I hey all as¬
sume a spiral position in repose or when alarmed ; the
head being placed in the centre. Prior to the time of La¬
treille, this entire division was included under the genus
lulus, Linn. But the French naturalist restricted the term
to the cylindrical species, and formed of the others his ge¬
nera Glomeris, Polydesmus, Polyxenus. Various species
are described by Dr Leach, in a paper which stands in need
of revision.3 We have here figured /. sabulosus, a common
European species, Plate CCLIL, fig. 3. A monstrous
Myriapod is mentioned by Ulloa as inhabiting the district of
Carthagena.4 He describes it (if his terms have not been
mistranslated) as sometimes extending a yard in length,
and measuring five inches across. Here there is no doubt
some gross exaggeration. He adds that its bite is mortal,
if a timely remedy be not applied. From its cylindrical
form it has been regarded as an lulus.5
Genus Polydesmus, Lat. Body linear, the segments
compressed on the under surface, with projecting ridges on
the upper, somewhat in the form of transverse oblong scales.
The species of this genus, of which our lulus complana-
tus, Linn., may be regarded as the type (Plate CCLIJ.,
fig. 2), dwell under stones in dampish places. They assume
the spiral form when touched, and feed both on animal
and vegetable matters in a state of decomposition.
Certain other species, of which the eyes are obvious,
form the genus Craspedosoma of Dr Leach.
Genus Polyxenus, Lat. Body soft, membranous, ter¬
minated by a tuft of lengthened scales.
The only species of which we have any knowledge is
the Pol. lagurus, Lat. (Plate CCLIL, fig. 5), regarded
as a scolopendra by the generality of systematic authors,
and described by Degeer under the name of lule d queue
en pinceauJ5 It is a very small creature, of rather singu¬
lar aspect. Our magnified representation just referred to
will save the necessity of descriptive details. Its early
organization is less complicated than that of the adult
state ; that is, the young consist of fewer segments and a
less number of legs. We know little of its natural habits.
It occurs in the clefts of walls, and beneath the bark of old
trees.
Order II.—CHILOPODA. Lat.
This division of the Myriapoda bears nearly the same re¬
lation to the unrestricted genus Scolopendra of Linnaeus,
a See Osservazione per servire alia storia di una specie di lulus communissima, reprinted in Manor is Scientijiche, I isa, 1828.
* Linn. Trans, xi. 377- , . 4 Voyage, vol. i. p. dL
Kirby and Spence’s Introduction to Entomology, vol. i. p. 128.
6 Mimoires, t. vii. pi. 36.
naturalfr Thll?S t0 gem'S ^ of t,le Swedish
1St> / he antennae become slender towards the ex
upS/The moCu°thl;OSed °f f°1Vtee" mi^ons and
furnished with a c I]18 col?1Posed nftwo mandibles, each
ing^n theiTcentre^hl Pa'P"0rm aPPe"da^. a"d exhibit-
in a spoon-shaped SZd^s “Sf
;S'7h's ftl.uadr,fitd’ wi‘h ‘he two lateral divisions'larger
membranousefee.?"rairrepllsngeThi1dl rm“ing ‘,he
jeLs tribes? l!;i
quj" y, ,or tl,e transmission of a venomous or acrid ]i-
nien!brabnodus°f iSh UnSeeml-v creMures is depressed and
menioianous. tach ring or segment is covered bv a cn-
riaceous plate, and usually bears only a simde pair of lees •
and the terminal segment is generally thrown backttards’
and elongated into a kind of tail. The or.-lns If reso '
lH tllcheXThrse "‘l'’6'' *" 'vh0.le °r in Part> of ‘nbu-
nr tracheae. 1 he sexual parts are interior, and placed at
the posterior extremity of the body, as in the Jeneralitv
of insects properly so called. Thestigmata aleTor? ob-
or dOTMl?" m e precedlng familr’ anJ are either lateral
-The species of this division are of much more nimhlp
hi which atL‘r0Sh°fthe pr!Cedingi and tl,e peculiar mode
n which the limbs act produces an undulating lateral mo¬
on. I hey are of carnivorous habits, and, avoiding strong
ight, usually conceal themselves under stones or old tinf-
ber, beneath the bark of trees, &c. They are 1 eld Tn
!rvMrd y ‘he i".l'abita'’ta of tropical countries, where
inflf t' aiIl 3 ^reat size’ anc^ are consequently capable of
nfhcting dangerous wounds. But the majority of^ravel-
th-m S naffleed that’ alth0Ugh the bite Jis more painful
than that of a scorpion, it is never attended by fatal con¬
sequences. In more northern countries they are quite
sive^Decf^ob d‘Sllked ^ conse(luence °f their repul-
LtoofTinn U f C°mm0n fentlPede (Scolopendra forfi.
cataoi Linn.) so frequent in this country undef stones mav
great8Dutch as. a fam,1!ar examPIe* I^eeuwenhoeck, the
gieat Dutch microscopical observer, has described the
posed HZw °0kS’ tl"'°Ugl1 Which the poiso” is sap-
LaleiL0’rAeri^Which,COrr,eSp0nds t0 the Syngnatha of
La red e s earlier works, the title adhered to by Dr Leach)
is divided into the following genera. '
The first two have only fifteen pair of legs • and their
seeme^tT^r from.above> seem to present fewer
se ments than when examined from below.
nhm^NUS uCmTIGuRA’ Lamarck-2 Body covered by eight
plates or shields, beneath each of which are two pneuma-
t c pouches or vesicular tracheae, which receive the air,
tub 1]n°TUniC With Iateral and inferior tracheae of a
bular foim. The under surface is divided into fifteen
MYRIAPOD A.
49
,e-rTa‘cd by W
sus Thp tLn- 1 , e d ’ fnd minutely articulated tar- da.
ment from Z I gS ^ a"d seem “ in'—
extent fiom the foremost to the hindmost pair. The eves
a e comparatively large and reticulated. The antennae
S and the paIPi Fleeting an3
The species keep themselves concealed during the day
tweenn?]01’/^ Unfrequented partS of houses, fying be^
tween old planks, or sometimes under stones. They are
seen at night running on the outside walls with ere/t ve-
c y, feeding on onuct, and various insects. They seem
to pierce their prey with their mouth-hooks, and^infuse
them nf”?-/ P0‘^nou®Tfluid» which immediately deprives
them of life These Myriapodes make their appearance
n great numbers, chiefly in rainy weather. According to
iarv81'’ Tim T by the habitants of Hun-
Sr: fof Linnf rd lh- Pa”as a-«s
Retire SiXl!hat U had fa,l“
Genus Lithobius, Leach. Body divided into an
an"p":igXtS ,botb1ab“ve a”d below, each bearing
Zri Tbflri ha dorSal -p,ates are alternately long and
w‘ u St,Smatlc openings are lateral.
ento CPlate CcTlI °F ^ Species’ Z*
^ A fig. 6), a familiarly-known Linmean
scolopendra, as an example of the modern genls
XertZes eV^’vbera' tb™ughout the summed season?
been describ'ed bj M Cn'S^r^ the genUS haS
i he remaining generic groups of this order have it
east twenty-one pair of legs, ‘and the segments of the
attZ^blir/ eqUa' SiZe’ a”d sintilar^numbZ? both
are^eiZt dS.tS?0L0,TDEA' pr0per,y 80 callfid’ "“■'e
g)t distinct eyes, four on each side, and the basal
joint of the terminal legs is armed with small spines We
have no British species, but the south of Europe produces
Scol. cingulata, which presents almost as formidable an
aspect as some of the exotic kinds. The great foreign
specues (one of which sometimes measuresabove a foot
m length) have been as yet but ill defined, several kinds
being no doubt described under the name of W ^1
tans, a native of South America (Plate CCLII., fio- 9)
A monstrous species, called ScoL Plumieri, is figured in
Lister s Journey to Pans, and appears to be also renre-
sented in Sebas Thesaurus, under the name of Millepeda
major ex Nova Hispana. India, and the great eaftern
is ands, produce some very large species ; and^scolopendrm
o alarming size likewise occur on the African continent
The bite of these creatures is said to be dangerous -5 but
it seems that the poison of the wound is allayed by the u^e
of ammonia. M. Amoreux is of opinion that no poisonous
power is possessed by any of the European speciL6 The
whole are carmvorous and voracious, and, afl things con¬
sidered, they may be regarded as among the ugliest of
creeping things. Nevertheless they are not without tLi!
advantage to the human race. “ I have seen Indian chil-
Bulletin de la Hoc. Phil. Januar, 1824 a ‘>4 4 Annal^ des Science* Nat. ii. 81.
1 b Insect. Venim. p. 277.
750 M Y R
Jlyroba. dren,” says Humboldt, “ of the tribe of the Chuymas, draw
laj18 out from the earth and eat millepedes or scolopendrae,
M ion ^ inches long and 7 lines broad.”1
v ^ / Other species, in which the eyes are obliterated or in-
conspicuous, and the basal joint of the last pair of legs is
free from spines, form the genus Ckyptops of Dr Leach.2
He has described two English species, and nobody appears
to have since found any other elsewhere.
Some still more slender kinds, of which the antennae have
M Y R
only 14 joints, but the legs are so numerous as sometimes Myrrh,
to amount to nearly 300, compose the genus Gkophilus
of Dr Leach. They are remarkable for their extreme
tenuity, and at least one British species is at times beau¬
tifully phosphoric. We know not, however, whether it is
identical with the Scol. electrica figured by Frisch, and de¬
scribed by Geoffroy.3 Dr Leach has described the indige¬
nous species.4 They are destructive to fruit and vege¬
tables. (j. w.)
MYROBALANS are the unripe drupe-like fruits of a
tree found in the East Indies, growing from 40 to 50 feet
in height. It is the Terminalia Chebula, Roxburgh, of
the natural order Combretacese. (See Botany.) The
myrobalan of commerce is about an inch and a-half in length,
oval in shape, dry, hard, and wrinkled, and of a brownish-
yellow colour. It was first imported in 1842 as a substi¬
tute for galls in dyeing black, and was for some time sup¬
posed to be a gall, and returned as such in the revenue
accounts. The quantity imported during the first three
years only amounted to about 8 tons ; but so greatly has
the demand increased in consequence of the valuable pro¬
perties of the myrobalan, that in 1856 the importation had
reached 3150 tons. The myrobalan is gathered unripe,
and then dried in the sun, and packed into pockets containing
about half a cwt., and bags holding about one and a half
cwt. Of these bags, the number imported in 1856 was
41,250, and of the pockets 2300, nearly all of which are
brought from Bombay. The value is, according to quality,
from 6s. to 12s. per cwt. With the salts of iron the myro¬
balan yields nearly as fine a black as the Turkish oak-gall;
and from the fact that it contains a large quantity of tan¬
nic acid it has been extensively used in tanning when
more than ordinarily cheap. Besides black, they yield various
shades of yellow and yellowish-green, with proper mordants.
There are numerous species of myrobalan, some of which
are very useful. They are,—the Terminalia citrina,
Rox., used as a gentle aperient in Indian pharmacy ; the
Terminalia belerica, Rox., the seeds of which are eaten,
and are likewise used in tanning and dyeing ; the Termi¬
nalia catappa, Linn., yielding the edible kernels called
Indian almonds; the Terminalia glabrata, Forskel, eaten
in the Society and Friendly Islands; the Terminalia
angustifolia, Jacquin, formerly celebrated for its richly
odorous gum ; and the Terminalia alata, used in tanning
operations in India. The emblic myrobalan, the fruit of
Phyllanthus emblicus, Linn., is used for similar purposes
in the East Indies. (t.c.a.)
MYRON, one of the most famous of Greek statuaries,
was born at Eleutherae in Boeotia about 480 B.c. He
studied along with Polycletus under Ageladas of Argos,
and flourished at Athens about the commencement of the
Peloponnesian war. Some of his works were executed in
marble, but he wrought most successfully in the bronze of
Delos. The range of his subjects was not confined to the
varied attitudes of the human figure. It also comprised
the forms of other animals ; and this fact distinguished him
from the rest of the great statuaries of Greece. Another
characteristic of Myron was the want of all idealization in
his works. “ He was,” says Pliny, “ curious in all cor¬
poreal detail, but paid little regard to expression.” There
w'as an air of ease in his statues which indicated the admir¬
able spontaneity of his genius. The work that first raised
him to celebrity was a brazen cow, in the attitude of low-
ing, and, according to some, of suckling a calf. It was set up
in a public place in Athens, and there it stood till at least the
time of Cicero, attracting more notice by its simple truth¬
fulness than all the highly-idealized statues of men and
gods that abounded in the thoroughfares and streets of the
city. Many authors mentioned it both in prose and verse,
and no less than thirty-six of the epigrams in the Greek
anthology were written in its praise. The last writer who
alludes to its existence is Procopius, in the sixth century.
It was then standing in the temple of Peace at Rome.
The next most famous work of Myron was the “Discobolus,”
or quoit-thrower. This athlete is described by Lucian as
bending one knee in the act of preparing to play, turning
his head slightly to one side, and extending his right hand
behind his back to take the quoit from his left. Of this
bronze statue many marble imitations were probably taken,
in accordance with the custom of that age. Some of these
are supposed to have been discovered. One found in the
Villa Palombra, on the Esquiline, in 1782, and now seen in
the Villa Massimi at Rome, closely agrees with the descrip¬
tion of the original given by Lucian. Not so faithful is
another that was discovered in the grounds of Fladrian’s
villa near Tivoli in 1791, and is now exhibited in the
Townley gallery of the British Museum. It has both
knees bent, instead of one only, and the head inclining for¬
wards, instead of turning round.
The following list of some of Myron’s other works is
given by Pliny :—A dog ; Perseus ; sea-monsters ; a
satyr admiring a double flute; Minerva; Delphic
pentathletes ; pancratiasts ; Hercules; and Apollo. There
are also mentioned in ancient authors, a colossal group of
Jupiter, Juno, and Hercules at Samos; four oxen, which
were placed by Augustus in the portico of Apollo’s tem¬
ple on the Palatine ; a statue of Apollo, with the name of
the artist in small silver letters on the thigh; Bacchus;
several athletes ; and a drunken old woman, in marble, at
Smyrna.
Myron was also a carver in wood and an engraver in
metals. He is said to have died in great poverty, leaving
a son, named Lycius, who inherited a considerable portion
of his father’s talents. {English Cyclopcedia of Biography.)
MYRRH, a resinous gum which exudes from the bark
of the myrrh tree .{Balsamodendron myrrha, nat. ord.
Terebinthaceae), found in Asia. (See the article Botany.)
As a balsam, myrrh has been highly prized from the most
remote times. We find the earliest mention of it in Gene¬
sis xxxvii. 25. The Egyptians used it extensively for em¬
balming their dead, and its sweet odour is easily recog¬
nisable in the black bituminous material which is now found
in large quantities in mummies. The Greeks and Romans
employed it in medicine; and Pliny speaks of it as an im¬
portant article of commerce in his time, and as selling at
a price so high as to provoke extensive and ingenious
adulteration. (See Pliny’s Natural History, Bohn’s edition.)
Myrrh is now imported from Turkey and the East Indies.
That from the former country is considered superior in
1 Personal Narrative, vol. ii., p. 205. a Zoological Miscellany, vol. iii.
s Histoire des Insectes, t. ii., p. 676, n. 5. * Linn. Trans, xi. 384.
M Y S
Myia
I
Mysre.
quality, and is easily known from the Indian sort by its naler
M Y S
751
colour and purer fragrance. It is a true gum-resin, ‘pari
tially soluble in water, and partially in ether or alcohol.
It is, however, more soluble in water than in alcohol.
. w Liiau ill H
-Brande gives the following analysis:—Volatile oil, 2-60:
resm (soft) 22-24; resin (hard), 5-56; gum (so
r, no ■ ' N ' /> - gum (soluble),
54 38; gum (msoiuble),9-32; salts, 1-36; impurities, 1-60;
Joss, J 94. It is used in medicine, and enters largely into
the composition of tooth-powders; it is also used in in¬
cense and other fumigations. Myrrh is packed in chests
containing from 1* to 2 cwt. The quantity imported into
Bi itam in 1856 was 310 cwt. In that year the most inferior
Las Indian myrrh sold for L.2, 10s. per cwt., whilst the best
I urkey brought L.8. (T c A \
M YSIA, an ancient province in the N.W. of Asia Minor
was bounded on the S. by Lydia, on the E. by Phrygia and
Bithynia, on the N. by the Propontis and the Hellespont,
and on the W. by the vEgean Sea. The name Mysia,
however, was often applied to particular parts of this dis-
SCt Lhe.P™vince was divided into five parts,—Mvsia
Minor, Mysia Major, Troas, /Eolis, and Teuthrania. “To
the first of these the Mysians were originally confined.
I hey had come thither from the country of the Lydians
as Herodotus asserts, or from Thrace, as Strabo maintains!
and as their alleged identity with the Moesians implies.
Gradually they spread themselves southward, encroachino-
upon the 1 rojans, iEolians, and Phrygian settlers, untfl
they had attained sufficient importance to communicate
their name to the entire province. Little is known about
their history. They are mentioned by Homer among the
allies of Priam. This country was subject at one time to
the Lydian monarchy. It then formed in succession a part
i of the third satrapy under the Persians, and a part of the
’ Syrian empire that was formed after the death of Alex-
ander the Great. On the defeat of Antiochus, the last
, Ling of Syria, in 65 b.c., it was given by the Romans to
Lumenes, King of Pergamus. It was afterwards incorpo¬
rated in the Roman province of Asia.
i t iM7^,ia WaS rendered ru?ged by Mount Temnus, Mount
Ida, Olympus, and other offshoots of Mount Taurus. There
were many rivers, of which the principal were Cai'cus (AA-
sou) in the S., and AUsepus in the N. Pergamum (Berqa-
i man), Cyzicus, Abydos, and Adramyttium (Adramyti),
| were the chief towns.
MYSORE,Mahesura,or Maisoor, araj or native princi¬
pality in the south of India, under the protection and adminis¬
tration of the British government. It is situated principally
between N. Lat. 11. and 15., and is completely surrounded
by the British territories subject to the Madras and Bombay
presidencies. Its length is estimated at 210 miles, and its
average breadth at 140. The country consists of a high
table-land, inclosed between the Eastern and the Western
Ghauts, and elevated 3000 feet above the level of the sea,
iom which rise numerous lofty hills, containing the sources
of many streams. '1 he principal rivers which intersect the
country are, the Cauvery, Tumbuddra, Vedawati, and the
Noi thern and Southern Penna. The elevation of this inland
n am varies at different places. The highest mountains of
lysore, namely, those of Bababudin, near Bednore, rise to
p le “eight of 6000 feet; the elevation of Sivagunga is 4600
^eet; at the Pass of Peddanaik Durgum the height is 1907
eet, according to barometrical observations; at Baitaman-
lalum, 2435; at Bangalore, 2807; at Hurryhur, 1831. The
,ieat of the climate is mitigated by the height of the ground,
Ind the climate throughout the whole of this extensive tract
p remarkably temperate and healthy. This country has
pother peculiar advantage, namely, that it is sheltered by the
Ghaut Mountains from the violence of the monsoons, which
weep along the lower plains, and deluge with torrents of
fain the coasts of Coromandel and Malabar. The clouds
r hich are driven on the land from the Indian Ocean by the
!FUtwVeSt rn"n1soons are opposed by the mountain-wall of Mysore,
the Western Ghauts; and although the higher and lighter
clouds make their way into the plains, and occasion frequent,
and sometimes heavy showers, which refresh the air and the
ground, yet they are seldom of long continuance. Occa¬
sional showers, however, fall at other seasons, and preserve
the verdure of the fields throughout the year.
The country of Mysore, from its elevation and its tem¬
perate climate, not only produces all the other grains and
vegetables of other parts of India, but also many of the
fruits of Europe. It appears to have been formerly in a
much higher state of cultivation than at present; but it was
nearly ruined, partly by the invasion of armies, partly by
the rigorous administration of Hyder, and still more by
that of his son Tippoo. It is now rapidly recovering from
its depopulation under the sway of the British. Rice is
cultivated on the higher and lower grounds; and the culti¬
vation is much aided by means of reservoirs and wells
whence the farmers irrigate their fields and gardens. The
soil also produces the sugar-cane, for which the black clayey
lands are best adapted. The crop of raggy, a species of
coarse grain which supplies all the lower classes with their
common food, is the most important of any raised on the
dry held. Wheat is cultivated in gardens, or in the rich soil
of the beds of the tanks, which have been exhausted for the
purposes of irrigation. It is only a small quantity, however,
that is raised. The Ricinus communis is found here, and
produces abundance of castor oil, which is used for the lamp
and a variety of other purposes. The betel-leaf tree thrives on
the low grounds, where it can obtain a supply of water; and
the poppy is cultivated, both for making opium, and on account
ot the seed, which is much used in the sweet cakes that are
eaten by the higher ranks of the natives. The cocoa-nut palm
begins to produce in this province when it is seven or efoht
years old. Agriculture is here in a very backward state
and the implements used are very imperfect. The plough
has neither coulter nor mould-board to divide and turn ovi * * * * &er
the soil, and it seldom penetrates more than three inches
deep. The fields are in consequence very imperfectly
cleared; and after six or eight ploughings in all directions,
numerous small bushes remain as erect as before the labour
commenced. Considerable attention is, however, paid to
the manuring of the soil; every farmer collecting a heap
Irom the dung and litter of his cattle, intermixed with the
ashes and soil of their houses. The cattle reared are cows,
buffaloes, sheep, and the long-legged goat; the native breed
of horses here, as m most parts of India, is a small ill¬
shaped, vicious pony. Above the Ghauts, asses are much
used as beasts of burden. The breed is small, and no pains
are taken to improve it. Swine were formerly very com¬
mon in Mysore, but they were banished by Tippoo from
the vicinity of the capital. There are three varieties of
sheep tawny, white, and black. Common salt is found in
abundance in many places, and is extracted for domestic
or manufacturing purposes. Carbonate of soda is also
found amongst the Chitteldroog Hills, mixed with common
salt. Iron-ore abounds in different parts, though it is
worked m a very slovenly manner. At the iron-works
near Chinnarayana Durga, the smelters procure from the one
about 47 per cent, of malleable iron, which is, however very
impure. The principal rivers, which have been already
enumerated, are all inconsiderable, with the exception of
the Cauvery, as long as they continue within the limits of
this province. There are many large tanks and reservoirs
in the higher grounds throughout Mysore, but there are no
lakes. I he water in these tanks is always sweet, and pre¬
ferred on this account to that of wells, which is very fre-
quently brackish. Upon the death of Tippoo Sultan in
1/99, the territories of the fallen despot were divided and
the portion now bearing the name of Mysore was allotted
to tiie titular rajah of the same name, the representative of
752 M Y S
Mysteries, the race which Hyder Ali had supplanted. During; the
minority of the rajah the country was prosperously adminis¬
tered ; and upon his attaining a competent age for taking
charge of the government, an accumulation had taken place
in his treasury of nearly three millions sterling. This great
sum, however, was speedily dissipated, and the annual
income so overstepped and anticipated, that in 1832, con¬
fusion, insubordination, and, finally, open rebellion ensued,
and the British government were compelled to undertake
the entire administration of the territory and its revenues,
managing them by a commission. The results have been
most advantageous. The Hindu rite of suttee has been
M Y S
forbidden ; the Mohammedan population have settled down Mystet^
to agricultural pursuits ; transit duties no longer exist; and
in regard to commercial relations with Great Britain, My¬
sore has been placed upon the footing of a British posses¬
sion. In 1847 the rajah, to whom a large stipend has been *
allotted, preferred a claim to be reinstated in his dominions;
but it was deemed inadmissible, on the ground of his in¬
competency for the duties of government. The town of
Mysore contains many good and substantial houses. It is
surrounded by a rampart and defended by a fort. Accord¬
ing to official report, the population of the town amounts to
54,729 It is situated in Lat. 12. 18., Long. 76. 42.
MYSTERIES.
MYSTERIES (Greek Mixmjpia, a word ultimately de¬
rivable from the root MU, a sound produced with closed
lips) were ceremonies in ancient religions, conducted se¬
cretly, and only in the presence of such as had undergone
preliminary rites of initiation. The ultimate origin of such
ceremonies is doubtless to be sought for in the nature of
religion itself, and the feelings of awe and reverence with
which its objects are regarded. For to such feelings is
directly traceable whatever part sacerdotal exclusiveness or
legislative wisdom may be supposed to have had in their
institution and preservation. Mystery, in one form or an¬
other, is inherent in religion, and will never disappear from it.
Mysterious ceremonies, doctrines, and language, are co-ordi¬
nate developments of the same religious feelings. The ori¬
gin and significance of the ancient mysteries have been the
subject of much investigation and discussion. On these points
some observations will be subjoined to the following succinct
account of the most celebrated of these institutions:—
1. The Mysteries of Isis and Osiris.—These two deities,
like the reigning deities in all mythologies, are preceded in
legend by others. A satisfactory explanation of this fact
has not yet been reached; it was formerly the main support
of the Euhemeristic theory, and has been plausibly explained
by that of successive worships, a theory which has also been
applied to the explanation of many of the peculiar features
of the myths themselves. It is certain, at all events, in the
case of Egypt, that the revolutions in her political history
were accompanied by extensive changes in her religious
systems, and by the displacement or absorption of the ancient
and local deities in a more modern group, and the growth
of new myths, in which, doubtless, the historical events
attending these changes have been partially reflected. He¬
rodotus states, and his statement is confirmed by the monu¬
ments, that the Egyptian gods formed three orders (ii. 145).
These three orders are successive dynasties of gods whose
reign preceded that of mortal sovereigns. Of these three,
the most recent is that of Osiris, whose son Horus is the last
reigning god. (Bunsen, Egypt's Place in Univ. History,
vol. i., p. 357.) These two deities alone, Osiris and Isis,
were worshipped over the whole of Egypt, and their mythi¬
cal history formed the subject of the mysteries.
If actual events, as we have supposed, are partially re¬
flected in the story, the whole has been thrown into the
prehistoric and dateless periods of mythology, and has been
so interwoven with the ideal and purely symbolic, that the
elements are not now distinguishable. Osiris, sovereign of
Lower Egypt, is, with Isis, his sister-spouse, the originator
of agriculture and the arts of peace and civilization. The
cultivation of grain and of the vine, settled life, letters,
music, and the fine arts, are owing to him. He sets out on
a career of conquest and civilization, leaving the govern¬
ment in the hands of Isis, against whom Typhon, brother
and implacable enemy of Osiris, wages war in his absence,
1 ut is defeated, and affects reconciliation. Osiris visits
Ethiopia, India, and Greece, and introduces a new order
of things. On his return to Egypt, he is surprised by
Typhon at a peaceful banquet, and put into a coffer, which
is committed to the Nile. Isis, learning this, searches for
his body, and is guided to Biblos in Phoenicia. Her ad¬
ventures here present a remarkable similarity to those of
Demeter at Eleusis; she becomes nurse in disguise to the
son of Astarte, the Queen of Biblos. At length she declares
herself, gains possession of the coffer, and returns with it
to Egypt, where she conceals herself with it. It is disco¬
vered by Typhon, who cuts in pieces the body of Osiris,
and scatters it over the country. Isis again sets out in
quest of the body, and succeeds in finding all the pieces but
one, which she replaces with an artificial phallus, and inters
the body at Pousiri. According to other legends, she consigns
each piece to a separate tomb, in the form of a human body,
so that it is impossible afterwards to dishonour them.
Horus defeats Typhon and makes him prisoner, but Isis
sets him at liberty and banishes him. Of the ceremonies
to which this myth corresponds our information is vague
and imperfect. They seem to have been six in number,
and celebrated at different periods of the year. 1. The
Aphanism, or disappearance of Osiris, on the 17th of Athyr
(13th Nov.) 2. The Zetesis, or search for Osiris, about
the winter solstice. In this ceremony, the sacred cow,
symbol of Isis, was led seven times round the temple.
(Plut., He Is. et Osir. 52.) 3. The finding of Osiris in
January. 4. The burial. 5. The resurrection of Osiris.
And 6. In March the entrance of Osiris into the moon. At
Abydos and Philse, supposed tombs of Osiris, were cele¬
brated mystic rites, of which we have no certain informa¬
tion. These ceremonies throw considerable light upon the
meaning of the legend. Osiris was the active, life-giving
power; hence the sun, the Nile, &c., and hence his symbol,
the bull: Isis,the passive,life-receiving power; hence Egypt,
the earth, vegetation, &c., and hence her symbol, the cow.
The life-giving power suffers in the course of the year a
temporary death, but is restored to activity again in the
vernal season. The Egyptian mysteries of Isis are to be
distinguished from those of maritime Isis, established at
Corinth, and afterwards so notorious at Rome. We have
a description of these mysteries, doubtless embellished by
the author’s fancy, in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius
(lib. xi.) The festival was preceded by purification in
the sea before sunrise, and at sunrise a procession was
formed, in which the sacred coffer and image of the god¬
dess was borne by a train of priests to the shore, when
a curiously-adorned vessel was consecrated. The cere¬
monies of initiation were practised by night. The neophyte,
after various lustrations and instructions, was led into the
presence of the goddess, and there heard and saw what he
dared not reveal. The discourse put by Apuleius in the
mouth of Isis is a commentary on the inscription of Sais,—
“I am all that has been, is, and will be.” The advantages
MYSTEUIES.
ies. to be derived from initiation were, length of life, the protec-
' tion of the goddess, and a happy lot in the next’world. The
worship of maritime Isis seems to have been introduced into
Home about the time of the empire, and was for a Ion0-
time held in contempt and detestation. This feeling doubt¬
less facilitated the degradation of these mysteries into what
they became under the later emperors,—scenes of debauch-
ery, and all kinds of wickedness, (See S-te C\'OYs.,Itecherches,
&c., vol. ii., p. 172.)
2. The Mysteries, of Demeter, of Dionysus, and of the
CabirL While the history and mythology of Egypt cannot
be said to be as yet completely deciphered, we have, on the
other hand, very full and exact information on the mytho-
logy and worship of Greece. In Greece every deity had
his peculiar mysteries; Jupiter, e.g., had a mystic worship
in Ciete, Juno in Argolis, Hecate in JUgina, Diana in
Ai cadi a, &c. Die most celebrated of all, however, were
those of Demeterat Eleusis in Attica. They owed theirfame,
doubtless, to the city in which they were celebrated, the influx
of cultivated strangers into Athens, and partly also to the na¬
ture of the myth itself, of which they were a kind of comme¬
morative representation. The myth, whose most ancient
form is. preserved in the Homeric hymn to Demeter, is
well known; it is that of the wanderings of Demeter in
search of Persephone, carried off by Aidoneus (Pluto); her
arrival and disguise at Eleusis; her final recovery of her
daughter ; and her institution of agriculture, arts, laws, and
civilized life; according to one legend also, of the mysteries
themselves, to the participants in which her protection and
the favour of Persephone, queen of the under-world, were
secured. The mysteries of Demeter were originally pecu¬
liar to the Eleusinians, and were conducted by the Eumol-
pidae; when Eleusis became subject to Athens, it was sti¬
pulated that they should always continue to do so. Thus,
while Athenians were initiated, the superintendence of the
festival was in the hands of that family, under the second
Archon (Basileus), and associated with the Ceryces (origi¬
nally of the same family), and with the female descendants
of King Celeus. The Hierophantes and the Dadouchos
were the chief ministers ; the latter had charge of the puri¬
fications. Among the inferior offices an important one
was that of Exegetes, or interpreter. The Eumolpids had
also an authority, subject to appeal, in all matters of sacrilege.
The cases of Diagoras (Lysias, Con. Andoc.), of Aristotle
(Diog. Laert. v. !)> and ofLEschylus (Aristot., Eth. Nicom.
iii. 2), prove the strictness with which the laws were en¬
forced, and the jealousy with which the mysteries were
guarded from profanation. (See also., Liv. xxxi. 14.) The
less and the greater mysteries must be distinguished ; the
former, held at Agra, on the Ilissus,. in the month of An-
thesterion (February), consisted mainly in preparatory puri¬
fications by the sacrifice of a sow; an oath was administered
to the mystce, as they were called, at this stage, and in¬
structions given them. The great mysteries were celebrated
in the month of Boedromion (September), probably nine
days (15-23). The first five days were occupied with
various lustrations; on the sixth a grand procession was
formed, bearing the statue of lacchus from the Eleusinion
in Athens to Eleusis, and on the night of this day the last
initiation was performed. Proclamation being made by the
Hieroceryx commanding the profane to withdraw, an oath
was exacted, mystic questions put (the better to prevent
intrusion), further purifications practised, and the recesses
of the temple were disclosed to the Epoplce. It would
appear, from various allusions in ancient authors, that the
punishments of the under-world were represented, as the
myth required, and probably also the nuptial union of
Aidoneus and Persephone. This latter scene, with certain
others of a similar kind in the other mysteries, perhaps gave
colour to the charges of immorality brought against them by
later, especially Christian, writers. These scenes were fol-
VOL. xv.
753
owed by the autopsia, a kind of beatific vision, of which we Mysteries,
have no clear account, and which appears to have been
accompanied by a prescribed discourse from the hierophant,
and then the assembly was dismissed with the mystic for¬
mula Konx, Ompax, repeated by the audience.
Connected with the EJeusinia were the Thesmophoria, a
mystic festival celebrated by the Attic women alone, 14-18
Pyanepsion (October), and which derived its name from
the procession to Eleusis on the last day, in which the laws
were solemnly carried. These mysteries were also held
during the night; were prepared for by continence, fasting,
and lustrations; and appear to have liad reference to the
supposed institution of laws by Demeter.
The mysteries of Dionysus were also celebrated by
women alone, in the month of Anthesterion, in the temple
of Dionysus ev At^vais. They were presided over by the
wife of the Archon king (Basilissa), assisted by fourteen
priestesses, called gerairee (venerable), to whom she took
an oath that she was pure and unpolluted, and with whom
she offered mystic sacrifices for the welfare of the city. The
mystcB wore skins of fawns, and myrtle, instead of ivy. The
sacrifice was a sow, as in the mysteries of Demeter. When
these mysteries were introduced into Rome, they speedily
degeneiated into shameful immoralities; men, as well as
women, were initiated; they were held five days in every
month; and such were the crimes and excesses committed,
that they were at length suppressed by a senatus consult
b.c. 186. (Liv. xxxix. 8-18.)
I he names, nature, and origin of the1 Cabiri are perhaps
the most obscure points of Greek mythology. The etymo-
logy of the name itself has been the subject of much con¬
jecture. This much appears certain, that the deities wor¬
shipped as Cabiri in Samothrace and Lemnos were the gods
of an ancient Pelasgian people of the same name, and had
i clations with- the most ancient seat of the Pelasgian worship
in Northern Greece. The mystic names of the Cabiri were
Axieros, “Axiokersos/’and “Axiokersa/’to whom a fourth
“Cadmilus,”is sometimesadded. But to what Grecian divini¬
ties these names corresponded the conflicting testimonies of
ancientauthors leaves us in entire ignorance. This conflicting'
testimony has given rise to the conjecture ofsuccessive epochs
in the Cabiric worship, the last being that in which the Cabiri
were confounded with the Dioscuri, and became nothing
moie than mariner-preserving deities, their former attributes
being lost in a haze of tradition. (St Croix, i., p. 44; Lim-
burg-Brouwer, Hist, de la Civilis. des Grecs, iv., p. 352.) At
all events, preservation from the dangers of the sea came
to be the main object of initiators in the mysteries of Samo¬
thrace. The initiated were furnished with amulets for this
purpose. Of the rites observed in these mysteries nothino-
certain is known. The myth of the murder of Cadmilus
by his brothers appears to have been represented in them.
3. The Worship of Mithras, its origin, rites, and mean¬
ing, are extremely obscure. (Creuzer, Symbolik, ii., p. 193
ff; Seel, Mithrageheimnisse, 1823 ; Ste Croix, Recherches,
in, p. 121.) In the Zendavesta, Mithras is the chief of
the Izeds, under Ormuzd, who is his creator, and in whose
war against Ahriman he is the presiding agent. He covers
the earth with fruits and verdure, dispenses light and heat
in nature, and guards men from the attacks of Ahriman ;
he is the judge of man in a future state, one month in the
year is consecrated to him, and the sixteenth of every other.
invoked thrice a-day. When the mystic worship
of Mithras spread from Persia into Asia Minor with the
Medo-Persian power, and afterwards, under the Hellenic
monarchies, into Alexandria, and under the Roman empire
into Rome and Europe, the original Persian idea was altered.
Mithras was confounded with the sun and the supreme
deity, and practices were adopted^—celibacy and fastino- e.q.
partly, it is probable, from the Christian religion—quite in¬
consistent with, the Persian worship. We hear of it first
5 c
754 MYSTERIES.
Mysteries. jn Rome at the close of the first century, under Trajan.
Monuments have been found in Italy, in the Tyrol, and
other parts of Europe. On these, Mithras is represented
as a young man plunging a sacrificial knife into a bull on
which he is seated, and surrounded with mystic, sometimes
clearly zodiacal figures,—a physical emblem, it has been held,
of the reproductive forces of nature, from year to year bring¬
ing life out of death ; and a moral emblem of the ever-re¬
peated victory of the good over the evil principle. Nor is
there in this duplicity of signification anything repugnant
to the spirit of ancient mythology. Mithriac initiation was
protracted and severe. The neophyte was baptized,
anointed on the forehead, and received bread and wine ; a
crown was placed on his head, which he rejected with the
words, “ Mithras is my crown and finally he received a
sword, and was declared, “ soldier of Mithras.” This was
the lowest grade ; the others had mystic names derived
from animals sacred to the god.
The discussion respecting the Grecian mysteries has
chiefly turned upon the question, what esoteric religious
doctrine they were meant to conceal and convey?—a question
which should surely have been preceded by the inquiry,
whether they were meant or employed to convey any doc¬
trine at all ? The former question has also been constantly
confounded with another, and a very different one, viz.,
What is the real import of the myths with which these cere¬
monies were connected ?—it having been assumed, without
satisfactory evidence, that the myths, and their interpreta¬
tion into abstract terms, were handed down together, the
former having been invented as a cloak for the latter, to be
removed only to a select few, under the strictest bond of
secrecy. In the first place, such a notion—and any theory
of an esoteric doctrine involves it—is opposed to sound views
of mythology. Such explanations are not possible beside
the still living and credited myth ; a myth not being the
secondary but the primary expression of religious thought
in the period which produced it,—the spontaneous and living
form of the idea. Secondly, the theory of an esoteric doc¬
trine is opposed to a sound criticism of the facts. On the
introduction of Christianity, the philosophic adherents of
polytheism interpreted the mysteries in an ethical and
spiritual way ; probably they attempted to modify them in
accordance with their views, and largely appealed to those
explained and reformed ceremonies in reply to the accusa¬
tions of immorality and absurdity brought against polythe¬
ism and its institutions. The mysteries became in their
hands points of contact between philosophy and the po¬
pular religion ; and by this means what were at first simply
secret ceremonies connected with secret symbols, ac¬
quired arbitrary significations of profound import,—descent
of the soul into union with matter, &c. But when we as¬
cend to earlier writers, we find that every one attempted
to allegorize or euhemerize the myths which underlie the
mysteries in his own fashion, just as the other myths were
dealt with, and that these discordant explanations are fre¬
quently without hesitation attributed to the secret tradition
revealed to the initiated alone. (Limburg-Brouwer, iv., p.
287.) I his of itself is sufficient proof that there was no
esoteric tradition at all; nor is there any evidence that the
instructions given to the initiated were anything more than
tne necessary information as to their conduct during the
ceremony. The supposed necessity of finding a concealed
doctrine has given rise to many singular theories, of which
one or two of the most remarkable may be noticed. Accord¬
ing to Warburton {Divine Legation of Moses Demon¬
strated), the mysteries had three objects : 1. To com¬
memorate the origin of civilization. 2. To inculcate the
doctrine of future rewards and punishments. 3. To reveal
t e doctrine of the unity of God. In this last consisted
t le real secret doctrine, and it was revealed only in the
great mysteries, to which access was as difficult and rare as
it was frequent and easy to the less. On this last assertion,— Mysteries
destitute of all proof, and opposed to everything certainly /
known of the matter,—and on the further reasoning, that
though the revelation of such a doctrine would be fatal to
the popular system, it would not affect the worship of beings
intermediate as to man and the Deity,—he relies to obviate
the invincible objection that polytheism and such mysteries
could not have existed together. The paradox reaches an
extreme when it is alleged, that legislators established
ceremonies subversive of the public religion, for the pur¬
pose of furnishing stronger bonds of social faith and order.
The uncritical way in which, to support his theory, Warbur¬
ton treats his authorities, has been ably exposed by Leland,
Ste Croix, De Sacy, and Limburg-Brouwer. Ste Croix,
while rejecting War bur ton’s theory, that the secret doctrine
of the mysteries was the unity of God, is at one with him
in regard to the special moral and religious aims which he
attributes to them. According to that learned writer {Lie-
cherches Hist, et Crit. sur les Mysteres du Paganisme, 2de
edit., par Silvestre de Sacy, Paris, 1817, 2 vols.), they were
instituted by the early legislators to commemorate the
blessings of civilization, and, further, to furnish expiation for
crimes. The germ of the mysteries is lustration and expia¬
tion ; the doctrines taught were, the necessity of repentance
and confession, the immortality of the soul, and a future
state of rewards and punishments. The views of the edi¬
tor of that work, Silvestre de Sacy, are more sound : there
was no secret doctrine in the mysteries; certain rites and
symbols were secret, and these it was sacrilege to reveal.
Theories of explanation and allegory may have found their
way from the schools of philosophy into the celebration of
the mysteries; but it is utterly erroneous to conceive that
any philosophical doctrines had their origin there. Creuzer
(Symb. u. Myth, der alten Volker, iv., p. 512, ff.) has de¬
livered himself, with little reservation, to the reveries of the
Neo-Platonists. Egyptian priests introduced their doctrines
into Greece under the veil of the mysteries, instructing the
few, who, by submitting to the necessary probations, showed
themselves worthy of being instructed in the doctrines of
the unity of God, the immortality of the soul, its emanation
from the Supreme, &c. When Christianity commenced to
threaten the ruin of polytheism, the philosophers at length
resolved to betray the great secret which had been concealed
for ages in the rites of Eleusis and Samothrace. Perhaps
the extreme in this exaggerated estimate of the mysteries
has been reached by Schelling. His positions are {Phi¬
losophic u. Religion, p. 75; comp. Wegscheider, De
Myster. Grcecorum Religioni non obtrudendis, Gottingae,
1805), that the doctrine taught in them was in the di-
rectest opposition with the public religion, that this doc¬
trine included a pure monotheism, and that Christianity is
only the publication of their secret. According to F. C.
Baur {Symb. u. Mythol., tom.iii., p. 159), the fundamental
idea of the mysteries is that of a god (representative of na- | M
ture and humanity) who suffers and dies, and who afterwards ] "J'tij
triumphs over death, and has a glorious resurrection. The
mystic doctrines included sublime doctrines of cosmogony,
of immortality, palingenesia, and of the most refined pan¬
theism. Ouvaroff {Essai sur les Mysteres dEleusis) has
maintained that the initiated “not only acquired just notions
on the Deity and his relations to man, on the primitive dig¬
nity of human nature and its fall, on the immortality of the
soul, and the means of its reconciliation with God; but that
oral and even written traditions were revealed to them,—pre¬
cious remains of the great shipwreck of humanity.” Heeren
{Ideen., Sic., vi., p. 76, ff.) maintains generally that the mys¬
teries were instituted to preserve the symbolico-physical
signification of the gods of paganism, which without them
would have been lost. As already observed, such theories
have their origin in the imagined necessity of finding some¬
thing worthy, in modern conception, of concealment in the
My*
M Y S
icism. ancient mysteries, and derive their support and plausi-
^ bihty from an uncritical confusion of times and authorities.
Already Itfoshtum (Notes to Cudvvorth, Intell. Syst. i., p.
329) and others had taken a more rational view of the sub¬
ject ; but the main credit of introducing sound criticism into
the whole discussion is due to Muller, who, in his Prolego¬
mena to a Scientific Mythology, first clearly enunciated a
principle destructive of the fundamental fallacy of these
theories, and especially to Lobeck (Aglaophamus, 1830),
ifla
M Y S
755
and Limburg-Brouwer (work cited). The value of their Mysticism,
investigations is not inseparable from the positive theories 's«—
they have advanced on the particular origin of secret wor¬
ship and initiation (Muller, for example, conjectures that
they aiose from the attempt by a conquered race to preserve
their ancient worship), but consists in having put an end to
the unfounded speculations as to an esoteric traditional doc¬
trine, which so long rendered the subject, already suffi¬
ciently obscure, a wilderness of perplexity. (w. h. c.)
ntal
iciflj.
MYSTICISM is that form of error, whether in religion
or philosophy, which mistakes the operations of a merely
human faculty for a Divine manifestation. All men, it has
been said, are born either Platonists or Aristotelians; and
there can be no doubt that the mystical tendency finds a
legitimate origin in human nature. It is always a protest
*—if frequently a blind one—in behalf of what is highest and
best in human nature; and its voice is continually heard in
an age of formalism and moral degradation. It is a reaction
against a spirit of scepticism, and is fostered by that weari¬
ness of the world, that shrinking from conflict, and passion¬
ate longing for inaccessible rest, which the crushed and
timid spiiit so frequently displays. The fascination of
mystery, also, which attends all forms of this spiritual de¬
velopment, exerts a powerful influence over the earnest
imagination.
Mystics have been divided into the three classes of— Theo-
pathetic, Theosophic, and Theurgic. The theopathetic
mystic resigns himself with more or less passivity to an
imaginary Divine manifestation; and in proportion to the
degree of this passivity he becomes either a contemplative
quietist, who regards himself as overshadowed by the Deity,
like Suso, Molinos, or Madame Guyon ; or, believing him¬
self to be impelled by Deity, assumes a more positive and
active attitude, like 1 anchelm, Gichtel, or Kuhlmann. The
theosophic mystic, again, aims at scientific rather than prac¬
tical results, lives to know rather than to act, and believes
himself to be possessed of a certain supernatural divine
faculty for theorizing about God or his works. He either
believes, with Swedenborg and Behmen, that the mysteries
of the Divine dispensations have been disclosed to him by a
special revelation; or holds, with Plotinus and Schelling,
that his intuitions of the hidden processes of nature and
the secrets of the universe are infallible, because Divine;
being the result of an identification of the subject and object
of thought. But while the theopathetic mystic is content
to feel or proselytize, and the theosophist to know, the
theurgic mystic aspires to hold converse with the world of
spirits, and secure the prerogative of working miracles. As
claimants to this supernatural power, Apollonius of Tyana,
Peter of Alcantara, Asclepigenia, and St Theresa, all rank
as religious magicians.
As mysticism is the spontaneous product of certain crises
in individuals and societies, it consequently presents no
proper development, whether traditional or systematic. Its
main characteristics are constantly the same, whether they
find expression in the Bagvat-Gita of the Hindu, or in the
writings of Emmanuel Swedenborg. The earliest mystics
known are those of India, and the best exposition of their
system is to be found in the heroic poem of the Bagvat-
Gita. (See Wilkins’s translation.) They lay claim to dis¬
interested religious feeling, repel the lifeless formalism of
the Vedas, pantheistically identify subject and object, and
aim at ultimate absorption in the Infinite. To effect this
dissolution, they inculcate an absolute cessation from all
activity, and prescribe certain recipes for obtaining this
Divine trance, believing that eternity may thus be realized
in time. They lay claim also to theurgical powers, and
counsel the neophyte to give absolute submission to his
guru, or spiritual guide. This guru is a representative
and vehicle of Divine power, the principle worshipped by
the Hindus, and finds its parallel in the Pir of the Sufis, the
middle-age Confessor, and the Directeur of modern France.
(See Southey’s Curse of Kehama, Notes.)
The second chronological stage of mysticism is that ofNeo-Plato-
the Neo-Platonists of Alexandria, which combines, for thenic mysti-
first time, the leading fundamental ideas of the system withcism-
the purer and more exalted conceptions of Christianity.
Philo was the intellectual father of Neo-Platonism, and he
laboured to combine the high monotheism of the Hebrew
Scriptures with the doctrines of Plato. From amidst the
licentiousness and heartless scepticism of that great com¬
mercial Babel, arose the asceticism of the Therapeutm—a
sect who sheltered themselves in secluded cells, and by
fasting and contemplation sought for divine illumination
around the remote shores of the Lake Mareotis. Of this
sect Philo has left us an account in his De Vitd Contem-
plativd. The ostensible founder of this school of Neo-
Platonism was Plotinus, who, at the age of twenty-eight,
began the study of philosophy in Alexandria a.d. 233.
Its greatest names, after Plotinus, were Porphyry, 1am-
blichus, and Proclus, who is the last of the distinguished
thinkers among the Alexandrian eclectics. The requisite
information respecting those men will be found under the
name of each. (See Hypatia, and Alexandrian School ;
also Kingsley’s Alexandria and her Schools, and Hypatia?)
next come t0 fhe reign of mysticism in the Greek Mysticism
Church—to the hermits, saints, and fathers of the desert. in the
(See Monachism.) The most noteworthy of these wasGreek
St Anthony, who flourished during the latter part of the church J
third and the beginning of the fourth century; Macarius,
who retired to the deserts of Nitria in the fourth century ;
and the pseudo-Dionysius, called the Areopagite, who
committed the literary forgery of the Platonized theology
which goes by his name, and which must have been written
about the middle of the fifth century. Among the ancho-
lites of this period are to be found all the theurgic preten¬
sions of later, and especially of mediaeval times. (See An¬
thony, St i and Dionysius the Areopagite?)
Gradually the eastern mysticism moved westward, and in the
found itself transplanted into a region of great intellectual Catin
activity, such as it had not known before. Neo-Platonism clmrcE
while acting as a soporific on the moral activities of the East’
became a life-giving principle when transplanted to the
West. Platonism and mysticism combined in creating a
party in the church who were the sworn foes of scholasti¬
cism, empty dogma, and hollow quibbling, and who used all
their efforts to check the growth of clerical abuses and
ecclesiastical pretension. With the mystics of the Latin
church monasticism was the avowed panacea. The most
distinguished names of this development of mysticism are
those of St Bernard of Clairvaux, and Hugo of St Victor,
both born during the last years of the eleventh century;
also Richard of St Victor, the Scottish pupil and successor
of Hugo, a man who possessed all theperfervidum ingenium
said to characterize his countrymen in those early days.
The great business of St Bernard’s life was to found and
organize convents: the ruling principle of his theological
teaching is faith. Reason he all but dethroned, and gave
the most vital interpretation to the credo ut intelligam of
756
MYSTICISM.
Mysticism. St Anselm. All doubt was with him the sure sign of a
depraved heart, and any divergence from the acknowledged
standard of piety unspeakably criminal. He maintained
the fundamental maxim, invisibilia non decipiunt, of the
religio-philosophy of the middle ages to its fullest extent.
Knowledge with him was an illumination depending on the
state of the heart, and resulting from an essential relation¬
ship to the divine source of ideas. Sense and experience
were set aside, and the Scriptures were studied, not for their
practical teaching, but with an eye to discover in them all
manner of absurd symbolisms and recondite abstractions.
In this respect Bernard only resembled the whole of the
speculators of that period. The mysticism, however, of this
distinguished abbot displayed a great degree of practical
moderation. If he attempted to transcend humanity as the
theosophist, in his zealous advocacy of the humbler Christian
virtues and in his loud protest against a life of contempla¬
tive sloth, he ranks with the better class of those theopa-
thetic mystics who have laboured to better their race and
purify the world. But while the system of Bernard repudi¬
ated scholasticism, that of the St Victor school strove to
reconcile it with mysticism. This combination is also visible
in all the strictly mystical theology of the middle ages, and it
is abundantly exemplified in Bonaventura, in the thirteenth,
and Gerson, in the fifteenth century. (See in particular
Liebner’s Hugo von St Victor und die Theologischen Rich-
tungen seiner Zeit; also Engelhardt’s Richard von St Victor.)
German We find ourselves introduced to the German mysticism
mysticism. 0f tile fourteenth century by the Chronicle of Adolf Arn-
stein, the pious armourer of Strasburg; by Hermann of
Fritzlar and his legends; and especially by the notable
preacher Master Eckart. What was most peculiar in the
mysticism of the latter, as contrasted with the ordinary
ecclesiastical and scholastic aspects of that system, was the
peculiar emphasis which he bestowed upon “our own con¬
sciousness of being the sons of God.” Eckart felt that the
church could not afford him a secure resting-place for his
soul-; and he accordingly supplied one for himself in a
strange agglomeration of pantheistic metaphysics, which
formed a bold and fervid reaction against the orthodox
externalism of his time. His theosophy forms a strik¬
ing anticipation, in some respects, of the idealism of
modern German speculation. Hegel calls the system of
Eckart “a genuine and profound philosophy and”there is
certainly often a strong resemblance between the doctrines
of the Dominican and those of the advocate of the Logische
Idee. To this period also belong John Tauler; the author
of the famous Theologia Germanica; Henry of Nbrdlingen;
Nicolas, the layman of Bale; the Friends of God; the
Flagellants; Ruysbroek; Suso; the Monks of Mount Athos;
the pious ladies Brigitta, Angela de Foligni, and Catherine
of Siena; also Thomas a Kempis, author of the celebrated
hook De Imitatione Christi ; and the eminent Frenchman,
Chancellor Gerson. But unquestionably the most re¬
markable of that earnest group of German mystics was
John Tauler. He was a man of profound reverence and
fervidly pious spirit, who frequently trod upon the verge
of the pantheistic abvss of Eckart, but never fell into it.
So emphatically does he insist upon total self-abnegation,
and the annihilation of everything human in us, that our
very finitude seems almost criminal in his eyes, and the
possession of individuality something bordering on a sin.
To deify man, he would strip him of his humanity : he would
divorce the higher faculties of the soul which ally man to
God, and those inferior powers which belong to a lower
sphere, rather than strive to harmonize them by assigning
to each its legitimate functions. But in spite of the nume¬
rous contradictions of his negative theology, he was himself
an eminently spiritual and fervently pious man. The
theurgic and sensuous element of mysticism, such as appa-
titions, voices, &e., find no place with him; and he cer¬
tainly rose farther than any of his fellow-mystics above the Mysticism
peculiar dangers of the system. He was a genuine pioneer i  
of the Reformation, and Luther’s admiration of him is well
known. (See Tauler; also Pfeiffer’s Deutsche Mystiker,
Leips. 1857.)
Mysticism was not, however, limited to the West, and to Persian
Christian communities, during the middle ages; we find mysticism,
a genuine development of this mode of thought and feeling
among the poetical effusions of the Persian sufis. It might
at first sight seem almost an impossibility for mysticism to
find any nourishment under the unfriendly shade of the
Koran, with its detailed ritualism and cold formality; but,
as so often happens, the wants of the human heart prove
too strong for creeds, no matter how rigid. At a very early
period in the history of Mohammedanism a class of persons
gradually arose within its pale who dared to set aside the
letter in behalf of the spirit of the Koran. Witness the
devout ardours of the female saint named Rabia, who ap¬
peared about the end of the first century of the Hegira,
and who, in her self-abnegation and disinterested devout¬
ness, bore such a marked similarity to Madame Guyon;
and unquestionably some of the brightest names associated
with the literature and religion of the false Prophet are
found to have been deeply imbued with the genuine mysti¬
cal spirit. The name generally applied to the mystical
asceticism of the Mohammedans is sujism. The sufis lay
claim to a supernatural intercourse with the Deity, to a
mystical union or identity with the Supreme, bringing with
it theurgic powers. The name has a very extensive appli¬
cation. It is given alike to poets, philosophers, dervises,
and fanatics. Persia is the great centre of sufism, and in
its sufi poets mysticism has achieved a success unknown in
any country of Europe. The only western sufi which
mysticism has known was Angelus Silesius, the author of
the religious poem, the Cherubic Wanderer. He flourished
during the seventeenth century, and assumed the name of
Angelus ; but his real name is not known. It is pretty
obvious that it was not John Scheffler, as some have sup¬
posed. (See, under this branch of the subject, Tholuck’s
Sufismus, sive Theosophia Persarum pantheistica, Berlin,
1822; Tholuck’s Bluthensdmmlung aus der Morgenlan-
dischen Mystih, Berlin, 1825 ; Schrader’s Angelus Silesius
und seine Mystih, Halle, 1853; and Sir William Jones,
On the Mystical Poetry of the Persians and Hindoos.)
It has already been remarked, that not a few of the mys- Mysticism
tics who preceded the Reformation were genuine reformers;an(itliel{e'
and it cannot be doubted that the way for that grand reli- orma ’
gious emancipation was in great part prepared by the
mystics of the fourteenth century. So long, however, as
the standard of truth was internal and subjective, and was
very much at the caprice of' every fresh dreamer who
chose to elaborate a scheme of cosmology, or invent new
rules for the regulation of the religious life, a thorough¬
going reformation of the existing abuses of the church re¬
mained impossible. Luther, however, saw into the mis¬
take ; and while he sympathized constantly with what was
highest and truest among the mystics, he nevertheless en¬
deavoured to supplement their honest efforts by the im¬
portant announcement, that the Scriptures were the suffi¬
cient standard of truth. The more clear-sighted and
courageous among the mystics at once hailed the new
doctrine as light from heaven; but there remained still a
party among them who began by suspecting, and ended by
despising, that which alone could have saved what truth they
had from utter oblivion. The mystic of the sixteenth cen¬
tury accordingly did what he could to retard the progress of
the Reformation. Examples of this sort are only too nume¬
rous ; and Luther had to contend at the very threshold of
his great undertaking with the stupidity and wilfulness of
these deluded spiritualists. When holding a public dis¬
cussion on one occasion with the mystics Stiibner and Cel-
^•&y?refeSTntheeia“e;,0 his P»si-
• . eeienceto tne Scriptures? but the self suffix
r
so to a man of God ” The n ,T f ? mS"U t0 speak
were Dr Rnrlens^ir. !• n n*ost1note(J of t]>ese spiritualists
fessor of Witt i °i ^ ar stac t’ ^le crotchety little pro-
tensor of Wittenberg; the prophets of Zwickau—Frank the
g*S«»»s»=t£
ciSjSSSftSBSSr*
mysticism.
757
in0SnbaintheThtUerChhl0fR°mf ^ itS hi^ieSt development Mysticism,
in Spain. Ihere blossomed the flower of fanaticism-there
ounshed that chiralry of persecution which gloried in,
shedding the blood of the heretic, and in multiplying the SpTS-h
horrors of the Inquisition. Among those zealous W my8t“
naries, none shine so bright as Ignatius Loyola, St Theresa
and John of the Cross. The two latter were pre-eminently
mystics: Rome recognised in Theresa her queen of seer-
enses, and in John her prince of ascetics. The one was
a theurgic, the other a theopathetic mystic, and both
carried the peculiarities of these schools to their highest
exoressinn. Dm-inn- •. . . F11”1-
tics, posterior to the Reformation, we^of tlm Veo’carried.the peculiarities of these schools to thei^highest
class, of which the principal examples are to be found inCo,0 ?1Press1™- I,IJnnS ,lle previous centuries, particularly the
nehus Agrippa, Theophrastus Piracelsus and Behml ^ »•> trenth, mysticsm and freedom of thought were well
of whom will he f„„„,l .U-, “us’“a Be"men> aI1 nigh synonymous: but in the sivteeml, ..5 ...... el
nelius A <trinn» T  r examples are to be found in Cor-
of whom^K’e fi ? T8 FaraceIsus> Belnnen, all
prelentwo k T? Under feir resPectire names in the
present work. The mystics of a former time were content
ea&e of the lecondite mysteries of creation such as was
, maker o the little town of Gorlitz, born in the vear 1 ^
genial, manly mystic withal was this withered little
lioeniaker; free from everything effeminate and semimen!
tal, a genuine Protestant, and stanch Lutheran • but
sdf more^oThfi16 °ndl 7a8inative- He addressed him-
seif more to the learned than to the lower orders and his
teaching doubtless supplied a real want of those times in-
S a„daS,he C ran Sm n to harden and wax
growing literalism and harsh formality hostile to the de
velopment of the true life of the soul/ His whole ITe re¬
sembled one great dream ; but he strove with as much zeal
exairther" dJ>?d %bTfit fellow-morials and
exalt tne name of God. (See Behmen.)
fl,p Twm the Sevlenteenth century the mysterious order of
< the Rosicrucans began to make a noise in Germany. A
I >mmg Lutheran divine of great zeal and courage named
If"'"e is generally believed nowTfafe bfn
the author of that far-famed little book, published in Ger-
lany m 1610, entitled The Discovery of the Brotherhood
of the Honourable Order of the Rosy Cross. In it he calls
upon the learned and I'loxrw...   1. .
nigh synonymous ; but in the sixteenth and‘seventeenth
the mystical tendency was shown no quarter, unless it
proved subservient to the cherished designs of the church
m checking the growth of the Reformation. Accordingly
the doctrine of blind obedience to ecclesiastical authority
became not only a capital article of faith with the mystics
hostile to the Reformation, but formed the ruling principle of
their entire lives. Formerly the mystic breathed his deepest
emotions in the ear of the Supreme alone; now he must
adapt his aspirations to the ear of his confessor, and allow
no yearning of the heart, however sacred, to ascend directly
to the source of consolation. Appeal to the director or con¬
fessor is constantly urged in the writings of Theresa and
John ; ^ and nothing but “ the blackness of darkness of
despair is held in store for those who would in jot or tittle
renounce the guidance of that stern functionary. The
mysticism, however, of little John of the Cross was of a
much more elevated character than that of his saintly con¬
temporary. Nor was he guilty of the pious lies andmean
ciudty by which not a few of his zealous coadjutors sought
to bring honour to their church. g
This species of slavish mysticism was not destined to n, •
remam long w.thout modification and even direct oppofr! Q "”n-
tton. The mystical system known as quietism came into
notice during the seventeenth century, and especially about
the beginning of the eighteenth. This system was a vir-
RomS a T,nSt tha ™ercenary reliSion of the consistent
Romanist, and opposed the unnaturally refined doctrine of
. dlsintorested love to the vulgar commercial machinery
in which superstition delighted to indulge. Thus the ex¬
treme of nominalism and insincerity gave birth to the oppo¬
site extreme of spiritual “perfection ” and complete sanctifi¬
cation by faith. The pure spiritual flame which burned in
mo ixr  1 i ai l
^ ysiuer UJ me nosy Cross. In it ho rall« c -o, 1 rr,  1—^ . auu ^‘npiere sanetiti-
upon the learned and devout everywhere who desire to fho 7 f Ih!,pure sP‘mual flame which burned in
leml their assistance in diminishino- the amount of h.m f 1 u of.^[adame Guyon scorched the band which bound
suffering, ignorance, and moral degradadon immeSriv f ° Jer director’ and she Earned to prize the “prayer of
to advertise their names. He indicated howpvpr m ^ sdence dle yearnmg, unutterable language of the soul-
name nor place of rendezvous but threw ont hi ! u lmrneasulrably superior to those so-called prayers repeated
anonymous book as a feeler bv whirh bo m’ l f ltl 6 by rote in the oratory at the behest of a spiritual o-uide As
the number of right-mindld m^t^^ “cuT^ °f S"
operate with him. But superstition was rampant at the - vpT iT ° Madam.e .p1!!011 aPPears to decided ad-
time, and the amiable hoax of tbo npfnt at tne vantage, yet Rome rewarded the fair devotee of Sna.’r,
fertile in fostering some of the very erLThe wilhedTput ofFrmlr h°n0Ur °f Saintsbip’ while her 110 less saintly sfster
down. No society, it is believed, was ever actually formed • R 7 .WfSf ^onstltnted a female confessor. (See Guyon.)
yet tlie name Rosicrucian (rosa, crux) o-raduallv became^ B ’f raig7 have, been expected, the encroachments of
generic term. denoR™ grad,ual,Jy became a quietism on the exclusive prerogatives of the Romish cler-v
were not to ihp Hnmo ]-»  a/t i ^
ii'pnpn’p to, T .1 crux) gradually became a
>f arcanl eTi’ kind of occult skd]> whether
stone From S; eurg!cal Symb°,s’ or the Pbil^opheFs
11 t lIS smgular origin accordingly sprung in a
“ “JTre 11,6 aecret soc'e^'es—freemason and other!
i. r7'/CCeedin? cen(ury. The grand Rosicrucian
-*■    ' ^ vy^c4,Li V Co UI
were not to be borne with equanimity. Madame Guyon
and Mohnos were both incarcerated as dangerous enthu¬
siasts as indeed little John of the Cross had been at the
outset of his career. The leader of quietism in Italy was
edge apparently exS „„S bu „The b ^ **«<*!**• * Spanted of enlightened ^e "1
7S! ^at.men talked ofite secrets with bated breatlf hS and whfhadT 7ld, iD favour by the Pope
md orthodox divines groped in blind wrath for tlm nilla-o * mseu and who had his abode in the Vatican. He main-
f the Rosicrucian “ Temple of the Holy Ghost ” (See doC(t.rine® .s‘mdar in substance to those of Madame
Mer den Ursprung und die Vornehmsten Schiksale^der with the^sfnetfo^f / ^ C-a!led 7%e SPiritual Guide,
hden der Rosenkreuzer und Freymaurer von T r ^ A Sfnct.10n four inquisitors, in 1675. The dan-
fo ilc, Gbtt. 1804 ; also Sir E. B. Lytton’s Zanoni ) ’ ' tliTmthfo^6"0?8 f i the.se d^rtrines were soon found out by
6 01,P°Siti0n °ffered t0 t,W ofEeitma- and as ™
758
MYSTICISM.
English
mysticism
Mysticism, the rosary in Molinos’ book, its pious author was, by their
v-"^1 influence, condemned to spend the remainder of his days
amid the gloom and solitude of a dungeon. A similar fate
accompanied the closing years of Madame Guyon. From
his connection with St Cyr as one of the directors, and with
Madame Guyon, whom he met there, the gentle Fenelon
became tainted also with the quietist heresy, and his vain,
imperious brother Bossuet pursued the most tortuous
courses to involve the good man in disgrace. The “ eagle
of Meaux ” prostrated himself with frantic theatricality
at the feet of royalty, when Fenelon published his Maxims
of the Saints in 1697, and with an affectation of tears im¬
plored pardon for not previously disclosing the wicked he¬
resies of his wilful brother. This scene was followed by
a great flight on the part of the “eagle,” termed An Account
of Quietism, in which he assailed poor Fenelon and his very
moderate admixture of mysticism with the most ruthless
violence. A meek and triumphant Reply was elicited
from Fenelon, Remarks from Bossuet, a fresh rejoinder to
the Remarks from Fenelon, and the controversy came to
an end. Louis urged the interference of the Pope to crush
the heretic of Cambray: infallibility was constrained to
submit to Louis, and Fenelon to succumb to infallibility.
The Pope’s sentence was pronounced in 1699, and the sub¬
mission of Cambray is famous in history. (See Fknelon.)
Unlike the other countries of Europe, Britain was not
prepared for the Reformation by the teachings of mysticism.
Wycliffe of England, “ that morning star of the Reforma¬
tion,” shone with quite a different lustre from the dim, un¬
steady light of the fervid German Tauler. Indeed, Eng¬
lish soil generally does not seem to be favourable to the
growth of that delicate plant, mysticism, which always
vegetates best where the light is dimmest. English mys¬
ticism, if not always sober, is seldom fantastic, and very ge¬
nerally benign. Its best representative is unquestionably
George Fox, the pious, gentle-hearted, humble-minded
“ man in leather breeches.” Such wild visionaries as the
Muggletonians, Fifth-monarchy men, and Ranters, of the
English mystical period, were rather the offscourings of
that much-suffering, much-endeavouring time, than the
genuine representatives of British mysticism. The wisdom
and folly, the greatness and littleness, the expansive bene¬
volence and staid asceticism of George Fox are still par¬
tially to be met with in Quakerism, of which he was the
father. (See Fox, and Quakerism.) In striking con¬
trast with the rude fervour and doubtful prophesyings of the
Society of Friends, and the other communities tainted with
the mystical spirit during that time, was the mild Platonic
mysticism, with its scholarly refinement and retiring de¬
votion, of the English Platonists More, Norris, Gale,
and Cudworth. Indeed, it is perhaps hardly just to de¬
nominate these men and their little school of wise, devout
thinkers as mystics at all. They are never absurdly senti¬
mental or foolishly extravagant: good sense generally per¬
vades all their writings, and they abound in whatever is
lofty in thought or tender in emotion. Yet a subtle vein
of mysticism, like a silver thread, can be detected by the
experienced eye running through their works ; a peculiarity
which it is impossible perhaps for a religious Platonist to
avoid. (See under the name of each.)
The theosophic mysticism of Emanuel Swedenborg
stands alone among all the mystical systems which have
yet been noticed. It is remarkable for its apparent reality
and comprehensiveness, and, with the exception of the
system of Behmen, it differs from that of all other mystics
in three important respects. It strives constantly “ to see
the spiritual not beyond, but in the natural:” the flesh is
no longer evil; and the world ceases to be the birthright of
the devil. Hence its hostility to asceticism. In his theo-
logy» again, Swedenborg maintained a constant equilibrium
between the letter and spirit of Scripture. There is with
Mysticism
of Sweden
borg.
him no discarding of the letter, no fantastical interpreta- Mysticism
tion, but a rigid adherence to the words of Scripture which yW
is quite unparalleled. Nor, again, does he display any of
the rambling theorizing and turbid vehemence peculiar to
all theosophists, and Behmen among the rest. With the
Swedish seer all is scientific precision and calm serenity;
he utters himself always with clear collectedness, and you
never find him in a hurry. In his doctrine concerning spi¬
ritual influence he is peculiarly temperate and by no means
mystical, and if he errs concerning the work of Christ, it
arises mainly from his repugnance to Calvinism. His theo¬
logy is more closely allied to Behmen’s than to that of any
other writer; yet he expressly informs us that he never
read the German theosophist. (See Swedenborg; also
E. Swedenborg, a Biography, by J. G. Wilkinson.)
Nothing really new in the way of mysticism has been
produced since the days of the northern seer. German
rationalism and French encyclopaedism found a protest
raised against their exclusive negativeness by the advo¬
cates of faith and feeling in religion and philosophy, and
by the romanticists in literature. In Germany, Hamann
and Jacobi opposed faith to the logic of the sceptic; Schel-
ling gave the romanticists a poetical philosophy ; and
Schleiermacher taught them to read the Bible in the light
of the individual “ Christian consciousness.” Romanticism
finds its best representative in Novalis (Friedrich von Har-
denberg); and among the more celebrated of its adherents
were F. Schlegel, A. Muller, Z. Werner, and Tieck. (For an
able annunciation of the principles of the genuine romanti¬
cism, see Tieck’s Prince Zerbino.) Unmistakeable traces of
this tendency are also to be found in the writings of Carlyle
and Emerson ; and in religion, mysticism still shows itself in
the disciples of Fox, Swedenborg, and Edward Irving.
There are perhaps few forms of erroneous human de¬
velopment that have rendered so great service both to reli¬
gion and philosophy as the system of mysticism. In an age
of languid spiritual life, of cold formalism, or of heartless
hypocrisy, it has invariably come forth into the moral wil¬
derness, like the Baptist, “ eating locusts and wild honey,”
to expose pretension and insincerity, and preach repentance
unto men. In philosophy, likewise, it has ever been found
to emerge when an extreme rationalism or a debasing mate¬
rialism threatened the foundations of faith, and heralded
a reign of scepticism. Yet, so entirely relative and limited
are the human faculties, that every attempt put forth by
them to transcend the natural bounds of legitimate science
or of intelligent experience, has hitherto led only to ex¬
travagance and folly. The spiritualist, who follows only what
his instincts dictate, is as much in error as the rationalist,
who believes only what he is capable of sciencing. The
idea that there is a special faculty for the discernment of
spiritual truth—an inner soul, independent of experience
and knowledge—has doubtless, in the hands of many, been
a prolific source of mysticism. It is observable in Hugo,
Tauler, and the Spanish mystics, and finds countenance in
the declared divorce between Reason and Understanding
in certain systems of modern speculation. Once confine
the ordinary faculties of judging to the outer court of the
temple of Truth, and exclude them from the sacred fane of
Intuition, and we at once find ourselves in a region of tran¬
scendentalism, where nothing is seen and everything is
affirmed,—where common sense finds no footing, and mys¬
ticism reigns supreme. The boundaries of faith are not ne¬
cessarily limited by the extent of experience ; yet without
that experience, and the solid basis of fact which it brings,
faith would find itself without any horizon at all, and left
entirely at the mercy of wild extravagance or wilful caprice.
(See, in particular, Hours with the Mystics, by R. A.
Vaughan, 2 vols., 1856 ; also Die Christliche Mystik, by Dr
L. Noack; and Cours de VHist. de la Phil. Moderne, and
Frogmens Phil., by V. Cousin.) (J. d—s.)
Hili
Su
M^ns
ogy
'efi:
M Y T
MYTENS, Daniel, a Dutch painter, was born at the
foS r^th„e„tepiii,if„nthh ce,n
court of James I. of EngL^eariy as" 161 t^
accession of Charles I. in 162^ f-Lo c ’ n. ^ ^
was conferred upon him, and he began^ execute^thos^
M Y T 7
rlvdof V^dvck fn bIfiSedatIlaiI”jt0" Cm,rt- Tl,e ar-
duced him to return to hTnative L^Xr“h^v/ng ^
tumes. ThS r.
T? of tIle town-hall at the Hao-u^ iff ^ 656
painte!.MytenS had a ^ °f the Same name’ ™ho was a]™ a
mythology.
Igin :
le.
-taal imuortTtT « °‘ T- Greek"'”^. and in itsori-
pJ 'ZPZ S ?”:firs any k'"'1 of fabulous doctrine. In
its more appropriated sense, it means those fabulous de-
s concerning the objects of worship which were invent
ed and propagated by men who lived in the ear y ages of
the wor d, and by them transmitted to succeeding gfnera-
As th‘e Writ‘eJn reCrds ^ ->™' traSn8 3
As the theology and mythology of the ancients arp nl
racters, adventureTInd^unctfoTsoTsLTPag^ndivinities"
as may have furnished materials for those fabulous narra-
tmns which the nature of the subject may lead us toX
With respect to fa6/e, it maybe observed in general
its birth from3that f thG fT™ imaSination’ and derives
us Dirtn trom that love of the marvellous which is in a
manner congenial to the soul of man. The appearances
events whWh1C ^7 ^ °CCur’ obJects’ actions, and
foo fammar .no"?6- 7her by a kind of ^ctine, are
too familiar, too obvious and uninteresting, either to gra-
t fy curiosity or to excite admiration. On the other hand
TiT thf rncoron Ph«na in nature or Tife are
when^thev are V16 ^ power a warm imagination ;
wnen they are diversified, compounded, embellished nr
pIZprnZrT11 '"0uldf-'<> f— wStS
pernaps never occur m the ordinary course of things •
with IJZT adm.iration’ a passion always attended
with delightful sensations. Here then we imagine we
have discovered the very source of fiction afd fabTe
tiireX^X fr°m that P°werfuI Propensity in our na-
hVht S . • l ntW and surPrising’ animated by thede-
aUended.h W ' th6 contemPlation of them is generally
lishMZp~f^ contributed t0 extend and estab-
as of ]TPlre °f fable* 5The le^islat0r laid bold on this
b as of human nature, and of course employed fable and
fiction as the most effectual means to civilize a rude, un-
die m?wW'"rU' V'C l,!l,losot,ilcl'. Hle theologist, the poet,
r.nn eacl1 ln his turn made use of this vehicle to
- nvey his maxims and instructions to the savage tribes.
Ihey knew that truth, simple and unadorned, is not pos-
.essed of charms powerful enough to captivate the heart
man in his present corrupt and degenerate state. This
mnsideration, which did indeed result from the character
>t their audience, naturally led them to employ fiction and
illegory. From this was derived the allegorical taste of
^ast31101611185 and especiaI1^ of tbe Primary sages of the
Though almost every nation on the face of the globe
mwever remote from the centre of population, however
avage and averse from cultivation, has fabricated and
doptecl its own system of mythology, the orientals have
istinguished themselves in a peculiar manner, by the
mvihof8’ the *n)consist^cy» and the extravagance of their
rnythobgy The genial warmth of those happy climes
the fertility of the soil, which afforded every necessary
every convemency, and often every luxury of life, without
depressing their spirits by laborious exertions; the fece
of nature perpetually blooming around them, the skies
smiling with uninterrupted serenity; all contributed to
inspire the orientals with a glow of fancy and a vio-cmr of
imagmauon rarely ,o be me. with in lis happy rSl/
s” nSCeNVoe,hL° JeCtWaS lWe,!ed, b?y°nd its "““‘■a' dfmen-'
sions. Nothing was great or little in moderation, but everv
^entiment was heightened with incredible hyperbole. The
agmficent, the sublime, the vast, the enormous, the mar-
e ous, first sprung up, and were brought to maturity in
those native regions of fable and fairy land. As nature
m the ordinary course of her operations, exhibited nei-
er objects nor effects adequate to the extent of their
omantic imaginations, they naturally deviated into the
of detailing fabifl"d °f co".se‘luence. tbe custom
o. detailing fabulous adventures originated in the East
and was from thence transplanted into the western coun’
frntSSle aneg0"c‘d taste of the eastern nations had sprung
from their propensity to fable, and as that propensit? had
.,ts1.turn originated from the love of the marvellous so
did allegory in process of time contribute its influence to
wards multiplying fables and fiction almost in ZLm
I he latent import of the allegorical doctrines being t a'
few ago* lost and obliterated, what was originally a moral
naUdtmtenet aSSUmetl the air and habit “ Perso
I he propensity towards personification, almost univer
sal among the orientals, was another fruitful source of fable fropensi
”c in8 dToTerson'if ^ Pe0P'e t ^ ^ -“ngly^aS
inclined to personify inanimate objects and abstract ideas source ol
that-1 b^ readiiy granted, when it is considered5 eastern D
at m the formation of language they have generally an- thoIogy-
nexed the affection of sex to those objects/ Hence the
distinction of grammatical genders, which is known to have
igmated in the eastern parts of the world. The practice
of personifying virtues, vices, religious and moral affections
was necessary to support that allegorical style which uni’
yersally prevailed in those countries. This mode of wrii
ing was n high reputation even in Europe some centuries'
tion from ,heeMopEhdSt “sp^i“X'
it from Arabia, their original country. imported
Hie general use of hieroglyphics in the rw.ici- v.
contributed largely towards extending the mpi^e of mv"?.6^
tholoffy. As the imnnrf- nf S npire ot my-oflnero-
method of delineating the siens of/dL^ ^ ^ thisgly.phic
mensnro nwKn - . Slgns ot ltleas was m a great wnting °i
easure arbitrary, mistakes must have frequently hPPn
committed in ascertaining the notions which^hey were atlog'V'
760
Mytho-
logy.
MYTHOLOGY.
the first intended to represent.1 When the development
of these arbitrary signs happened to be attended with un-
common difficulty, the expounders were obliged to have
recourse to conjecture. Those conjectural expositions were
for the most part tinctured with that bias to-wards the mar¬
vellous which universally prevailed amongst the primitive
men. This, we find, is the case even at this day, when
moderns attempt to develope the purport of emblematical
figures preserved on ancient medals, entaglios, and the
like.
The wise men of the East delighted in obscure enig¬
matical sentences. They seem to have disdained every
sentiment obvious to vulgar apprehension. I he words of
the wise, and their dark sayings, often occur in the most
ancient records, both sacred and profane. Ihe sages of
antiquity used to vie with each other for the prize of su¬
perior wisdom, by propounding riddles, and dark and mys¬
terious questions, as subjects of investigation. The con¬
test between Solomon and Hiram, and that between Amasis
king of Egypt and Polycrates tyrant of Samos, are univer¬
sally known. As the import of those enigmatical propo¬
sitions was often absolutely lost, in ages when the art of
writing was little known, and still less practised, nothing
remained but fancy and conjecture, which always verged
towards the regions of fable. This, then, we think, was
another source of mythology.
Mythology The Pagan priests, especially in Egypt, were probably
reduced to the first who reduced mythology to a kind of system. The
a kind of saCerdotal tribe, amongst that people, were the grand de¬
positories of learning as well as of religion. That order of
men monopolized all the arts and sciences. They seem to
have formed a conspiracy among themselves, to preclude
the laity from all the avenues of intellectual improvement.
This plan was adopted with a view to keep the laity in
subjection, and to enhance their own importance. To ac¬
complish this end, they contrived to perform all the mini¬
strations of their religion in an unknown tongue, and to
cover them with a thick veil of fable and allegory. The
language of Ethiopia became their sacred dialect, and hie-
roglyphics their sacred character^2 Egypt, of course, be¬
came a kind of fairy land, where all was jugglery, magic,
and enchantment. The initiated alone were admitted to
the knowledge of the occult mystical exhibitions, which,
in their hands, constituted the essence of their religion.
From these the vulgar and profane were prohibited by the
most rigorous penalties. (See Mysteries.) The Egyp¬
tians, and indeed all the ancients without exception, deem¬
ed the mysteries of religion too sacred and solemn to be
communicated to the herd of mankind, naked and unre¬
served a mode by which they imagined those sacred and
sublime oracles would have been defiled and degraded.
“ Procul, O procul este profani“ Odi profanum vulgus
et arceo.” Egypt was the land of graven images ; allegory
and mythology were the veil which concealed religion from
the eyes of the vulgar; and fable was the groundwork of
that impenetrable covering.
In the ear- In the earliest and most unpolished stage of society we
liest ages of cannot suppose fable to have existed amongst men. Fables
the world are always tales of other times, but at this period other times
mythology not reach far enough backward to afford those fruits
non rirv c'
system in
Egypt.
naa no ex.
istence.
of the imagination sufficient time to arrive at maturity.
Fable requires a considerable space of time to acquire cre¬
dibility, and to rise into reputation. Accordingly, we find
that both the Chinese and Egyptians, the two most ancient
nations whose annals have reached our times, were alto¬
gether unacquainted with fabulous details, in the most early
and least improved periods of their respective monarchies.
It has been shown almost to a demonstration, by a variety
of learned men, that both the one and the other people,
during some centuries after the general deluge, retained
and practised the primitive Noachic religion, in which
fable and fancy could find no place; all was genuine unso¬
phisticated truth.
As soon as the authentic tradition concerning the origin Fabulous
of the universe was either in a good measure lost, or at cosmogony,
least adulterated by the invention of men, fable and fic-^ft?1,
tion began to prevail. The Egyptian Thoth, Thyoth, or
Mercury Trismegistus, and Moschus the Phoenician, under-
took to account for the formation and arrangement of the
universe, upon principles purely mechanical. Here fable
began to usurp the place of genuine historical truth. Ac¬
cordingly, we find that all the historians of antiquity who
have undertaken to give a general detail of the affairs of
the world, have ushered in their narration with a fabulous
cosmogony. Here imagination ranged unconfined over the
boundless extent of the primar}' chaos. To be convinced
of the truth of this assertion, we need only look into San-
choniathon’s Cosmogony, Eusebius (Preep. Evang. 1.1), and
Diodorus Siculus. From this we suppose it will follow, that
the first race of fables owed their birth to the erroneous
opinions of the formation of the universe.
Having now endeavoured to point out the origin of my¬
thology, or fabulous traditions, we shall proceed to lay be¬
fore our readers a brief detail of the mythology of the most
respectable nations of antiquity, following the natural or¬
der of their situation.
The Chinese, if any credit be due to their own annals, Chinese
or to the missionaries of the church of Rome, who pretend mythology,
to have copied from them, were the first of the nations.
Their fabulous records reach upwards many myriads of
years before the Mosaic era of the creation. The events
during that period of time, if any had been recorded, must
have been, fabulous as the period itself. These, however,
are buried in eternal oblivion. The missionaries, who are
the only sources of our information with relation to the
earliest periods of the Chinese history, represent those
people as having retained the religion of Noah many cen¬
turies after the foundation of their empire. Upon this sup¬
position, their cosmogony must have been sound and ge¬
nuine, without the least tincture of those fabulous ingre¬
dients which have both disguised and disgraced the cos¬
mogonies of most other nations.
According to the most authentic accounts, Fohe or Fohi Birth and
laid the foundation of that empire about four thousand inventions
3'ears ago. This emperor, according to the Chinese, was0 <011'
conceived in a miraculous manner. His mother, say they,
one day as she was walking in a desert place, was surround¬
ed by a rainbow; and, being impregnated by this meteor,
was in due time delivered of that celebrated legislator.
This personage, like the Athenian Cecrops, was half a man
1 This, though plausible enough as a mere supposition or hypothesis, must be taken with more than grains of allowance, seeing it
proceeds upon an assumption which is by no means correct in point of tact. It is not true that the import of the figures employed in
the hieroglyphic delineation of ideas was “ a great measure arbitrary for, if this had been the case, then the interpretation ot such
figures would have been, in the same measure or proportion, impossible. Originally, no doubt, arbit/rary values may have been affixed
to certain figures or symbols, that is, values not depending on any obvious analogy or principle ; but these being once conventionally
settled, remained invariable, and were ever afterwards employed in an uniform sense or acceptation, as much so indeed as if they had
been originally natural instead of conventional signs, expressive of certain ideas. This distinction should never be lost sight ot in
any observations on hieroglyphical writing, which, in truth, was but ill understood at the period when the above article was composed
by its able and ingenious author. If constructed on any other principle than that now stated, it would have been altogether unin¬
telligible Editor.
* The modern doctrine on this subject may be ascertained by consulting the article Hieroglyphics.
vthO'
ilous
pd
frt11
be
ofCl
do
of
Mi
tat
to
hai
ag,
thf
in?
try
MYTHOLOGY.
im
Retries.
Mfho- and half a serpent. His intellectual powers were truly
. hyperbolical. In one day he discovered fifty different spe¬
cies of poisonous herbs. He taught his countrymen the
whole art of agriculture in the space of a very few years.
He instructed them how to sow five different sorts of grain.
He invented boats, and nets for fishing, the art of fabricat¬
ing porcelain, the management of silk-worms, the manu¬
facturing^ of silk, &c. In a word, that wonderful personage
was inspired by Heaven with knowledge, which qualified
him for composing that incomparable body of laws which
aie even at this day the wonder of the world. Our read¬
ers will admit, that this whole detail is fabulous and chi¬
merical. The most learned part of them will readily ob¬
serve, that the Chinese, in ascribing the invention of all
the useful arts to their Fohi, are perfectly agreed with al¬
most all the other nations of antiquity. The Indians as¬
cribe every invention to Budha, or Vishnu, or Foe; the
Persians to Zerdusht or Zoroaster ; the Chaldeans to their
man of the sea, whom they call Cannes ; the Egyptians to
Thoth or Thyoth; the Phoenicians to Melicerta; the Greeks
_ family of the litans ; and the Scandinavians to Odin.
years before the Christian era, appeared the
11 ififcius *arnous ^^’nese P^^osopher or Confucius. Con-
’ cerning the birth of this prince of philosophers, the Chi¬
nese have propagated the following legendary tale. His
mother, walking in a solitary place, was impregnated by
the vivifying influence of the heavens. The babe, thus
produced, spake and reasoned as soon as it was born.
Confucius, however, wrought no miracles, performed no
romantic exploits, but lived an austere ascetic life, taught
and inculcated the doctrines of pure morality, and died,
lemarkable only for superior wisdom, religious, moral, and
political.
About the year of Christ 601, flourished the sectary
Lao-kiun. His mother carried him thirty years in her
womb, and was at last delivered of him under a plum-
tree. This philosopher was the Epicurus of the Chinese.
His disciples, who were denominated the Fao-sse, that is,
heavenly doctors, were the first who corrupted the reli¬
gion of the Chinese. They were addicted to magic, and
introduced the worship of good and bad demons. Their
doctiine was embraced by a long' succession of empe¬
rors. One of these princes, called You-ti, had been de¬
prived by death of a favourite mistress, whom he loved
with the most extravagant passion. The emperor, by the
magical skill of one of these doctors, obtained an inter¬
view with his deceased mistress, a circumstance which
riveted the whole order in the affection and esteem of the
deluded prince. Here our readers will observe the exact
counterpart of the fable of Eurydice, so famous in the my¬
thology of the Greeks and Homans. That such a system
of religious principles must have abounded with mytholo¬
gical adventures is highly probable ; but as the mission¬
aries, to whom we are chiefly indebted for our information
relating to the religion of the Chinese, have not taken the
pains to record them, we find it impossible to gratify the
cu 1 curiosity of our readers on that head.
, worship of the idol Fo, or Foe, was transplanted
”on? India into China about the fifty-sixth year of the
F° Christian era, upon the following occasion. One of the
doctors of the Fao-sse had promised a prince of the family
of Ichou, and brother of the Emperor Ming-ti, to make
him enter into communion with the spirits. At his solici¬
tation an ambassador was despatched into India, in order
to inquire where the true religion was to be found. There
had been a tradition, say the missionaries, ever since the
age of Confucius, that the true religion was to be found in
the West. The ambassador stopt short in Indiaand find¬
ing that the god Fo was in high reputation in that coun¬
try, he collected several images of that deity painted on
cbj chintz, and with it forty-two chapters of the canonical
VOL. XV.
761
books of the Hindus, which, together with the images, he Mytho-
laid on a white elephant, and transported into his native log7*
country. At the same time he imported from the same
quarter the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, which
is firmly believed in China to this day. The doctrine and
woiship of Fo, thus introduced, made a most rapid progress
all over China, Japan, Siam, &c. The priests of Fo are
called amongst the Siamese Talapoins; by the Tartars, Za-
mas; by the Chinese, Ha-chang; and by the people of
Japan, Bonzes. By this last appellation they are generally
known in Europe. J
An infinitude of fables was invented and propagated by The wor-
tie disciples of Fo, concerning the life and adventures ofshippers of
their master. If the earlier ages of the Chinese history Rreat
are barren of mythological incidents, the later periods, after n!-vthol°*
the introduction of the worship of Fo, furnish an inexhaus-g,Sts‘
tible store of miracles, monsters, fables, intrigue, exploits,
and adventures, of the most villanous complexion. Indeed,
most of them are so absurd, so ridiculous, and at the same
time so impious and profane, that we are convinced our
readers will easily dispense with a detail from which they
could reap neither entertainment nor instruction. Such
as may find themselves disposed to rake into this abomi¬
nable puddle, we must refer to the reverend fathers Du
Halde, Couplet, Amiot, Kircher, and other members of the
propaganda, in whose writings they will find wherewithal
to satisfy, and even to surfeit, their appetite.
The Hindus, like the other nations of the East, for a long Hindu
time retained the worship of the true God. At length, mythology
however, idolatry broke in, and, like an impetuous torrent
overwhelmed the country. First of all, the genuine his¬
tory of the origin of the universe was either utterly lost,
or disguised under a variety of fictions and allegories. We
are told that Brahma, the supreme divinity of the Hin¬
dus, after three several efforts, at last succeeded in creat-
mg four persons, whom he appointed to rule over all the
inferior creatures. Afterwards Brahma joined his efficient
power with Bishon and Rulder, and by their united ex-
ertions they produced ten men, whose general appellation
is Mumes, that is, the inspired. The same being, accord¬
ing to another mythology, produced four other persons, as
imaginary as the former; one from his breast, one from
Ins back, one from his lip, and one from his heart. These
children were denominated Bangs, the import of which
word we cannot pretend to determine. According to an¬
other tradition, Brahma produced the Brahmins from his
mouth, to pray, to read, to instruct; the Chiltern from his
arms, to draw the bow, to fight, to govern ; the Bice from
rrr u °r t0 nouris*1> to provide the necessaries
of life by agriculture and commerce; the Soder from his
feet, for subjection, to serve, to labour, to travel. The
reader will see at once, in these allegorical persons, the four
castes or septs into which the Hindu nations have, from
time immemorial, been divided. These are some of their
most celebrated mythological traditions with relation to
the origin of the universe.
The Hindus have likewise some mythological opinions Hindu tra
which seem to relate to the general deluge. They tell us,ditionS re-
that desiring the preservation of herds and of brahmans, of^ng to
genn and of virtuous men, of vedas of law, and of precious t^e^e*u»e
things, the lord of the universe assumes many bodily
shapes; but though he pervades, like the air, a variety of
beings, yet he is himself unvaried, since he has no quality
m him subject to change. At the close of the last
there was a general destruction, occasioned by the sleep
of Brahm, whence his creatures in different worlds were
drowned in a vast ocean. Brahm being inclined to slum¬
ber after a lapse of so many ages, the strong demon Hv-
agri-vac&me near him, and stole the vedas which had
flowed from his lips. When Hen, the preserver of the uni¬
verse, discovered this deed of the prince oi Dainavas, he
5 D
762*
MYTHOLOGY.
Mytho-
logy-
took the shape of a minute fish called Sap-hari. After
various transformations, and an enormous increase of size
in each of them, the lord of the universe, loving the right¬
eous man,1 who had still adhered to him under all these
various shapes, and, intending to preserve him from the sea
of destruction caused by the depravity of the age, thus told
him how he was to act: “ In seven days from the present
time, O thou tamer of enemies, the three worlds will be
plunged in an ocean of death ; but in the midst of the de¬
stroying waves a large vessel sent me for thy use shall
stand before thee.” The remaining part of the mythology
so nearly resembles the Mosaic history of Noah and the
general deluge, that the former may be a strong confirma¬
tion of the truth of the latter. To dry up the waters of
the deluge, the power of the Deity descends in the form
of a boar, the symbol of strength, to draw up and support
on his tusks the whole earth, which had been sunk beneath
the ocean. Again, the same power is represented as a
tortoise sustaining the globe, which had been convulsed by
the violent assaults of demons, while the gods charmed the
sea with the mountain Mandar, and forced it to disgorge
the sacred things and animals, together with the water of
life, which it had swallowed. All these stories, we think,
relate to the same event, shadowed by a moral, a metaphy¬
sical and an astronomical allegory ; and all three seem
connected with the hieroglyphical sculptures of the old
Egyptians.
The Hindus divide the duration of the world into four
pugs or jugs, or jogues, each consisting of a prodigious num¬
ber of years. In each of those periods the age and sta¬
ture of the human race have been gradually diminished;
and in each of them mankind has gradually declined in
virtue and piety, as well as in age and stature. The pre¬
sent period they call the collce, that is, the corrupt yug,
which they say is to last four hundred thousand years, of
which near five thousand years are already past. In the
last part of the preceding yugs, which they call the diva
paar, the age of man was contracted into a thousand
years, as in the present it is confined to a hundred. From
this proportional diminution of the length of human life,
our readers will probably infer, that the two last yugs bear
a pretty near resemblance to the Mosaic history of the age
of the antediluvian and postdiluvian patriarchs ; and that
the two first are imaginary periods prior to the creation of
the world, like those of the Chinese, Chaldeans, and Egyp¬
tians.
The world According to the mythology of the Hindus, the system
subject to of the world is subject to various dissolutions and resusci-
soluti'ons18" tat‘onS- At the conclusion of the collae jogue, say they,
and resus- a gran(^ revolution will take place, when the solar system
citations. be consumed by fire, and all the elements reduced to
their original constituent atoms. Upon the back of these
revolutions, Brahma, the supreme deity of the Hindus, is
sometimes represented as a new-born infant, with his toe
in his mouth, floating on a camala or water flower, some¬
times only on a leaf of that plant, on the surface of the
vast abyss. At other times he is figured as coming forth
of a winding shell, and again as blowing up the mundane
foam with a pipe at his mouth. Some of these emblema¬
tical figures and attitudes, our learned readers will proba¬
bly observe, nearly resemble those of the ancient Egyp¬
tians.
Birth of But the vulgar religion of the ancient Hindus was of a
the god very different complexion, and opens a large field of my¬
thological adventures. We have observed above, that the
Fo or Fob of the Chinese was imported from India; and
now we shall give a brief detail of the mythological origin
of that divinity. We have no certain account of the birth¬
place of this imaginary deity. His followers relate that
he was born in one of the kingdoms of India near the line, Mytho.
and that his father was one of that country. His mother logy
brought him into the world by the left side, and expired
soon after her delivery. At the time of her conception,
she dreamed that she had swallowed a white elephant; a
circumstance which is supposed to have given birth to the
veneration which the kings of India have always shown for
a white animal of that species. As soon as he was born,
be had strength enough to stand erect without assistance.
He walked abroad at seven, and, pointing with one hand
to the heavens, and with the other to the earth, he cried
out, “ In the heavens, and on the earth, there is no one but
I who deserves to be honoured.” At the age of thirty,
he felt himself all on a sudden filled with the divinity; and
now he was metamorphosed into Fo or Pagod, according
to the expression of the Hindus. He had no sooner de¬
clared himself a divinity, than he thought of propagating
his doctrine, and proving his divine mission by miracles.
The number of his disciples was immense; and they soon
spread his dogmas over all India, and even to the higher
extremities of Asia.
One of the principal doctrines which Fo and his disciples Doctrines
propagated, was the metempsychosis or transmigration ofofFode-
souls. This doctrine, some imagine, has given rise to the”ve(l l™1
multitude of idols reverenced in every country where the^^P"
worship of Fo is established. Quadrupeds, birds, reptiles,
and the vilest animals, had temples erected for them ; be¬
cause, say they, the soul of the god, in his numerous trans¬
migrations, may have at one time or other inhabited their
bodies.
Both the doctrine of transmigration and of the worship
of animals seems, however, to have been imported from
Egypt into India. If the intercourse between these two
countries was begun at so early a period as some very late
writers have endeavoured to prove, such a supposition is
by no means improbable. The doctrine of the transmi¬
gration of souls was early established among the Egyp¬
tians. It was, indeed, the only idea they formed of the
soul’s immortality. The worship of animals among them
seems to have been still more ancient. If such an inter¬
course did actually exist, we may naturally suppose that
colonies of Egyptian priests found their way into India, as
they did afterwards into Asia Minor, Italy, and Greece.
That colonies of Egyptians did actually penetrate into that
country, and settle there, many centuries before the Nati¬
vity, is a fact that cannot be called in question, for reasons
which the bounds prescribed us in this article will not al¬
low us to enumerate. We shall only observe, that from
the hieroglyphical representations of the Egyptian deities
seem to have originated those monstrous idols which from
time immemorial have been worshipped in India, China,
Japan, Siam, and even in the remotest parts of Asiatic Tar¬
tary.
Foh is often called Budha or Budda, and sometimes Visit- The incar-
nu; perhaps, indeed, he may be distinguished by many nations of
other names, according to the variety of dialects of the flif-^ris*inU'
ferent nations among which his worship was established.
An infinitude of fables was propagated by his disciples con¬
cerning him after his death. They pretended that their
master was still alive ; that he had been already born eight
thousand times, and that he had successively appeared
under the figure of an ape, a lion, a dragon, an elephant, a
boar, &c. These were called the incarnations of Vishnu.
At length he was confounded with the Supreme God; and
all the titles, attributes, operations, perfections, and ensigns
of the Most High were ascribed to him. Sometimes he
is called Amida, and represented with the head of a dog,
and worshipped as the guardian of mankind. He some¬
times appears as a princely personage, issuing from the
1 He was sovereign of the world. His name was Mana, or Statgavrata ; and his patronymic was Vaitvata, or Child of the Sun
ivthO'
W-
kv'l
icewl
rJrot
atii
of
gf(
of
the
net
nio
n
tioi
MYTHOLOGY.
76.j
Mjtho-
logj.
head^in ^vliicfh *are^seen1 tatn«S ^ ^ ^ f imProbabIe» tbat the fable of the wars between the
short, all that the world contains These transf ’ ie? m and gIants’ 80 famous in the mythology of Greece and
are evidently the childrenTX^orical nr h^ ^ ^ lmp°rted int0 the fo™er of these countries
emblems, and form an exacfcounferTart of the Sollcal ofTm Per/n (F°r a more particular account
worship of the Egyptians. “““"P2* 01 tlle sy'”l>ohcal of the Persian mythology, our readers may consult Dr
The enormous mass of mythological traditions whieh R 3'?8’ a ?', ; D’Be‘M°‘’s Bibl. Orient. ; and
have in a manner deluged 4e S con,t„roftSa Uon^r * ^ C"°n 10 "" PerSia" a"d Arabic Dic'
[»?’ar,iciest IpeTmen o^y, by whtrour reade^mt natTot T^' 1 ^ ^ that of the Mh"
be qualified to judge of the rest If thev finrl i ^ • e East, commences at a period myriads ofmytho-
disposed to indulgge their cSitv at her"flves ^ears prior to the era of the Mosaic creation. Their cos-lo^
must refer them to Thevenot’s and Hamilton’s Trav l’ T exlllblted by Berosus, who was a priest of Belus,
M Annnof!i ^ fn°tS f™11?118 Travels, to and deeply versed in the antiquities of his country is L
DlPf-P ni' rrrr• f 11rvl.s.r., r . 1,  . , J1. .
Pei^ian
myjtolo-
gy-
M. Anquetil in his Zendavesta, Halhed^ Introduction o M'?61* ‘"r ^ »f Ws country, is a
“O* of.G^ Laws,_ Colonel Dow's Len cLmd ^ufh^
. a „ , * Amrouuction to
his translation of the code of Gentoo Laws, Colonel Dow’s
History of Hindustan, Grose’s Voyage to the East Indies,
and the Asiatic Researches (vol. i. and ii.).
The mythology of the Persians is, if possible, still more
extravagant than that of the Hindus. It supposes the
world/o have been repeatedly destroyed, and repeopled
by creatures of different formation, who were successively
annihilated or banished for their disobedience to the Su-
preme Being. The monstrous griffin Sinergh informs the
hero Caherman that she had already lived to see the earth
seven times filled with creatures, and seven times a perfect
void ; that before the creation of Adam, this globe was in¬
habited by a race of beings called Peris and Dives, whose
characters formed a perfect contrast. The Peris are de¬
scribed as beautiful and benevolent; the Dives as deform¬
ed, malevolent, and mischievous, differing from infernal
u -ii ^Anavagaui, nature. It nas
been copied by Eusebius (Chron. lib. i. p. 5); and it is
likewise to be found in Syncellus, copied from Alexander
Polyhistor. According to this historian, there were at
Babylon written records preserved with the greatest care,
comprehending a period of fifteen myriads of years. Those
writings likewise contained a history of the heavens and
the sea, of the earth, and of the origin of mankind. “ In
the beginning,” says Berosus, copying from Cannes, of
whom we shall afterwards give a brief account, “ there was
nothing but darkness and an abyss of water, wherein- re¬
sided most hideous beings produced from a twofold prin¬
ciple. Men appeared with two wings ; some with two and
some with four faces. They had one body, but two heads;
the one of a man, the other of a woman. Other human
figures were to be seen, furnished with the legs and horns
of goats. Some had the feet of horses behind, but before
demons only in this, that they are not as yet con fined To wefeffishioned nkemthe ^ 0(v0rSe8 behind’ but be,bre
the pit of hell. They are for ever raneimr over the world In I!!!; • . ^ ?en’ resembhng hippocentaurs.” The
scatter discord and misery amongst L sons of men. The complex Lfindeed so exfravagfnt '"thT11 ^ ^
Pens nearly resemble the fairies of Europe : and nerhans readers will ro./i i i! j- g ^ th fc e imagine °ur
4- L ^ 1 1 _ n T A i ^
middle ages. The Peris and Dives wage incessant wars ;
and when the Dives make any of the Peris prisoners, they
shut them up in iron cages, and hang them on the highest
trees, to expose them to public view, and to the fury of
every chilling blast. J
When the Peris are in danger of being overpowered by
their foes, they solicit the assistance of some mortal hero
.  auuiui, ” were pre-
served delineations in the temple of Belus at Babylon.
,,e PeI.son wbo was supposed to preside over them was
called Omorm This word, in the Chaldean language, is
Thalath, which the Greeks call OaXcuwa, but it more pro¬
perly imports the moon. Matters being in this situation,
their god, says Eusebius, Me god, says Syncellus, came and
which produces a series of mytlioiogical ZSTh® ftlS^heeanhTnl om “"/the"^!' T hSlf,#f,,*[; he
ornamental to the strains of the Persian bards and vjuj; . „ f ea’ a d out.ot tbe other he made the hea-
at the same time furnishes an inexhaustible fund of the of the abyss” ^ThirwhoTp6’ he.,dftro>’.ed the monsters
most diversified machinery. i,; f „/• "i r Js whole mythology is an allegorical
One of the most celebrated adventurers in thn mvil i ^ C Pied h'0™ hieroglyphical representations, the
sSHSSlBEftS “as.
wealth, which he carries off with the fair cantive Tl.n nnm Tin amP,llblous ani™al ofa heterogeneous appear-lator of the
^rrrorr.ance The doctrine of enchantments, trfnsformations bylonM riLfr^s belnf cTnv^ 1la-
and the like, exhibited in both, is a characteristic symptom day; but at night he nluntredlm the 1?/ , ““ b?
of one common onginal. Persia is the genuine classic concealed in the water til” next morniL H'I re”aln®d
^chdntlry antl^oinMce^w^mh^were’thence’propagated^o Kfaa„nd%^e„crf d^f
ners^^Europ^toward^th^wes1^66^ ^ rem°teSt C°r' edificef^erughtTe^T1^ ‘T15]1^
tion concerning good and'badangels^ NoT is Itfwe thint “amSt ^d^unTveLhwle^SSa
rsia he
nee.
764
MYTHOLOGY.
Mytho- one single article had ever been added to them since the
time they were first communicated. Helladius is of opi-
' ^ v ' njon that strange personage, whoever he was, came to
be represented under the figure of a fish, not because he
was actually believed to be such, but because he was
clothed with the skin of a seal. By this account our read¬
ers will see that the Babylonian Cannes is the exact coun¬
terpart of the Fohi of the Chinese, and the Thoth or Mer¬
cury Trismegistus of the Egyptians. It is likewise appa¬
rent that the idea of the monster compounded of the man
and the fish has originated from some hieroglyphic emblem
of that form grafted upon the appearance of man. Some
modern mythologists have been of opinion that Cannes
was actually Noah, the great preacher of righteousness,
who, as some think, settled in Shinar or Chaldaea after the
deluge, and who, in consequence of his connection with
that event, might be properly represented under the em¬
blem of the Man of the Sea.
The nati- The nativity of Venus, the goddess of beauty and love,
vity of the is another piece of mythology famous amongst the Baby-
goddess of ]0nians and Assyrians. An egg, say they, of a prodigious
love ^ aml s'ze’ dropped from heaven into the river Euphrates. Some
doves settled upon this egg, after the fishes had rolled
it to the bank. In a short time this egg produced Ve¬
nus, who was afterwards called Dea Syria, or the Syrian
goddess. In consequence of this tradition, says Hyginus,
pigeons and fishes became sacred to this goddess amongst
the Syrians, who always abstained from eating the one or
the other. Of this imaginary being we have a very exact
and entertaining history in the treatise De Dea Syria,
generally ascribed to Lucian.
In this mythological tradition our readers will probably
discover an allusion to the celebrated Mundane Egg; and
at the same time the story of the fishes will lead them to
anticipate the connection between the sea and the moon.
This same deity was the Atargatis of Ascalon, described
by Diodorus the Sicilian ; the one half of her body being
that of a woman, and the other that of a fish. This was no
doubt a hieroglyphic figure of the moon, importing the in¬
fluence of that planet upon the sea and the sex. The
oriental name of this deity evidently points to the moon;
for it is compounded of two Hebrew words,1 importing
“ the queen of the host of heaven.”
The fable The fable of Semiramis is nearly connected with the
of Semira- preceding one. Diodorus Siculus has preserved the my-
mis. thological history of this deity, which he and all the wri¬
ters of antiquity have confounded with the Babylonian
princess of the same name. That historian informs us, that
the word Semiramis, in the Syrian dialect, signifies “ a
wild pigeon but we apprehend that this term was a
name or epithet of the moon, as it is compounded of two
words2 of an import naturally applicable to the lunar pla¬
net. It was a general practice amongst the Orientals to de¬
nominate their sacred animals from that deity to which
they were consecrated. Hence the moon being called
Semiramis, and the pigeon being sacred to her divinity,
the latter was called by the name of the former.3
Arabian We should now proceed to notice the mythology of the
mytho- Arabians, the greater part of which is, however, buried
108y* in the abyss of ages; although, when we reflect on the ge¬
nius and character of that people, we must be convinced
that they too, as well as the other nations of the East,
abounded in fabulous relations and romantic compositions.
The natives of that country have always been enthusiasti¬
cally addicted to poetry, of which, in its early stage, fable Mytho.
is the essence. Wherever the Muses have erected their logy,
throne, fables and miracles have always appeared in their
train. In the Koran we meet with frequent allusions to well-
known traditionary fables. These had been transmitted
from generation to generation by the bards and rhapsodists,
for the entertainment of the vulgar. In Arabia, from the
earliest ages, it has always been one of the favourite enter¬
tainments of the common people, to assemble in the serene
evenings around their tents, or on the platforms with which
their houses are generally covered, or in large halls erect¬
ed for the purpose, in order to amuse themselves with tra¬
ditional narrations of the most distinguished actions of
their most remote ancestors. Oriental imagery always
embellished their romantic details. The glow of fancy,
the love of the marvellous, the propensity towards the hy¬
perbolical and the vast, which constitute the essence of
oriental description, must ever have drawn the relation
aside into the devious regions of fiction and fairy land.
The religion of Mahommed beat down the original fabric
of idolatry and mythology together. The Arabian fables
current in modern times are borrowed or imitated from
Persian compositions; Persia being still the grand nursery
of romance in the East.
In Egypt we find idolatry, theology, and mythology, Egyptian
almost inseparably blended together. The inhabitants ofmy’tho.
this region, too, as well as of others in the vicinity of the^gy-
centre of population, adhered for several centuries to the®riSin.of
worship of the true God. At last, however, conscious oflsa abm'
their own ignorance, impurity, imperfection, and total un¬
fitness to approach an infinitely perfect Being, distant, as
they imagined, and invisible, they began to cast about for
some beings more exalted, and more perfect than them¬
selves, by whose mediation they might prefer their prayers
to the Supreme Majesty of heaven. In this state, the lu¬
minaries of heaven, which, they imagined, were animated
bodies, naturally presented themselves. These were splen¬
did and glorious beings. They were thought to partake of
the divine nature; they were revered as the satraps, pre¬
fects, and representatives of the Supreme Lord of the uni¬
verse. They were visible, they were beneficent; they dwelt
nearer to the gods; they were obvious to the worshipper,
and always accessible. These were, of course, employed as
mediators and intercessors between the Supreme Divinity
and his humble subjects of this lower world. Thus employ¬
ed, they might claim a subordinate share of worship, which
was accordingly assigned them. In process of time, how¬
ever, that worship, which was originally addressed to the
Supreme Creator by the mediation of the heavenly bodies,
was in a great measure forgotten, and the adoration of
mankind ultimately terminated upon those illustrious crea¬
tures. To this circumstance, we think, we may ascribe
the origin of that species of idolatry called Tsabaism, or
the worship of the host of heaven, which overspread the
world early and almost universally. In Egypt this mode
of worship was adopted in all its most absurd and most
enthusiastic forms, and at the same time the most hete¬
rogeneous mythology appeared in its train. The mytho¬
logy of the ancient Egyptians was so various and multi¬
form, so complicated and so mysterious, that it would re¬
quire many volumes even to give a superficial account of
its origin and progress, not only in its mother country, but
even in many other parts of the eastern and western world.
Besides, the idolatry and mythology of that wonderful
1 Adah or Hadar, magnificus, and Gao, exercitus, turmcc.
2 Shem or Sem, a sign, and ramah, high.
3 As the bounds prescribed for the present article render it impossible for us to do justice to this interesting piece of mythology,
we must beg leave to refer our readers for farther information to Diodorus Siculus, lib. ii.; Hyginus, Poet. Astron. Fab. 197 > Pharnutus,
de Nat. Bear.; Ovid, Metam. lib. iv.; Athen. in Apol. ; Tzetzes, chil. ix. cap. 275 ; Selden, de Diit Syr. ii. 183.
,n
umm
SOUlla
mar
couniry arc so closely connected and so inseparably blend-
wkhout flfr11 ls.imP°ssible to describe the latter
without at the same time developing the former. We
ifTn’anartH6’ f!r °Ur readerS wil1 not be disappointed,
thp Lad; * °f h-S nature’ we touch only upon some of
subject!1 g °r m°St interestin^ articles of this complicated
[ Phc Egyptians confounded the revolutions of the hea-
l ^eb0, ieS-W“h n? reigns 0f tl,eir most monarchs.
t- ^.ence the mcredible number of years included in the
fillfd the hF ^ ht ?perior ^ods’ who’ according to them,
hlled the Egyptian throne successively in the most early
periods of time. To these, according to their system, suc^
number J ^ dem,^ds’ wbo likewise reigned an amazing
thanbthe ney-edr-S' i !mag,nary reigns were no othe?
than the periodical revolutions of the heavenly bodies pre-
rndtr,!, e,r al“a"acJ might be Lried back,
and actually were carried back, at pleasure. Hence the
fabulous antiquity of that kingdom. The imaginary ex¬
ploits and adventures of these gods and demigods furnished
an inexhaustible fund of mythological romances. To the
demigods succeeded the kings of the cynic cycle, person-
ages equally chimerical with the former. The iniport of
this epithet has greatly perplexed critics and etymologists.
We apprehend that it is an oriental word importing royal
dignity, or elevation of rank. This appellation intimated,
that the monarchs of that cycle, admitting that they ac-
tuaily existed were more powerful and more highly revered
han their successors. After the princes of the cynic cycle
came another race, denominated Nekyes, a title likewise
implying royal, splendid, glorious. These cycles figure
high m the mythological annals of the Egyptians, and have
furnished materials for a variety of learned and ingenious
disquisitions. The wars and adventures of Osiris, Orus
lyphon, and other allegorical personages who figure in
le Egyptian rubric; the wanderings of Isis, the sister and
wife of Osins; the transformation of the gods into divers
kinds of animals; their birth, education, peregrinations,
and exploits ; compose a body of mythological fictions so
various, so complicated, so ridiculous, and often so appa-
themy ?bSUrl’- fhat 311 attemPts to develope and explain
them have hitherto proved unsuccessful. All, or the
greater part, of those extravagant fables, were the offspring
ot hieroglyphical or allegorical emblems devised by the
mvsterips fa?KS-0f ^ natj0n’ with a view to ™rmeal the
mysteries of their religion from that class of men whom
they stigmatized with the name of the uninitiated rabble.
I he worship of brute animals and of certain vegetables
universal amongst the Egyptians, was another exuberant
source of mythological adventures. The Egyptian priests
many of whom were likewise profound phikLplmrs, ob¬
served, or pretended to observe, a kind of analogy between
the qualities of certain animals and vegetables, and those
of some of their subordinate divinities. Such animals and
vegetables they adopted, and consecrated to the deities to
whom they were supposed to bear this analogical resem¬
blance ; and in process of time they considered them as
the visible emblems of those divinities to which they were
consecrated. By these the vulgar addressed their arche¬
types, in the same manner as, in other countries, pictures
and statues were employed for the very same purpose.
°f tlme’ forgetting the emblematical
character of those brutes and vegetables, addressed their
mythology.
765
devotion immediately to them; and of course these be- Mvthn
came the ult,ma.e object °f vulgar adoration.
After these objects, animate or inanimate, were conse- ' v~
crated as the visible symbols of the deities, it soon became
dei e» to whiT USe °f ‘beir fi«UreS to
deities to which they were consecrated. This practice
was the natura consequence of the hieroglyphical style
which universally prevailed amongst the ancien[^Egyptians.
ence Jupitei Ammon was represented under the figure
of a ram, Apis under that of a cow, Osiris of a bull, Pan
of a fat h0thl °hr Mercury of an ibis> Bubastis or Diana
of a cat. It was likewise a common practice amongst those
deluded people to dignify these objects, by giE hem
c'? “”es of those deities which they represented. By
this mode of dignifying these sacred emblems, the venera-
tion of the rabble was considerably enhanced, and the ar-
our of their devotion inflamed in proportion. From these
maBonT^"6 ^ ^ ^ fabul°- transfer!
mation of the gods, so generally celebrated in the Eo-yp-
Italv^n f gJ’ imP°rted into Greece "and
age, according to the Egyptians, was the original author oftus the au-
a word g„efT!7’ a,st™““y. musi0, and ar?hitec,ureTin*'"»oftIle
a word, of all the elegant and useful arts, and of all the EgyuPt,lan
discoid .hr,DC^ and P'o'o^hy. He it was who first
flueffL n h °Sy between the divine affections, in-
uences, appearances, operations, and the corresponding
properties, qualities, and instincts of certain animals and
he proprtety of dedicating particular kinds ofTgt’abT^
to the service of particular deities. The priests? whose
riraVr6 ^ iWa1 t01exP°und the mysteries of that allego-
W bl®rog yPblcal religion (see Mysteries), gradually
chamcterTW TSe of import of the symbolical
characters, lo supply this defect, and at the same time
to veil their own ignorance, the sacerdotal instructors had
ftbJ°eUrtilltt0heirbrer-d ^h'0”' They ,leaped fable UP°"
tame, till their religion became an accumulated chaos of
mythological absurdities. Two of the most learned and
most acute of the ancient philosophers have attempted f
ational explication of the latent import of the Egyptian
mythology; but both have failed in the attempt; nSCe
t ie moderns, who have laboured in the same department
performed their part with much better success.2 P
I he elements of Phoenician mythology have been ore pi
served by Eusebius (Prceparat. Evana sub iniM ?lTan
large extraci which Ltfearned fXSt“co^dIft„hmmJtl,0,0g)r-
o Biblius S translation of Sanchoniathon’s History of
Phoenicia, we are furnished with several articles of mydio-
logy. Some of these throw considerable light on several
passages of the sacred history; and all of thfm are striSv
“drth 116 ethology of the Greeks and Romans3!
eie we have preserved a brief but entertaining detail of
the fabulous adventures of Uranus, Cronus, Dagon, Thyoth
or Mercury, probably the same with the Egyptian hero of
that name Here we find Muth or Plut^ELstus or
Vulcan, iEsculapius, Nereus, Poseidon o^ Neptune &c
starte, or Venus Urania, makes a conspicuouSP figure in
the catalogue of Phoenician worthies; Pallas or Minerva
is planted upon the territory of Attica; in a word all the
branches of the family of the Titans, who in aL ages
iriosj
!her’s
e:miei
s t!?I “n, t!ds subject, Sir William Drummond’s Origines, &c. b. iv. c 5 vol ii n ur " ~ ' '
bpr’s n'E::. i?0ru.3 AP?1°’ Hwoglyph. Egypt. ; Macrobius, Saturn, can. 2X tni’’ „„:„Ut.arLh, Is.ls et Qnru >' Jamblichus, de
766
MYTHOLOGY.
Mytho-
logy.
figured in the rubric of the Greeks, are brought upon the
stage, and their exploits and adventures briefly detailed.
By comparing this fragment with the mythology of the
Gr-7 Atlantidae and that of the Cretans preserved by Diodorus
derived°Sy the Sicilian (lib. v.), we think there is good reason to con-
fromEgypt elude, that the family of the Titans, the several branches
and Phce- of which seem to have been both the authors and objects
nicia. 0f a great part of the Grecian idolatry, originally emigrat¬
ed from Phoenicia. This conjecture will receive additional
strength, when it is considered that almost all their names
recorded in the fabulous records of Greece may be easily
traced up to a Phoenician original. We agiee with He¬
rodotus, that a considerable part of the idolatry of Greece
may have been borrowed from the Egyptians; at the same
time, we imagine it highly probable, that the idolatry of
the Egyptians and Phoenicians was in its original consti¬
tution nearly the same. Both systems were Tsabaism, or
the worship of the host of heaven. The Pelasgi, accoid-
ing to Herodotus, learned the names of the gods from the
Egyptians; but in this conjecture he is certainly warped
by his partiality for that people. Had those names been
imported from Egypt, they would no doubt have bewray¬
ed their Egyptian original; whereas the skilful etymolo¬
gist will be convinced that every one is of Phoenician ex--
traction.
The adventures of Jupiter, Juno, Mercury, Apollo, Di¬
ana, Mars, Minerva or Pallas, Venus, Bacchus, Ceres, Pro¬
serpine, Pluto, Neptune, and the other descendants and
coadjutors of the ambitious family of the Titans, furnish
by far the greatest part of the mythology of Greece.
They left Pheenicia, we think, about the age of Moses;
they settled in Crete, a large and fertile island ; from this
region they made their way into Greece, which, according
to the most authentic accounts, was at that time inhabited
by a race of savages. The arts and inventions which they
communicated to the natives; the mysteries of religion
which they inculcated ; the laws, customs, polity, and good
order which they established; in short, the blessings of
humanity and civilization which they everywhere dissemi¬
nated, in process of time inspired the unpolished inhabi¬
tants with a kind of divine admiration. Those ambitious
mortals improved this admiration into divine homage and
adoration. The greater part of that worship, which had
been formerly addressed to the luminaries of heaven, was
now transferred to those illustrious personages. They
claimed and obtained divine honours from the deluded
rabble of enthusiastic Greeks. Hence sprung an inexhaus¬
tible fund of the most inconsistent and irreconcilable fic¬
tions.
Hence the The foibles and frailties of the deified mortals were
inconsis- transmitted to posterity, incorporated, as it were, with the
*. 4. i     sliirini+ir TTfmno tlip Vipfp-
tent fic- pompous attributes of supreme divinity. Hence the hete-
tions of ther r •   + tlio moan whioh
tions of the [. e^eous mixture of the mighty and the mean which
chequers the characters of the heroes of the Iliad and
P°etS' Odyssey. The Greeks adopted the oriental fables, the
import of which they did not understand. These they ac¬
commodated to heroes and illustrious personages, who had
figured in their own country in the earliest periods. The
labours of Hercules originated in Egypt, and evidently re¬
late to the annual progress of the sun in the zodiac, though
the vain-glorious Greeks accommodated them to a hero of
their own, the reputed son of Jupiter and Alcmena. Phe
expedition of Osiris they borrowed from the Egyptians,
and transferred to their Bacchus, the son of Jupiter and
Semele the daughter of Cadmus. The transformation and
wanderings of lo are evidently transcribed from the Egyp-
tian romance of the travels of Isis in quest of the body of
Osiris, or of the Phoenician Astarte, drawn from Sancho-
niathon. lo or loh is in reality the Egyptian name of the
moon, and Astarte was the name of the same planet amongst
the Phoenicians. Both these fables are allegorical repre¬
sentations of the anomalies of the lunar planet, or perhaps Myth*,
the progress of the worship of that planet in different parts
of the world. The fable of the conflagration occasioned v"'*'
by Phaeton is clearly of oriental extraction, and alludes to
an excessive drought which in the early periods of time
scorched Ethiopia and the adjacent countries. The fabu¬
lous adventures of Perseus are said to have happened in
the same regions, and are allegorical representations of the
influence of the solar luminary; for the original Perseus
was the sun. The rape of Proserpine and the wanderings
of Ceres, the Eleusinian mysteries, the orgia or sacred rites
of Bacchus, the rites and worship of the Cabiri, were im¬
ported from Egypt and Phoenicia, but strangely garbled
and disfigured by the hierophants of Greece. The gigan-
tomachia, or war between the gods and the giants, and all
the fabulous events and varieties of that war, form an exact
counterpart to the battles of the Peris and Dives, cele¬
brated in the romantic annals of Persia.
A considerable part of the mythology of the Greeks The
sprung from their ignorance of the oriental languages. Greeks is.
They disdained to apply themselves to the study of lan-“Uf
guages spoken by people whom, in the pride of their heart, ^an
they stigmatized with the epithet of barbarians. This 8 0
aversion to every foreign dialect was highly detrimental
to their progress in the sciences. The same neglect or
aversion has, we imagine, proved an irreparable injury to
the republic of letters in all succeeding ages. The aoids,
or strolling bards, laid hold on those oriental legends, which
they sophisticated with their own additions and improve¬
ments, in order to accommodate them to the popular taste.
These wonderful tales figured in their rhapsodical compo¬
sitions, and were greedily swallowed down by the credu¬
lous vulgar. Those fictions, as they rolled down, were
constantly augmented with fresh materials, till in process
of time their original import was either forgotten or buried
in impenetrable darkness. A multitude of these Hesiod
has collected in his Theogonia, or Generation of the Gods,
which unhappily became the religious creed of the illite¬
rate part of the Greeks. Indeed fable was so closely inter¬
woven with the religion of that airy, volatile people, that it
seems to have contaminated not only their religious and
moral, but even their political tenets.
The far-famed oracle of Dodona was copied from that of Oracle of
Ammon at Thebes in Upper Egypt. The oracle of Apollo Dodona.
at Delphos was an emanation from the same source. The
celebrated Apollo Pythius of the Greeks was no other than
the Ob or Aub of the Egyptians, who denominated the
basilisk or royal snake Ov Cai, because it was held sacred
to the sun. Ob or Aub is still retained in the Coptic dia¬
lect, and is one of the many names or epithets of that lu¬
minary. In short, the groundwork of the Grecian mytho¬
logy is to be traced in the East. Only a small part of it was
fabricated in the country ; and what was imported pure
and genuine was miserably sophisticated by the hands
through which it passed, in order to give it a Grecian air,
and to accommodate its style to the Grecian taste. To
enlarge upon this topic would be altogether superfluous,
as our learned readers must be well acquainted with it al¬
ready, and the unlearned may, without much trouble or
expense, furnish themselves with books upon that subject.
The Roman mythology was borrowed from the Greeks. Roman
That people had addicted themselves for many centuries myty’
to the arts of war and civil polity. Science and philosophy^
were either neglected or unknown. At last they conquer-greece,
ed Greece, the native land of science, and then “ Grsecia
capta ferum victorem cepit et artes intulit agresti Latio.
This being the case, their mythology was, upon the whole,
a transcript from that of Greece. I hey had indeed gleane
a few fables from the Pelasgi and others, which, however,
are of so little consequence, that they are scarcely worth
the trouble of transcribing.
*
in
lo?v
N
[ Cl
a
es'
an
coi
Tli
tur
log
COI
noi
wa:
anc
tho.
ed
rioc
nilii
of
pal;
gar<
whc
The
nar]
Vail
dres
with
last!
out
Scar
ina
mas
net)
the
semi
the
sin i<
and ]
bited
ed to
the 2
4
vhicl;
hall i
iount
ext (
Th,o-
ola.”
'hetic
mniei
ain it
ithtl
xamn
the
mad
>lly.
'ophe
Sco
gnifi,
I The
hes.
Nti
fthe
;ion
1 osLh6T1 iere° rmiy "pross^Wy1 sTiH ^nSS in a Sreat measure
the druidical superstition in !! 601313 some vest.ges of
Highlands and IsLnds of Scotland anTnff f the
civilized places of Ireland ThpU d P haps ln the un-
afford our readers but We Presume> w«uld
instruction ' llttIe ente^*nment, and still less
Nomecr^nf Danes°S n°rthJeTrn nations> that is, of the
cUHausbrd^S„tf^eEdland7vi?,,C0mm0nly
a complete collection of | . , a!H Voluspa contain
est affinity wUh tW of fhe r Vch ''f™ ‘'>e small-
z;.S’.£ -S
logy* and it W h y T 0fJhe Scandinavian mytho-
gy, ana it has been reckoned, and we believe instUr o
commentary on the Voluspa, which was the Bible of Hie
of Ld,&Sn4d^
palaf s ™ned VaSlf ‘e-r'"g tl,ousa"ds a‘ a blow. His
pmace is called Valhalla; it is situated in the citv of Mid
gard, where, according to th* ot Mid-
ivi i 1 il (J O G Y.
/o/
Shell
They snend thfdft “ '• ■3Te “J0? s“P«n.e felicity.
mn combats a7 "uTT h“"t!nS matches> OT imagi-
VnlLT. i A, nlght they assemble in the palace of
Valhalla, where they feast on the most delicious viands
ScandinavL him" ’ the nectar of ‘he
nety of fables equally shocking and heterogeneous Loke
k"d Hdlunda* perf6 giantS W^u^e'bttiTBlpT^
nd ilellunda, perform a variety of exploits, and are exhi-
nted m the most frightful attitudes. One would be tempt-
he giaSfVef th7Pe,rSrm the exi'c, “™4a” of
ff gfandL a thf6 . r iRoman “ytbologists. Instead
glancm at these ridiculous and uninteresting fables
Vh cl ,s all that the limits prescribed us would pemit we
•hall take the hberty to lay before our readers aP brief a”!
ext of the Se0nr ntS °f ‘he yoluSpa’ which is indeetl tha
ext ot the Scandinavian mythology.
ohf WTht Vol',Spa i|np0rtS- “ tl,e Propbecy of Vola or
[hetic lad es oT^i Pn “If’ “ g|neral name for tho P™-
\ letic ladies of the North, as Sibyl was appropriated to
rfr"ifrlTri Wlth the like facill‘y in the' SoTth. Cer-
ith the nr„nL,hefanClentSvsg.enerally oonnected madness
xamnlps- the IC f3CTU ^ .°f th,s we ,lave t^o celebrated
thePSihvl nf °the 1^LyCOphron s Cassandra, and the other
mad nrbf r ,!he R1°man P0^ The word signifies
M,. SV H18 /I* WhenceAe Engllsh fool foolish,
re'/h th j •att6r p3rt of t,le composition, signifies “ to
S^nt?’ aa”d k StiU current amongst the common people
Signification.111 ^ W°rd W which has nearJV the same
I The Voluspa consists of between two and three hundred
J6*; , A. 6 Prophetess having imposed silence on all intel-
f the d6cIares that she is about to reveal the works
rather of nature, the actions and operations of the
gods, which no mortal ever knew before herself <5hn th nr ,
begins with a descriotion of th i i , 0 ^ then Mytho
to die formation of *11)6 world,'and^f^creafnfth'"'^*^^8
ent species of its inhabitants.’gianfs, m^n and dwarfs She
then explains the employments of the fairies or destinies
whom the nor hern people call nornies, the functio ns of
the deities, their most memorable adventures .
w.«h Loke, and the vengeance whth e„S ^s'eTttst
concludes with a long, and indeed animated description of
the final state of the universe, and its dissolution by a <re.
neral conflagration. In this catastrophe, Odin and^nll fh
rabble of the Pagan divinities, are to be co^btmded L
the general ruin, no more to appear on the staue of ,1.,,
universe ; and out of the ruins o/The format w^rTfalrf!
spri”8 up’ flrra^d “
ten i y , h0Se re at',ng t0 the fi"al dixsolution of the pre-
tew eS^htt we fi ^ccess!on °f 3 new heaven and a
earth, that we find ourselves strongly inclined to sus
pect, that the original fabricator of the work was a semi
E^Sib^11 °f ^ 83016—Priori with thrau-
toois ot the Sibylline oracles, and of some other anocrvnhal
EiaF 0PPeared in 11,6 W°r,d dU™g lheflrat 3ges of
Me£ra”ndPetm ' ra“ See“S •° be ^"bolo.
^“^irssas'.-ttwS
worshipped b;e,hee m“ “ rhetSctl^tog
p"-Twi forbmation t"at is e’aaI|y c-SS
structwe whdst subsequent travellers, following his ex
ample, and extending their inquiries and researches have
&neSeeSM£bo!th ^ and ao^old6a <>P
The only remarkable piece of mythology in the annals
of the I eruvians, is the pretended extraction of Manco Ca
pec the first Inca of Peru, and of Mama Ocolla his consort
e lake'Titicaca8 PTrnageS appeared first on ‘ha banks
me lake 1 iticaca. They were persons of a majestic sm
ure, and were clothed in decent garments. They decked
themselves to be the children of The Sun, sent by their
neficent parent, who beheld with pity the mLeries of th.
human race, to instruct and to reclaim rh^ mi ' he
find that these two legislators availed themselves of'a prT
fence which had olten been employed in more civilized re
gions for the very same nurooses Tho id i . ? ^
was gentle and beneficent, that of Mexico gloomy a°nd sa™
guinary. The principle of good predominated in fh» f
pcrpS„°frZ\t dartto; „f^
gaffl^issfJSSs
£ £S"; SStKi'CSSS
ject we conceive to be so universally known by few
768 M Y T
Mytilene etl, and so little valued by others, that a minute discussion
II of it would be altogether superfluous. We flatter our-
My us. seiveSj however, that in the course of this disquisition we
have thrown out some reflections and observations which
may perhaps prove more acceptable to both descriptions of
readers, and serve to direct their attention to a subject
which is yet far from being exhausted. (d. d.)
(For further information on this subject, the reader may consult—
K. 0. Muller, Introduction to a Scientific Mythology, translated by
Leitch, 1844; Keightley, Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy,
3d edit., 1854; Kavanagh, Myths traced to their Primary Source
through Language, 1856; M. Muller, Essay on Comparative Mytho¬
logy, in Oxford Essays, 1856; Voss, Mythologische Briefe, 1794 ;
M Z E
Hermann, Tiber das Wesen und die Behandlung der Mythologies Butt- jjze .
mann, Mythologos; Volcker, Mythol, des Japetischen Geschlechts „• y
Lobeck, Aglaophamus; Schelling, Vorlesungen uber Mythologie; "
Bohlen, Das alte Indien; V. Kennedy, Researches into the Nature
and Affinity of Ancient and Hindu Mythology, 1831; Polier, Mytho¬
logie des Indous, 1809 ; Hardy, Manual of Buddhism; Shortland,
Superstitions of New Zealanders Sir G. Grey, Polynesian Mytho¬
logy ; Colebrooke in the Asiatic Researches; Prichard, Analysis of
Egyptian Mythology, 1819; Bunsen, Egypt's Place in Universal
History, vol. i.; Wilkinson, Manners and Customs of Ancient Egyp-
tians, 1837 and 1841; Magnusen, Den Aeldre Edda ; Petersen’s
Asalcere and Nordisk Mythologi, 1849 ; Thorpe, Northern Mythology,
3 vols., 1851; Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie ; and K. 0. Muller,
Prolegomena zu einer Wissenschaftlichen Mythologie, Gbtt. 1825,
translated by Leitch, Lond. 1844.)
MYTILENE, or Mitylene {Castro), the most import¬
ant city in Lesbos, was built on the E. coast of the
island, on the neck of a peninsula. Its two excellent har¬
bours, one on the N. and the other on the S. of the city,
and its proximity to the mainland, rendered it at an early
period the centre of the commerce and influence of the
island. It is seen taking the lead in military enterprises as
early as 606 b.c. ; and its history soon becomes in general
the history of Lesbos. The Mytilenasans were engaged in
some of the greatest wars of antiquity. They furnished a
contingent of sixty ships to Xerxes in his invasion of Greece,
and they supported first the one side and then the other in the
Peloponnesian war. On account of their share in this latter
struggle their walls were thrown down, and their territory
was occupied by the Athenians. The next important event
in the history of Mytilene was its zealous espousal of the
cause of Alexander the Great, a policy which brought upon
it the attack of the Persians, under Memnon, in 333 B.c.,
and would have led to its capture, had not the hostile general
died on the eve of victory. Still more unfortunate was its
adherence to the cause of Mithridates. After a long siege
it was taken and sacked by the Romans. Mytilene con¬
tinued to flourish both during and after the dominancy of
Rome. In the middle ages, so thoroughly had it concen¬
trated within itself the wealth and influence of Lesbos, that
it gave its name to the entire island. It retains part of its
prosperity at the present day. (See Lesbos.)
MYUS, an Ionian town, situated in Caria, on the S. bank
of the River Maeander, about 30 stadia from its mouth. It
was founded, according to Strabo, by Cydrelus, a natural son
of Codrus; and in the days of that geographer its population,
already very much lessened, had become incorporated with
that of Miletus, and ceased to exist as a distinct political
corporation. This desertion of their native town, on the
part of the Myusians, is ascribed by Pausanias to the extra¬
ordinary number of flies which infested it, and which ren¬
dered the life of the inhabitants intolerable. Some think,
however, that their removal was more probably owing to
the numerous inundations to which, according to Vitru¬
vius, their town was exposed. The King of Persia bestowed
Myus, among other towns, upon Themistocles; and Philip
of Macedon» after having made it his own, gave it to the
Magnesians. We learn from Pausanias that this town
possessed a beautiful temple, built of white marble, de¬
dicated to Dionysus. Few traces of Myus now remain;
and from the amount of debris annually carried down by
the waters of the Maeander, and deposited at its mouth,
the original distance of this ancient town from the sea has
become very much increased;, so that modern travellers
have not unfrequently mistaken its site for that of Miletus,
and erroneously identified Heracleia with Myus. (See
Leake’s Asia Minor ; Fellows’ Journal of a Tour in Asia
Minor; and Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman
Geography.)
MZENSK, a town of Russia, in the government of Orel,
is situated at the confluence of the Mzena and the Zoucha,
35 miles N.N.E. of Orel. It is pretty well built, but princi¬
pally of wood ; and has twelve churches and two convents.
There is a considerable trade here in corn and hemp, which
are grown in the neighbourhood. Pop. (1851) 12,775.
769
p
HI
si
/,
ri<
to
9(
at
S,
sr
cli
nti
pc
sei
tin
rw
wt
cir
in
in
tap
inp
am
am
in
Ma
a s;
flat
ten
ext
mo
an
hav
wit]
will
to ti
into
the
and
proi
otht
ous
way
rest
the
A
miss
que
asce
by
seizi
the
bacli
Wii
dost
preti
the
19?
a tre
time
N.
dL
^ fourteenth letter of the English alphabet, and a
liquid consonant formed by placing the tongue against
the line of junction between the upper teeth and the palate,
and causing the sound to pass mainly through the nasal
passage. It is consequently a nasal letter, and an imperfect
mute or semi-vowel. N has only one sound, and is almost
silent after as in hymn. It is liable to interchange with
/, m, and s, of which there are numerous examples in va¬
rious languages. By the ancients N was used as a numeral,
to signify 900; and with a dash over it (n), it represented
9000. (For the use of this letter in ancient and modern
abbreviations, see Abbreviations.)
NAAS, a town of Ireland, county of Kildare, 18 miles
S.W. of Dublin. It consists of a main street and several
smaller ones, and is not very well built. It has a parish
church, a Roman Catholic, and an Independent chapel; a
maiket-house, court-house, prison, barracks, hospital, dis-
pensary, and several schools. Some remains are still to be
seen of an ancient palace, which was the residence of
the kings of Leinster, and in the neighbourhood there is a
mount, or rath, of Danish origin. The name of the town,
which signifies “ The Place of Elders,” has arisen from the
circumstance that the states of Leinster used to meet here
in the sixth, seventh, and eighth centuries. Naas is inferior
in prosperity to many other towns in Ireland not so advan¬
tageously situated, and has been for some time in a declin¬
ing state. A small trade is carried on in grain, provisions,
and poultry. The county assizes are held here in spring,
and at Athy in summer. Pop. (1851) 2971.
NABIS, a Spartan tyrant, usurped the supreme power
in Lacedaemon on the death of Machanidas, at the battle of
Mantineia, in 207 b.c. His government was established on
a system of unbridled cruelty and rapacity. The most in¬
fluential citizens were put to death or were driven into exile;
temples were plundered; and the wealthy were subjected to
exorbitant taxes. If they refused to pay, they were sum¬
moned before the tyrant. If their obstinacy still continued,
a new engine of torture, made in the form of a woman, and
having its breast and arms bristling with spikes, was forth¬
with produced. “ Perhaps,” said Nabis, “ my wife Apega
will be able to persuade you.” They were then subjected
to the horrid embrace of this automaton, and were tortured
into compliance. With the money extorted in this manner
the tyrant hired the services of all the vagabonds, ruffians,
and cut-throats of the country. Some of these were sent to
prowl and plunder throughout all parts of the Peloponnesus ;
others were employed to dog the footsteps of any danger¬
ous Spartan exile, and to murder him as he fled along the
way, or sat in fancied security in some friendly city; the
rest were organized into a formidable mercenary army for
the support and extension of the tyrant’s power.
After this ruthless despotism had awed Sparta into sub¬
mission, Nabis began to turn his thoughts to foreign con¬
quest. His great project was to regain the Lacedaemonian
ascendancy in the Peloponnesus. He began his attempt
by invading the territories of Megalopolis,, and by then
seizing upon Messene. The skilful strategy of Philopcemen,
the leader of the forces of the Achaean League, drove him
back within his own domains in 201 B.c.; yet in the fol¬
lowing year his army was again in the field, and was laying
close siege to Megalopolis. About the same time he was
pretending to favour the cause of Philip of Macedon against
the Romans, that he might obtain possession of Argos. In
198 b.c. he attained his object, and then immediately struck
a treaty with the Roman general Flamininus. This deceitful
time-serving, however, did not prepossess his new allies in his
VOL. xv.
favour, and they seized the earliest opportunity to break the Fabloos
truce. 195 b.c., the year after peace had been concluded ||
between Rome and Philip of Macedon, Nabis received in- Nachitshe-
telligence that Flamininus was marching against him. The van*
most decisive measures for resistance were forthwith taken. Vs—
To secure the fidelity of his troops, eighty suspected persons
were put to death for the sake of example. The defences
of Sparta were greatly strengthened; yet after the Lace¬
daemonians had been twice defeated under their own walls,
their capital was forced to capitulate. A treaty was ratified’
which deprived Nabis of the fruits of his deceit and aggres¬
sion, and imposed upon him other severe penalties. ° The
Romans, however, had not long departed from Greece when
Nabis broke the truce, and marching southward, laid siege
to Gythium. A fleet under Philopcemen, the general of
the Achaean League, attempted to relieve the town. With
a few ships, hastily collected, he completely frustrated the
attempt, and compelled the enemy to retreat. The town
was soon afterwards taken. Then hastening northward by
forced marches, he succeeded in surprising Philopcemen,
who was advancing upon Sparta. But the able Achaean
general, instantaneously retrieving the surprise, outwitted
his foe in F6turn? cut his army to pieces, and ravaged the
country unopposed during the ensuing month. For some
time Nabis lay at Sparta, too weak to take the field again.
At length, in 192 b.c., he received some AUtolians as a pre¬
tended reinforcement. They had come, however, in reality
to effect his ruin ; and he was assassinated by their leader
Alexamenus. 1 he ultimate consequences of his death were,
that the yEtolians were massacred in their turn, and Sparta
joined the Achaean League.
NABLOOS, or Nabulus, a town of Palestine, in the
pashalic of Acre, beautifully situated at the N.E. foot of
Mount Gerizim, 30 miles N. of Jerusalem. It is a lon^
and narrow town, with two main streets: and the houses
are high and well built of stone. Almost the whole of the
streets have a busy and lively appearance; and along one
of them runs a stream of clear water. The town contains
the remains of an old church in the Byzantine style, with a
fine gateway, ihere are also several mosques and bazaars,
the latter of which are well supplied with silk and cloth
from Aleppo, Baghdad, and Damascus. Some trade is
carried on by means of the caravans which pass this way.
Soap and cotton cloth are manufactured here. Nabloos is
believed to occupy the site of the ancient Shechem, and
derives its name from Neapolis, the title given to it when
restored by the Romans in the time of Vespasian. There
are some ruins on Mount Ebal, a short distance to the N.;
and the tombs of Joseph and Joshua, as well as Jacob’s
well, are to be seen there. Pop. estimated at 8000.
NABONASSAR, first king of the Chaldeans or Baby¬
lonians, whose name marks an era commencing 26th Feb¬
ruary 747 b.c. (See Chronology.)
NACHIFSHEVAN, a town of European Russia,
government of Ekaterinoslav, on the right bank of the Don’
7 miles E.N.E. of Rostov. The houses are well built, and
the streets are broad, straight, and clean. It is the seat of
an Armenian archbishop, and contains three churches, a
convent, an Armenian school, and a printing-office. There
is also a bazaar, which is well stocked with Indian and
Persian goods. Manufactures of silk, cotton, leather, soap
brandy, and other articles, are carried on here ; and there is
an active trade, which is chiefly in the hands of Armenian
merchants. Goods are brought from Turkey to supply the
fairs of all the neighbouring provinces; and commercial
intercourse is also carried on with Turkestan. Pearls and
770 N A C
Nachitshe- precious stones are the most profitable articles of commerce
v!|n here. The town was founded in 1780 by Catherine IT.,
■NTnoJLii; an(1 is almost exclusively peopled by Armenians. Pop.
Nagasaki. 1416a
Nachitshevan, a town of Asiatic Russia, in the pro¬
vince of Erivan, occupies a lofty plain, near the Aras, 175
miles S. of Tiflis, and 64 S.E. of Erivan. It has three
churches and a town-house; carries on the manufacture
of leather and of earthenware ; and is also a place of
some trade. It was formerly the chief town in Armenia,
but has recently much declined, and seems to have been
much injured by the earthquake which took place in 1840.
Pop. (1851) 5157.
NADIR SHAH. See Persia.
NASVIUS, Cneius, oneof the earliest of Roman poets,
is generally supposed to have been a native of Campania,
and to have been born in the former half of the third
century b.c. He served in the first Punic war, and was
thus an eye-witness of those exploits which he afterwards
described. On his return to Rome, his literary career was
commenced by the production of a drama, in the stvle
introduced a few years before by Livius Andronicus. He
continued to write many plays, both tragic and comic,
which are known to us only by their titles, and by some of
their fragments quoted in other authors. Several of his
comedies, if we may judge from their names, seem to have
been adapted from the Greek. It is certain, at least, that
they lampooned the Roman aristocracy after the bold, sar¬
castic manner of the early comic poets of Greece. A
fragment preserved by Gellius commences with a grandi¬
loquent eulogy on the great deeds and matchless renown
of the elder Africanus, and ends suddenly with a low scandal
about his incontinence. In another quotation, the Metelli
are declared to have been elected consuls merely by the
evil genius of Rome. This latter cut was retaliated by
the Metelli. They arraigned Naevius for the capital offence
of libel. Barely escaping with his life, he was thrown into
prison. There he was suffered to lie until he had written two
plays for the purpose of retracting the imputations of which
he had been convicted. His satirical spirit, however, was
not tamed. Soon after his release he was caught in his old
offence, and was sentenced to exile. He repaired to Utica,
and there he spent the close of his life in composing his
epic on the first Punic war. His death took place, accord¬
ing to Cicero, in 204 b.c. (Tusc. Qucest. i., c. 1.)
The poetry of Naevius was still popular in the Augustan
age. His humour is praised by Cicero in the De Oratore.
So highly esteemed was the JBellum Punicum, written
though it was in the antiquated Saturnian metre, that Virgil
is said to have borrowed from it the description of the storm,
and the conversation between Jupiter and Venus, in the
first book of the JEneid. Horace also, in his second epode,
talks of Naevius, who, “ though not in the hands, is still in
the minds of men.” The fragments of Naevius were pub¬
lished among the Fragmenta Poetarum Latinorum, 8vo,
Paris, 1564. They were also published separately by
Klussmann, 8vo, Jena, 1843.
NAGASAKI, or Nangasaki, a seaport-town of Japan,
in the island of Kiu-siu, is situated on a peninsula formed
by the Bay of Ohomura, on the west coast of the island;
N. Lat. 32. 43., E. Long. 129. 51. It is built with con¬
siderable regularity on the slope of a hill, and the streets
are broad and clean. The houses, which seldom exceed
one storey in height, are constructed of a mixture of clay
and straw on a framework of wood ; and are covered with
a cement that has the appearance of stone. The place of
glass is supplied in the windows by strong oiled paper.
Most of the better sort of houses have a large portico in
front, and the back part of the house, where the family live,
projects in a triangular form into a garden. The gardens,
which are attached to all the houses of Nagasaki, are
NAG
generally laid out in a picturesque style, with rocks, trees, Nappo,
and waterfalls. In most of them there is also a small ^
chapel. The slight materials of which the houses are built
render them very liable to fires, which are frequently very
destructive to the town. In order to provide against these,
there is generally a detached storehouse, all thewood-work
of which is thickly covered with clay, and there is also kept
at hand a large vessel of liquid mud with which to besmear the
walls in cases of danger. In these storehouses the inhabitants
keep their most valuable property. The principal buildings
in Nagasaki are,—the palaces of the princes of the empire
and of the government officials; the numerous ya siros, or
temples, in the town and neighbourhood; theatres ; and tea¬
houses. The temples are surrounded with pleasure-grounds,
which are much resorted to; and attached to them are
large apartments, used for the accommodation of travellers
or for banquets, and let out for such purposes by the priests.
The Chinese factory stands in the southern suburb, and
that of the Dutch in the island of Dezima, which is con¬
nected with the land by a bridge of stone. To this island,
not more than 200 yards in length and 80 in breadth, the
Dutch were for a long time strictly confined, and were not
allowed to erect anything more substantial than wood and
bamboo buildings on it. Beyond it they might not go,
except with the permission of the governor of the town,
to whom they must give twenty-four hours’ previous notice;
and when leave was obtained, each man was attended by
a large number of official spies, all of whom had to be enter¬
tained at his expense. These restrictions, however, have
been modified by the treaty concluded between the Dutch
and the Japanese, 9th November 1855, which allows the
Dutch full liberty to leave the island of Dezima. Nagasaki
is now also open to the English, Americans, and Russians.
The harbour affords good anchorage, and is deep, safe, and
well sheltered. It is about 7 miles in length, by 1 in breadth,
and has a depth of 5 or 6 fathoms. The estimates of the
population vary considerably, but it is probably about
70,000.
NAGPORE, in Hindustan, a large town of the Deccan,
and the principal place of the British province of the same
name. It is about 7 miles in circumference, but very strag¬
gling and irregular, and possesses but one good street, the
others being mean and narrow. The greater part of the
houses are built of mud, some being thatched, and others
tiled; but there are a few of large size built of brick
and mortar, with flat-terraced roofs. Throughout the town
there is no specimen of fine architecture; and even the
palace of the former rajahs, which is the most considerable
building, is totally devoid of symmetry or beauty. Accord¬
ing to the last census the dwellings were,—thatched huts,
14,680; tiled houses, 11,120; houses of brick and mortar,
1301 ; making a total of 27,101, inhabited by a population
amounting to 111,231, of whom about 2£ per cent, were
Mohammedans, and the rest Hindus. The town is distant
from Bombay, N.E., 440 miles; from Calcutta, W., 605;
Lat. 21. 10., Long. 79. 10.
The British province, of which this town is the chief
place, is bounded on the N. by the Saugor and Nerbudda
territory, on the E. by the British districts of Sumbulpore
and Odeipoor, and on the S.W. and W. by Hyderabad, or
the territories of the Nizam. It lies between Lat. 17. 50.
and 23. 5., Long. 78. 3. and 83. 10.; and contains an area of
76,432 square miles, with a population of 4,650,000. The
principal rivers are,—-the Wyne Gunga, the Mahanuddee,
the Wurda, the Kanhan, and the Sew.
The rajahs of Nagpore, now an extinct dynasty, were
the rulers of a state which was a branch of the great Mah-
ratta confederacy and the heritage of a family distinguished
by the appellation of Bhoonsla. Its founder was Parsojee,
originally a private soldier, but who rose to power through
the gratitude of Rajah Saho, the son of Sevajee, whose
M?y.
V
a
o
t
b
2
tl
hi
ul
ol
g'
a!
A
fa
in
va
de
wi
ce:
Bi
thi
Tl
am
tor
tue
gai
Sz£
the
and
and
tnar
sme
nuts
fi
com
taim
roar
agri(
N
ofT
asu|
and
roam
carrii
N.
Szatl
palac
colle,
tnaizi
. N.
18 sin
conta
thev
N.
N.
nag
firSt t0 j°in’ when that chief was liber-
Emnerrif S Rln he had been held by the
SnTpp [ - r Ra£°Jee> one of the successors of
Parsojee, united his forces in 1803 with those of Scindia in
Basslfn 3 The^vir^ COnse(luent on the treaty of
him to sue for n 0neS Assaye and Argaum compelled
m to sue for peace, and by a treaty concluded in 1804
xr* offCutup™ i8!4
bv his cousin1 th r^nS °f ^overnment were assumed
pJ 18 c^usin» the notorious Appa Sahib. This prince
TerS he?? Wi!h *he. Britisl'government, but Sy
whom the 'T lntr,gues with *0 Peishwa, with
vember laf? hf Were “1 and on the 26th N»-
vember 1817 he consummated his treachery by an open
attack on the British troops at Seetabuldeef an^minence
on the outskirts of the town of Nagpore. The dispropor-
t.on of numbers was great, a British force of 1400 Strong
20OOO^hTfh tn a ^°dy °f native trooPs amounting to
the^ack a In^ ^St d,Sp0S,ti°n,S which the suddenness of
the attack allowed were promptly made. A noble charw
headed by Captain Fitzgerald with a small party of cavalry’
of ^dav^ T? R tbe,enem/s horse’ decidedIhe fortune,’
of the daj. The British resident, Mr Jenkins, was on the
ground throughout the day. His first assistant, Mr Sotheby
so repaired to the scene of action, and was there killed!
ter a contest of eighteen hours, the conflict terminated in
B"t.ish- APPa Sahib subsequently entered
into fresh hostilities, and was ultimately deposed. The
vacant throne was supplied by the elevation of a youth
descended from Ragojee. The latest engagement made
cWier'7ST,Ce T “ 1829' He died »“ Se lUh De!
cember 1853 without issue. The succession in the
thMW f kmil y was ,,eredltary in the entire male line from
the first founder of the dynasty, to the exclusion of females.
and N^nn"0 006 Wh° cou,d Pretend to this qualification,
. Nagpore was consequently incorporated with the terri-
ories of the East India Company, and now forms a consti¬
tuent part of the British dominions.
“ JrlA3Y’ fiWTd’ Si7nifyinS in the Hungarian language
2-afv fndPTefiXedl t0-the nameS °f Several pHces in Hun¬
gary and Iransylvama.
Nagy-Banya, a town of Hungary, in the countv of
Szathmar 28 miles E.S.E. of the town of that name. In
iml n1eJhtbourhood ‘ten gold, silver, and lead mines;
«ntai"s a mint» a mint inspector’s office,
and a chief office for mining. Nagy-Banya has also
Melt0'0/™ °f earth1enware> linen and cotton factories,
nuts, &?. ToTsMO “ aCtiVe ^ ta Htharge- clMSt-
Nagy-Becskerek, a market-town of Hungary, in the
county of Torontal, 40 miles S.W. of Temesvar. It con-
tains the ruins of an ancient castle, has a Protestant gram-
. mar schoo, and silk-mills; and trades to some extent in
(agricultural produce. Pop. 15,500.
( f Nagy-Enyed, Egidstadt, or Strassburg, a market-town
| of Transylvania, not far from the Maros. It is the seat of
a superintendent and consistory of the Reformed Church,
and contains a college, with a library and museum. The
manufacture of paper and the cultivation of the vine are
carried on here. Pop. 5500.
8y!^}t^r'KiA|K0Lf’ of Hungary> in the county of
t zathmar, 44 miles N.E. of Grosswardein. It has a large
palace and gardens belonging to the dukes of Karoly,&a
co lege, school, and linen and cotton factories. Vines,
maize, and tobacco are grown in the vicinity. Pop. 12,OOo!
i . agy-Koros, a town of Hungary, in the county of Pesth
is situated in a sandy country, 40 miles S.E. of Pesth. It
contains a school. Horned cattle and sheep are raised, and
me vine cultivated, in the neighbourhood. Pop. 18 000.
Nagy-Szeben. See Hermannstaixt.
Nagy-Varad. See Grosswardein.
n A i
NAIADS. See Nymphs.
NAIGEON, Jacques AndriS, a French encyclopedist,
was born at Pans in 1,38. After acquiring some know-
edge of philosophy and of the exact sciences, he was in¬
troduced into the famous society of atheists and deists that
gathered round Diderot and Baron d’Holbach. Henceforth
Diderot1 "h the apmS PuPn and devoted worshipper of
Diderot. He spoke and wrote nothing which he had not
received in responses from the mouth of his oracle He
even assumed the gestures and voice of his great model!
rins slavish disposition prevented his common-place intel¬
lect from rising above the offices of editor, translator and
compiler. Besides his editions of Fontaine, Racine’ and
woT^Tfr rd °ther standard works> he published the
works of Diderot, accompanied with an indifferent and un-
nhilnf V7 Trir if that aUth°r' He aIso edited many
philosophical rhapsodies which their writers themselves7
through very shame, had not avowed. His encyclopedic
contributions, the chief of which is his “Dictionary ofrPhi-
osophy, Ancient and Modern,” in the Encyclopedic Metho-
P latSnSsCar Na a bepca,led ^hmg else than com-
p X 4 TT c Na'geon died at Pans in 1810.
i . •,Ir°n nails may be wrought, cast, or cut.
i ought nails may be forged from iron rods, which are
now often prepared from plates rolled for the purpose bv
sta.ng them into nail-rods, or split-rods of vE !izes
and quabttes, by means of splitting rollers. For W
s/ioe mils the best refined iron is used, to allow them to be
nails1 and "f break “ *he hoof 5 ^‘-^ighfs
noils and hurdle-nails require to be made of a tough
fibrous iron. Nails are variously named according to thfir
shapes or the uses to which they are applied. There are
upwards of three hundred varieties of nails, and at leas! ten
different sizes for each variety. A few of the principal
orms are as follows 1. Rose-sharp, a kind muchused for
openng, fencing and other coarse purposes in hardwood.
A thinner sort, called fine rose, is used for softer woods the
broad sFeading heads serving to hold the work down.
with T ^ °r C¥Sel points’ which being driven
with their edges across the grain, prevent splitting. 3
thffibZ ’4 r/ ‘/ 6 h/ndS clasp
me nbres. 4. Clout-nails, with flat circular heads, round
shanks, and sharp points, are used for nailing iron-work
&c., to wood. o. The counter-clout is countersunk under
the head, and has a chisel point. It is used by wheel-
rights and smiths. 6. Fine-dog, and strong or weighty
dog nails, are used for nailing down stout iron-work, &c. •
ey have round shanks and spear-points. 7. The Kent-
hurdle, used for nailing and clenching hurdles; gate-nails
are similar m form 8. Rose-clench, much used in sfrip
and boat building; they have square ends, so as to punch
out their own holes, and the ends are clenched by hammer-
mg someHmes wuh the addition of a small diamond-shaped
metal plate called a rove. 9. Horse-nails, with counter¬
sunk heads, so that they may lie flush in the groove made
for them m the horse-shoe. 10. Brads and tacks also form
S VanetieS °f nails* Nails of cast-iron are
brittle, but very cheap, and are adapted to such purposes as
fixing the lathing of plasterers, nailing up trees to o-arden
walk, nailing stout shoes, boots, &c. ImmensfouantC of
nITrN T1* I? '“““S a"d P"nchi"^ (c- t!)
f^the leftPbank0ofl;LCORUn'y °M ^ ^ name’is situated
16miles N F of r f * E'VeI Nairn> near its "'"uth, and
miles N.E. of Inverness. It contains a town-house and
jail, and possesses a harbour adapted for fishing-boats and
small vessels The firs, charter of the burgKw ex,a„t
a charter by Alexander I. Nairn is governed by a pro
Wness anTJhe'r fBy raiWay ifc is connected with
nverness, and the line between it and Aberdeen is now
N A I NAM
all but completed. Markets on Tuesday and Friday.
Pop. (1851), parliamentary burgh, 2977 ; municipal
burgh, 3401.
N AIRNSHIRE, a small maritime county of Scotland, on
the Moray Firth, which bounds it on the N., while on the
other sides it has the counties of Inverness and Moray.
It is 18 miles in length by 10 miles in breadth, and contains
an area of 137,500 acres. The coast, which is about 9
miles in length, is low, bare, and sandy, and is rendered
dangerous in its approaches by the numerous sand-banks.
Sand-hills occupy the greater part of the coast district, and
extend into Morayshire. A short distance from the shore,
however, a bluff terrace-bank rises to the height of 90 feet,
from which the country stretches in an undulating plain to
a chain of hills from 4 to 5 miles inward. This level dis¬
trict consists of a great deposit of sand and gravel, render¬
ing the soil light and porous. The hills in the interior,
which attain a height of 1500 feet at the frontiers of Inver¬
ness-shire, are skirted where they border this plain by a
strip of Devonian associated with a coarse conglomerate
formation. The mountains themselves, however, are com¬
posed of granite and gray gneiss, with occasional beds of
bluish granular limestone. The only important rivers in
the county are the Nairn and Findhorn, neither of which
are navigable. Rising from the Strathnairn Hills in Inver¬
ness-shire, the former enters the county at Clava, and dis¬
charges itself into the Firth at Nairn, after a course of
about 30 miles. The Findhorn traverses the southern part
of the county, and enters Morayshire at Dunduff. Agri¬
culture was formerly in a very backward state here, but for
the last ten years it has been making good progress. Like
the neighbouring county of Morayshire, its arable land is
restricted to the level country near the sea-shore; while
the highlands of the interior are devoted to pasturage.
The breeds of cattle and sheep, and the modes of tillage
here adopted, are much the same as those of the adjacent
county. Arable farms average 70 acres in extent; and the
number of occupants of such were 426 in 1857. In the
same year there were 30,311 acres under tillage in Nairn¬
shire, of which 7346 acres were under oats, 4678 turnips,
3182 barley, 2062 wheat, 1407 potatoes, and 10,810 acres
of grass and hay under rotation. The number of live stock
in the same year were,—sheep, 35,985; cattle, 8965; horses,
1932; and swine, 1420. The old valued rent of the county
was L.1263, while that of 1856 was L.23,960. Nairnshire
having no good harbours, has not the same advantages of
communication by sea as the neighbouring counties. The
Great North of Scotland Railway, however, traverses the
northern portion of the county, and connects it with Inver¬
ness on the one hand, and Aberdeen and the south on the
other. The county unites with Morayshire in returning a
member to Parliament. It belongs to the northern circuit,
and the assizes are held in Aberdeen ; while, ecclesiastically,
the county pertains to the synod of Nairn. In 1851 there
were 10 places of worship in Nairnshire, 3 of which be¬
longed to the Established, 4 to the Free, 2 to the United
Presbyterian, and 1 to the Independent denominations.
Education in the same year was communicated in 21 schools,
7 of which were private seminaries. The number of poor
who received relief in the year ending 14th May 1856
amounted to 315, and the sum collected for this purpose was
L.1710, against L.1801 expended. The population of
Nairnshire was, in 1831, 9354 ; in 1841, 9217; and in 1851,
9956; of which last 4695 were males, and 5261 females.
It contained only one town, Nairn, the capital, with more
than 2000 inhabitants. This county, which anciently
belonged to the province of Moray, contains a few remains
of antiquity. Among these are Finlay and Rait castles,
in the parish of Nairn ; and the celebrated Cawdor Castle
which is still entire, and is one of the seats of the Earl of
that name.
NAMAQUA LAND forms the western portion of the Namaqua
country of the Hottentots in South Africa, and is divided Land
into Great and Little Namaqua Land; the former lying to ||
the N., the latter to the S. of Orange River. Namur,
NAMUR, a province of Belgium, is bounded on the N.
by South Brabant, E. by Liege and Luxemburg, S. by
France, and W. by Hainault. Its length from N. to S. is
55 miles, greatest breadth 45; area 1409 square miles.
The surface of the province is much varied by hill and
dale, and in some parts, especially in the valley of the
Meuse, between Namur and Liege, the scenery is extremely
beautiful and romantic. The principal rivers are the
Meuse, and its tributary the Sambre, which joins it at
Namur; the former flowing from the S., and the latter from
the E. In a geological view, nearly the whole of this
country belongs to the Carboniferous system, and contains
strata of limestone, sandstone, coal, and iron. The iron
mines of Namur are very rich, and employ a large propor¬
tion of the industry of the province. There were in 1855,
25 coal-pits in this province, producing coal to the value
of L.74,000. Lead mines are also worked to some ex¬
tent; and building-stone, slate, and marble are quarried.
The soil for the most part consists of a rich marl of no great
depth. It is very fertile, and well cultivated; about, one-
half of the whole extent being under cultivation, and one-
third occupied by wood. Wheat, rye, oats, barley, fruits,
hemp, flax, and chicory are the principal crops raised in
some parts ; vines are also grown. Oak, beech, ash, horn¬
beam, birch, and hazel, are the principal trees in the forests;
and these supply excellent timber, and wood for fuel. The
forests of the province abound in game, and the rivers in
fish. Large numbers of horses are reared, which are
strong and of good breed. The principal manufacture of
Namur is cutlery, for which the province is famed; and
trade is actively carried on. The province is divided
into three arrondissements,—namely, Dinant, Namur,
and Philippeville ; and had in 1856 a population of
286,075.
Namur (Flem. Naemen, Germ. Namen), a town of
Belgium, capital of the province of that name, is situated
at the confluence of the Meuse and the Sambre, 35 miles
S.E. of Brussels. Defended by walls of considerable thick¬
ness, by well-constructed outworks on both sides of the
rivers, and by a castle which stands on a rocky eminence
at their junction, it is a place of great strength. The streets
are broad and clean, and there are several fine squares.
The houses are well built of stone, and covered with slates.
There are two bridges, one across each river; and the town
is entered by 11 gates. The cathedral of Namur is a fine
modern building in the Corinthian style, adorned in front
with several statues in white marble. In the interior the
most remarkable objects are the statues of St Peter and St
Paul, on each side of the great altar; and the pulpit, which
is adorned with very fine carving in oak. This church
contains the tomb of Don John of Austria, natural son of
Charles V., and famous as the conqueror of the Turks
at the battle of Lepanto. The church of St Loup is also a
fine building, richly adorned in the interior with marble and
carving in stone. Namur contains several other churches,
a town-hall, several schools, an athenaeum, an academy of
painting, and a public library ; a deaf-and-dumb asylum, and
other charitable institutions; a penitentiary,arsenal,barracks,
&c. The manufactures are considerable, and of these, cut¬
lery is the principal; so that the town has been called the
Sheffield of Belgium. Its productions in this branch of
industry are more nearly equal in quality to those of Shef¬
field than those of any other town on the Continent. I he
manufacture of leather is also largely carried on; and a
great number of the inhabitants are employed in the mines
and quarries of the neighbourhood. The situation of Na¬
mur gives it great commercial advantages; and a consider-
wry
icy-
P
NAN
Napwry able export trade is carried on. Steamers ply on the Mense
Tfnipv ES ^aras w>th which town Namur is also con-
^ nected by railway, as well as with Brussels and Paris.
Namur has suffered much from the ravages of war. It
was taken by Louis XIV. in 1692, an event which was
recorded by Racine, and celebrated in verse by Boileau;
but was recovered in 1695 by the British and Dutch under
William III., after a siege of ten months. The fortifications
were destroyed in 1784 by Joseph II. of Austria; but
restored and strengthened in 1817 under the inspection of
the Duke of Wellington. Pop. 22,218.
NANCOWRY, one of the Nicobar Islands, in the Bay
of Bengal, N. Lat. 7. 57., E. Long. 93. 43. The soil is
rich, and produces cocoa-nuts, plantains, limes, bread-fruit,
tamarinds, and other tropical fruits. The inhabitants ex¬
change poultry for cloth, cutlery, tobacco, and other articles.
There is a large and good roadstead between this island and
those of Camorta and Trincutty. The island is about 25
miles in circumference.
NANC Y, a town of France, capital of the department of
Meurthe, is situated in a beautiful and fertile plain, bounded
by wooded hills, on the left bank of the Meurthe, 177 miles
E. of Paris. It is one of the finest towns of France, not
only on account of the beauty of its environs, but for its
fine public walks and splendid buildings. It consists of an
old and a new town; the former of which is irregularly
built, with narrow and gloomy streets, although it contains
some fine private houses and most of the public buildings.
I he new town consists of wide and regular streets, lined
with handsome houses. There are several fine squares,
of which the principal is the Place Royale, bordered on
three sides by the town-hall, the episcopal palace, the
theatie, and the custom-house. I his square is adorned
with four elegant fountains at the corners; and has
in the centre a statue of Stanislas Lesczynski, King of
1 oland and Duke of Lorraine, to whom the town owes
many of its improvements and embellishments, and among
the rest a very fine triumphal arch which leads from this
square to the Place Carriere. Besides these, the Place
d Alliance, which has a beautiful fountain and a fine avenue
of limes, and the Place St Epore, are worthy of mention.
The principal public walk in Nancy is the Cours d’Or-
leans, extending from the Place de Greve to the Porte
Neuve, one of the gates of the town, which is built in the
form of a triumphal arch. The cathedral of Nancy is a
handsome modern edifice in the composite style, with
two towers surmounted by domes. The church of St
Epore is also a handsome building, and contains some
remarkable paintings and sculpture. The church of the Cor-
deliers contains, among other monuments, the mausoleum
of the dukes of Lorraine, a beautiful marble structure
of an octagonal form. Near this church are the remains
of the palace, which was formerly the residence of the
dukes of Lorraine, but is now used as a barrack. Besides
the buildings already mentioned, the town contains a uni-
veisity, with a library of 23,000 volumes, a theological col¬
lege, a school of medicine, an academy, a normal school, an
agricultural society, school of design, botanic garden, &c.
It is the see of a bishop ; and has a court of appeal, a court
of first instance and one of commerce, and a council of
prud’hommes. The manufactures of Nancy are consider¬
able,—consisting of cloth, hosiery, calico, lace, cotton, em¬
broidery, muslin, paper, oil, wines, leather, and chemical
substances. There are also dyeworks, and establishments
for the refining of saltpetre. A considerable trade is carried
on in its articles of manufacture, as well as in corn, wool,
hides, iron, &c. Three yearly fairs are held. The origin
of this town may be traced as far back as the tenth century.
It was formerly the capital of Lorraine, and the residence
of the dukes of that country. It was taken by Charles the
Bold in 1475; but he lost it the year after, and in 1477
NAN
was killed in a battle with Rene II., Duke of Lorraine
under the walls of Nancy. Pop. (1856) 43,452.
NANGASAKI. See Nagasaki.
NANI, or Nanni Giovanni, an eminent artist, was the
son of a wealthy proprietor, and was born at Udine in
1487. From his birthplace he was often called Da Udine
He also inherited the surname of Ricamatore from his an¬
cestors, who were famous embroiderers. His taste for
painting was developed at a very early age. When he was
wont to go out hunting or fowling with his father he never
tired in sketching the figures of the dogs and the game.
1 his decided bias induced his father to place him under
the celebrated painter Giorgione da Castel Franco at
V enice. In no long time, however, the young artist had
grown so enthusiastic an admirer of Raphael, that he could
not rest contented until he had repaired to Rome, and had
become a pupil of that great master. His pencil soon
began to acquire the soft, graceful, and beautiful manner
of his teacher. He became an adept at imitating all natu¬
ral objects, especially birds, foliage, fruits, and flowers. It
was not, however, until the excavations in the palace of
I itus had laid bare in the subterranean chambers the gro-
tesque and stucco works of antiquity that Nani found the
subject most adapted to his taste and genius. His whole
time was forthwith unweariedly spent in studying and imi¬
tating these decorations. After many an experiment he
succeeded in producing the stucco of the ancients, and in
moulding it into copies of the antique which rivalled their
originals. I his success led Raphael to employ him in
decorating the gallery of the Vatican. The ability with
which he executed the stucco ornaments, and the ingenuity
with which he enriched his decorations with foliage, shells
birds, and landscapes, brought him into great repute He
was employed by Leo X. to adorn, in a similar manner,
p other halls and galleries. Then Giulio, the Cardinal
de Medici, taking him under his patronage, conferred upon
him the dignity of a knighthood of San Pietro, and sent
him to Florence to ornament a gallery in the Medici
palace which had been designed by Michael Angelo. On
his return to Rome he continued to prosecute his art with
great success until the death of Leo X. in 1521. During
the short and unpropitious pontificate of Adrian VL
Nani lived at his native Udine. On the accession of Pope
Clement VII. in 1523, he was restored to his position in
the public favour at Rome. A pension of eighty ducats
was conferred upon him, and he was sent to Florence to
decorate the new sacristy of San Lorenzo, which was al¬
ready adorned with the noble sculptures of Michael Angelo
Ihis elaborate undertaking was just on the eve of beine
completed when Pope Clement died in 1534, and Nani
lost the hard-earned reward of his toil. He once more re¬
tired in disgust to Udine, and was employed for several
years in painting and adorning with stucco-work several
chapels and edifices in the neighbourhood. Of these works
the most notable which still exist are the picture of the
“ Virgin and the Child,” on a rich banner belomniig to the
fraternity of Gastello in his native city; and a chamber
decorated with stucco-work and paintings, in the palace of
the patriarch of Aquileia in Venice. Towards the close of
Ins hfe he returned to Home, and received employment
from Pius IV. He died at the age of seventy-seven.
(Vasaris Lives of the Painters, and Lanzi’s History of
Painting.) u J
NANKING, or Kiangning Fu, the ancient capital of
China, now the chief town of the province of Kiangsu and
the residence of the governor-general of three provinces
is situated about three miles from the south bank of the
Yang-tse-Kiang, about 100 miles from its mouth. This
city was once the most celebrated in the empire, whether
legarded as to its extent, its buildings, or its manufactures:
but since the removal of the imperial residence to Pekin
774 NAN
NAN
Nantes, by Kublai Khan in the end of the thirteenth century, it has
—very much declined. The walls at present surrounding the
town are said to be about 20 miles in extent, but from ex¬
isting remains those of the ancient town seem to have been
about 35 miles in circumference. It is, however, impos¬
sible to say how much of the larger space was occupied
with buildings ; but at present not more than one-half of
the area inclosed by the walls is actually occupied by the
city. The ancient palaces have almost entirely disappeared,
and the only remarkable monuments of royalty that now
remain are some sepulchral statues of gigantic size, near
an ancient cemetery known as the Tombs of the Kings.
At some distance from these statues are a number of rude
colossal figures of horses, elephants, and other animals.
Nanking consists of four rather wide and parallel avenues,
which are intersected by others of less width, and are on
the whole clean, well paved, and lined with handsomely-
furnished shops. The town is very unhealthy, being situ¬
ated in an extensive marshy plain, which, especially in the
hot season, gives off noxious vapours. The three gates on
the eastern side of the city are approached by three well-
paved causeways. That part of the town occupied by the
Manchoos is separated from the Chinese town by a high
wall. Nanking possesses no public buildings of importance,
except the famous porcelain tower, an edifice superior to
anything of the kind in the empire. It is of an octagonal
form, each side being 15 feet wide; and is about 260 feet
in height. Its base rests upon a solid foundation of brick¬
work, 10 feet high, up which a flight of twelve steps leads
into the tower, where there is a spiral staircase leading to
the top. The body of the edifice is composed of brick,
the outer face of which is covered with slabs of glazed
porcelain of various colours, principally green, red, yellow,
and white. It consists of nine storeys, decreasing gradu¬
ally in size to the top, and at each storey is a projecting
roof covered with green tiles, with a bell suspended at
each corner. Each storey forms a saloon, which is finely
painted and gilt, and adorned with numerous gilded images.
The whole is covered by a gilt conical roof, and from the
summit rises a mast 30 feet in height, surrounded by an
immense iron coil, and surmounted by a large gilded ball.
This edifice was nineteen years in building, and was com¬
pleted in a.d. 1430. The entire cost is said to have been
about L.800,000.
Nanking has extensive manufactures of fine satin and
crape, and of the cotton cloth called, after the city, nankeen.
Paper and ink of fine quality, and beautiful artificial flow¬
ers of pith paper are produced here. The commerce of
the city is very considerable, owing to its position near the
great River Yang-tse-Kiang. It communicates with Pe¬
king by means of the Imperial Canal, which leaves the
river about 40 miles below the city. Nanking is not less
celebrated for literature than for its manufactures and
commerce; and is considered one of the first places of
learning in the country. The arts and sciences are studied
here with great diligence; and its libraries are extensive
and valuable. The booksellers’ shops are well stocked
with the best native publications, and the editions pub¬
lished here are the most esteemed in the empire. It was
here that terms of peace were concluded between the Eng¬
lish and Chinese in August 1842. Pop. estimated at
about 400,000.
NANTES, an important commercial town of France,
the seat of a bishop, and capital of the department of
Loire-Inferieure, on the right bank of the Loire, about
30 miles from its mouth, 208 miles S.W. of Paris. N. Lat.
47. 13., and W. Long. 1. 32. It stands partly on the
mainland, intersected by the Erdre and Sevre-Nantaise,
and partly on three islands formed by the irregular course
of the Loire. Thus situated, the town enjoys the advan¬
tages of water-communication between its various quarters.
The old part of the town occupies the right bank of the
river, and is divided into two portions by the Erdre, which
forms the outlet of the Nantes and Brest Canal. Many of
the houses here are antique and picturesque in appearance,
but in the newer parts of the town the houses are gene¬
rally elegant, and the streets spacious. The quays which
line the river are extensive and commodious, and add much
to the gay aspect of the town. But the most striking
quarter of the city is that occupied by the boulevards of
St Peter and St Andrew, and the Place Louis XVI. These,
which are ornamented with rows of trees, stretch from the
St Felix branch of the Loire to the Erdre, and form a de¬
lightful promenade. The islands of Feydeau and Gloir-
ette, connected with the main and with each other by se¬
veral bridges, are occupied by well built streets, while
the latter has a dock and excellent quays. A larger island,
in mid stream, is chiefly laid out in parks and private
villas, and is also provided with a dock and quays. The
chief public edifices are as follows:—St Peter’s cathedral,
commenced in 1434, is a plain though massive building
near the centre of the town, and contains a very fine mo¬
nument of Duke Francis II. of Brittany, and his spouse
Margaret of Foix. This forms an altar tomb of marble,
on which the effigies of the duke and duchess are recum¬
bent, supported at each corner by statues of Power, Justice,
Temperance, and Prudence. The castle, an old building of
the fourteenth century, stands at the extremity of the
boulevard of St Peter, close upon the river. It is still
entire, is provided with a portcullis, and defended by a
ditch. This fortress for long formed an occasional resi¬
dence for the French kings, and it was here that the famous
edict of Nantes was signed in 1598. The other buildings
of note are—the gallery of paintings, the public library
with 30,000 volumes, the natural history museum, and a
new court-house. There is likewise a large new church
called St Nicholas, in the Gothic style, which is nearly
completed.
From its situation Nantes enjoys a large shipping trade,
and ranks in importance as the fourth port in the empire.
Manufactures have, from a like cause, much increased here,
and comprise cotton yarn, refined sugar, serge, blankets,
preserved provisions, &c. The imports include timber,
pitch, raw cotton, iron, and coal ; while the exports com¬
prise corn and flour, wine, brandy, silk, paper, &c. Ship¬
building is likewise carried on to some extent, while several
vessels are fitted out here for the whale and cod fisheries.
From the numerous sandbanks which obstruct the Loire,
vessels of more than about 300 tons burden must unload at
Paimbceuf^ 24 miles lower down the stream.
In the year 1855, 278,168 tons entered, and 236,034
tons cleared at the port. Of these numbers 139,518
tons entered, and 121,632 tons cleared, coastwise; while
eight vessels with 982 tons entered from, and seven ves¬
sels with 1628 tons cleared to, the cod fisheries during
the same year. Engaged in foreign commerce in 1855,
1143 vessels with 137,668 tons entered, and 649 ves¬
sels with 112,774 tons cleared, at the port. During the
same year there were registered at the port 593 sail¬
ing vessels, with 87,440 tonnage, and 20 steamers, with
4124 tonnage. The amount and value of various articles
imported here in 1855 were 83,100 tons, of the aggregate
value of L.1,280,000. With the interior Nantes has
abundant means of communication. The Loire is navi¬
gable for barges for many miles above the town, while
a canal connects it with Brest on the one hand and St
Malo on the other. A line of railway likewise brings
the town within a few hours’ distance of Paris. The city
is governed by a civil tribunal, and the trade is regulated
by a chamber of commerce.
The history of Nantes reaches back to the time of the
Romans, when, under the name of Condivicnum, it formed
N,
Cd
of
brt
wit
par
pla
pri
era
esf
siti
41
of]
woe
pap
mas
tow
bail
ban
The
off
the
fishe
in t
tonn
18,0
the
and
rally
orL
and
entre
]><%
plies
N.
Ches
^Tea
princ
and
nan
^ket iLChi(efh0Wn 0f a Ga,Ilic tlibe cal,ed the Nannetes. It
seem, to have remamed in the hands of the Romans until
the beginning of the fifth century, when they were driven
r0dYu t0Wn' -1 h^Normans captured it in 853 and 859
and held possession for nearly a century ; after which the
380 bUv the FmryfpegfS“in 1343 bv the English; in
nr byrjJf Ear of Puckingham, when it was relieved by
Ohver of Chsson ; and again in 1491 by Charles VIII. Thil
monarch afterwards espoused Anne of Brittany, with whom
he obtained the province, and thereafter Brittany formed
part of the French dominions. During the Reformation
Nantes escaped the horrors of the great Huguenot massacre
by the manly spirit of its chief magistrate, who resolutely
refused to execute the bloody order sent him by the Due
de Montpensier. The famous edict of Nantes that followed
this event was signed here in 1598 by Henri IV., but was
afterwards revoked by Louis XIV. in 1685. More recently
T ered,TCh fr°m the Vendean civil war of
1793. In June of that year the Vendean army, 50,000
strong, under Cathehneau, laid siege to the city, then de¬
fended by Generals Beysser and Canclaux, but were re-
CarSHprWUh gr®at ,oss~their general being among the slain.
Cartier, one of the leaders of the republicans, about tlm
tl?e cornmitted the greatest atrocities on the inhabi¬
tant., who are said to have suffered during the civil wars
a loss of from 6000 to 9000 men, women, and children
Nantes was the birthplace of Anne of Brittany, of the na¬
vigators Cassart and Caillaud, and of the naturalist Dubuis-
®°n: “ ,was Qfron? Nantes that Prince Charles Edward
embarked for Scotland m 1745. Pop. of Nantes G8>n
91,303; (1856) 101,019. P ( 8ol)
N ^nNTUCKET>an ^land off the coast of Massachusetts,
Cod^aml Irt PS fTd f '?ile,8.S- °f the Cape
Cod, and 10 E. of the island of Martha’s Vinevard It is
of a triangular shape, 15 miles in length, by 4 in averaire
breadth; area 50 square miles. The surface is
«u h the exception ot some hills in the southern
part. The soil is generally sandy; but affords in some
places good pasture. Maize, potatoes, and grass are the
emSe 177* raiSed 0" tl,e island’ The ‘"^Wtants are
ployed to a great extent in navigation and fishing
situated on ^ ^ The t0wn of Nantucket fs
tuated on a bay in the N. coast of the island, in N. Lat.
4fLR17:’ W* ^°.ng* 7a 6., and about 105 miles S.E. by S.
woodThn 1 18 C°TaCt,y buiIt’ With nanW Streets a«d
wooden houses; and contains 8 or 9 churches, 2 news¬
paper offices, a bank, and an athenaeum with a library and
museum attached to it. On the 13th of July 1846 the
town was devastated by fire; and no fewer than’350
blnks destr°yed 5 am°ng which were a church, 2
Thot h i athenaeum> and 7 oil and candle manufhetories.
1 he total loss was estimated at L.40,000 ; and the number
of fam!hes who suffered by it was 450. Nantucket was
e earliest town in the States to engage in the whale
in t]7’m Wh'Ch- r h°lds a Prominent position, but is still
nnn reS/?iCt inferi0r t0 New Bedford- The registered
tonnage of the port amounted in 1852 to 27,231 ; of which
8,015 tons were employed in whale fishing, 3048 tons in
and /tTQ1"5 trade’ 403 in the cod and mackerel fisheries,
and 479 in steam navigation. About 2000 men are gene-
nr T 19nnnnd mJThaIe fishing’ and a capital of L.100,000
and n °?0; T,he harbour of Nantucket is large, deep,
and well sheltered by two promontories, which leave an
entrance only three-quarters of a mile broad. A light-
| Douse with a fixed light stands on its south side. A steamer
P Nantucket and New Bedford. Pop. 8452.
NANTWICH, a market-town of England, county of
L-nester, in a low, flat country, on the right bank of the
^Weaver, 17 miles S.E. of Chester. It consists of four
principal streets; and the houses are for the most part old
and built of wood or brick. There is a fine church, in the
nap
775
1VW f n ir0SS’ rth an octagonal tower and a stone pulpit. Napakian
Nantwich has also several dissenting churches, almshouses, II
several banks, a market-house, and a theatre. Salt was NaPier-
formerly the principal article of manufacture here, and was ' ^
obtained from numerous springs in the neighbourhood ;
but only one of these is at present worked. The manufac¬
tures consist chiefly of cheese, shoes, gloves, and cotton.
Some trarle is carried on m cheese and other farm produce.
A battle was fought at Nantwich in 1643, in which the
royalists were dbfeated by the parliamentary troops under
• f'rfaJ5’^?ani>Wlch,WaS the birthPlace ofGerarde, a botan¬
ist, in 1545. Pop. (1851) 5426.
NAPAKIANG. See Loo Choo.
«nnN^Pp^R’ CHA\LES James’ G.C.B., was the eldest
son of Colonel George Napier, comptroller of accounts in
i-go’ Aand was born at Whitehall on the 10th August
1/82 At an early age he removed with the family to
Cel bridge, a small town on the Liffey, about ten miles from
Dublin, and there he attended school. By this time he
held a commission in the 4th regiment, and was longing for
an opportunity to wield his warlike weapons. An oppor-
tumty occurred during the Irish rebellion of 1798; and
the boy-soldier bore himself with all the self-confident
courage of a man. For the next ten years the most pro¬
minent incidents in his life were the changes which he
made from one regiment into another. In 1800 he changed
in o the Rifle corps ; in 1803 he was promoted to the staff
General Fox ; and in 1806 he became a major in the 50th
ST" tbis time large squadrons of troops were
Tdlr ,17 7 the.Jre,nch T- The fc'T Napier chafed
Atd lentfh ^7 *?t,kePt hlm in ignoble ease at home.
At length in 1808 his regiment was ordered to the
i emnsula, and he arrived in time to fight under his favour¬
ed J !n ?Iore- 0n the field of Coruna he
td the 50th into the thickest of the battle, and was left
covered with wounds, in the hands of the enemv. His
f. lends gave him up for lost, and were already disposing of
his effects when he arrived in England on patrole about two
months after his capture. The reports of Wellington’s
victories soon rekindled his military enthusiasm, and in
809 hurried him as a volunteer to the scene of war. For
the next three years he shared in the perils and triumphs of
te peninsular batt es. He had two horses shot under him
at Coa and was taken up for dead on the field of Busaco
Promotmn, hardly earned and long delayed, came at length
in 1812, and drew him once more from active service.
.A ?ent •°Ut t0 Abe Bermudas as 1'eutenant-colonel of
the 102d regiment A cruising expedition against America
was fitted out in the following year, and Napier was ap¬
pointed second in command. He was still employed hi
captunng vessels and making night descents on the coast of
e United States, when the long-continued struggle with
Napoleon was fast approaching a crisis. His return to
Europe was hastened; but he arrived in time to find that
oo ^wbh brha been Struckthree days before at Water¬
loo. V ith all its characteristic ardour his mind was next
PPbed to study 5 and after an attendance of three vears
at the Military College he received a first certificate. 5
*1 NaP'e.rs„ta,ent for administration obtained for
the first time a fair field of exercise, by his being appointed
governor of the island of Cephalonia. His rule was charac-
tenzed by an earnest and disinterested philanthronv
«reeererted“nmlre rfr°adfWere m'>fi Spacious stre“
e erected in the room of narrow dirty lanes; the ad¬
ministration of justice was reformed; and agriculture and
commerce were encouraged and stimulated/ At the same
time, he co-operated with Lord Byron in the plan for Z
hberation of Greece, and would have accepted Pthe offer of
permitted ^ ^ Cntf Prlse’ bad circumstances
1? i V* i? Carner as a social benefactor was suddenly
checked by h,s recall in 1830. Yet the Cephalonians com-
776 NAP
Napier, pletely annulled this implied censure by continuing to call
y him their father as long as he lived.
Napier had been for about two years commanding the
military district of the north of England, and managing to
suppress the Chartist demonstrations without bloodshed,
when he was appointed commander of the Bombay army in
1841. On arriving at his destination, he found that the
British cause was endangered by the recent defeats and
disasters in Afghanistan. It therefore became his chief aim
to retrieve the national reputation. With this view he drew
up a plan for the Afghan campaign, which received the
approbation of the newly-appointed governor-general Lord
Ellenborough. In 1842 he entered into active service as
commander-in-chief in Scinde. 1 his province was then
under the military despotism of the Ameers, who, under
cover of an ill-defined and ill-understood treaty made with
Lord Auckland, the late governor-general, were cruelly
oppressing their subjects, and carrying on a cunning sys¬
tem of intrigues against the British power. To define this
crude treaty, to elevate the Scindians from their abject
slavery, and to bring their tyrants to bay, were now the
difficult tasks to which Charles Napier, at the age of sixty,
with a constitution shaken by wounds and disease, and
under an oppressive climate, addressed himself. The en¬
terprise went rapidly on towards a successful issue. Early
in 1843 the Ameers found themselves convicted of perfidy,
and forced to the alternative of signing a new treaty or of
resorting to open warfare. They chose the latter. Napier
was immediately on the field, and was already aiming a
sudden and decisive blow. This wns the capture of Emaum
Ghur, a solitary fortress that stood in the middle of a waste
wilderness of drifting sand, and was therefore considered
the chief stronghold and ultimate refuge of the Ameers.
By a laborious and ably-conducted march the British forces
reached the desert castle, found it deserted, and shattered
it to atoms with gunpowder. After thus achieving what
the Duke of Wellington afterwards called “ one of the most
curious and extraordinary of all military feats,” Napier re¬
turned to face the enemy in the field of battle. On the
17th February 1843 he confronted an army of 35,000 at
Meeanee. To oppose this overwhelming force he had only
2000 raw soldiers. Yet his bold tactics and fiery courage
inspired his men with a resistless valour. After a hard
fight of four hours they defeated their foes, and drove them
from the field. The Ameers resigned their swords, and the
city of Hyderabad capitulated. In a short time, however,
the conqueror was surrounded on all sides by hordes of
wild Beloochees, and threatened in front by a large army
under Shere Mohammed, surnamed “ the Lion.” En¬
trenching himself in Hyderabad, he dared his enemies to
attack him, until he had contrived to procure a reinforce¬
ment. Then marching out at the head of 5000 men, he
attacked and routed the 26,000 of “the Lion” at Dubba.
“ The Lion” retired to his native deserts, and soon returned
with another army ; but the brave barbarian was no match
for the skilful English general. By the 8th June 1843 his
force was hemmed in on all sides and forced to fight; his
power was completely crushed ; and the last blow was struck
in the conquest of Scinde. Napier was now appointed
governor of the province he had subjugated. Under the
prostrating influence of the climate, the attacks of disease,
and the more irritating attacks of intriguing malice, the old
general began to rule the discordant elements of barbarism
with the same fiery vigour and success with which he had
swayed the fickle destinies of battle. The native laws
were re-organized, an effective system of police was estab¬
lished, and all evil customs, such as sutteeship, infanticide,
the murder of women, and the military tenure of land, were
abolished. The Hindoo trader was protected, the Scindian
slave was liberated, and the Beloochee cut-throat was tamed
into a peaceful civilian. Commerce, suddenly springing
NAP
into new life, made her principal seat at Kurachee ; and the Napier
province, which was little else than a hunting forest for the
Ameers, became in a few years a well-cultivated land,
waving with rich harvests and enlivened by industrious
villages. This work of reform would have been carried
out still further had not Sir Charles Napier been compelled
by the declining health of his wife to return home in 1847.
He had not enjoyed his retirement long when the news of
the disasters of the Sikh war reached England. The
general voice of the nation called upon Napier to save once
more the British honour in India. He was reluctant to
expose his reputation again to his enemies in the Indian
government. But the Duke of Wellington’s laconic argu¬
ment, “ If you don’t go, I must,” overcame his unwilling¬
ness. He embarked in March 1849, and in forty-three
days was in Bombay. The war by this time had been suc¬
cessfully ended by Lord Gough; but there were abuses
that Napier considered as dangerous enemies as the Sikhs.
Applying himself resolutely to the invidious task of reform,
he travelled through the country, suppressing a mutinous
spirit among the sepoys, and schooling the British officers
in a severer discipline. At the end of two years the vener¬
able warrior returned to England, worn out by his life-long
and ill-appreciated labours in his country’s service. He
died on the 29th August 1853 at his seat of Oaklands, near
Portsmouth, surrounded by the trophies of his many cam¬
paigns.
Sir Charles Napier was the author of Colonization in
Southern Australia, 8vo ; History of the Colonies—Ionian
Islands, 8vo; Indian Misgovernm,ent and Lord Dal-
housie, 8vo; Lights and Shades of Military Life, 8vo;
and Remarks on Military Law of Flogging, 8vo. He
was brother to the present Sir William Napier, and cousin
to the present Admiral Sir Charles Napier. The former
has written his Memoirs in 4 vols. 8vo, London, 1857.
Napier, John, Baron of Merchiston, the distinguished
inventor of logarithms, was the eldest son of Sir Archibald
Napier of Edinbellie and Merchiston, by his first wife Janet
Bothwell, and was born at Merchiston Castle, near Edin¬
burgh, in 1550. After passing through the ordinary courses
of liberal study at the university of St Andrews, he tra¬
velled in France, Italy, and Germany. Upon his return
to his native country, his accomplishments soon rendered
him conspicuous, and might have raised him to the highest
offices of state ; but declining all civil employments, he
retired from active life to pursue those scientific and literary
researches in which he subsequently made such uncom¬
mon progress. He applied himself chiefly to the study of
mathematics, and of the Holy Scriptures ; and in A Plain
Discovery of the Revelation of St Jo/m, his first publication,
he displayed great acuteness and striking ingenuity, but
did not succeed in fathoming the mysteries of the Apo¬
calypse. This work was printed abroad in several lan¬
guages, particularly in French at Rochelle in the year
1602, in a quarto volume, revised by himself. But what
has rendered his name for ever illustrious was his discovery
of logarithms. That he had begun before the year 1594
the train of inquiry which led to this great achievement,
appears evident from a letter to Crugerus, written by
Kepler in the year 1624, wherein, mentioning the Canon
Mirificus, he writes thus:—“ Nihil autem supra Nepieri-
anam rationem esse puto; etsi Scotus quidem literis ad
Tychonem, anno 1594, scriptis jam spem fecit canonis
illius mirifici.” This allusion agrees with the idle story
mentioned by Wood in his Athence Oxonienses, and ex¬
plains it in a way perfectly consonant to the rights of Na¬
pier as the inventor.
When Napier had communicated to Henry Briggs, ma¬
thematical professor in Gresham College, his wonderfu
Canon for Logarithms, that learned professor set himself
to apply the rules in his Imitatio Nepierea; and in a letter
Ei
ins
am
He
alii
the
last
jou
ena
moi
but
fou:
eas;
ancl
ven
visi
sen
met
bur;
triai
that
had
lette
catie
expi
bis
with
arch
still
ini,
tor t
Ene,
cons
ship'
bean
note
time,
thor,
bed,
neve
B;
tudr,
Setoi
same
N,
lUg
v<
N A P I E R.
r. to Archbishop Usher, written in the year 1615, he thus ex-
^ presses himself:—“ Napier, Baron of Merchiston, hath set
my head and hands at work with his new and admirable
logarithms. I hope to see him this summer, if it please
God ; for I never saw a book which pleased me better, and
™ayt. e more wonder.” The following passage from the
J-jye of Ljilly the astrologer gives a picturesque view of the
meetmg between Briggs and the inventor of the logarithms,
at Merchiston, near Edinburgh:—“ I will acquaint you,”
tT at ’ * W,tl1 °ne memorable story related unto me by
John Alarr, an excellent mathematician and geometrician,
whom I conceive you remember. He was servant to King
James I. and Charles I. When Merchiston first published
his logarithms, Mr Briggs, then reader of the astronomy
ectui es at Gresham College in London, was so much sur¬
prised with admiration of them, that he could have no
quietness in himself until he had seen that noble person
whose only invention they were. He acquaints John Marr
therewith, who went into Scotland before Mr Briggs, pur¬
posely to be there when these two so learned persons should
rM-eti ^ BrigSs .aPP°ints a certain day when to meet at
.hdinburgh; but failing thereof, Merchiston was fearful he
would not come. It happened one day as John Marr and
the Baron Napier were speaking of Mr Briggs; ‘ Ah, John ’
said Merchiston, ‘ Mr Briggs will not come.’ At the very
instant one knocks at the gate: John Marr hasted down,
and it proved to be Mr Briggs, to his great contentment.
e brings Mr Briggs up to the Baron’s chamber, where
almost one quarter of an hour was spent, each beholding
the other with admiration, before one word was spoken. At
last Mr Briggs began ‘ Sir, I have undertaken this long
journey purposely to see your person, and to know by what
engine of wit or ingenuity you came first to think of this
most excellent help into astronomy, viz., the logarithms;
but, Sir, being by you found out, I wonder nobody else
found it out before, when now being known it appears so
easy.’ He was nobly entertained by the illustrious baron ;
and every summer after that, during the baron’s life, this
venerable man, Mr Briggs, went purposely to Scotland to
visit him.”
1 here is a passage in the Life of Tycho Brahe by Gas¬
sendi, which might lead some to suppose that Napier’s
method had previously been explored by Herwart at Hoen-
burg. But Herwart’s work, published in 1610, solves
triangles by prostaphaeresis, a mode totally different from
that of logarithms. Kepler, who was ignorant that Napier
had been deceased for more than two years, addressed a
letter to him, dated 28th of July 1619 (prefixed as a dedi¬
cation to his Ephemerides for the year 1620), in which he
expresses his high admiration of the Canon Mirificus, and
his astonishment and delight on first becoming acquainted
with the importance of Napier’s great discovery. In the
at chiepiscopal library of Lambeth the original of a letter
still ^exists, addressed by Baron Napier to Anthony Bacon
in lo96, entitled “ Secret Inventions necessary in those days
for the Defence of this Island, and withstanding Strangers,
Enemies to Gods Iruth and Religion.” These inventions
consisted of burning mirrors designed to fire the enemies’
ships at a distance, by reflecting the sun’s rays, or “ the
beams of any material fire or flame,” to a focus. It does
not appear that the invention attracted much notice at the
time, owing probably to the modesty or humanity of the au¬
thor, who, in relation to this matter, remarked on his death-
|bed, that the instruments of human destruction “should
never be increased by any new conceit of his.”
I Baron Napier’s last work was his Rahdology and Promp-
tuary, published in 1617, and dedicated to the Chancellor
Seton. He died at Merchiston on the 4th of April of the
same year, in the sixty-eighth year of his age.
Napier was twice married. By his first wife, who was a
daughter of Sir James Stirling of Keir, he had only one son
VOL. xv.
named Arcmoald. He was appointed a privy councillor
by James VI., under whose reign he also held the offices
of treasurer-depute, justice-clerk, and senator of the college
of justice; and by Charles I. he was raised to the peerage.
By his second wife, a daughter of Sir James Chisholm of
CromhX’ he had a numerous family of sons and daughters
We have two Lives of the inventor of logarithms; one
by the late Earl of Buchan, with an analysis of Napier’s
printed works by Dr Walter Minto, published in 1787; the
other by Mr Mark Napier, advocate, published in 1834;
both in 4to. (For additional information respecting this
illustrious mathematician, see Logarithms.) The follow¬
ing is a correct list of his different publications:—•
1. A plaine Discouery of the whole Reuelation of Saint lohn • set
downe in two treatises: the one searching and prouing the true
interpretation thereof; the other applying the same paraphrasti-
caiiy and historically to the text. Set foorth by lohn Napeir L. of
Marchistoun younger. Edinburgh, printed by Robert Waldegrave
« a , .In rePublishing this work in 1611, the author subjoined
A resolution of certaine doubts, mooved by some well-affected
brethren. The “ fifth edition” was printed at Edinburgh, 1645
4;°- I*V?S translated into French by George Thomson, and printed
at Rochelle, 1602, in 4to. On the title, it is said to have been re-
nr;nlbiy-thf«Allth0rAhlm8.elf reveue Par llli-mSme”), and was re¬
printed in 1605, and again in 1607, in 8vo.
2. Mirifici Logarithmorum Canonis Descriptio, eiusque usus, in
utraque rngonometria, ut etiam in omni Logistica Mathematica
16L41 ^tcT’ &C’’ expllCatl0, Edinburgh ex officina Andrem Hart,
3. Rabdologiae, sen Numerationis per Virgulas libri duo: cum
Appendice de expeditissimo Multiplications Promptuario Quibus
accessit et Arithmetics Localis liber unus. Edinburgi excudebat
t'ult K.l617> 12m0- KeP'i““d M “ 16f6.Sd .gS
4. Mirifici Logarithmorum Canonis Constructio, et eorum ad
naturales ipsorum numeros habitudines; una cum Appendice, de
aha eaque prmstantiore Logarithmorum specie condenda. Quibus
accessere Propositiones ad triangula sphaerica faciliore calculo re-
solyenda, &c. Edinburgi, excudebat Andreas Hart, 1619 4to
This posthumous work was published by the author’s third son,'
Robert Napier. Some copies of it occur, along with the Canonis
Uescnpiio, having a general title-page for both, dated 1619, the
original title of 1614 being cancelled. Both works were reprinted
at Lyons in 1620, 4to; and the first, followed with copious “ Ob-
servauons, was included in Baron Maseres’s large collection, en¬
titled bcnptores Logarithmici, vol. vi., London, 1807, 4to.
. Kapier’s Rods, or Bones, an instrument invented by Baron Na¬
pier whereby the multiplication and division of large numbers is
much facilitated. Suppose the common table of multiplication to
be made upon a plate of metal, ivory, or pasteboard, and then con-
cmve the several columns, standing downwards from the digits on
✓ b? CUt asuncler i these are what are called Napier’s Rods
of Multiplication. But then there must be a good number of each •
for as many times as any figure is in the multiplicand, so many
rods of that species, or with that figure on the top of it, must we
have, though six rods of each species will be sufficient for any ex¬
ample in common affairs. There must also be as many rods of 0’s
But before we explain the mode of using these rods, there is another
f mSto k® known, namely, that the figures on every rod are written
m an order different from that in the table. Thus the little square
space or division in which the several products of every column
are written is divided into two parts by a line across from the
upper angle on the right to the lower on the left; and if the product
is a digit, it is set in the lower division; but if it has two places, the
first is set in the lower, and the second in the upper division. The
spaces on the top are not divided. There is also a rod of digits not
divided, which is called the index-rod, and of this we require only
one single rod. ^ •'
Multiplication by Napier’s Rods.—First lay down the index-rod •
then on the right of it set a rod whose top is the figure in the highest
place of the multiplicand; next to this again set the rod whose top
is the next figure of the multiplicand, and so on in order to the first
figure. Then the multiplicand is tabulated for all the nine digits-
for in the same line of squares standing against every figure of the’
index-rod, we have the product of that figure; and therefore we
have no more to do but to transfer the products and sum them.
But in taking out these products from the rods, the order in which
the figures stand obliges us to employ a very easy and small addi-
tion. Thus, begin to take out the figure in the lower part or units’
place of the square of the first rod on the right, add the figure on
the upper part of this rod to that in the lower part of the next, and
5 F
777
Napier.
778 NAP
Napier so on, which may be done as fast as we can look on them. To make
this practice as clear as possible, take the following example:—To
Naples, multiply 4768 by 385. Having set the rods together for the number
^ —» ^ 4768 against 5 in the index, we find this number by adding, ac¬
cording to the rule  23840
Against 8, this number  38144
Against 3, this number  14304
Total product  1835680
To render the use of the rods yet more regular and easy, they are
kept in a flat square box, the breadth of which is that of ten rods,
and the length that of one rod, as thick as to contain six, or as
many as may be required, the capacity of the box being divided
into ten cells for the different species of rods. When the rods are
put up in the box (each species in its own cell distinguished by the
first figure of the rod set before it on the face of the box near the
top), as much of every rod stands without the box as shows the first
figure of that rod; also upon one of the flat sides without, and near
the edge upon the left hand, the index-rod is fixed; and along the
foot there is a small ledge, so that the rods when applied are laid
upon this side, and supported by the ledge, which makes the prac¬
tice very easy. But in case the multiplicand should have more
than nine places, the upper face of the box may be made broader.
Some make the rods with four different faces, and figures on each
for different purposes.
Division by Napier’s Rods.—First tabulate the divisor; then we
have it multiplied by all the digits, out of which we may choose
such convenient divisors as will be next less to the figures in the
dividend, and write the index answering in the quotient, and so
continually till the work is done. Thus 2179788 divided by 6123
gives in the quotient 356. Having tabulated the divisor 6123, we
see that 6123 cannot be had in 2179; therefore take five places,
and on the rods find a number that is equal or next less to 21797,
which is 18369 ; that is, three times the divisor. Wherefore set 3 in
the quotient, and subtract 18369 from the figures above, and there
will remain 3428; to which add 8, the next figure of the dividend,
and seek again on the rods for it, or the next less, which will be
found to be five times ; therefore set 5 in the quotient, and subtract
30615 from 34288, and there will remain 3673, to which add 8, the
last figure in the dividend, and finding it to be just six times the
divisor, set 6 in the quotient. Thus,
6123)2179788(356.
Napier, Macvey, descended from an ancient and re¬
spectable family in the west of Scotland, was born in 1776.
He received his elementary education in the public school
of his native parish; and subsequently studied in the Uni¬
versities of Glasgow and Edinburgh, at both of which he at¬
tracted the favourable notice of some of the most distinguished
professors. Being destined for the profession of the law,
he was apprenticed to a member of the Society of Writers
to the Signet. But the literary and philosophical studies
to which he had early attached himself, withdrew his atten¬
tion from the less interesting though more lucrative business
of the law; and he speedily began to regard the latter as
being, in his case at least, subsidiary only to his advance¬
ment in the former.
When yet very young, he was elected to the responsible
situation of librarian to the Writers to the Signet. In
this capacity Napier discovered an extensive knowledge of
books, and a judicious discrimination in the selection of
those best suited to the establishment over which he pre-
NAP
NAPLES (Italian Napoli, Greek NeaTroAis, Latin
Neapolis, German Neapel), the capital of the kingdom
of the Two Sicilies, and the largest and most populous
city in Italy, disputes with Constantinople the claim of
occupying the most beautiful site in Europe. It is situ¬
ated on the northern shore of the ancient Crater or Sinus
Cumanus, now called from it the Bay of Naples, in 40.
52. N. Lat., and 14. 15. 45. E. Long., as taken from the
lighthouse on the mole.
No other spot in the world combines within the same
NAP
sided. At a subsequent period, the Writers to the Signet Napie!
gave a marked proof of the increased estimation in which WU,
he was held, by selecting him lor a lectureship on convey¬
ancing, founded by the society, and shortly afterwards
converted into a professorship in the university of Edin¬
burgh. When the late Mr Constable purchased, in 1814,
the copyright of the Encyclopcedia Britannica, he at
once fixed upon Napier as the individual best qualified to
carry into effect the great improvements he projected in
that publication. He was not disappointed in bis expec¬
tations ; and it is not going too far to say that the appear¬
ance of the Supplement to the Encyclopcedia Britannica,
edited by Napier, forms a memorable era in the his¬
tory of British literature. Such was the confidence placed
in the discretion and good taste of the editor, that the
names of a host of individuals distinguished for learning,
philosophy, and science are to be found among the con¬
tributors to this great work; which in consequence be¬
came the depository of a lengthened series of original and
profound disquisitions in most departments of human know¬
ledge.
The experience he had acquired in conducting the Sup¬
plement, his extended acquaintance with literature and
literary men, and the confidence placed in him by the latter,
naturally pointed Napier out as the proper, or rather as
the only, person to undertake the task of editing a new
edition of the Encyclopaedia itself which should be worthy
of the age and of the country. The misfortunes by which
Mr Constable was unhappily overtaken made no change in
this respect. The proposed edition was completed under its
present publishers on the same scale on which it had been
originally projected.
A vacancy in the situation of principal clerk of session
having occurred some time after, when the Whig party
came into power in 1830, Napier was appointed to the
vacant place; and on receiving this appointment, he re¬
signed his office of librarian.
Mr Napier bad for a lengthened period been an occasional
contributor to the Edinburgh Review ; and on the appoint¬
ment of Jeffrey to be dean of the Faculty of Advocates in
1829, he succeeded him as editor. Though he wrote little
himself, his contributions are remarkable for ability, re¬
search, and perspicuity of statement; and he commanded
in a high degree the confidence and esteem of those
whose assistance was most necessary to sustain and extend
the reputation of the leading Whig journal. Those who
knew Napier only through the works he edited, or even
through his lectures, could form no just idea of the
man. He was at once a firm, an intelligent, and an honest
friend.
For many years previously to his death, his health was
very indifferent, and he occasionally suffered much. But
his habitual cheerfulness never forsook him; and he con¬
tinued to the last in the full enjoyment of his intellectual
powers and of the society of his friends, He died in his
seventy-first year, on the 11th February 1847.
L E S.
compass so much natural beauty with so many objects of
interest to the antiquary, the historian, and the geologist,
as the Bay of Naples. Its circuit from the Capo di Miseno,
on the N.W., to the Punta della Campanella, on the S.E., is
about 35 miles, and is more than 52 miles if the island
of Ischia, at the N.W., and the island of Capri, at the S.
entrance, be included. At its opening between these two
islands it is 14 miles broad; and from the opening to its
head at Portici it is 15 miles deep. It affords good an¬
chorage, with nearly 7 fathoms water, and is well shel-
ei
m
di
th
en
to
fo<
sei
fm
an
mt
vvh
SlOi
we
wir
(iV
era
Fu,
ciei
Mo
ten
La]
the
nur
cids
divi
S
Mas
deri
ancii
settl
narr;
coloi
gave
of tl
still
and
origi:
dwel
conti
wass
to de
Neaj;
no d<
in lat
In
the ]
3ania
them,
hert
)fai
’olita
seFd’enT£w0m^ndS Which bl0W fr0m any P°int bet^en
inches d S'W’ Ther6 18 a PercePtible tide of nearly 9
On the N.E shore of the bay, E. of Naples, is an ex-
tensive flat, forming part of the great plain of ancient Cam-
CZ * ’ and] Wi,lte|'ed by the sma11 stream Sebeto and
by the Sarno, which formerly flowed by Pomneii From
amidst this flat between t/e sea andVXge of th™
Apennmes nses Vesuvius, one of the most active volcanoes
in the world, at the W. base of which, on the sea-shore
are the town-hke villages of San Giovanni Teduccio Por-
tici, Resina, Torre del Greco, Torre dell’ Annunziata, &c.,
nd the classic sites of Herculaneum and Pompeii. At
the S.E. extremity of the plain, 3 miles beyond the outlet
of the Sarno, a great offshoot of the Apennines, branching
P? milP’lrimawr'dge ”ear CaV^’ and ProJectinLr more than
1miles due W. into a peninsular form, divides the Bay of
Naples from the Bay of Salerno (Sinus Pcestanus), and
Zu rl P b° d Pr?rao"Vory of tbe Punta della Campa-
nefla (the Promontonum Minerva of the ancients), which is
divuled by a strait of 4 miles from the island of Capri. On
the N. slope of this peninsular offshoot, where the plain
ends and the coast abruptly bends to the W., stands the
town of Castellammare, near the site of Stabice, at the
foot of Mount Santangelo, which rises suddenly from the
sea to a height of 4722 feet. On the same N.’ slope, but
further W. and nearly opposite to Naples across the bay,
S°rrent0’ Massa> and many other villages,
d he N.W. shore of the bay, to the W. of Naples, is
more broken and irregular. The promontory of Posillipo
which projects due S., divides this part of the bay into two
smaller bays—the eastern, in which is Naples; and the
western, or Bay of Baiae, which is sheltered from all
winds Beyond Posillipo is the small island of Nisida
(AW); and at a short distance inland are the extinct
craters of Solfatara and Astroni, and the Lake of Agnano
f urther W. on a tongue of land, stands Pozzuoli (the an-
cient Puteoh); and beyond it, round the Bay of Bairn, are
Monte Nuovo, a hill thrown up in a single night in Sen-
tember 1538 ; the classic site of Bairn ; the Lucrine Lake ;
Lake Avernus ; the Lake of Fusaro, or Acherusia Pains ;
the Elysian fields ; and the port and promontory of Mise-
nTV^Stil! farther t0 the S-W> stand the Elands of Pro-
c.da (ProcVa) and Ischia (Pithecusa ox Inarime\ which
divide the Lay of Naples from the extensive Bay of Gaeta.
borne of the local antiquaries, especially the learned
Mazzocchi and Martorelli, on the evidence of etymological
derivations, ascribe a Phoenician origin to Naples. All
ancient writers, however, agree in representing it as a Greek
settlement, though its foundation is obscurely and differently
narrated. It seems that it was originally founded by a
colony from the neighbouring Greek town of Cumm, who
gave it the name of Parthenope, from a legendary connection
of the locality with the siren Parthenope, whose tomb was
still shown at the time of Strabo. A number of Chalcidic
and Athenian colonists seem to have afterwards j'oined the
onginal settlers, and to have built for themselves separate
dwellings, which they called Neapolis, or the new city, in
contradistinction to the old settlement, which in consequence
was styled Palapolis, or the old city. All modern attempts
to define the respective extent and situation of Palmpolis and
Neapohs have utterly failed ; but Livy’s testimony leaves
ao doubt that they were close to each other, and identical
n language and government.
In the year 328 b.c. the Palaepolitans having provoked
-he hostility of Rome by their incursions upon her Cam¬
panian allies, the consul Publius Philo marched against
hem, and having taken his position between the old and
he new city, laid regular siege to Palrepolis. By the aid
>f a strong Samnite garrison which they received, the Palre-
>olitans were long able to withstand the attacks of the
NAPLES.
t
Yc
"I"1 p )Ut at fngth the city was betrayed into the hands
the Romans by two of her citizens. Neapolis possibly
surrendered to the consul without any resistance, as it was
received on favourable terms, had its liberties secured by
a treaty, and obtained the chief authority, which previously
seems to have been enjoyed by the older city. From that
time Palaepohs totally disappeared from history, and Neapolis
became as an allied city—feederata civitas—a. dependency
ot Rome, to whose alliance it remained constantly faithful
even under most trying circumstances. In 280 b.c. Pyrrhus
unsuccessfully attacked its walls; and in the second Punic
war Hannibal was by their strength deterred from attempt¬
ing to make himself master of the town. Durino- the ci vil
wars of Marius and Sylla, a body of partizans of the latter
having entered it by treachery, 82 b.c., made a general
massacre of the inhabitants; but Neapolis soon recovered
toe blow, as it was again a flourishing city in the time of
Licero. It became a municipium after the passing of the
L.ex Julia ; under the Empire it is noticed as a colonia,
but the time when it first obtained that rank is uncertain—
possibly under Claudius.
Though a municipal town, Neapolis retained lonff its
Greek culture and institutions; and even at the time of
otrabo had gymnasia and quinquennial games, and was
divided into phratna, after the Greek fashion. When the
Romans became masters of the world, many of their upper
classes, both before the close of the republic, and under the
empire, from a love of Greek manners and literature, or
from indolent and effeminate habits, resorted to Neapolis
either for education and the cultivation of gymnastic exer¬
cises, or for the enjoyment of music and of a soft and luxu-
rious climate. Hence we find Neapolis variously stvled—bv
Horace as ‘ otiosa Neapolis,” by Martial as “ docta Parthen¬
ope, by Ovid as “ in otia natam Parthenopen.” It was the
favourite residence of many of the emperors. Nero made
his hrst appearance on the stage in one of its theatres, Titus
assumed the office of its Archon, and Hadrian became its
demarch. It was chiefly at Neapolis that Virgil composed
ns Georgies; and after his death his remains were trans-
ferred unci buried on the Hill of Pausilypus, the modern
1 osilhpo, in its neighbourhood. It was also the favourite
residence of the poets Statius and Silius Italicus, the former
of whom was by birth a Neapolitan.
After the fall of the Roman Empire, Neapolis suffered
severely during the Gothic wars. Having espoused the
Gothic cause in the year 536, it was taken, after a protracted
siege, by Behsanus, who, having turned aside an aqueduct
marched by surprise into the city through its channel, and
put many of the inhabitants to the sword. In 542 Totila
besieged it and compelled it to surrender ; but being soon
after recovered by Narses, it remained long a dependency
of the Exarchate of Ravenna, under the immediate govern¬
ment of a duke, appointed by the Byzantine emperors.
I he Longobard invasion of Italy, and their subsequent
conquests in Southern Italy, greatly narrowed the limits of
the Neapolitan duchy. In the beginning of the eighth
century, at the time of the Iconoclastic controversy, the
Emperor Leo Isauricus having forced compliance to his
edict against the worshipping of images, the Neapolitans
encouraged by Pope Gregory HI., threw off their allegiance
to the Eastern emperors, and established a republican form
of government under a duke of their own appointment.
LJndiei Inn re^me Neapolis retained her independence for
nearly 400 years, though constantly struggling against the
powerful Longobard Dukes of Benevento, who twice un¬
successfully besieged it. In 1027, however, Pandolfo IV.,
a Longobard Prince of Capua, succeeded in making him-
self master of it; but was expelled in 1030 by Duke Sereio
chiefly through the aid of a few Norman adventurers &In
reward for their services, and as a security for their con¬
stant support, Sergio gave these Normans some land be-
NAP
tween Naples and Capua, on which they built the town of
Aversa. Many other Normans soon poured south under
the guidance of the sons of Tancred of Hauteville; and
having eventually conquered the whole of South Italy and
the island of Sicily from the Longobards, the Saracens, and
the Greeks, Roger, a son of the great Count of Sicily,
attacked Neapolis in 1130, and after a long siege, having
compelled it to surrender, founded the present kingdom of
Sicily and Naples. The history of Naples became ever
since identified with the history of the kingdom, and will
be given in this work under the head, Sicilies, Tivo.
Of ancient Neapolis there are few vestiges extant; all its
buildings having gradually been changed and modernized.
Two arches of an ancient theatre, in the street Anticaglia;
two columns and other fragments of the temple of Castor
and Pollux, preserved in the fagade of the church of S.
Paolo, a few arches of the Julian aqueduct, constructed by
Augustus, which are called Ponti Rossi; and the extensive
catacombs on the flanks of the hill of Capodimonte, are
almost the only remains of its classic times.
The modern town is built at the base and on the slope
of a range of volcanic hills; and, rising from the shore like
an amphitheatre, is most advantageously seen from the
water. A transverse ridge, branching from the steep hill
crowned by the castle of St Elmo, and descending south
to the shore, where it forms the promontory of Pizzofalcone,
divides the town into two natural crescents; of which the
one to the east includes within its circuit the largest and
oldest part of the city—the ports, the arsenal, and the prin¬
cipal churches, palaces, and public establishments, and is
traversed from north to south by a street two miles long,
the lower part of which is called Toledo. The western
crescent, known as the Chiaia, is a long and narrow strip
between the sea and the hill of Vomero, and is the fashion¬
able quarter of the town, where are the principal hotels, and
where foreigners chiefly reside. The Riviera di Chiaia, a
broad street, a mile and a-half long, bordered on the north
by fine houses, and on the south by the public gardens, called
Villa Reale, and by the sea, runs along this crescent from
east to west, and ends in the quarters of Mergellina and
Piedigrotta, at the foot of the hill of Posillipo. The ridge
between these two crescents, or the Pizzofalcone, is chiefly
the residence of the Neapolitan aristocracy. The eastern
and western crescents are connected by a broad street or
quay, which runs along the shore at the base of Pizzofal¬
cone from the royal palace to the Villa Reale. The length
of the town along the shore is 4 miles, and its breadth, from
the Capodimonte to the Castel dell’ Ovo, is 2^ miles.
The streets are all well paved with lava or volcanic basalt,
but, with the exception of the Toledo, the Riviera di Chiaia,
the Largo delle Pigne, and the Molo, have no side foot¬
paths. They were first lighted at night in 1806 with oil
lamps, which in 1840 were superseded by gas in the prin¬
cipal streets. Many of the streets, especially in the old
part of the town, are irregular and narrow, and, from the
height of the houses, have a gloomy aspect. They are
tolerably clean, filth being carried into the sea by a well-
arranged system of sewers. The houses are more remark¬
able for their size than for their taste or elegance. They
are mostly five or six storeys high, are covered with plaster
made of a kind of pozzuolana, which hardens by exposure to
the atmosphere, and have large balconies and flat roofs,
which are frequently ornamented with flowers, shrubs, and
small trees, planted in boxes filled with earth.
The city is defended by four castles—the castle of St
Elmo, built on a steep hill commanding both crescents by
King Robert the Wise, in 1343; the Castel dell’ Ovo, so
called from its oval shape, erected in 1154 by William I.,
on a small island which Pliny calls Mcgaris, and which is
now joined to the shore at the foot ot Pizzofalcone by a
causeway on arches 800 feet long ; the Castel Nuovo, built
L E S.
near the harbour in 1283, from the designs of Giovanni Napfo
Pisano, by Charles I. of Anjou, whose residence it was for
some time; it is very picturesque, and contains, between
two of its old round towers, the triumphal arch erected
in 1470 to Alfonso of Aragon—the Castel del Carmine,
founded near the east end of the town in 1484 by Ferdi¬
nand I. of Aragon. There are two ports—the Porto Grande
and the Porto Militare. The former was begun in 1302
by Charles II. of Anjou, and completed in 1740 by Charles
III. by the carrying out of an arm to the N.E. In its
deepest parts it has from three to four fathoms water, and
is protected from all winds; but a S.W. gale makes its
entrance difficult. At its extremity there is a lighthouse,
reduced to its present form in 1843. West of this port is
the Porto Militare, begun in 1826, and finished by the
present king. It is intended exclusively for Neapolitan
ships of war, and has a depth of about five fathoms.
Naples has more than 300 churches, most of which are
more remarkable for the richness of their internal decora¬
tions than for real architectural beauty. The most im¬
portant of them is the cathedral or Duomo, which stands on
the site of two temples, dedicated to Neptune and Apollo.
The present building was begun in 1272 from the designs
of Masuccio I., and dedicated to the Virgin of the As¬
sumption, but was not completed till 1316. It contains
several granite columns, taken from the original temples on
the site of which it stands; but is an incongruous mixture
of different styles of architecture. This is mainly owing to
the numerous restorations of the building, caused by its
repeatedly suffering from earthquakes. The interior con¬
sists of a nave and two aisles, separated by pilasters, to which
are affixed columns of Egyptian granite, Cipollino and Afri-
cano, taken from the ancient temples of Neptune and Apollo.
The baptismal font, on the left of the principal entrance, is
an ancient vase of Egyptian basalt, adorned with Bacchana¬
lian emblems in relief. Under the high altar is a subterra¬
nean chapel, supported by Ionic columns, and containing
the tomb of San Gennaro, the patron saint of Naples ; near
which is a kneeling statue of Cardinal Carafa, attributed
to Michael Angelo. Within the cathedral there are many
chapels, the most remarkable of which is the Cappella del
Tesoro, built in consequence of a vow made by the citi¬
zens during the plague of 1527, and dedicated to San Gen¬
naro. It was begun in 1608, and completed after twenty-
nine years. The entrance to it is through a magnificent
bronze door. The interior is in the form of a Greek cross,
and has seven altars, with pictures by Domenichino and
Spagnoletto, and forty-two columns of brocatello, with niches
containing nineteen bronze colossal statues of saints. In
a silver tabernacle behind the high altar are preserved the
two phials containing the blood of San Gennaro, supposed
to have been collected by a lady during his martyrdom.
The ceremony of the liquefaction of this blood takes place
twice a year, in May and in September. If it liquefy
quickly, the joy exhibited by the lower classes is great; but
if there be any delay beyond the expected time, the tears,
prayers, and cries are even greater, as the non-performance
of the miracle is supposed to announce some dreadful im¬
pending calamity. Attached to the cathedral is the ex¬
tensive palace of the Archbishop of Naples, who is always
a cardinal. The other more important churches, both for
architecture and for the monuments and paintings they
contain, are—Santa Chiara, San Domenico Maggiore, Sail
Filippo Neri, San Francesco di Paola, opposite the royal
palace, the Gesu Nuovo, San Giovanni a Carbonara, the
Incoronata, San Lorenzo, Santa Maria del Carmine, Santa
Maria la Nova, Santa Maria della Pieta de’ Sangri, San
Martino, Montoliveto, and San Severino.
The royal palace, begun in 1600 by the viceroy Count
de Lemos, from the designs of Domenico Fontana, part y
destroyed by fire in 1837, and since repaired and greatly
a
se
2(
lei
0
elf
on
as
ca
sm
ne;
ta\
an
Mi
Ca
Ei
arc
Ha
its
tec
a p
ant,
am
and
adn
Foi
ver
also
Te:
is v
stna
anc(
S
"a
serv
1 he
derii
of a
and
the;
bran
nese
en arged by the present king, is an enormous building,
mth a front 448 feet long and 95 feet high, exhibiting the
Doric, Ionic, and Composite orders in its three storeys It
stands on the N.E. side of a large square, which takes its
name from it, is connected with the theatre of San Carlo,
t ae ar&enal, and the Castel Nuovo, and commands a most
lovely view of the Bay, Vesuvius, and the Apennines. The
reception apartments contain a fine collection of pictures
by the best Italian masters. In the chapel attached to it
mShl^^A^1’ °f ap!S aZuli’ a£ate’ and many precious
marbles. Adjoining the private apartments of the king
there is his private library, which is very large, and con-
drawino-g01081 Va Uable collection of prints and original
The private palaces most remarkable, either for their
architecture or tor the objects of art which they contain
are,—the general post-office, formerly Palazzo Gravina
the palaces Berio, Cavalcanti, Maddaloni, Forquet, formerly
Stighano, and Angri, in the street of Toledo; the Mari-
ghano and Santangelo, formerly Carafa, in the street St
.agio de Librai—the latter of which contains the largest
private numismatic collection in Italy ; the Cellammare,
the Davalos, the Bisignano, the Fondi, and many others.
ospitals and charitable institutions for relieving distress
are very numerous, and generally well endowed. The
most remarkable are-the Casa Santa degl’ Incurabili,
founded in lo21 by a lady, and enriched in later times by
numerous benefactors. Its vast revenue is administered by
a board appointed by the king. It is open to persons of both
onnn • °f eVer,y ^ and sometimes contains about
pOOO in-patients, besides those that are sent to its conva-
hescent branches in the suburbs of the city,—namely, the
Ospedale de Pellegrini, for the sick and wounded of all
classes ; and the Albergo de’ Poveri, a magnificent building,
one-third of a mile long, begun in 1751 by Charles III.
as an asylum for orphans and for children whose parents
cannot afford to give them an education. With several
small institutions, which are its dependencies, it contains
near y 5000 inmates of both sexes, of whom some are
taught the elementary branches of education, and music
and drawing ; whilst others are brought up to trades.
Many of the boys brought up in it are sent into the army.
Naples abounds in theatres. The Teatro Reale di San
Carlo is the largest and most splendid opera-house in
Furope. It ivas erected by order of Charles III., by the
architect Carasale, and first opened to the public in 1737
Having been accidentally burnt down in 1816, it rose from
its ashes in seven months, under the direction of the archi¬
tect Nico ini. It has six rows of boxes, 32 in each row
a pit capable of holding more than a thousand spectators!
and a very spacious stage. Adjoining it are the concert
and ball-rooms of the Academia Reale, the most select
and aristocratic club in Italy, to which foreigners obtain
admission through their minister. The Teatro Reale del
l ondo is another opera-house, smaller than San Carlo, but
very elegant. The Teatro Nuovo and Della Fenice are
also smaller opera-houses, chiefly for the opera buffa. The
/ eatro de’ Fiorentini is devoted to the Italian drama, and
is very popular. The Teatro di San Carlino, though very
small, is much frequented by all classes, and the perform¬
ances are always in the Neapolitan dialect.
Scientific and literary institutions are also very numerous,
a university, a royal society, a botanic garden, an ob¬
servatory, a Chinese college, a college of music, &c., &c.
1 lie university, which was founded by the Emperor Fre¬
deric II. in the thirteenth century, is under the direction
of a president, assisted by a rector and a secretary-general,
and has fifty-four different professorships. Admission to
the lectures is free. A library, and cabinets of the various
branches of natural history, are attached to it. The Chi¬
nese college was founded in 1732 by the celebrated Father
JN A P L E S.
Ripa for the education of young Chinese, who are after¬
wards sent back to China as missionaries. The Royd
Society meets once a year, and is divided into three
blanches,—the Accademia delle Scienze, of thirty members •
the Accademia Ercolanese di Archeologia, of tvventy mem¬
bers ; the Accademia di Belle Arti, of ten members. Each
bianch has a triennial president, a perpetual secretary, and
rathe hifl ^f rnt‘ The 0b.servat017> wldch is situated
on the lull of Capodimonte, and commands a magnificent
view, was finished in 1820 on the plan of the celbrSed
Father Piazzi. I he College of Music, which is of Euro¬
pean celebrity, is under royal direction, and supplies gra¬
tuitous instruction to 100 pupils. ”
But of all public institutions at Naples the Museo Bor-
onico, called also the Studu, is by far the most important
and interesting. The building was begun in 1586 for
cavalry barracks, but was remodelled in 1615, and adapted
or the university It was enlarged and reduced to its pre-
T ^ ’ v"1 COnverted int0 a r°yal museum,
Which besides the Farnese collection inherited by the
our bo ns of Naples, has been since so far enriched by the
objects found m Herculaneum, Pompeii, Stabice, Puteoli,
Capua, Nola, Nuceria, Paestum, &c., that it may now be
snectt^r aS-the finf S ln EuroPe’ and quite unique with re¬
spect to Grecian and Roman antiquities. It is divided into
seventeen collections, which are arranged as follows :—
at TW6! gr°Und Ancient frescoes, found chiefly
at Herculaneum and Pompeii. There are more than 1600
objects, and there is a daily increase from the progress of
«.e excavafons. Among them ate large historical picture,
wonderfully well executed, and admirable with respect both
to accuracy of outline and beauty of composition. 2. Mo-
sa,cs and mural inscriptions. 3. Egyptian antiquities. 4.
Anaent scuJptures, a large and most interesting collection ;
the Wounded Gladiator,” “ Ganymede and the Eagle,”
the Farnese Minerva,” a sitting statue of Agrippina, the
I lora Farnese, the “Aristides,” and the “ Psyche,” beino-
th^Fren?^011^1",8-!5- Here are placed
e Ei cole Farnese, and the celebrated group of the “ Toro
Farnese, described by Pliny as one of the most remarkable
monuments of antiquity. It was the joint work of the Rho¬
dian sculptors Apollonius and Tauriscus, who cut it from
a single block of marble ; and it was brought from Rhodes
to Rome, where it was found much injured in the Baths of
Caracalla. It represents Zethus and Amphion tying Dirce
by the hair of her head to the horns of a bull, in revenue
for her seducing the affection of their father Lycus, Kingof
1 hebes, from their mother Antiope, who interposes in
favour of her rival. It was brought to Naples in 1786 and
placed m the Villa Reale, whence it was removed to its
present place. 6. Gallery of bronzes, the most extensive
collection of the kind in the world. A “ Drunken Faun ”
Mercury in Repose,” the “ Sleeping Faun,” and the
Dancing Faun, are generally considered the finest bronze
statues in the world.
On the staircase, 7. A collection of more than 4000
specimens of ancient glass, showing the skill the Romans
had attained m this manufacture. 8. A collection of up¬
wards of oOOO articles of pottery. 9. Cinquecento objects
iO. A reserved cabinet, admission to which is difficult.
It contains several Venuses, among which is the “ Venus
Calhpyge, the rival of the “ Venus de Medicis.” It is
attributed to Praxiteles, and was found among the ruins of
the Golden House of Nero.
Upstairs—11. A collection of 1750 papyri, most of them
discovered in the year 1752 in a suburban villa at Hercu
an-ra- ^ T° S °I Papyri are 80 P^cisely like char¬
coal that the workmen destroyed those that had at first been
met with; but on a room being opened, in which the scrolls
were ranged in presses round the walls, this remarkable
arrangement excited curiosity, and led to the discovery of
782 NAP
Napoleon. Greek and Latin words on these supposed pieces of char-
coal. Seven inkstands, with a stylus in its case, were found
in the same apartment. After several unsuccessful at¬
tempts at unrolling these papyri, Padre Piaggi at length
invented an ingenious machine for separating and unrolling
them, which, though slow and tedious, is still in use as the
best that has been suggested. Those hitherto unrolled are
500 in number. Two volumes of them were published, the
first in 1793, and the second in 1809; a third volume has
long been preparing for the press. No known work has
yet been discovered ; and, so far as the examination has ad¬
vanced, the collection seems to consist of treatises on the
Epicurean philosophy, on music, and on rhetoric. It is
conjectured, that of the MSS. still unrolled twenty-four
are in Latin and the remainder in Greek. 12. Cabinet
of gems and cameos. 13. A collection of about 40,000
medals and coins, chiefly of Magna Graecia and Sicily.
14. Seven rooms of small bronzes, which bring before us
the manners, habits, and every-day life of the inhabitants of
Pompeii. 15. A collection of upwards of 3000 Greek and
Etruscan vases, comprising the finest specimens existing.
16. An extensive gallery of paintings, containing some
of the finest pictures of the best Italian masters. 17.
The public library, called the Biblioteca Borbonica. It
contains 4000 MSS., and 200,000 printed books, of which
6000 are works printed in the fifteenth century. Among
the MSS. there are many of great rarity and importance.
We shall only mention the celebrated Uffizio Farnese,
written by Montorchi, and illustrated by Giulio Clovio,
which is considered the gem of illuminated works.
As there is not a museum in any country which in all
respects can be compared with this, and as it forms the
chief object of curiosity in the city, we have thought it ad¬
visable to give a faint idea of its contents. Access may
always be had to it from nine in the morning to two in the
afternoon, on all but festival and gala days.
The other public libraries in Naples are the Brancac-
ciana, with more than 70,000 printed books, and about
7000 manuscripts; the Biblioteca delV Universita, with
t 28,000 printed volumes; and the Biblioteca de Girolo-
mini, with 18,000 printed books, and 60 manuscripts.
There are besides many large private libraries.
Naples is abundantly supplied with vegetables, fruit, and
all kinds of provisions from the fertile fields in the vicinity.
The average prices of the chief articles of sustenance are,—
bread and flour, 2d. per lb., beef 5d., mutton 3d., pork 2d.,
cheese 6d., butter Is. 4d., &c. The fishing in the neigh¬
bouring water gives occupation to a large portion of the
male population, and supplies abundance of food. Macca-
roni, vermicelli, and other varieties of paste prepared from
the wheat brought from Apulia, which is distinguished by
its hardness, form a very common kind of sustenance with
the Neapolitan people. A notice of the imports and ex¬
ports of Naples, in which city most of the foreign trade of
the continental part of the kingdom is carried on, will be
found under Sicilies, Two.
The climate of Naples is, upon the whole, salubrious and
mild; but in February and March is subject to cold and
NAP
sharp winds, rendered more trying to weak lungs by the Napoleon
heat of an always powerful sun. It is well suited for
invalids labouring under general debility and deranged
health, or nervous dyspepsia; but it is questionable whether
it is suited as a winter residence for consumptive patients.
For the latter class of invalids the local physicians recom¬
mend those parts of the city which are removed from the
sea, and have a less irritating and more constant atmosphere.
The city is well supplied with water, but not all of equally
good quality ; the water especially with which the quarter
of Chiaia is supplied, having often at first a tendency to pro¬
duce dysentery in strangers, who would do well to see that
they get the Acqua del Leone, a pure spring in the Mer-
gellina. There are two mineral springs of great local cele¬
brity,—the Acqua Sulfurea, containing sulphuretted hy¬
drogen and carbonic acid gas, and the Acqua Ferrata, a
chalybeate spring, largely impregnated with carbonic acid
and iron. They rise on the sea-shore at the foot of Pizzo-
falcone, at a short distance from each other.
The population of Naples has of late years been steadily
increasing, notwithstanding two severe visitations of cho¬
lera. In 1830 it was 358,550; on the 1st January 1851
it was 416,475. There were in the latter year 3651
marriages; 14,991 births, of whom 7606 were males, and
7385 females; 1977 foundlings; and 124 illegitimate chil¬
dren. In the same year there had been 15,015 deaths, a
number above the average mortality, which, on a calculation
of ten years, gives an excess of nearly 1100 births per
annum. On the 1st January 1857 the population had
increased to 419,850. These numbers include a garrison
of about 20,000 men, but do not include strangers, of whom
there is always a considerable number at Naples, especially
in the winter months.
At Capodimonte, which is a suburb on the N. of the
city, there is a magnificent palace, begun by Charles III.,
and finished by the present king. It is surrounded by a
large park, and contains a fine gallery of modern paintings,
chiefly by Neapolitan artists. Another large royal palace
is at Portici, 4 miles S.E. of Naples. At the W. extremity
of the city, where the Riviera di Chiaia terminates, is
the Grotta di Pozzuoli, a tunnel 2244 feet long, 21^ feet
wide, and varying from 69 to 25 feet in height. It was
excavated in classic times through the hill of Posillipo, in
the old volcanic tufa, and in the fifteenth century enlarged
by Alfonso I. of Aragon. It opens a direct communication
between Naples and Pozzuoli.
Numerous and most interesting excursions can be made
in the environs of the city. Pozzuoli, the Lake of Agnano,
and the Grotta del Cane, Lake Avernus, the Lucrine Lake,
Bairn, the ruins of Cumae, Misenum, the islands of Pro-
cida, Ischia, and Capri, the remains of the vast amphitheatre
of Capua, the splendid royal palace of Caserta, Beneventum,
Vesuvius, Herculaneum, Pompeii, Stabiae, Castellammare,
Sorrento, Amalfi, Salerno, Paestum, &c., are all within a
short distance of Naples, and contribute to its attractions as
a winter, or even summer residence for strangers. Caserta,
Capua, and Castellammare are easily reached by railway.
Two railways are to connect Brindisi and Rome. (* * *)
NAPOLEON.
Napoleon Buonaparte, or Bonaparte, was born at
Ajaccio, in Corsica, on the 15th of August, 1769. He was
* descended from a patrician family, which had been of some
note in Italy during the middle ages; and one of his an¬
cestors, the gonfaloniere Buonaparte of San Nicolo, had
governed the republic of Florence about the middle of the
thirteenth century. His father, Carlo Buonaparte, was an
advocate of considerable reputation; and his mother, Le-
tizia Ramolini, was eminent alike for personal beauty and
uncommon strength of character. When the Corsicans
under Paoli rose in arms to assert their liberty against the
pretensions of France, Carlo Buonaparte espoused the po¬
pular side; and through all the toils and dangers of his
mountain campaigns was attended by his lovely and high-
spirited wife. Upon the termination of the war, the father
of Napoleon meditated accompanying Paoli into exile ; but
his relations dissuaded him from taking this step; and being
afterwards reconciled to the conquering party, he was pro-
JUS
aft<
mil
Ne
thi
am
was
lou
plu,
off
him
He
reqi
neci
prol
noti
nifi{
he
whu
up a
mov
"'erf
even
but
H
the
storr
hisf
into
appe
coup
calle(
neon, tectedand patronized by the Comte de Marbceuf the French
^ governor of Corsica. Napoleon was the second child of
his parents—Joseph, afterwards King of Spain, being the
eldest born; but he had three younger brothers, Lucien,
Louis, and Jerome; and three sisters, Eliza, Caroline, and
Pauhne. Five others appear to have died in infancy; and
at the age of thirty Letizia became a widow by the death
dffFerentlySpro^ded for.eemS ^ W ^ ^ but in'
In his early years Napoleon betrayed no marked singu¬
larity; and when his character began to be formed "its
development was too profound and too essentially intellec¬
tual to attract the notice of ordinary observers. At the
age often he was admitted to the Military School of Brienne
where he spent several years devoted to his studies, and
afterwards removed to a similar institution at Paris where
he appears to have completed his education. That he la¬
boured hard both at Brienne and at Paris, may be judged
from the vast quantity of information which his strono-
memory ever placed at his disposal, and which, from the
nature of his after life, must have been nearly, if not wholly
accumulated at this period. He succeeded in all that he
undertook, because his will was resolute and his perseverance
indomitable. He applied himself particularly to the study
of mathematics, and made good progress in history and
geography, but neglected Latin and the belles lettres*. His
intellectual faculties exerted themselves without any m-eat
effort on his part. He had a lively and prompt conception
a strong memory, and a cool and decided judgment. A
foreigner, poor and proud, he kept aloof, for the most part,
from the other boys, who were accustomed to taunt the
distant young Corsican. He commonly sought for some-
t ing to interest him ; and this disposition placed him in a
species of solitude, where he communed only with his own
thoughts a state which afterwards became habitual to him
in all situations through life.
. His birth having destined him for service, Napoleon had
just completed his sixteenth year, when, in August 1785,
after being examined by Laplace, he obtained his first com¬
mission as lieutenant of artillery in the regiment of La Fere
Never did he receive any title with so much pleasure as
this. He was delighted beyond measure at his promotion ;
and the highest pitch to which his ambition then aspired
was, that he might one day wear a couple of epaulettes a
bouillons. A general of artillery seemed to him the ne
plus ultra of human grandeur. He was already desirous
of fame, however, and had conceived the idea of making
himself a name by writing the history of the war in Corsica.
He communicated his intention to Paoli, at the same time
requesting that that officer would furnish him with the
necessary information ; but an historian of eighteen did not
probably inspire any great confidence, and Paoli took no
notice of his proposal. His advancement, however, indem-
mhed him for this little mortification. In the year 1789
he obtained a company of artillery; and the Revolution,
which broke out immediately afterwards, seemed to open
up a new and more enlarged sphere of action. With this
movement he soon foresaw that all his hopes and prospects
were identified. “ Had I been a general,” said he, in the
evening of his life, “ I might have adhered to the King;
but being a subaltern, I joined the patriots.”
Happening to be in Paris in the year 1792, he witnessed
t e scene of the 20th June, when the revolutionary mob
stormed the luileries, and placed the lives of the King and
ms family in the greatest jeopardy. He followed the crowd
into the garden before the palace; and when Louis XVI.
appeared on a balcony with the red cap on his head, he
could no longer suppress his contempt and indignation.
NAPOLEON.
783
fhkTn f er’ Sa?ld T^aPo]eon>‘ “how could he suffer Napoleon.
Ins rabble to enter? If he had swept away five or six
hundred of them with his cannon, the rest would soon have
infu PcaAet - He, was also a witness of the events of the
10th of August, when the throne was overturned, a provi¬
sional council established, the king confined in the Temple,
the Republic proclaimed, and a national convention called
to frame a charter. At this time he was without employ¬
ment, and poor ; wandering idly about Paris, livin«- at the
shops of restaurateurs, projecting a variety of schemes,—some
of them wild enough,—and in a great measure dependent
upon the scanty resources of his class-fellow Bourrienne.
But the circumstances of the times were such that he was
not suffered to remain long inactive. Being offered the
command of a battalion of national volunteers destined to
join the expedition to Sardinia, he readily accepted it; and
upon the return of the expedition he re-entered the artil-
fory with the rank of superior officer, or commandant. Till
t ie siege of I oulon, however, he led an insignificant life.
, ut this operation proved in some measure decisive of his
fortunes. He saw that, from the situation which he held,
as second m command of the artillery, he might have some
influence on the result of the siege ; and the event justified
his anticipations.
When, towards the close of August 1793, Toulon, the
great port and arsenal of France on the Mediterranean,
had, along with the fleet, been delivered into the hands of
the allies, the situation of France was truly deplorable
Lyons had raised the standard of the Bourbons; civil M-ar
raged in Languedoc and Provence ; the victorious Spanish
army had passed the Pyrenees, and overrun Roussillon ;
and the Piedmontese army, having cleared the Alps, was
at the gates of Chambery and Antibes. Terror, discord,
and defection reigned within; whilst on the frontiers one
reverse followed hard at the heels of another. But the
allies were not sufficiently sensible of the importance of the
acquisition which they had just made. About six weeks
were passed in assembling the force and means necessary
for the siege. On the 15th of October a council of war
was assembled at Olioulles, where the conventional pro-
consul Gaspann presided; and on this occasion there was
read to the council a memoir on the conduct of the sieo-e
of Toulon, which had been drawn up by the celebrated
engineer D Arcon, and approved by the committee of for-
tmcations. Napoleon opposed the adoption of this plan,
and proposed one much more simple. “ Your object,” said
he, is to make the English evacuate Toulon. Instead of
attacking them in the town, which must involve a series of
operations, and rum the place, endeavour to establish bat¬
teries so as to sweep the harbour and roadstead. If you
do this, the English ships must take their departure, and
t ie English troops will certainly not remain behind them.”
He then pointed out a promontory nearly opposite the
town, by establishing batteries on which the desired effect
might be attained. “ Gain La Grasse,” said he, “and in
two days 1 oulon will be yours.” Had this suggestion been
adopted in time the result would have been as Napoleon
piedicted ; but the English had leisure allowed them to
construct Fort Mulgrave, and to render it so strong that it
went by the name of Little Gibraltar. Nevertheless, Na¬
poleon s system prevailed. Instead of attacking the body
of the place, the principal effort was directed against Fort
Mulgrave; and in a month the desired end was obtained.
On the 18th December the besiegers entered Toulon, but
were able to save only the half of the squadron; the other
bv aT \ tihe doc}-yards, having been consumed
died rx.-0" by the English as they aban-
&
1 During the siege of Toulon, Napoleon, whilst constructing a battery under the enemv’s h j ^
called for some one who could write with facility. A young serjeant stepped out, and, Jnfog^
NAPOLEON.
784
Napoleon. The recovery of Toulon was a service of the very first
importance to the revolutionary government. It suppressed
the insurrectionary spirit in the south of France, restored
the credit of the republican arms, and rendered disposable
the force which had been employed in the siege. But the
man to whose genius alone success was due did not imme¬
diately obtain the credit of this important achievement.
The truth, however, was too generally known to be effectu¬
ally concealed. Napoleon was appointed general of brigade,
and in the beginning of 1794 was sent to the army of Italy to
command the artillery. The general-in-chief, Dumerbion,
was old and incapable ; the head of his staff, though a man
of information, wanted talents; and, between them, war
was carried on without art or skill in the Maritime Alps.
Napoleon proposed a plan for turning the famous position
of Saorgio. His suggestion was adopted; Saorgio, with
all its stores, surrendered, and the French obtained posses¬
sion of the Maritime Alps. He then proposed another,
which had for its object to unite the army of the Alps and
that of Italy under the walls of Coni—an operation which
would have secured Piedmont, and enabled the combined
force, without any great effort, to establish itself on the Po.
It was found impossible, however, to come to an arrange¬
ment with the staff of the army of the Alps ; but Napoleon
indemnified himself by carrying the army of Italy as far as
Savona, and to the gates of Ceva; by which means he dis¬
engaged Genoa, then threatened by the allies, and would
have achieved more important results had not his progress
been stopped by the approach of winter and the imperative
orders of the committee. He was superseded on the 6th
of August 1794, apparently in consequence of the labours
of Aubry, who had reformed the organization of the army,
in order to impart to it greater solidity.
Before the end of the year he went to Paris in order to
solicit employment, but at first experienced a very cold re¬
ception, probably on account of his supposed connection
with Robespierre, with whose younger brother he was known
to have lived on terms of friendship. The re-action con¬
sequent on the downfall of that extraordinary personage
was then at its height, and threatened France with evils
not less terrible than those from which it had just escaped.
Everything was in an unsettled state, and the monthly re¬
newal of the Committee of Public Safety served only to
increase the confusion. After a time, however, Napoleon
was placed amongst the generals of infantry appointed to
serve in La Vendee; but he refused to act in a situation
which he considered as altogether unsuitable to him, and
resolved to remain at Paris, where he might be more use¬
fully employed. This proved a fortunate determination,
and soon led to service of a more congenial kind. Keller-
mann had just allowed himself to be beaten in the Apen¬
nines. The committee w ere anxious to repair the disaster,
and with this view attached Napoleon to the board of mili¬
tary operations, with orders to prepare such instructions
as might seem calculated to bring back victory to the na¬
tional standards. This afforded him an opportunity of mak¬
ing his talents known, and probably contributed not a little
to the future advancement of his fortunes. Soon afterwards,
he w'as appointed to command a brigade of artillery in Hol¬
land, where for some time the war had languished; but be-
^ fore he could avail himself of this appointment, his services
were required upon a nearer and more important field of
action.
During the contest between the Convention and the sec¬
tions of Paris (of which details will be found in the article
France) it was proposed to Napoleon to command, under Napoleon
Barras, the armed force destined to act against the Paris-
mns. He consented, upon condition of being left free from
all interference, and lost not a moment in sending to Meu-
don for the artillery. He had 5000 men and 40 pieces of
cannon, a force more than sufficient to put down a riot, but
not too much against a national guard well armed, and pro¬
vided with artillery ; and he was reinforced by 1500 patriots,
organized in three battalions.
On the 13th of Vendemiaire (4th of October 1795), the
sectionaries marched, nearly 30,000 strong, against the Con¬
vention. One of their columns, debouching in the Rue
Saint-Honore, advanced boldly to the attack; but it was
instantly checked by the fire of the artillery, which swept
the street with grapeshot, and soon afterwards it gave way
in confusion. A number of the fugitives attempted to
make a stand on the steps of the church of St Roche, where,
owing to the narrowness of the street, they were in a great
measure sheltered from the fire of the artillery. Napoleon,
however, promptly brought a gun to bear upon them, and
in a few minutes this crowd was dispersed, leaving behind
them a number of dead. The column which debouched
by the Port-Royal was not more fortunate. Exposed to
the direct fire of the guns stationed below the Tuileries, and
taken in flank by that of the other batteries by which the
bridge was commanded, all its efforts to establish itself upon
the quays of the Seine proved unavailing, and, after a very
short struggle, it dispersed, and fled in all directions. In
less than an hour the whole was ended, and the Convention
victorious. This event, so trivial in itself, and which
scarcely cost 200 men on each side, had important conse¬
quences. It prevented the revolution from retrograding;
it enabled the Convention to disarm the sections; and,
above all, it had a marked influence upon the future fortunes
of Napoleon. The eminent service he had rendered was
immediately rewarded with the rank of general of division;
in five days he was named second in command of the army
of the interior; and soon afterw ards, on the resignation of
Barras, he was advanced to the chief command. He had
now passed into the order of marked and distinguished men.
But the situation which he held was by no means suited to
his views. He longed to make war upon a more extended
theatre of action, and to profit by the advantages which
fortune had thrown in his way.
It was at this time, when his residence in Paris had
begun to appear insupportable to his active mind, that he
became acquainted with the widow of General Beauhar-
nais, whom he afterwards married. At the moment when
the sections were disarmed, the sword of her husband, who
had perished by the guillotine, a victim of the tyranny of
Robespierre, had been taken from her; and she now sent
her son Eugene, a boy of fifteen, to beg that it might be
restored to her. Her request was at once complied with,
and the boy shed tears as he received from the hands of
Napoleon the sword of his unfortunate father. This scene
touched Napoleon ; and, having gone to give an account of
it to the mother of Eugene, he was so enchanted with her
elegance and grace, that he soon afterwards made her a
tender of his hand, which was accepted. Such appears to
be the simple truth in regard to the origin of his relations
with Josephine, concerning which so many absurd and
injurious stories have been circulated. Napoleon had little
relish for the society of women, which accorded neither
with his tastes nor his character, and in which he experi¬
enced constraint; but, being desirous to fix himself in life,
The writing was just finished, when a shot struck the ground by the side of the volunteer secretary, scattering dust over him and every¬
thing near him. “ Good,” said the serjeant, laughing; “ we shall this time have no need of sand.” The cool gaiety of the remark
pleased Napoleon; he kept his eye on the man; and Junot—for it was he—rose in the sequel to the rank of a marshal of France, and
was created Duke of Abrantes.
h
P
u
t(
ti
as
ra
b(
N
tb
ai
D
in
th
m:
(hi
an
Sa
bn
sat
tio
wh
in
sui
vie
Pa
to i
StOi
cor
ciat
spli
this
he
bis
W
eiti
had
1
all s
in r
shoi
fern
Aus
imp<
ized
toet
70,0
with
40,0<
her
Suab
heart
tope
he su
the c
alter
iVas r
Irawi
hat 1
•ts c
l'hich
fita:
Mps£
voi
and finding in Josephine spirit and elegance united with
celebrity, he resolved to make her his wffe. The marr^e
took place on the 9th of March 1796, only a few days
before he set out to assume the command of the army of
Tranquillity being now restored at Paris, the Directorv
had time to turn their attention to the state of affai^
~esaaS(°ofrvIta,yi;t,,e
^ ^^sappointecT3th^&specta^
as the chirf command ofthe Smyof 7™ iSt" ■ra'‘ ai'd
rally led to that of an active force provided theTd- wtUi
Naf"!8 11 1>0ssessed the “nfidcnce of the government
the^rmyof L70nSTqo1h! y ap|,oint.e<l gene J-in-chief of
tne army ot Italy. To this command he had pre-eminent
and indeed exclusive claims. When serving mlder General
Dumorbion, as commandant of artillery, he had tamed X
important position of Saorgio, and disengaged Genoa then
threatened by the allies; when employed at the board of
military operations, he had digested a nlm 1
the result of which was the signal victory gained a^Loanc
and the possession of the line of the Apenninef as far as
Savona and the sources of the Bormida; and ^ow when
u rt0 ra°re direCt contact with the government he
satisfied Carnot, to whom the direction of military opera
tions was intrusted, that his plan in regard to pfedmont
hi T794 mi?hnt 3ictbd by the crmiftee ofPublic Safety
success ’ Thf-P 4 be execute^’ with every prospect of
virpfJV T circumstances, independently of his ser-
ces at 1 ou on, and also against the insurgent sections of
I aris, naturally pointed him out as the person best qualified
to obtain that success of which the Directory at this time
stood so much in need, in order to support hs credit and
consolidate its power. That his talents were fully appTe-
c ated and that he was solely indebted to his merit^ for this
spendid command, admits of no doubt whatever. “Advance
this young man, said Barras to one of his colleagues “or
he will advance himself without you.” Napoleon ou’ittpd
his wife ten days after their manage, and? after a9 raSd
JW^ei amVed at the head-q^ters of the army at Nice
With that moment began the most brilliant scene of his
en ire career. “In three months,” said he, “I shall be
either at Milan or at Paris;” and before a ye^r elapsed he
had grown old in victory. * 1 e ’ 16
alUnff P?” which he proposed for the campaign united
all suffrages; for, though at once bold and original, it was
m reality extremely simple. It had been agreed that he
fei°ra d mano!uvre by hls right, in order to descend by Mont-
feirat upon Lombardy, directing all his efforts against the
Austrians, in the hope of detaching Piedmont from the
imperial alliance. The armies of Germany being re-organ-
zed, were to resume the offensive by the end of April and
700maVOUr t0 ?aSTthe Rhine- Jourdan> who commanded
SHoToo011 thf ,L°Wf Rhine> WaS t0 blockade Mayence
40 000 to Smo Vdvance info Franconia with from
ber undpr iv M°reaU’ rh° had nearIy an equal num-
Suab? an -T’ ^ t0 maJsk1 Manheim’ and advar,ce in
heart of R? • Was ProP°^d that both should unite in the
heait of Bavaria. As to Napoleon, he had no other task
to pei form than that of advancing on the Adige; provided
he coalitio? by hlS,vlJtories in detaching Piedmont from
atLr stould rpf m dethr(;ning the Kiug Sardinia if the
Z J T1 fuSe t0 make Peace- In a word, this plan
h?wneun fori?^ that Which NaP°,eon had previously
Irawn up for the committee, and the execution of which
ts distin 'fd recu essly ,ntrusted to the incapable Scherer,
ts di meuve characteristic consisted in the mode by
f Till 4 S5 ProP°!ed to gain access to the fertile regions
y- former invaders had uniformly penetrated the
fer P°int OT 0ther 0f that m«hty of moX
napoleon.
eXfy XtaXiraX ™K
wS. Peralingin th!S direCti°n "'111 be -taStdy'
Napoleon arrived at Nice on the 97th nf u 1
there found the army in a very precarioufas tellXdeX
tute condition. Perched upon the summits of the Appen-
and?^ fl°m Sa™na to 0rmea, it was too widely dispersed
and its communications with France, running along the coast
in a paiallel direction between the enemy’s line and the sea
were everywhere exposed; whilst the soldiers were in rags’
seS'Nano?’ ? Prey t0 ^ -cry species oS
• y- -^dP0leon lost not a moment in placing the armv
in more advantageous positions, and in announcing that he
was about to assume the offensive, with a view to" provide
This ann?45’ ^ the that he consulted its glory.
fnl an”ouncementhad the desired effect. The soldiers
got their privations, and eagerly longed to sio-nalize
their courage and devotion under the young ch ef who had
promised to ead them to victory. Havinl occupled the
principal roads leading from Nice to Italy, particularly that
the sena? of Ge C° ? Tende’ NaP°leon demanded of
tne senate of Genoa a free passage by the citv and tbe
ochetta, a ong the road leading from Genoa to Alexandria
promising, m return, to carry&the theatre ofwar belnd
the FrenXrepublic!"3'1'6 11 tl>e allianCe ““ Protection »»'
scended from ta0//PriI •he kUS'u “ general BeauIieu
scended horn the Apennines by the Bochetta, at the head
of the FrenHgfand disIodged the advanced guard
On the^ N T Ca[ried two of tl^ir redoubts.
Artrl? lwth NaPo]eon defeated the Austrian centre under
genteau, overcame the Piedmontese on the 13th and
on the day following compelled Provera to lay down his arms
a?i h?/ T m0];e deC'lsive encounters, in which L earned
at Cheratco^bv wh'0b^UEr0rir:-0nC^uded a sort of a^ 'e
deliver P ^ a i tbe. KinS of Sardinia engaged to
deliver up Com, Alexandria, and Ceva, to withdraw from
reatrfaTfi vd t0 Se"d tl,e Countda KaXtoTaXt”
treat of a definitive accommodation.
Ihus, in somewhat loss than a month, Napoleon with an
army destitute of everything, had gained six victories taken
wen y-one standards, fifty guns, and several strong places
conquered the richest part of Piedmont, made 15 000 pri
soners, and kdled or wounded 10,000 men. He’hadre-
thrii^otTT8 t0 ,inaCti°n’ destroycd the army of
e Kina of Sardinia, detached him from the imperial
alliance wrested from his hands the keys of the Alps and
established a solid basis for his fctaj operation!* Ca
few days he hod done more than the former army of Italy
gathering UfTitsIfruits. ° BuThis hopes°were not yet^ealized^
French, was the task which he still reserved for himself
and which he hesitated the less to undertake, as ?he armis¬
tice had left him at liberty to direct his whole force ao-ainst
t le isolated army of Beaulieu, now too much enfeebled to
resist his attacks with any chance of success 4°
, ° commander ever appreciated more iustlv than MA
poleon the value of time in military operations The d^
after the signature of the treaty of Cherasco he nut h?
divisions in motion, and directed them upon Alexandria.
O G
788
NAPOLEON.
Napoleon. Partly by stratagem, and partly by dexterous movements,
Napoleon succeeded in obliging Beaulieu to withdraw from
his position at Valeggio, on the Ogogno, and to attempt
concentrating his army towards Lodi. With the view of
forcing the Austrians to retire from this position, Napoleon
marched on Lodi, at the head of the grenadiers and the
corps of Messena and Augereau, leaving before Pizzighe-
tone a division to mask that place and cover his right, and
taking measures for the safety of his left, by directing
Serrurier upon Pavia. On the 10th he arrived before Lodi,
where Beaulieu, having retired with the main body of
his army to Crema, had left General Sebottendorf with
10,000 men to defend both sides of the Adda. By means
of this strong rearguard the enemy had hoped to preserve
the bridge of Lodi, which was defended by twenty pieces of
cannon established on the left bank; but they soon found
that they had reckoned without their host. A battalion
and some squadrons which occupied the town of Lodi were,
wdthout much difficulty, dislodged, and the French reached
the bridge before the enemy’s workmen had time to cut it
down. Napoleon instantly formed his grenadiers in close
column, and rushed along the bridge. The troops advanced
with loud shouts to the attack, but being assailed by a per¬
fect storm of grape-shot, they hesitated for a moment, and
began to waver. The generals, including Napoleon him¬
self, hurried to the front, cheering and animating the men
by their example. The effect was electric. The column
dashed along the bridge in spite of the tempest of fire which
thinned their ranks, overthrew all that opposed their pro¬
gress, carried the enemy’s batteries at the point of the
bayonet, and dispersed his battalions.1 Sebottendorf re¬
treated upon Crema, with the loss of fifteen guns and 2000
men killed or wounded. This, though only an affair of the
rearguard, was a daring feat of arms; and its immediate
consequences were the occupation of Pizzighetone, the
retreat of Beaulieu towards the Mincio, and the triumphal
entry of Napoleon into Milan, where his presence had be¬
come absolutely necessary. As the French troops had been
in continued motion for a month, it was judged expedient
to allow them some days’ rest; and hence Beaulieu was not
pursued.
Having thus descended like a torrent from the Apen¬
nines, overthrown and dispersed all that opposed him, sepa¬
rated Piedmont from the coalition, received the submission
of the Dukes of Parma and Modena, driven the Austrians
behind the Mincio, and entered the capital of Lombardy
in triumph, Napoleon immediately directed his attention to
the internal administration of the country, prescribed the
measures necessary for the reduction of the citadel of Milan,
imposed contributions, and made arrangements for estab¬
lishing the republican system in Italy. His career of vic¬
tory had been one of unexampled rapidity, and he now
sought to secure and consolidate the conquests he had
made. The intelligence of his success, however, appears
to have excited astonishment and suspicion in the minds of
the French Directory, who perceived with alarm that their
young general had already made himself master of Italy.
Scarcely had he reached Milan, when he received orders to
divide his army in two; to give up the command of that of
Italy to Kellermann, who was to observe the Austrians on
the Mincio ; and with the remaining 25,000 men, forming
an army of the south, to advance upon Rome, and even to
act against Naples. But this division of force, at the mo¬
ment when it was about to contend against all the resources
of the House of Austria, was a great deal too absurd to be
submitted to by a commander like Napoleon; he answered
by resigning his command, and thus saved the army from
inevitable destruction. Meanwhile, he resolved to drive
Beaulieu into the Tyrol, and with this view he addressed
to his soldiers one ot the most remarkable proclamations
that ever proceeded from his pen. He knew well the men
with whom he had to deal; he knew that the French
soldiery, full of fire and enthusiasm, would be transported
by an appeal which awakened in their minds heroic senti¬
ments; he knew that such an address would produce at
Rome or at Naples the same effect as it had done at Turin;
he knew also that in proportion as he exalted the courage
of his troops he struck terror into those of the enemy, and
at the same time bequeathed to posterity a monument of
his talent for command. The revolt of Lombardy for a
moment endangered the success of his plan. On the day
when he quitted Milan to advance against the Austrians,
the tocsin sounded in the rear of his army; the people flew
to arms, and having seized upon Pavia, put the garrison to
death. The least hesitation on his part would have ren¬
dered this rising general. Without stopping the march of
the army, he proceeded in all haste to Pavia, followed by
300 horse and a battalion of grenadiers, at the head of
which he forced the gates, penetrated into the city, which
was delivered up to pillage, ordered the municipality to be
shot, and thus, by one vigorous blow, extinguished the in¬
surrection in its principal focus. At Benasco, Lannes acted
with equal promptitude and severity ; and at Lugo, where
a squadron of French horse had been destroyed, a number
of the male inhabitants were shot.
After the defeat of Lodi, Beaulieu had not ventured to
halt behind the Oglio, nor even behind the Chiesa. He pre¬
ferred the stronger line of the Mincio, flanked on the left
by the fortress of Mantua, and on the right by the Lago di
Garda and the mountains of the Tyrol. Behind this barrier
he established his army, with his centre posted at Vallegio,
his left at Goito, and his right at Peschiera, a small place
belonging to the Venetians. As the wings thus rested upon
two strong places, Napoleon resolved to force the centre; at
the same time making demonstrations on the side of Pe¬
schiera, which covered the enemy’s line of retreat to the
Tyrol. On the 30th of May he arrived at Borghetto with
the mass of his army, and immediately dislodged an advanced
guard of the enemy stationed on the left of the Mincio.
Having repaired the bridge of Borghetto, which the Aus¬
trians had partly destroyed in their retreat, he was preparing
to force the passage of the river, when a column of grena¬
diers threw themselves into the stream, carrying their arms
on their heads, as the water reached to their shoulders.
The enemy, believing themselves about to be attacked by
the redoubtable column of Lodi, gave way, and taking the
road to the Tyrol, allowed the French to effect the passage
without opposition. Beaulieu attempted to make a stand
upon the heights between Villafranca and Vallegio; but
having learned the movement of Augereau on Peschiera,
he immediately retired beyond the Adige, and ascended
the right bank by Dolce as far as Caliano. Part of his
left ascending the Mincio to join him at Vallegio, came
suddenly upon the French head-quarters, and nearly cap¬
tured the general-in-chief, but was soon dispersed by the
troops under Massena; and the remainder of this wing,
being detached from Goito, entered Mantua, the garrison
of which now exceeded 13,000 men. The investment of
that fortress was immediately decided on by Napoleon;
materials for the siege having previously been prepared at
1 The success of this attack was facilitated by the very circumstance which seemed to entail instant failure. Whilst the troops hesi¬
tated under the storm of fire with which they were assailed on the bridge, some soldiers slid down by the piles into an island in the
river, where they hoped to find some point of attack less exposed to the enemy’s fire. Here they discovered that the second branch of
the Adda was fordable, upon which a battalion immediately spread itself out en tirailleurs, in order to turn the Austrian line; and, thus
favoured, the mass of grenadiers passed the bridge at the pas de charge.
V
bin
by
Trf
60,(
30,(
wer
bad
thei
bou
aiov
and
des<
stan
forn
bis
ever
of
ever
Pest
reau
N
vicb,
was
to fa
supp
of ft
recei
Quas
cornt
hew
conti
now
Lon;
defe;
bis
san
?nart
obtai
in hi;
heavi
Quas
at Q
Naflleon. Alexandria and Tortona, whence they were directed in all
^ haste on Lombardy.
. M^nwhile Napoleon took measures for strengthening:
himself upon the Adige, where his situation had become
complicated, and in fact presented a variety of new com¬
binations. I he investment of Mantua required that he
should be master of the course of the Adige; and the key
of this river is Verona, the position of which forms the basis
of every system upon that line of operations. He there¬
fore took it upon him to summon the latter city, which was
surrendered without resistance, on the 1st of June; and
by this precious acquisition he procured three fine bridges
on the Adige, and a strong central position, defended by
bastions, and protected by two forts perched on the last
slopes of the Tyrolese mountains, so as to shut up hermeti¬
cally the valley of the Adige on the left bank of the river.
He also placed garrisons in Crema, Peschiera, and other
strong places belonging to the Venetians; and having con¬
cluded armistices with the King of Naples and the Pope
occupied Leghorn, where he seized a large amount of Engl
lish property and merchandise. The investment of Mantua
was now converted into a regular siege, the labours of which
were intrusted to Serrurier’s division, 10,000 strong, whilst
the rest of the army remained in observation upon the
Adige as far as the western bank of the Lago di Garda.
The trenches were opened on the 18th of July; but a
new act of the drama was about to commence.
The cabinet of Vienna, justly alarmed at the progress of
Napoleon, had resolved to check his career by opposing to
him a new army and a new general. Beaulieu was replaced
by Wurmser, who, having set out from Manheim, reached
Trent towards the end of July, at the head of an army of
60,000 men. At this time Napoleon had not more than
.30,000 men under his immediate command, and 10,000
were engaged under Serrurier in the siege. The Austrians
had therefore a superiority of force which seemed to insure
them the victory. In the last days of July, Wurmser de¬
bouched from the Tyrol; Quasdanovich, with 25,000 men,
moving by the left bank of the Lago di Garda upon Salo
and Brescia; and the marshal, with the remaining 35,000,
descending the Adige in three columns. Napoleon in¬
stantly resolved to attack Quasdanovich before he could
form a junction with Wurmser on the Mincio. This was
his only chance of success, and to secure it he quitted
everything. The siege of Mantua was raised ; 140 pieces
of cannon were abandoned in the trenches; and by the
evening of the 30th Napoleon had assembled between
Peschiera and Goito the divisions of Massena and Auge-
reau, with the reserve of Serrurier’s division.
Next day he passed the Mincio to encounter Quasdano¬
vich. The Austrian general, assailed by a superior force,
was driven from Lonato, Brescia, and Salo, and compelled
to fall back on Gavardo. On the 3d, Augereau’s division,
supported by the reserve, advanced upon Castiglione; that
of Massena directed its march on Lonato; and Guyeux
received orders to debouch on Salo, in order to induce
Quasdanovich to continue his retreat by threatening his
communications with the Tyrol. Napoleon conceived that
he was directing his effort against Wurmser, but, on the
contrary, it fell upon the left of Quasdanovich, who was
now making another attempt to operate his junction by
Lonato. As might be expected, the Austrian was again
defeated, and being warmly pursued, was forced to direct
his columns on their former position at Gavardo. The
same day Augereau attacked and defeated the advanced
guard of Wurmser at Castiglione. Napoleon had as yet
obtained only partial successes ; but they strengthened him
m his central position, and gave him the means of dealing
heavier blows. The first of these was directed against
Quasdanovich, who, on the very next day, was surprised
at Gavardo, threatened with an attack in reverse, and
NAPOLEON.
787
obliged to fall back in great disorder upon Riva; thus de- Napoleon,
fimtively ridding Napoleon of a corps formidable from its
strength, as well as from the strategic direction which had
been assigned to it.
But if fortune seconded Napoleon in this juncture, he
was at the same instant exposed to the greatest danger in
the midst of his very head-quarters. Massena’s division
had just quitted Lonato, where Napoleon remained with
1200 men, when all of a sudden an alarm was given that
the place had been surrounded by an enemy’s corps, and
soon afterwards an Austrian officer came to summon him
to surrender. Happily his presence of mind did not for¬
sake him. He presumed that this could only be one of the
detachments of Quasdanovich which had been separated
from the main body in the recent affair of Lonato; and he
resolved to extricate himself by audacity from a situation
which must have been not a little embarrassing. Assum¬
ing a menacing tone, “ What means this insnloripp ?” snul
ing a menacing tone, “ What means this insolence ?” said
he. ‘ Do you dare to beard the French general in the
midbt of his army ?” 1 he Austrian officer was confounded,
and hearing the word “fusillade” significantly pronounced
by Aapoleon, he became so terrified that he consented to
surrender. Two thousand men, provided with four pieces
of cannon, then laid down their arms, and discovered, when
it was too late, that if they had stood firm, the French
general-in-chief and all his staff must have been their
prisoners. This corps formed the advanced guard of Quas¬
danovich, which, in executing a reconnoissance with a view
to a junction with Wurmser, had crossed on the march the
columns of St Hilaire and Sauret, and had fallen upon
tie French head-quarters at the very moment when the
camp of Gavardo was unexpectedly attacked by the French
troops.
The combat which decided the final success of this ope-
ration took place on the 5th of August, near Castiglione.
v urmser, still infected with the mania of detachments, had
pushed one in the direction of the Lower Po, and left
another to blockade Peschiera, so that there remained under
his immediate orders not more than 25,000 men. The
divisions of Massena and Augereau, with the reserve, pre¬
sented a. force equal to that of the enemy, and the arrival
of the division of Serrurier turned the balance decidedly in
favour of the French. As soon as the latter came up, Na¬
poleon attacked the enemy’s left with his right and centre,
defeated it, and forced him to repass the Mincio with the
loss of twenty pieces of cannon. Massena instantly crossed
the Mincio at Peschiera, and falling upon the enemy’s right
wing, established before that place, routed and put it to
flight. Wurmser now perceived that a prompt retreat could
alone save him, and, leaving in Mantua a garrison of 15,000
men, he fell back along the valley of the Adige, warmly
pursued by the French as far as the entrance of the Tyrol,
which he regained with a total loss of 12,000 men and fifty
pieces of cannon.
I he Austrians, however, had scarcely re-entered the
Tyrol, when, being joined by considerable reinforcements,
they once more found themselves stronger than their ad¬
versaries ; and Wurmser having received positive orders
to relieve Mantua, imagined that he could attain this end
without fighting, by means of manoeuvres alone. Da-
vidowich was to cover the Tyrol with 20,000 men dis¬
seminated from the environs of Feldkirch as far as Rover-
edo; whilst Wurmser himself, with the remaining 26,000,
should descend the valley of the Brenta, to debouch on
Porto-Legnago and the rear of the French army. But the
young chief of the French army was not the man to allow
himself to be deceived by false demonstrations. At the
moment when Wurmser was meditating this false move¬
ment, Napoleon received a reinforcement of 6000 men
from the aimy of the Alps; and being thus strengthened
he resolved to penetrate into the heart of the Tyrol, and to
788 NAPOLEON.
Napoleon, fall upon the right of Wurmser at the moment when he was
draining the Tyrol in order to manoeuvre by his left. On
the 4th of September, Wukassowich, who commanded the
advanced guard, was expelled from the camp at Mori, and
driven back, first on Roveredo, and then on Galliano, where
he formed a junction with the mass of the corps. The po¬
sition of Galliano seemed inexpugnable; but Davidowich,
being attacked by a greatly superior force, was compelled
to abandon this redoubtable gorge, leaving in the hands of
the assailants twenty-five guns and 2000 prisoners. The
Austrians retreated in the greatest disorder, and next day
the French entered Trent. Meanwhile Davidowich rallied
the remains of his corps behind the Lavis; Napoleon, how¬
ever, resolved to dislodge him ; he was attacked by Vaubois,
and having in vain attempted to defend the passage of the
river, he was thrown back upon Salurn and Neumarck.
In the course of this victorious march, Napoleon learned
the movement of Wurmser on the Brenta, and resolved to
make the most of it. After a series of successful manoeuvres,
on the part of the French, Wurmser was attacked on themorn-
ing of the 8th of September, and driven back in disorder on
Bassano. The French instantly pursued, and reaching the
town close on the heels of the fugitives, carried it by main
force. Not knowing where to make head, Wurmser, with the
left of his corps de bataille, retired on Fonteriva, where he
passed the Brenta, and took the direction of Vicenza; whilst
Quasdanovich, with the right, finding it impossible to gain the
Brenta, fell back upon Friuli. In this affair 2000 prisoners,
thirty pieces of cannon, and an immense quantity of bag¬
gage, fell into the hands of the French. The situation of
Wurmser seemed desperate ; and he resolved to throw him¬
self into Mantua, and there await the arrival of fresh suc¬
cours from Austria. A mistake on the part of Sahaguet
enabled him to accomplish this more easily than might have
been expected.1 He had flattered himself with appearing
before that fortress at the head of 26,000 victorious troops ;
but in reality he threw himself into the place with no more
than 12,000 men, discouraged by defeat, and, instead of
raising the siege, about to be themselves invested. The
entire garrison having sallied out to forage on the 15th,
Napoleon attacked them with his whole force; penetrated
as far as St George, which he carried at the point of the
bayonet; and having compelled Wurmser to retire within the
body of the place, completed the investment of the city and
the fortress. The charge of the blockade was intrusted to
General Kilmaine, with Serrurier’s division, and the rest of
the army were placed in observation before the Tyrol.
The position of Napoleon, however, was by no means
without difficulty, to say nothing of danger. By the middle
of October, Davidowich had received reinforcements which
raised the force of his corps to 20,000 men, that of Quas¬
danovich now amounted to 25,000 combatants, and the
Croats were permanently organized into regiments to facili¬
tate the arrival of the levies drawn from the Tyrol, and the
recruits raised in the interior. The supreme command
was conferred on General Alvinzi, a veteran of high reputa¬
tion, who, having joined the corps of Davidowich, resumed
the offensive, directing that corps by Bassano on Verona,
where he hoped to effect a junction with Davidowich, who
had received orders to descend the Adige.
Napoleon could not advance to encounter Alvinzi without
abandoning Verona, and consequently enabling Davidowich
to overthrow Vaubois, unite with Wurmser under Mantua,
and thus establish in his rear an army superior in number to
all the troops he had been able to collect. Vaubois was too
weak to defend the approach to Trent; but in ordering him to
assume the offensive, Napoleon hoped to impose on David¬
owich. In this, however, he was deceived. On the 3d of Napoleon
November Vaubois was forced to fall back on Galliano;
on the 4th Davidowich entered Trent; and on the same ^
day the army of Alvinzi arrived at Citadella and Bassano.
At the approach of the enemy Massena fell back on Mon¬
tebello. Davidowich now marched on Galliano, and Al¬
vinzi prepared to move upon Verona by Vicenza. Napo¬
leon now decided to repeat from right to left the manoeuvre
which had succeeded against Wurmser from left to right,—
that is, after first trying to defeat Alvinzi, and drive him be¬
hind the Piave, he proposed to ascend the Brenta, in order
to fall upon the rear of Davidowich. With the divisions
of Augereau and Massena he advanced towards the Brenta,
which the enemy had already passed, and on the 6th at¬
tacked their left under Provera at Carmagnano, and their
right under Quasdanovich at Lenove, though with only
partial success. Provera repassed the Brento, and Quas¬
danovich withdrew to Bassano without suffering any serious
loss. Meanwhile Vaubois, being warmly pressed on the
Adige, was, after two days’ fighting, driven from the strong
position of Galliano, and obliged to retreat on La Corona.
Napoleon flew to this division, harangued the 39th and 85th
regiments, which had given way at Galliano, and threatened
to inscribe on their colours that they were no longer worthy
to belong to the army of Italy. Moved with these re¬
proaches, the soldiers shed tears, and swore to conquer or
die when next led against the enemy. Napoleon, how¬
ever, found it necessary to renounce his projects, and to
retire on Verona, where he established the head-quarters
of the army. The whole country between the Brenta and
the Adige being now in the hands of the enemy, the French
general began to be closely pressed, and, not choosing to
be more so, resolved once more to fall upon Alvinzi. On
the 11th he left Verona with the divisions of Massena and
Augereau, and next day attacked the enemy, whom he
found in position at Caldiero. But a violent tempest which
beat in the faces of the troops, and the strong position of
the enemy, rendered all his efforts unavailing; he was re¬
pulsed with loss, and forced to return to Verona, where his
situation now became more critical than ever. He was
everywhere too weak; and the fortune which had hitherto
so signally befriended him seemed at length to abandon her
favourite. Any other general, in his circumstances, would
have thought only of repassing the Mincio, and would thus
have lost Italy. But in war it often happens, that to gain
all a general must risk all. Reduced to this predicament,
Napoleon determined to pass the Adige below the left of
Alvinzi, and thus to act on his rear. The project was
hazardous in itself; but it was nevertheless wise, because
it was the only one which still left him some chance of
success.
Having recalled Kilmaine with two thousand men from
the blockade of Mantua, Napoleon confided to him the de¬
fence of Verona, and on the night of the 14th November
he set out from Verona for Ronco, where he threw a bridge
over the Adige. On the 15th he passed the river, with the
divisions of Massena and Augereau and the reserve of
cavalry, forming in all about 20,000 men, and advanced by
the three dikes which conduct to Arcole. A brigade of
Croats, however, profiting by the advantages of the ground,
repulsed the attack of Augereau, whose column had been
directed on the bridge of Arcole, and afforded time to
Alvinzi to come to their assistance. The latter also sent
Provera with six battalions to attack Massena at Porcil, and
with the mass of his army retrograded on St Bonifacio.
But this unforeseen obstacle did not discourage Napoleon.
Perceiving that if he could not attain Villa Nova by the
1 Napoleon never forgave Sahaguet for this oversight, which deprived him of one of the fairest fruits of his victory of Bassano. His
plan had been so ably formed, that, but for Sahaguet’s blunder, the destruction of Wurmser would have been inevitable.
NAPOLEON.
eon. left bank of the Alpon, he might act more directly by Por-
—' cil on Alvinzi’s line of retreat; and sensible that, with this
view, as vvell as to secure his right, and prevent himself
nom being taken in a cul-de-sac, it had became absolutely
necessary to make himself master of the village and defile
of Arcole, he made fresh efforts to carry the bridge. The
greater part of his generals being wounded, he seized a
standard, and urged his grenadiers once more to the charge.
1 hey advanced boldly amidst a tremendous fire; but the
head of the column being shattered the troops gave way,
and IN apoleon being thrown into the marsh was in im¬
minent danger of being taken. At this critical moment
■Bernard charged with a company of grenadiers, and rescued
the general-in-chief when about to fall into the hands of the
enemy. Nevertheless, towards evening, the Austrians aban¬
doned Arcole, on the approach of a brigade which had
passed the Adige at the ferry of Albaredo, and was ad¬
vancing along the left bank of the Alpon. But it was now
too late; and ]\apoleon, not choosing to run the risk of
passing the night with his troops crowded in the marshes,
in presence of the hostile army deployed between San Boni¬
facio and San Stephano, and fell back to Ronco, on the
right bank of the Adige.
The combat of the second day proved not more decisive
than that of the first. It was maintained with equal bravery
on both sides; and in the evening Napoleon, from the same
motives as before, repassed the Adige. But the third con¬
flict proved decisive. At daybreak on the 17th the French
troops resumed their march to the bridge, and drove back
the Austrians on Porcil and Arcole. It was not against this
point, however, that Napoleon had resolved to direct his
principal efforts. Leaving Robert with a demi-brigade to
keep the enemy in check, he therefore directed Massena
with another demi-brigade on Porcil, whilst the rest of his
division remained in reserve near the bridge ; and he ordered
Augereau to throw a bridge over the Alpon, near the em¬
bouchure of the rivulet, so as to be in a condition to act
against the Austrian left, and thus take Arcole in reverse.
As Napoleon had foreseen, the Austrians, reinforced at
Arcole, assumed the offensive, and drove back Robert,
whom they pursued with reckless impetuosity. Proud of
this success, their deep column continued to advance, and
suddenly came upon the main body of Massena’s division,
placed in ambuscade amongst some willows, who instantly
assailed them in flank, cut off 3000 men, and forced the
remainder to retire in disorder on Arcole. The decisive
moment had now arrived. Augereau developed his attack,
whilst some cavalry appeared on the enemy’s flank; Mas¬
sena debouched by Arcole and St Gregorio; the little
garrison of Legnago threatened the enemy’s rear ; and the
latter, ynable to maintain themselves in ground favourable
for acting on the defensive, were reduced to the alternative
of either accepting battle in an open country or com¬
mencing a precipitate retreat. Alvinzi durst not risk the
former, and on the 18th he retired on Montebello, leavino-
Napoleon at perfect liberty to turn upon Davidowich. °
After a few more successful encounters, which will be
found detailed in the article France, Napoleon had rendered
abortive all the efforts of Austria. A fourth army had been
baffled; and for two months after the last day of Arcole the
French general remained undisputed master of Lombardy.
.o interval was of great importance, as it enabled
him to take the necessary measures for consolidating his
conquests, and also to procure reinforcements sufficient not
only to put him in a condition to maintain himself, but also
to insure the fall of Wurmser, and to strike a blow at the
very heart of the Austrian monarchy.
All that Napoleon had yet done seemed like the web of
Penelope; it was invariably undone by the constancy wdth
which the cabinet of Vienna reinforced its army of Italy,
and by the negligence of the Directory, which had so long
789
delayed to afford him adequate support. In fact, he was Napoleon,
treated by the government of France as Hannibal had been W--'
by the senate of Carthage. But public opinion forbade
the sacrifice of a general and an army that had gained so
many victories; and, as the battles of Arcole showed that
both were within a hair’s-breadth of being expelled from
Italy, it was at length resolved to adopt decisivi measures.
Accordingly the fine divisions of Bernadette and Delmas
drawn from the armies of the Rhine, were, notwithstanding
the winter, directed across the Alps, and, on joining the
French army, would have made its total strength about
75,000 men. On the other hand, by the end of December
Aivinzi having under his orders upwards of 40,000 men5
resolved to descend from the mountains, and make another
effort for the relief of Mantua. For the fourth time, there¬
fore, the possession of that important place was to be sub¬
mitted to the arbitrement of arms.
Whilst waiting the arrival of the reinforcements which
be expected from the Rhine, Napoleon, apprized that Al-
vinzi had assumed the offensive, flew to the Adige, to watch
the development of his attack. At this moment the divi¬
sion of Serrurier was before Mantua; that of Augereau
occupied the line of the Adige from Verona to Legnao-o
and beyond it; Massena was at Verona; and Joubert, with
a fourth division, held the important positions of La Co¬
rona and Rivoli. Each of these divisions was about ten
thousand strong; and Rey, with a reserve of four thousand,
occupied Desenzano. The imperialists, as if determined
to profit by no lesson, advanced at once on the centre and
the two wings of the French army, by Roveredo, Vicenza,
and Padua; but Napoleon, as he had not yet ascertained
in winch of these three directions Alvinzi was carryino-
the mass of his force, resolved to keep his positions until
ioi^vV1311 Seneral }ia(l developed his projects. On the
12th of January 1797, the column which advanced by Vi-
cenza approached Verona, and drove in the advanced posts
of Massena. But the division of that general having de-
bouched on St Michel, the enemy was repulsed with loss;
and Napoleon acquired the certainty that he was not in
force upon that point. Having received intelligence that
the principal corps was advancing by the valley of the
Adige, Napoleon instantly set out from Verona with the
greater part of Massena’s division, leaving two thousand
men to keep in check the column of Vicenza; and at the
same time he sent orders to Rey to advance from Salo on
Rivoii, and to Joubert to maintain himself, at any sacrifice
in advance of Rivoli until his arrival.
Soon after midnight Napoleon arrived. It wras a fine
dear moonlight, and by the enemy’s watch-fires, which
illuminated the white peaks of Montebaldo, he could easily
distinguish five separate encampments. On the mornin^
of the 14th he made his dispositions for battle, and com¬
menced the attack by directing Joubert against the Austrian
centre, whilst a demi-brigade was detached to keep in check
Lusignan. The enemy sustained the shock with great
firmness, and, becoming the assailant in his turn, forced
Joubert to give way; Vial, who commanded the right, also
retrograded, and the plateau seemed about to be carried.
At this critical moment Napoleon, favoured by the vigorous
stand made by one of his regiments in the centre, flew to
the left, whither he directed the column of Massena, which
had just arrived; the enemy were repulsed, and the French
left established itself on the heights of Trombalora. The
danger, however, was not yet passed. The rifflit was
warmly pursued by the Austrians, who had descended from
the heights of San Marco; Quasdanovich, having forced the
entrenchments of Osteria, was also beginning to ascend the
plateau of Rivoli; and Lusignan was moving by Affi upon
the rear of the French. Napoleon was in fact surrounded ;
but an instant’s reflection convinced him, that if he could
overpower Quasdanovich, he would have nothin* to fear
790 N A P O
Napoleon, from Lusignan, and that matters might easily be re-estab-
lished on the right. This intuitive judgment decided the
fortune of the day. As soon as the head of Quasdanovich’s
column appeared on the plateau it was assailed on both
flanks by the infantry, and in front by the cavalry under
Lasalle; and being forced back into the ravine, it was
thrown into complete disorder by the explosion of an
ammunition waggon in the midst of the troops when
crowded together in the hollow. Confusion and terror
reigned supreme; infantry, cavalry, artillery, fled pell-mell
by Canale. Having thus got rid of Quasdanovich, Napo¬
leon directed his efforts to support Vial, who was now in
full retreat. The Austrians, pursuing with headlong impe¬
tuosity, had got into disorder, when a chai'ge of two hun¬
dred horse completed the confusion; the panic communicated
itself to the centre, which immediately disbanded; and it
was only behind the Tasso that Alvinzi succeeded in rally¬
ing the fugitives. The fate of Lusignan was now sealed.
Attacked by Massena in front and by Rey in the rear, his
corps was destroyed, and he regained Montebaldo with only
a few hundred men.
On the evening of the battle, however, Napoleon learned
that Provera, having forced the centre of Augereau’s divi¬
sion, scattered along the Adige, had succeeded in passing
the river at Anghiari on the 13th, and was directing his
inarch on Mantua. On the 14th the Austrian general was
at Nogara, and on the 15th he arrived before Mantua, into
which he hoped to make good his entrance by the suburb
of St George. But finding it retrenched and occupied by
the besiegers, he next day attacked the post of La Pavorita,
whilst Wurmser sallied out against that of San Antonio.
Serrurier, however, succeeded in maintaining his ground;
Wurmser retired into the body of the place ; and Provera,
assailed on all sides by the forces which Napoleon had
promptly directed against him, was forced to lay down his
arms. Meanwhile Joubert, acting with equal vigour, pur¬
sued Alvinzi without intermission, turned both his flanks,
and getting upon his line of retreat, made 5000 prisoners.
Having lost half his army, the Austrian general now with¬
drew the remainder behind the Piave, leaving only 8000
men for the defence of the Tyrol, and the French army
resumed the positions which it had occupied before the
combats of Arcole. Such, then, was the famous battle of
Rivoli, in which Napoleon, with only thirty thousand men,
made twenty thousand prisoners. But its most important
result was the capitulation of Mantua, which surrendered
on the 2d of February, thus rendering the French undis¬
puted masters of Lombardy. The terms granted to Wurm-
ser were much more favourable than he had any reason to
expect, with a garrison reduced to the last extremity, and
suffering from almost every species of privation and misery.
Whilst Napoleon was at blows with Alvinzi, the court
of Rome, seduced by the instigations of Austria, had
broken the armistice concluded in the month of June im¬
mediately preceding, and raised a considerable body of
troops, the command of which was intrusted to General
Colli, whom the cabinet of Vienna had sent for the purpose.
Thinking it necessary to punish this hostile demonstration,
partly as an example to others, and partly also to get rid of
an enemy seldom dangerous but always inconvenient, Na¬
poleon formed a division, which he placed under the com¬
mand of Victor, and directed to march upon Imola in the
Romagna, where it arrived on the 2d of February, the very
day on which Mantua capitulated. The campaign was
neither long nor bloody. A corps of 4000 papal troops,
which attempted to defend the Senio, was totally routed;
' Faenza was carried at the point of the bayonet; and Colli,
with about 3000 men, were made prisoners. On the 9th
Victor arrived at Ancona, where he compelled 1200 men
to lay down their arms; on the 10th his van-guard entered
Loretto, and rifled the treasury of the Santa Casa; and by
LEON.
the 18th he had reached Tolentino, where his progress was Napoleon,
stopped by the conclusion of peace. The terms were such
as Napoleoiv thought fit to dictate. The pope confirmed
the cession of Avignon, the Comtat, and the legations of
Ferrara and Bologna; he also ceded the Romagna, obliged
himself to pay a contribution of L.1,200,000, and agreed
to execute, in the fullest manner, the provisions of Bologna
respecting wrorks of art.
The face of affairs being now completely changed, Napo¬
leon hastened to carry the war into the hereditary domi¬
nions of Austria. With 55,000 men he resolved to advance
against the enemy; and the Directory, with a view to
second him, ordered Moreau to repass the Rhine at Kehl,
whilst Hoche, after re-organizing the army of the Sambre
and Meuse, should again advance upon the Meyn. The
cabinet of Vienna had entertained the idea of carrying the
theatre of the war into Italy ; but it was not till after the
capture of Kehl by the Archduke Charles, and the disaster
of Alvinzi at Rivoli, that it was resolved to act upon this
principle. Accordingly, about the middle of January, the
archduke, who had just distinguished himself by a masterly
campaign, set out with three divisions of chosen troops to
traverse the Tyrol, and to oppose the conqueror of Italy.
Meanwhile, as the divisions of Bernadotte and Delmas
had actually joined the French army, whilst the Austrian
reinforcements were as yet only traversing Bavaria, Napo¬
leon, finding himself ready to take the field before the
enemy, resolved to profit by this advantage, anticipate his
adversary, and attack him a outrance, before his whole
force should be assembled. Having arranged his plan of
operations, and recalled Victor from Ancona to the Adige in
order to cover his communications, he put his army in mo¬
tion on the 10th of March, and with the mass of his force
advanced towards the Tagliamento, whilst Massena was di¬
rected to move on Feltre, in order to push the brigade of
Lusignan, left in observation on the Piave, and also to
menace the right of the archduke. This secondary move¬
ment was immediately successful. Lusignan retired, as¬
cending the Piave; but on the 13th, his rear-guard, being
overtaken at Longaro, was overpowered, and the general
himself made prisoner. Satisfied with having thrown the
Austrian brigade on Cadore, Massena now directed his
march on Spilimbergo and Gemona, in order more effec¬
tually to turn the Austrian right, and occupy the important
route of Poteba, of which the enemy might take advantage
in order to retire upon Villach. On the 16th Napoleon
arrived at Valvasone, on the Tagliamento. The archduke
had already commenced his retreat, leaving only a rear¬
guard on the Tagliamento. But the river being fordable,
the French columns rushed into the stream, overthrew the
enemy, and pursued them along the road leading to Pal-
manova. Prince Charles having now divided his army, he
himself fell back on Goriza; one of his columns, com¬
manded by Gontreuil and Bayalitsch, with the greater part
of the materiel, moved by Cividale and the valley of Nati-
sono upon Caporetto; and Ocksay, with the brigade of
Lusignan, covered the road from Villach to Chiusa-Veneta.
But the Isonzo, from its source as far as Goriza, flows be¬
tween two chains of mountains which are nearly impassible
on the side of Krainburg. Napoleon, therefore, manoeuvred
against the left flank of the archduke, with the view of
throwing him back into the valley of the Isonzo, where his
army would have found themselves in the Caudine Forks;
and, for a moment, he entertained some hope of accom¬
plishing his object. The left of the enemy was covered
by the town of Gradisca, occupied by four battalions. On
the 17th Bernadotte attacked the place in front; whilst
Serrurier, passing the Isonzo between the city and Monte-
falcone, took it in reverse, and forced the garrison to capi¬
tulate. Directing Guyeux by Cividale on Caporetto, Na¬
poleon now ascended the left bank of the Isonzo, for the
leon.
i
part
ofh
ciet
shm
sorrn
guil;
eleg;
disg,
shim
but
ofw,
Hutu
NAPOLEON.
Na.picon. purpose of cutting off the enemy from the road of Czernita,
or obliging him to plunge into the valley of the Isonzo by
Canale. But as soon as the French general had developed
his movement, the archduke fell back, in all haste, upon
Laybach, taking the road by Czernita and Adelsberg,
closely followed by Bernadotte. Disappointed in one ob¬
ject, Napoleon instantly turned his attention to another, and
directed all his efforts against the column of Gontreuil and
Bayalitsch, which, being headed by Massena at Tarvis, was
thrown back into the gorges of Oberpreth, and being there
surrounded, was forced to lay down its arms. On this oc¬
casion, 4000 prisoners, 25 pieces of cannon, and 400 bag¬
gage waggons, fell into the hands of the conquerors. °
From Laybach the archduke had marched by Klagen-
furth on St Veit, where he was joined by the first oPthe
reinforcements sent from Germany ; but not believing him¬
self even yet in a condition to deliver battle, he fell back
upon Neumarck, and on the 30th Napoleon arrived at St
Veit. On the 2d of April Massena forced the gorges of
Dirnstein, and at Neumarck and Hundsmarck defeated the
enemy’s rear-guard, consisting of the grenadiers who had
just arrived from the Rhine. The archduke continued his
retreat on Vienna, and on the 5th Napoleon arrived at Ju-
denburg. But the contest had now reached its term. Two
days afterwards, the Austrians, who had received instruc¬
tions from Vienna touching a letter which Napoleon had
addressed to Prince Charles from Klagenfurth, manifesting
a desire of accommodation, demanded an armistice, with a
view to treat of the preliminaries of peace. To this pro¬
posal Napoleon gladly consented. His position was in fact
more brilliant than solid. In these circumstances the ne¬
gotiations speedily advanced towards a favourable issue;
and, on the 18th of April 1797, the preliminaries of peace
were signed at Leoben, to which the French head-quarters
had been transferred.
The conclusion of peace with Austria was almost imme¬
diately followed by the annihilation of the republic of Ve¬
nice. The government of that state had done everything
to call down the vengeance of the conquerer. Besides
other offences, a repetition of the Sicilian Vespers had
taken place at Verona, where every Frenchman found in
the streets or houses was butchered in cold blood, and the
commandant, General Balland, forced to retire into the
castles with 3000 men. Napoleon now hastened to pour
the full storm of his wrath on the devoted republic. The
senate, in despair, made the most abject offers of submis¬
sion ; but it was too late. The price paid by the republic
for its perfidy and cruelty was the surrender of large terri¬
tories on the mainland, and five ships of war; the payment
of three millions of francs in gold, and as much more in
naval stores; and giving up twenty of the best pictures,
along with five hundred manuscripts.
After the occupation of Venice, and the dissolution of
its oligarchical government, Napoleon established his head¬
quarters at Passeriano, near Udine, where he awaited the
arrival of the plenipotentiaries which the emperor was to
send to treat of a definitive peace. In order to accelerate
the progress of the negotiations, he had, on the 24th of May,
791
tu I
ser
sio:
for
tor
of
nai
alo;
its
qua
arri
sen
the
signed a preliminary convention with the Duke de Gallo; Napoleon,
but the. cabinet of Vienna having refused to ratify this act, '
he repaired to Milan to hasten the organization of the Cis¬
alpine republic, by annexing to it Modena, Reggio, Bres¬
cia, Bergamo, Ferrara, and Bologna—the whole destined to
constitute a single state, with about 3,000,000 of inhabitants.
He also profited by his stay at Milan to direct the demo¬
cratic revolution which overturned the oligarchy of Genoa,
and placed all the friends of change in entire dependence
on France ; an event which was soon followed by the estab¬
lishment of another mushroom state, under the name of the
Ligurian republic.
By the treaty of Campo-Formio, concluded on the 3d of
October 1797, Austria yielded to France Belgium and the
boundaries of the Rhine and the Alps, recognised the Cis¬
alpine republic, and received, as an indemnification for the
loss of territory, Venice and her Italian provinces; whilst
France assumed the sovereignty of Dalmatia and the Ionian
Islands.
Napoleon having thus terminated the most wonderful
series of campaigns recorded in the history of war, set out
for Paris, where he arrived in the beginning of December.
The i eception which he met with, on this occasion, was
such as would have elated the most modest, and encouraged
the least ambitious. It was easy to see that he might as¬
pire to everything in France. Nevertheless, the time had
not yet arrived to profit by his fame, and take advantage
of his popularity ; it was necessary to wait until the Direc¬
tory had completed its discredit with the country, and lost
all hold of public opinion. France had indeed proclaimed
him as its hero ; but this was not enough, and to become
the head of the state, it was necessary to be at the same
time its deliverer and restorer.1
During the negotiations at Campo-Formio, Napoleon
had suggested the idea of a descent upon Egypt, though
he did not then think of undertaking it himself. The pro¬
ject had been relished by Talleyrand, who had replaced
Charles Delacroix in the ministry of foreign affairs. Napo¬
leon now offered to carry it into execution. Europe he
considered as but a mole-hill in comparison of Asia, whence
all the great glories had come. And from the view
which he took of the state of India at the time, he conceived,
that in undertaking to open a direct communication with
that country he was taking the surest means to strike an
effective blow at England. I he expedition to Egypt had
three objects : first, to establish on the Nile a French colony,
which, without having recourse to the system of cultivation
by slaves, should supply the produce of St Domingo and
the sugar islands ; secondly, to open new outlets for French
manufactures in Africa, Arabia, and Syria, and to obtain, in
retum, all the productions of these countries ; and, thirdly,
setting out fiom Egypt as a base of operations, to carry an
army of fifty thousand men to the Indus, and make common
cause with the Mahrattas, the Hindus, the Mussulmans, and
all the oppressed races of the Indian peninsula. The last
was the grand and ultimate object aimed at.
^ is Vue, was then a tributary of the Porte, one
of the most ancient allies of France ; but as the Mamelukes
On his return to Paris, Napoleon took up his residence in the same small and modest house which he had occupied before his de-
nf wfr .for Italy’ln th® ^ue Clmntereine, where he resumed his favourite studies and pursuits; contented, apparently, with the society
of his friends, and carefully avoiding any act which might seem intended or calculated to invite popular notice or distinction His s(£
ciety was much courted in the highest circles, and he occasionally received company at home; but pride as well as policy led him to
shun notoriety, and shrink from being stared at in the streets or saloons as the wonder of the day. On one occasion, when greeted with
some noisy demonstration of popular favour, “ Bah,” said he, “ they would crowd as eagerly around me if I we^e on mf wav to the
guillotine. At this period he was reserved and thoughtful, like one too much occupied with serious designs to take any pleasure in the
elegant frivolities of fashionable conversation. Wherever he appeared he was the man of Lodi, of Arcole, and of RivolidisdaTnLto
disgmse hm military bluntness in those brilliant circles where a rnan of an inferior stamp of character would have been ambition? to
shine. Piqued by this haughty demeanour, Madame de Stael made various attempts to enlist him amongst the number of her votaries
but without success. Whom,” said she, one day addressing herself to the victorious soldier, “whom do you considerastheffreate3’
oi women? insinuating a compliment in expectation of an equivalent. “ Her ” renlied Nanolerm drilv << ^ ^
number of children.” °This keL retort wasLt forgotten, am? the daughter ofVS ernmy ^ ^
792 N A P O
Napoleon, were the real masters of the country, and in open revolt
against the Sultan, it was thought that the Divan, already
occupied with the war against Paswan Oglou, pasha of
Widin, and that against the Wahabees, and obliged, from
weakness, to tolerate the independence of a number of
refractory pashas, would not, for a mere shadow of sove¬
reignty, throw itself blindly into the ranks of the enemy.
The preparations were accordingly carried on with great
activity, but with the utmost secrecy. All was under the
direction of Napoleon, and his characteristic energy every¬
where appeared. To draw the attention of England from
the ports of the Mediterranean, he visited those of the
Channel, and affected to occupy himself with the project of
crossing it, when his thoughts wrere directed towards the
invasion of Egypt. At length, all being ready, he repaired
to Toulon on the 10th of May 1798, and, on the 19th,
sailed from that port with thirteen ships of the line, six
frigates, and a fleet of transports, having on board 25,000
men. He was joined at sea by the squadrons which had
sailed from Bastia, Genoa, and Civita Vecchia, with from
7000 to 8000 men on board, destined to form part of the
expedition ; and on the 9th of June the whole arrived
before Malta. The subsequent history of the expedition,
until the return of Napoleon, is fully detailed under France ;
and in the article Egypt will be found an account of the
final conquest of that country by the British under Aber-
cromby and Hutchinson. It is clear, indeed, that, after the
destruction of the French fleet at Aboukir all the chances
of success were changed. It is no doubt true that Napoleon
might still hope to maintain himself in possession of the
country, provided he succeeded in attaching the inhabitants
to his cause. But two serious obstacles presented them¬
selves to the attainment of this object; namely, the mari¬
time blockade, which obstructed all exportation ; and the
peculiar nature of the Mohammedan religion, which forbids
all obedience or submission to an infidel power. Nor were
these difficulties lessened by the failure of the attack on St
Jean D’Acre, which, in proving that the invaders were not
invincible, encouraged resistance and invited hostility.1
The truth of this was soon exemplified by the landing of a
Turkish army of 15,000 men in the peninsula of Aboukir,
the fort of which they immediately stormed and carried,
putting the garrison to the sword. But they paid dear for
this momentary success. On the 25th of July 1799, Napo¬
leon pounced on them like an eagle on its prey, and anni¬
hilated them by a single blow.
The destruction of the Turkish army having consolidated
the position of the French in Egypt, Napoleon decided on
returning to France. Even when before St Jean D’Acre,
he ascertained that a new coalition had been formed ; and
at a later period he received, through Sir Sidney Smith,
several English journals, and the French gazette of Franc-
fort, which informed him of the reverses sustained by the
armies of Italy and the Rhine, as well as of the successive
revolutions which had completed the disorganization and
debasement of the Directory. The consummation which
he had contemplated before leaving France seemed to
have at length arrived ; and no obstacle stood in the way
to prevent his return to that country. Having left the
chief command to Kleber, Napoleon sailed from Alexandria
on the 24th of August 1799, with a small squadron of four
LEON. ^ —
ships, and, after a passage full of marvellous escapes, landed Napoleon,
at Frejus on the 6th of October. His presence excited
the enthusiasm of the people, and was considered by them
as the certain pledge of victory. His progress to the
capital had all the appearance of a triumphal procession,
and, upon reaching Paris, he found that everything w^as
ripe for a great change in France.
The circumstances attending the revolution of the 18th
of Brumaire (9th of November) have been narrated in the
article France. That event was not produced, but only
accelerated by the return of Napoleon. The necessity of
a change in the existing order of things had for some time
been generally felt and acknowledged. The Directorial
government having lost all hold on public opinion, and
become equally feeble and contemptible, it seemed neces¬
sary to replace it by an imposing authority ; and there is
none so much so as that which is founded upon military
glory. Napoleon perceived this in all its force. The Direc¬
tory could only be replaced by him or by anarchy; and, in
such a case, the choice of France could not for a moment
be doubtful. Accordingly, all parties now ranged them¬
selves under two distinct banners: on the one side were
the republicans, who opposed his elevation; and on the
other all France, which demanded it. A coup d'etat was
nevertheless necessary to produce the revolution of the 18th
of Brumaire; and this was effected by the employment
of the troops, although without spilling a drop of blood.
Napoleon had for a moment hoped that the projected change
would be carried by acclamation. He was disappointed.
But, after a short and noisy struggle, the republic, born
amidst anarchy, and baptized in blood, expired in clamour
and uproar—Sieyes assisting in the demolition of his own
work ; and the Directory wras replaced by a provisional
consulate, with Napoleon at its head. The dissolution of
the councils was followed by the appointment of a legisla¬
tive commission, and to a committee of this body was as¬
signed the task of preparing a new constitution, which was
afterwards denominated that of the year VIII.
Great as had been the ability displayed by Napoleon in
the field, few expected that he would evince equal talents
and aptitude for government. At the very first meeting of
the consuls, a lengthened discussion took place concerning
the internal condition and foreign relations of France, and
the measures not only of war, but of finance and diplomacy,
which it either was or might be expedient to adopt. To
the astonishment of Sieyes, Napoleon entered fully into all
these subjects, showed perfect familiarity with them even in
their minutest details, and suggested various resolutions,
which it was impossible not to approve. “ Gentlemen,”
said Sieyes, on reaching his house, where Talleyrand and
others awaited his arrival, “ I perceive that you have found
a master ; one who can do and will do every thing himself.”
The work of reform proceeded rapidly and surely: order
was everywhere established, and vigour infused into all the
departments of the state. The situation of France, however,
occasioned him some disquietude ; and, notwithstanding
the chances of success in his favour, he resolved to sue for
peace, which he could then do in good faith, because the
misfortunes of the preceding campaigns were not his work.
But Pitt turned a deaf ear to the application, and by this
refusal obliged Napoleon to enter upon that course ot
1 There are two proceedings connected with this expedition for which Napoleon has been severely and justly censured. The one was
the wholesale murder of the remains of the garrison of Jaffa, consisting of 2000 men, who had fallen into the hands of the French after
the storming of that town. The ruthless conqueror, seeing no ready way of disposing of these unfortunate men, ordered them at once
to be shot; and all who had escaped the terrors of the siege perished in consequence. The other point was the poisoning of those of his
soldiers who had been seized by the plague during the siege of St Jean d’-Acre. He had lesolved to march for Egypt, and the 50 poor
plague-smitten patients could not be conveniently removed, when their impatient and unscrupulous commander ordered them to be
poisoned by opium. His humanity in other instances on this retreat was certainly highly praiseworthy, yet there can be no doubt that
in these two cases he obeyed the spirit which, to a great extent, characterized his entire career. This was, to sacrifice anything, no
matter how precious—whether truth, honour, or even human life—whenever it materially stood in his way.
NAPOLEON.
sepai
Ion. victory and conquest which ultimately extended his empire
J over the greater part of the Continent.
War being thus inevitable, the First Consul issued a
decree, dated the 7th of January 1800, ordaining the forma¬
tion of an army of reserve, to consist partly of veterans, who
were ordered to rejoin their respective corps, but princi¬
pally of a new levy of 30,000 conscripts. He caused arms
to be forged ; appealed to the sentiment of national honour,
and assembled an army, young, it is true, but full of enthu¬
siasm. The miserable state of the army of Italy has already
been noticed ; but that of the Rhine, when united to the
army of Italy, presented a fine and formidable body of men,
the command of which Napoleon intrusted to Moreau, at the
same time sending him the recruits necessary to complete
his different corps, and to put him in a condition to assume
the offensive. The remainder of his disposable troops was
diiected on Dijon, where he organized an army of reserve,
amounting to 40,000 men, which, from that central point,
might be ready to march into Suabia, Switzerland, or Italy,
according as circumstances should require.
Finding that the attention of Melas was exclusively fixed
on Genoa, into which Massena, with the remains of his
force, had been obliged to throw himself; and being anxious,
if possible, to relieve that place, which was closely invested;
he resolved to give the preference to the shorter route of
the Great St Bernard, leaving that of the St Gothard to be
followed by the corps which were on their march from the
Rhine. In the beginning of May Napoleon set out for
Dijon, and on the 8th he arrived at Geneva, where he
made the necessary dispositions for effecting the passage
of the Alps. The operations which followed have been
pretty fully detailed in the article France. By a series of
well-combined manoeuvres and demonstrations, Napoleon
deceived Melas as to his movements, descended like fa
torrent from the Alps upon his line of communications, and,
by a single march, conquered Italy. Genoa had indeed
: surrendered ; but the battle of Marengo, fought on the 14th
of June, repaired everything, and, by a victory snatched
from the enemy, after he thought the fortune of the day
decided, completed at one blow the conquest of Italy.
Never as yet had Napoleon been in such imminent peril,
not even at Arcole ; never had genius and fortune more
happily conspired to change the fate of battle. The victory
was glorious, and its results were .immense. A convention
was entered into, by which Melas obtained permission to
retire with his army behind the Mincio ; and, in return, he
consented to give up Coni, Alexandria, and Genoa, until
the fort of Urbino, the citadels of Tortona, Milan, Turin,
Rizzighetone, Piacenza, Ceva, and Savona, and the castle
of Arena.
Meanwhile both parties continued their preparations for
a renewal of the contest; and as all hopes of peace had
entirely vanished, Napoleon resolved to put an end to the
armistice in the middle of November, and, notwithstand¬
ing the severity of the season, to recommence hostilities.
Moreau and Brune accordingly received orders to denounce
the armistice, and between the 17th and the 27th all the
t rench troops were put in motion. The fate of the contest
was to be decided in Germany, where hostilities recom¬
menced towards the end of November ; and, in a few days
afterwards, Moreau obtained a decisive victory at Hohen-
Iinden. The battle was obstinate and bloody, but never
for an instant doubtful; indeed it is one of the few instances
to be met with in war where complete success was obtained
by the literal execution of the plan previously devised by
t ic general-in-chief. Moreau lost not a moment in taking
measures to improve his success. The Austrians were
orced to sue for an armistice, which was concluded at Steyer
on the 23d of December; the cabinet of Vienna having
consented to detach itself from England, and to treat for a
separate peace. A definite treaty of peace was signed at
VOL. xv. &
793
Lunev'lle m 1801, by which France secured the boundaries Kapoleon
of the Rh'ne and the Alps. This treaty, in fact, differed P
but little from that which, in 1797, Napoleon had concluded
at Campo-Formio.
But amidst all these successes, the conspiracy of the 3d
of Nivose (24th of December) convinced Napoleon that he
was still upon a volcano. The plan was simple, for it con¬
sisted in obstructing the progress of Napoleon’s carriage as
it passed along the Rue St Nicaise, and in the same instant
exploding a machine crammed with all sorts of combustibles
and hence called the infernal machine. Napoleon escaped
by a miracle ; and the assassins were tried, condemned and
executed, glorying in their design, and lamenting that it had
not been successful.
The second coalition being now dissolved, England alone
maintained an attitude of hostility to France; but the pro¬
gress of events soon developed a prospect of an accommo¬
dation. Egypt and Malta were at first stumbling-blocks in
the way of an arrangement; but the conquest of the one
led to an adjustment respecting the other; and at length,
after a tedious negotiation, preliminaries of peace were
signed at London on the 1st of October 1801, and these
were afterwards followed by a definite treaty, which was
concluded at Amiens on the 27th of March 1802. But the
peace of Amiens, like that of Campo-Formio, proved merely
an armistice. It was signed in the midst of mutual suspi¬
cion; and, before the ink was dry, difficulties arose, and
from day to day accumulated the elements of a speedy and
inevitable rupture.
Dunng this short cessation of arms, the attention of the
hirst Consul was occupied with the re-establishment of re-
ligion, and the arrangement of a concordat with the pope.
I he churches were deserted and in ruins; and since the
amous civil constitution of 1791, the clergy had been in a
state of complete schism. His object was to restore the
one and to reconcile the other, but without suffering them
to acquire the power and influence they had formerly pos¬
sessed. His next measure was the establishment of a
system of national education; and this was followed by the
commencement of the great and difficult but highly im¬
portant task of providing France with a uniform code of
laws. Of the various remarkable codes known generally
under the collective designation of Code Napoleon, the
code civil de Frangais is unquestionably the best. It has
continued hitherto to be the law of France, and is perhaps
the most valuable result of his extraordinary reign. It was
his own proud anticipation that he would go down to pos¬
terity with the codes in his hand, and in this he was not
mistaken. Innumerable works of public utility were like¬
wise begun. Roads and bridges were planned; museums
were founded; and the vain were gratified with rising
monuments of magnificence, whilst the reflecting recognised
m every such display the depth and forecast of a genius
formed for empire. This was more fully evinced in the
measures by which Napoleon sought to secure the prolonga¬
tion of his power. The establishment of the consulate
for life, which was decreed on the 2d of August 180?
proved a grand step towards the completion of his design’
and formed the primary base of the edifice which it yet
remained for him to construct. This dignity had already
been prorogated for ten years by a senatus-consultum of the
6th of May; but on referring the matter to the people it
was decided that the consulate should be conferred upon
him for life. He was now virtually sovereign of France.
His task was to terminate the Revolution by giving to it a
legal character, that it might be recognised and legiti¬
mated by the public law of Europe. He instituted, like-
wise, a new order of chivalry, called the Legion of Honour
which, if it served to further his scheme of empire, did not
militate with that equality which alone he souo-ht to
maintain. &
5 H
794
Napoleon
NAPOLEON.
The causes which so soon led to the rupture of the hol-
J low truce of Amiens will be found recorded in the articles
Fbance and Britain. On the 18th of May 1803 Great
Britain declared war against France; and that fierce contest
recommenced, which, after an unexampled career of victory
on the part of Napoleon, was destined to terminate in his
downfall. His first measures were, the occupation of Naples
and of Hanover; and his next project was one of a far more
daring and formidable character, namely, that of invading
England, and thus striking a blow at the heart of his inve¬
terate and implacable enemy. (See Britain.)
The English ministry were not without serious appre¬
hensions as to the result of the threatened invasion; and
to cause a diversion, they are said to have countenanced
the unwarrantable warfare of plots and conspiracies. The
projects of Pichegru, Georges Cadoudal, and others of the
same stamp, have already been described in the article
France. That assassination was contemplated by some of
them, appears from the evidence of Cadoudal; but the real
designs of these men have never been brought clearly to
the light. Finding himself exposed to the attempts of
desperadoes who aimed at his life, Napoleon resolved to
deal a decisive blow, which he considered as indispensable
to strike terror into his enemies. A distinguished Bourbon
was at the gates of Strasburg; the police pretended to have
discovered evidence which implicated him in the designs of
those who had plotted against the life of the First Consul;
and under the first excitement produced by this informa¬
tion, the fatal command was issued to seize the prince and
bring him to Paris. The order was promptly obeyed, and
the Due d’Enghien, having been seized at Ettenheim, in
the territory of Baden, was carried to Paris, where on his
arrival he was tried by a military commission, as an emi¬
grant who had borne arms against France, condemned, and
shot almost immediately after the sentence had been pro¬
nounced. This was the most unwarrantable occurrence in
the life of Napoleon. That he was misled by the infamous
reports of the secret police, and by the perfidious sugges¬
tions of those around him, may perhaps be true; indeed,
there is good reason to believe that such was the case. He
was likewise kept in ignorance of the afflicting circumstances
which accompanied the catastrophe; and the appeal made
to his clemency by the unfortunate prince was infamously
withheld until after the sacrifice of the ill-fated victim had
been consummated; but, with every allowance which can
justly be made, it must nevertheless be admitted that, in
commanding the seizure of the duke in a neutral territory,
he became answerable for all the consequences which
ensued, and that he had the double misfortune to incur the
guilt of a public crime, and at the same time to commit a
political error of the greatest magnitude.
The conspiracies intended to subvert the power of Na¬
poleon, however, served only to confirm it; and the neces¬
sity of restoring to France an hereditary and stable govern¬
ment had now become equally obvious and urgent. A
motion was accordingly made and carried in the Tribunate,
that the imperial dignity should be conferred upon Napo¬
leon ; the legislative body without hesitation adopted the
proposition; and a senatus-consultum appeared, in which
he was declared Emperor of the French, with remainder to
his male line, or, in the event of his having no children, to
any son or grandson of his brothers whom he might choose
to adopt as his heir. This decree was sent down to the
departments, and on the 1st of December 1804, the pre¬
fects reported that between three and four millions of citi¬
zens had subscribed their assent to the proposed measure.
By the army the elevation of Napoleon was hailed with
enthusiasm ; and when he visited the camp at Boulogne, he
was received with an excess of military devotion. His
coronation took place at Paris on the 2d of December,
amidst all that was most splendid and illustrious in that
caprtal. The ceremony was performed in the cathedral of Nanni.
Notre-Dame, where the Pope officiated on the occasion,
and consecrated the diadems, which Napoleon placed on
his own head, and on that of the Empress Josephine In
like manner, on the 25th of May 1805, he placed on his
head the iron crown of the Lombard kings, in their ancient
capital, and henceforth styled himself Emperor of the
French and King of Italy; announcing, however, that the
two crowns should not be held by the same person after
his death.
The history of the wars of the empire belongs to that of
France, Spain, Austria, Prussia, and Russia, to which the
reader is accordingly referred. The Emperor Napoleon
again made an offer of peace, which was rejected, and a third
coalition was formed against France. The ostensible ob¬
jects of this league were, to restore the independence of
Holland and Switzerland, to free the north of Germany
from the presence of the French troops, to deliver Pied¬
mont, and to compel the evacuation of Italy ; but its grand
aim and design, in as far as concerned England, was to find
employment for the French troops on the Continent, and to
avert, for a time at least, the dangers of a threatened in¬
vasion. The hopes of the allies were, however, speedily
crushed by the decisive victories of Ulm and Austerlitz;
and Napoleon would soon have been at liberty to turn his
arms against England, had it not been for two events, one
of which served in a great measure to counterbalance his
successes in Germany. We allude to the battle of Trafal¬
gar, in which, on the 21st of October 1805, the very day
after Mack surrendered at Ulm, the French grand fleet
was annihilated by one mighty blow, and the means of
effecting a descent on England completely destroyed. The
other event above referred to was the declaration of war by
Prussia, after Austria had been crippled and forced to re¬
ceive the law from the conqueror, and whilst the Russian
army was still behind the Vistula. This rash and head¬
long conduct was dearly expiated at Jena and Auerstadt,
and the dismemberment of the Prussian monarchy formed
a just retribution for the double perfidy and presumptuous
confidence of the cabinet of Berlin. The campaign of
1807, after a prodigious effusion of blood, terminated with
the battle of Friedland; and the peace of Tilsit, which fol¬
lowed, not only confirmed the humiliation of Prussia, but
appeared to throw Russia into the arms of France. The
French emperor had already made a gigantic stride towards
the establishment of an European monarchy, and the
effectual exclusion of English commerce from the ports of
the Continent, by which means he vainly hoped eventually
to reduce Great Britain to the necessity of listening to
terms of accommodation.
In prosecution of this system, which ultimately proved
the main instrument of his ruin, when, to all human appear¬
ance, it seemed about to be crowned with success, Napo¬
leon commenced his aggressions on Portugal and Spain, and
thus entangled himself in a struggle which became the
proximate cause of his ultimate overthrow. In vain did he
bring all his means to bear upon this unhappy contest; in
vain did he drive the English under Sir John Moore out of
Spain. The formation of a fourth coalition again called
him away into Germany, where Austria was actively pre¬
paring to take up arms, in the hope of recovering what
she had lost, and freeing herself from the yoke of France.
The attempt, however, proved unsuccessful; and though
accident gave her a temporary advantage at Aspern, the
battle of Wagram placed her once more at the feet of the
conqueror. At this moment the power of Napoleon seem¬
ed irresistible. No enemy opposed him on the Continent
except the insurgents in Spain, aided by the English;
and had he instantly directed his whole energies to termi¬
nate the war in the Peninsula, it is probable that his power
would have remained unshaken by any reverse likely to
befall him. But he judged otherwise ; and, in seeking to
attach Austria to his interests by a marriage with a prin-
cess of the imperial family, he became involved in a system
of pohcy, the ultimate term of which was the abdication of
1814. from this moment his ascending movement was
stopped ; he had reached the culminating point of his
greatness ; and though his genius had as yet lost nothin?
or its vigour, his power began to decline.
The events of 1810 and 1811 belong chiefly to the his¬
tory ot Spain, where the genius of Wellington was gradually
but steadily maturing a resistance which every day became
more formidable. Those of 1812 were fraught with the
destiny of Na.poleon. He had long regarded a war with
Russia as inevitable. The co-existence of two such empires
as those of France and Russia seemed to him incompatible ;
and differences speedily arose which led to a terrible col¬
lision. The preparations on both sides were immense ; the
fate of Europe, or rather of the empire of the world, was
about to be decided in a single campaign ; but Napoleon
contemplated the conflict without dread, because, in his
view, it afforded the only means of terminating for ever the
long struggle which had consumed his life. The result is
well known. Amidst the frozen steppes of the Scythian
wilderness perished those invincible legions which had
carried the imperial eagles in triumph to Vienna, to Berlin,
to Warsaw, and to Moscow. No such catastrophe had
ever been witnessed in modern times; all preceding ex¬
amples of suffering and disaster in war sank into nothing
in comparison with it. Yet Napoleon, undismayed by the
magnitude of the calamity, displayed the almost miraculous
resources of his genius in repairing the losses he had sus-
stamed ; and his appearance in Germany early in 1813, at
the head of a powerful army, is perhaps the most astonish¬
ing circumstance in his extraordinary career. But fortune
had now completely changed sides. Victorious at Lutzen,
*Tu*:ze.n’ and at Dresden, he was, through the treachery
of his allies, and the faults of his lieutenants, defeated at
Leipzig, and forced to retreat beyond the Rhine. Still he
maintained the struggle with incomparable energy and per¬
severance ; and never did his transcendent genius for war
display itself more resplendently than in the astonishino-
campaign of 1814, when, by incredible efforts, he strugglecf
though in vain, to expel the invaders from the territory of
France. But the battle of Montmatre, followed bv the
capitulation of Paris, decided the fate of the campaign, and
with it that of Napoleon. The marshals were tired of war,
the spirit of the nation had sunk under its misfortunes, the
people demanded that a term should be put to their suffer¬
ings, and Napoleon himself shrunk from entailing upon
France the still greater calamities of a civil war. In these
circumstances, he resolved to abdicate, and, on the 18th of
April, signed an instrument by which he renounced for
himself and his heirs the thrones both of France and of
Italy.
The allies having left Napoleon the choice of his retreat,
he chose the island of Elba, near to his native Corsica, and
set out, accompanied by four commissioners, one from each
of the great allied powers. He was allowed to retain the
title of Emperor, and to take along with him a small num¬
ber of those veteran soldiers who had accompanied him in
so many dangers, and whose attachment was not shaken by
his misfortunes. In traversing France on his way to the
place of his exile, he had occasion to observe the extreme
diveigence of opinion respecting himself; for in propor¬
tion as he was beloved and regretted in the environs of
cans and the provinces of the east, he was detested in
those of the south, where even the respect due to misfor¬
tune was denied him; and he was more than once obliged
to put himself under the protection of the stranger, to
defend his life against the people who had been so often
intoxicated with his triumphs. On the 4th of May he
NAPOLEON.
795
landed in Elba, wherein, being separated from his wife and Napoleon
son, and without any projects for the future, he seemed to  
regard himself as politically dead to Europe, with no other
task remaining for him to perform but that of writing the
history of the rise and fall of his power.
Napoleon anxiously watched the progress of events,
which outran his expectations ; he was also well informed
as to what passed at the congress of Vienna; and bavin-
learned in time that the ministers of Louis XVIIL had
proposed to the congress to remove him from Elba in
order to send him in exile to St Helena, he conceived a
project which will appear audacious in history, but which
m reality, circumstances indicated as the only reasonable
course to be followed. He resolved to return to France.
His preparations were not long; he brought nothing with
him but arms, and trusted that France would provide the
rest.. After a passage of five days, he landed without op¬
position at Cannes, near the spot where, fifteen years before,
he had disembarked on his return from Egypt. This me¬
morable event took place on the 1st of March 1815. Fie
had no determinate plan, because he wanted particular data
as to the state of affairs; his intention was to be guided by
events, making provision only for probable contingencies.
Nor was he at all embarrassed as to the route he should
take ; for he required a point of support, and as Grenoble
was the nearest fortress, he lost no time in directing his
march on that place, which opened its gates to receive him.
1 he enthusiasm of the troops knew no bounds, and the re¬
ception which he everywhere met with confirmed him in
is project. In fact, his march to Paris was throughout a
triumphal procession. In twenty days this new revolution
was terminated without having cost a single drop of blood.
Amidst the acclamations of all France, Napoleon was rein-
stated on the throne. The grandeur of his enterprise had
effaced the recollection of his misfortunes ; it had restored
to him the confidence of the French people; and he was
once more the man of their choice.
In a proclamation published by the Congress of Vienna
to all Europe, it was declared that Napoleon, “ by appear¬
ing again in France, had deprived himself of the protection
of the law, and manifested to the world that there could
neither be peace nor truce with him.” Nothing remained
therefore, but to commit the future destiny of Europe to the
aibitiement of arms. Various attempts were made to open
a negotiation with the allies, but all proved abortive; and
as Napoleon had no intention to await the onset of his
enemies, he resolved to fall upon the Anglo-Prussians, be¬
fore the troops of Austria or Russia could be in a condition
to take part in the conflict. By the end of May he had
about 180,000 ready to take the field, and by the middle of
July this number would have been increased to 300 000 •
but by transporting the seat of war into Belgium, he would
save France from invasion, and perhaps take the enemy
unprepared. These considerations decided him to become
the assailant. On the 12th of June he set out from Paris
and on the 14th he established his head-quarters at Beau¬
mont, where, in order to profit by the dissemination of the
enemy, he judged it necessary to open the campaign with¬
out a moment’s delay. °
Accordingly, he passed the frontier of Belgium on the
15th, and on the following day advanced to Fleurus, where
he discovered the Prussian army ranged in order of battle
between St Amand and Sombref. Ney had received or¬
ders to push forward with 42,000 men by the Brussels road
as far as Quatre Bras, an important point situated at the
intersection of the roads leading to Brussels, Neville Char
leroi, and Namur, and there to keep the English in’check
and prevent them from advancing to the aid of the Prussians’
whom Napoleon proposed to attack with the 72 000 men
that remained under his command. The battle of Li-nv
followed, m which the Prussians were defeated; and so
796 N A P 0
Hapoleon. complete was the rout, that, of 70,000 men, their generals
were never afterwards able to assemble more than about
30,000. A night pursuit would have annihilated them.
But Ney had been much less fortunate at Q/uatre Bras,
where he displayed great infirmity, neither bringing his
whole force to bear on the English, nor throwing himself
back on Bry to act on the rear of the Prussians. The
Prussian army being thus defeated, Grouchy was detached
in pursuit of it with 35,000 men, whilst Napoleon proceeded
to turn his efforts against Wellington. It is not necessary
here to detail the operations which followed, nor even to
describe that fierce conflict which decided the fate of Na¬
poleon, and with it that of Europe. (See France.) The
result, more fatal to France than that of either Agincourt
or Poictiers, is known to every one. By the timely arrival
of the Prussians, who had given the slip to Grouchy, and
their junction with the English, the French army was not
only defeated, but totally dispersed.
Napoleon returned to Paris, in the hope that the national
spirit might be roused, and that all good Frenchmen would
unite in defending their country against another foreign
invasion. But he soon found that he had deceived himself.
Misfortune had deprived him of all consideration ; he ex¬
perienced opposition where he least expected it; the cham¬
bers rose in a state of insurrection against him ; and, in a
short time, he was compelled to sign a second abdication.
He then decided to retire to America, and at first proposed
to embark at Bordeaux, where his brother Joseph had hired
a merchant-vessel for the purpose. But he afterwards
changed his purpose, and set out for Rochefort, where he
arrived on the 3d of July. Finding it impossible, however,
to put to sea, and nearly equally perilous to return to the
interior, he took the resolution of throwing himself upon
the generosity of the prince regent of England ; and, on
the 15th, embarked on board of the Bellerophon, in Aix
Roads. By a formal decision of the English government,
he was sent as a prisoner of war to St Helena, where he
pined away in hopless exile, until death put an end to his
misery on the 3d of May 1821. In his will he had ex¬
pressed a desire that his body should be conveyed to France
and buried on the banks of the Seine, “ amongst the French
people whom he had loved so wellbutthis request could not,
it seems, be complied with until 1840, when, at the request
of the government of Louis Philippe, Britain permitted the
removal of his remains to France. The body was accordingly
deposited with unparalleled pomp and display in the Hotel
des Invalides, on the 15th December 1840. (j. B—e.)
(For particulars of Napoleon’s residence in St Helena, and
of his endless petty disputes with his keepers Cockburn and
Lowe, see the work of Las Cases; and the History of the
Captivity of Napoleon at St Helena, from the Letters and
Journals of the late Sir Hudson Lowe, by W. Forsyth, 3
vols. 8vo, 1853.)
A few words remain to be said regarding the personal
character of the man Napoleon. The materials for such
an estimate still continue to increase. The memoirs dic¬
tated by himself to Count Montholon and General Gour-
gaud at St Helena possess great value and interest, notwith¬
standing the disingenuousness which they display, and the
amount of misstatement and palpable untruth in which
they abound. Facts and dates and characters are all deli¬
berately sacrificed for the purposes apparently of stage effect
and theatrical eclat. More satisfactory materials, however,
have been recently accumulating for forming a correct
judgment of his policy, motives, and general character. The
Letters and Journals of Sir Hudson Lowe, already referred
to, afford not only information respecting the character of
the prisoner of war hopelessly chained to his rocky islet of
St Helena, but enable the reader, from the striking con¬
versations which they occasionally record, to obtain a true
LEON.
glimpse into his past history. Still more satisfactory Napoleon
materials, however, are to be met with in the Confidential
Correspondence of Napoleon Bonaparte with his brother
Joseph, sometime King of Spain, 2 vols., 1855, selected and
translated from the Memoires of Du Casse, 1853-55. These
letters extend over the period from 1795 to 1815, and refer
both to his personal and family history, and to nearly all
the remarkable events of his remarkable career. They
possess the additional advantage, moreover, of presentino-
him somewhat in his every-day attire, and may be regarded
as the most genuine, because the most unconscious and acci¬
dental, disclosure of his character which posterity can now
read. They indicate in unmistakeable characters the
strange blending of grandeur and meanness, of gigantic
power and heartless selfishness, which reigned supreme in
his nature. Success was his ruling motive, and to that
everything had to succumb. He shed blood like water to
make his projects float over all obstacles; and when an object
was once set steadily before him, he hewed his way pitilessly
on until he reached it. He shot down his prisoners by
thousands when they proved an incumbrance, and ordered
his own soldiers to be poisoned when they were smitten by
the plague. “ Sire, General Clarke cannot combine with
General Junot, for the dreadful fire of the Austrian battery.”
“ Let him carry the battery,” called the chief. “ Sire,
every regiment that approaches the heavy artillery is sacri¬
ficed ; Sire, what orders ?”—“ Forward, forward!” was the
reply. “ My lads you must not fear death,” he said to a
regiment of chasseurs before the battle of Jena; “ when
soldiers brave death they drive him into the enemies’ ranks.”
When the Russian army was making its retreat over a fro¬
zen lake after the battle of Austerlitz, the emperor came
riding at full speed, shouting to the artillery, “ You are
losing time: fire upon those masses: they must be engulphed:
fire upon the ice !” It is needless to add that the ice was
fired upon, and that thousands of Russians and Austrians
were buried under the waters of the lake. If the Alps
were pronounced impassable ; “ There shall be no Alps,”
was made the order of the day. Napoleon can hardly be
called cruel or bloodthirsty, but he was as remorseless as fate,
and seemed never to have known pity. He would risk
everything to gain his end—money, troops, and even him¬
self ; but his movements were never reckless, and without
due deliberation and insight. “ He never blundered into
victory,” says Emerson, “ but won his battles in his head
before he won them on the field.” “ My hand of iron,” he
said, “ was not at the extremity of my arm; it was imme¬
diately connected with my head.” Embarrassments of con¬
science and scruples of sentiment and affection were un¬
known to him. If he had a work to do, nothing could
stand in its way. “ They charge me,” he said, “ with the
commission of great crimes ; men of my stamp do not com¬
mit crimes such was his justification of himself. While
fond of regarding himself, however, as the “ Child of Des¬
tiny,” no man ever more thoroughly understood his busi¬
ness. Nothing was effected by magic ; the calmest pene¬
tration was brought to bear upon everything ; and he knew
the value to a grain—of gold, iron, ships, and men, in all
their possible combinations. If the enemy had three men
for his one, he made the contest a matter of simple calcu¬
lation ; and strained all his superhuman genius for manoeu¬
vring and evolution, to attack their forces at an angle, and
destroy in piecemeal what he could not crush in the mass.
“ On any point of resistance he concentrated squadron on
squadron in overwhelming numbers, until it was swept out
of existence.” His troops almost worshipped him: their
devotion is best indicated in the order of the day at the
battle of Austerlitz, when Napoleon, unlike ordinary gene¬
rals, promised his troops that he would keep out of reach
of fire. With his officers, his freedom and companionship
was never so great as with his ordinary troops. “ When
njos
nne. ^ar|
1
P
ai
e:
at
w
w
tl
of
of
m
h
ti
b
in
at
sc
P>
ra
sit
ho
as
pr
bo
Rt
bu
be
str
nta
an
sor
of
fro
Cc
Bo
in
bu
In
me
int
fac
La
Cai
hel
N A R
yos soldiers have been baptized,” he remarked, “ in the fire of
a battle-field, they have all one rank in my eyes ” He
■ne. accordingly made merit and personal valour the passports
to distinction. The cross of the Legion of Honour was the
reward of bravery ; and he raised seventeen men from the
rank of common soldiers to that of king, marshal, duke, and
general. He was nevertheless unjust to his generals when
his boundless egotism came in the way; and we find him
meanly appropriating the fame due to Kellerman and Ber-
nadotte. Junot, who was true to him through all hazards,
he intrigued to ruin, because his manners were too familiar
for the taste of the emperor. Here is a glimpse into his
relation to men :—“ There are two levers for moving men
interest and fear. Love is a silly infatuation, depend upon
it. Friendship is but a name. I love nobody. I do not
even love my brothers ; perhaps Joseph a little from habit,
and because he is my elder; and Duroc, I love him too ;
but why ? Because his character pleases me ; he is stern and
resolute, and I believe the fellow never shed a tear. For
my part I know very well that I have no true friends. As
long as I continue to be what I am, I may have as many
NARANJOS, a cluster of small islands amongst the
Philippines, 12 miles N.E. of Masbate. Long. 123. 54. E.,
Lat. 12. 29. N.
NARBO MARTIUS. (See Narbonne.)
NARBONNE, a town of France in the department of
Aude, pleasantly situated on a branch of the Aude, in a
plain surrounded by small hills, about 8 miles from the sea,
and 33 E. of Carcassonne. It is surrounded by walls, and
entered by four gates. The streets are narrow, crooked,
and dirty, and the houses ill built. There are several public
walks in the town, the principal being UAllee des Soupirs,
which has avery fine appearance. The cathedral of St Just is
the principal building in the town ; it is a fine Gothic edifice
of the thirteenth century, and is remarkable for the height
of its roof, which exceeds 130 feet. The high altar and
many of the monuments are of marble; but all the statues
have been mutilated by the republicans during the revolu¬
tion. The choir is the only part of this church which has
been finished. 1 he church of St Paul, which was also built
in the thirteenth century, is in the Romanesque style. The
archbishop s palace is a castellated building with an ancient
square tower attached to it. Narbonne contains three hos¬
pitals, barracks, a theatre, public library, &c.; and has
manufactures of verdigris, leather, linen, and bonnets, be¬
sides potteries, brickworks, dyeworks, and distilleries. The
honey of the vicinity is highly esteemed; and this, as well
as corn, wine, oil, brandy, wax, saltpetre, &c., form the
principal articles of commerce. The modern town of Nar¬
bonne occupies the site of the ancient Narbo Martins, a
Roman colony founded in 118 b.c. None of the ancient
buildings now remain, though the sites of some may still
be traced. The old materials were largely used in the con-
stiuction of the walls by Louis XII. and Francis I.; but
many sculptures, inscriptions, &c., have been collected in
a museum, which is one of the richest in collections of the
sort in France. After the first colonization of Narbo, many
of the soldiers of Caesar’s I enth Legion were settled here,
rom whom the town derived the name of Decumanorum
Colonia. It was taken by the Visigoths in 462, by the
Burgundians in 508, by the Franks in 531, and by the Moors
in 7 / 9. Charles Martel defeated the Moors under its walls,
but the town held out until it was taken by Pepin in 759.
In the middle ages it was one of the most important com¬
mercial towns in this part of France; but afterwards it fell
into obscurity, and is now chiefly distinguished for its manu¬
facturing industry. Narbonne was the birth-place of the
Latin poet Varro Atacinus, and of the Emperor Aurelius
Carus. A court of first instance and one of commerce is
held here. Pop. (1856) 12,742.
N A R
pretended friends as I please. Leave sensibility to women
S10u <^ ^6 firm in heart and in purpose, or they
should have nothing to do with war and government.” He
fought sixty battles, and felt that he must go on fighting or
it was all over with him. “ My power would fall were I
not to support it by new achievements. Conquest has made
me what I am, and conquest must maintain me.” France
both thought and fought with him for a time, but got tired
of the game of fighting with her neighbours and impover¬
ishing herself, and in 1814 joined all Europe in crying
assez de Bonaparte. His absorbing ambition and bound¬
less egotism blighted with death, like the upas-tree, every¬
thing that came within his sphere. Millions alike of men
and money sacrificed and squandered could, on his princi¬
ple, produce no permanent result. The world never wit¬
nessed a grander attempt to succeed without a conscience.
I he intellect, the will, the resources of the man seemed often
superhuman ; but he was destitute of moral principle, and
laughed at rectitude. He broke friendship with truth, and
thereby exposed himself to that terrible retribution which
sooner or later overtakes all insincerity and wrong-doing.
NARBOROUGH, Sir John, a British naval commander,
was sprung from an old Norfolk family, and became lieu¬
tenant of the “Portland’ in 1664. His first engagement
was in the contest of June 1666, between Prince Rupert
and Monk on the one side, and the Dutch admirals Van
iromp and De Ruyter on the other. His conduct in this
hotly-contested action was the cause of his rapid promotion.
Before two years had passed he was captain of the “ Assu-
lance, and in 1669 he was appointed to command an ex¬
pedition of discovery to the South Seas. Two years were
spent in this voyage. In the following year his courage
and ability were again conspicuous at the naval battle of
Solebay, and recommended him to the notice of the govern¬
ment. He was soon afterwards promoted to the rank of
rear-admiral, and dignified with a knighthood. The great
honour of his life, however, was his appointment to the com¬
mand of the fleet sent in 1675 to suppress the Tripoline
piracies. After routing several corsairs, and chasing others
into their ports, he arrived before Tripoli at the beginnino-
of 1676. Lieutenant Cloudesley Shovel was despatched
to negotiate with the Dey, and at the same time to make
obseivations on the harbour. The attempt at negotiation
failed, but the position of the shipping was ascertained.
Accordingly, at midnight on the 4th March, the boats of
the British fleet entered the harbour, burnt the Tripolitan
ships, and returned without the loss of a single man. This
bold stroke frightened the Dey into agreeing to a treaty.
Scarcely had Sir John Narborough returned home, than he
was sent with a squadron on a similar expedition against
the Algerines. He committed great havoc among these
incorrigible pirates, turned his guns against their capital,
and forced them to come to an agreement. No sooner, how¬
ever, had the admiral sailed out of sight, than the Deys of
Tripoli and Algiers both returned to their old piratical prac¬
tices. Soon after his return to England, Sir John was ap¬
pointed a commissioner of the navy, a post which he held till
his death in 1688. (Allen’s Battles of the British Navy.)
NARCISSUS, a freedman of the Emperor Claudius,
became the secretary of his master, and rose to have great
influence in the empire. His unscrupulous cunning, and
his power over the mind of the emperor, rendered him a
useful tool in the hands of Messalina, the profligate wife
of Claudius. To gratify her revenge, he accomplished
the destruction of Appius Silanus. For the same end he
seized the occasion when Scribonianus was condemned for
treason, to implicate many innocent persons in the con¬
spiracy. At length the league between these two wily
assassins was dissolved, and they directed their deadly arts
against each other. The wary prudence of Narcissus soon
797
Nar¬
borough
II
Narcissus.
798
N A R
N A R
Nardo gave him the advantage. Hearing that Messalina, in her
II headlong career of debauchery, had married C. Silius, he
Narses. carry the information to the emperor at Ostia.
He returned to Rome with the entire command over the
person and mind of the facile Claudius, and ordered Mes¬
salina to be immediately put to death. For his prompt
conduct on this occasion he was raised to the dignity of the
prsetorship. It was in opposition to the wishes and influ¬
ence of Narcissus that Agrippina was elevated to the place
of Messalina in a.d. 49. A life-struggle arose in conse¬
quence between him and the new empress. He continued
to retain the favour of the emperor. But the ruthless and
ambitious Agrippina framed and executed a plot which
ruined both the emperor and his favourite. In 54 a.d.
Narcissus was persuaded to visit the warm baths of Cam¬
pania for his health, and during his absence his master was
poisoned, to make room for Nero. His own death was then
accomplished without any difficulty.
NARDO (anc. Neritum), a town of Naples, province
of Otranto, in a well-cultivated district, 9 miles N.N.E. of
Gallipoli. It is well built, and has a cathedral, several other
churches, and an hospital. Olives are extensively grown
in the neighbourhood, cottons and snuff are manufactured,
and a considerable trade is carried on in these articles. In
the marshes between Nardo and the sea will-o’-wisps are
frequently seen, and have given rise to many local super¬
stitions. Nardo, together with Gallipoli, forms the see of
a bishop. Pop. 9000.
NARO, a town of Sicily, province of Girgenti, on a
river of the same name, 13 miles E. of the town of Girgenti.
It stands on a height which is surrounded by fertile and
picturesque valleys; and it contains a royal college and a
house of refuge. In the neighbourhood large quantities of
sulphur are found, in which, as well as in oil and wine, a
considerable trade is carried on. Many ancient remains
have been found at Naro. Pop. 10,740.
NARSES, a great general who rose, about the beginning
of the sixth century, from the humble position of a slave
and eunuch in the household of the Emperor Justinian at
Constantinople. Possessing the body of a boy and the
voice of a woman, he had yet the soul of a hero, and the
large mind and persuasive tongue of a statesman. From a
menial office in the palace he rose, in course of time, to be
chamberlain and treasurer to the Emperor. His talents were
next employed in several embassies. To all these duties
he proved himself equal. He was therefore fixed upon by
his master as the proper person to counteract the influence
which Belisarius was gaining over the army in Italy by his
successes against the Goths. Setting out for the scene of
war in 538 at the head of 7000 men, he joined Belisarius
at Firmium. The purpose of his visit was executed with
a vigour and thoroughness that endangered the Roman
cause. The army was forthwith divided into two jealous
factions. Belisarius found himself hampered and thwarted
on all sides both in the council and in the field. In vain
he asserted, that he had the imperial authority for exacting
absolute obedience. Narses pointed out to him in the
commission of the emperor the saving clause, “ that the
officers should obey him in everything compatible with the
welfare of the empire.” In vain he drew up his army be¬
fore the walls of Urbino. Narses decamped with a great
part of the soldiers during the night. Meanwhile the
Goths, released from every check, had burst forth with fresh
vigour, laid Milan in ruins, and inundated the northern
provinces of Italy. Justinian then saw that it was time to
recall his over-efficient servant.
During the twelve years that followed 539, Narses con¬
tinued to conduct himself with unfailing tact amid the in¬
trigues and jealousies of the court, and steadily to rise in
the estimation of Justinian. In 551 he was chosen to re¬
cover those parts of Italy which had been wrested by the
Goths after the departure of Belisarius. The empire was
astonished at the choice. But the despised eunuch accepted
the high office, and began to manifest all the spirit and
ability of one born to command. Prevailing upon Justi¬
nian to surrender into his power the imperial treasury, he
used the money with no niggardly hand in purchasing
equipments, conciliating the soldiers, hiring mercenaries,
and bribing enemies. In the spring of 552, a completely-
accoutred army of 100,000 men was ready to follow him to
Italy. He set out from Philippopolis, and reached Salona.
He then marched along the shore of the Adriatic, attended
by his fleet, until he arrived at Ravenna. Nine days were
spent in that city in refreshing his soldiers, and in collecting
the fragments of the Italian army. Then hastening by
forced marches to meet the enemy, he passed under the
walls of Rimini, bent his course over the hills of Urbino,
and entered on the Flaminian Way. On an evening of
July, the Goths under their valiant King Totila appeared
in sight near the town of Taginae. On the following day
the battle began ; the Romans were completely victorious,
and the Goths left their king and 6000 men dead upon the
field. The conquerors then took Rome, and proceeded to
receive the submission of the neighbouring fortresses. They
were still engaged in reducing Southern Italy in 553, when
Teias the successor of Totila, setting out from the foot of
the Alps, crossed the Po, eluded those who had been sent
to intercept his progress, and confronted Narses on the
banks of the Sarnus near Naples. Sixty days were spent
in skirmishing between the two armies. At length the
Goths were compelled by famine to come to an engage¬
ment. The battle raged for two days, until King Teias,
his bravest chiefs, and the greater part of his army had
fallen, and the remainder of the Goths were obliged to sur¬
render. Narses had now given the death-blow to the
Gothic power in Italy, and he supposed that the reduction
of several towns throughout the country was the only ar¬
duous task that now remained. He was mistaken. Before
half a year had passed, a horde of 75,000 Franks and
Alemanni, under the command of two brothers, the Dukes
Leutharis and Buccellinus, poured down from the Rhaetian
Alps into the plains of Italy. The vanguard of the Roman
army under Fulcaris was overwhelmed before them at
Parma. Narses himself retired into the fortress of Rimini,
and allowed the living deluge to sweep on towards the
south. But he immediately set himself to prepare for
taking the field, and the winter was spent in exercising his
soldiers in all the evolutions of military discipline. In the
spring of 554 he mustered an army of 18,000 in the neigh¬
bourhood of Rome. By this time a part of the barbarian
invaders under Leutharis had returned northward, and had
been destroyed by a pestilence on the banks of Lake Be-
nacus. The rest under Buccellinus were advancing from
Lucania towards Capua. They took up a strong position
on the banks of the Vulturnus, and there they met the ap¬
proach of Narses. That general, depriving them by a series
of skilful manoeuvres of the advantage of their ground, at¬
tacked them, and almost annihilated their entire army.
The Gothic cause in Italy was thus ruined for ever.
Narses was now installed in Ravenna as the exarch of
Italy ; and for the next fifteen years he ruled with a rod of
iron. The licentious soldiery were curbed by a severe dis¬
cipline ; several insurrections were crushed with a merciless
rigour; and heavy taxes were wrung from the people to
satisfy the avarice of the governor. The Romans, groan¬
ing under this tyranny, did not dare to complain during the
reign of Justinian. But soon after Justin had ascended the
throne in 565, they procured the deposition ot Narses.
The disgraced eunuch retired to Naples, vowing revenge,
and, according to the ordinary account, invited the Lom¬
bards to invade Italy. The Romans in their hour of danger
remembered their old general, and through the mediation
ie- 0^
anc
E.{
the
flow
mat
wh<
Fai
I
bor
Ullfl
cair
com
thei
to a
his
flesi
ne^
of
ploj
afte
A n
Stre
tog
one
new]
favo’
Na .
N A K
of tlie Pope, induced liim to take up his abode in the capi¬
tal. But before he could take any measures to save them
from the invaders, he died of extreme old ajre in 568
_/ D NARUSZEWICZ, Adam Stanislaus, an eminent
Polish historian and poet, was born in Lithuania in 1733.
He entered the society of the Jesuits at the age of fifteen;
and his talents soon raised him to distinction among his
order. After travelling through Germany, France, and
Italy, he became a professor in the college of the nobles at
Warsaw. Jdis order was suppressed by an edict of the
Pope in 1773. But the king Stanislaus Augustus, taking
notice of him, presented him to the bishopric of Smolensk”
and encouraged him in his literary pursuits. In 1772,
Naruszewicz had exhibited an aptitude for historical writ-
by a happy translation of Tacitus. He was now em¬
ployed by his royal patron to produce a history of Poland.
This production was published in 6 vols. 1780-86, and
speedily took its place among standard historical works.
An introductory volume on the early and obscure periods
of the country’s annals was also projected; and materials
to the amount of 360 folio volumes were collected. But
the historian never began it. The close of Naruszewicz’s
life was saddened by the disasters of his country. He was
promoted to the bishopric of Lukow in 1790. But he was
past enjoying the dignity, and died in 1796. Among his
other works are a collection of poems, consisting of odes,
satires, epistles, and translations from Horace and Ana¬
creon, a description of Taurida, and a Life of the Lithuanian
general Chodkiewicz. I he works of Naruszewicz form
part of the collection of select Polish authors, published by
Motowski in 26 vols. 8vo, Warsaw, 1803—5.
NARVA, a town of European Russia, in the govern-
^ Petersburg, is situated on the Narova, about 9
miles from its mouth, and 80 miles S. W. of St Petersburg.
It consists of an old and a new town ; the latter of which Ts
built of stone, and inhabited principally by Germans. Narva
has a castle, two churches, a town-house, an exchange, and
an old castle. Nails are manufactured here; and there are
several large sawmills. Narva was formerly one of the
Hanse towns; and had an extensive trade; but since the
foundation of St Petersburg, it has much declined in im¬
portance. It is memorable for the battle fought here in
1700, when the Russians were defeated by the Swedes
under Charles XII. Pop. (1849) 4051.
NASEB Y, a village of England, county of Northampton,
and situated at the sources of the Nene and Avon, 3 miles
E.S.E. of Welford. It stands on the watershed between
the German and Atlantic Oceans, to the former of which
flows the Nene, to the latter the Avon. It is chiefly re¬
markable as the scene of a decisive battle, fought in 1645,
when the army of Charles I. was defeated by Cromwell and
Fairfax. Pop. 898.
NASH, John, an architect, of Welsh descent, was
born m London in 1752. After studying architecture with
unwearied perseverance under Sir Robert Taylor, he be¬
came a measuring surveyor and speculative builder. In
course of time he retired to a small property at Caermar-
then. In 1790, however, misfortune induced him to resort
to architecture for a livelihood; and in 1792 he took up
ns abode in London. He soon acquired extensive busi¬
ness; and in 1797 he is found receiving a patent for a
new mode of using hollow iron boxes in the construction
of the arches and piers of bridges. In 1812 he was em-
ployed to plan the laying out of Regent’s Park, of which he
aftei wards designed all the terraces, except Cornwall Terrace.
A more successful undertaking was the planning of Regent
street in 1813. In carrying out this plan, he endeavoured
to give a picturesque effect by uniting several houses into
one fapade, and covering the bare brick walls with the
newly-introduced Roman cement. In 1815, through royal
favour, he was appointed architect, valuer, and agent for
NAS
799
letting land, to the Board of Woods and Forests. In this
capacity he laid out the routes and designed the archi¬
tecture of several streets. He also assisted Repton in
altering and enlarging the Opera House in 1816-18, built
the Haymarket Theatre in 1820-21, commenced Bucking¬
ham Palace in 1826, and superintended the improvements
in St James s Park in 1827-29. The large fortune which
Nash had acquired from these and other enterprises enabled
him to retire in 1834. His death took place in May of
the following year at East Cowes Castle.
Nash, Richard, better known as “Beau Nash,” a famous
master of the ceremonies at Bath, was the son of a gentle¬
man of limited means, and was born at Swansea in 1674.
From Caermarthen School he was sent to Jesus College,'
Oxford, to prepare himself for ultimately studying law!
But that thoughtless love of amusement which afterwards
became his ruling passion soon began to influence him.
At the age of seventeen, he entered into a matrimonial en¬
gagement, which caused his expulsion from the university.
A commission in the army was then bought for him. But
even the barrack life of a soldier was too serious an em¬
ployment ; and so, under the guise of studying law at the
Middle Temple, he devoted his life to pleasure. A fairly-
acquired success at the gaming-table supplied him with
money. His fine clothes, his imperturbable effrontery, and
especially his scrupulous attention to all the ceremonies of
polite life, introduced him in a short time to the leaders of
fashion. So eminent a master did he become in the science
of gentility, that the members of the Temple appointed him
to conduct the pageants with which, in accordance with an
old custom, they entertained King William. This difficult
duty was performed with a masterly tact, and would have
been rewaided with a knighthood had not the uncertain
income of the “ beau ” been inadequate to maintain such a
dignity. The notoriety of Nash, however, did not com¬
mence until he repaired to Bath in 1704. That city was
then a paltry watering-place, where a few visitors sought
for health and pleasure in comfortless lodging-houses, ill-
regulated entertainments, and assembly-rooms perfumed
with tobacco-smoke. With his usual forwardness of spirit,
Nash got himself appointed master of the ceremonies, and
inaugurated his rule by a thorough reformation. By his
exertions a handsome assembly-hall was erected, the streets
and houses were improved and ornamented, and Bath began
to assume the appearance of a city consecrated to pleasure.
Good breeding was installed as the ruling principle of the
balls and entertainments, and was guarded by a code of
laws rigorously enforced upon all. He constituted himself
umpire of all quarrels, and prevented appeal from his deci¬
sions by forbidding swords to be worn. He also endea¬
voured, gambler though he was, to keep the thoughtless
young of both sexes from the clutch of designing villains.
At the same time, his exertions for the improvement of the
city, his native vivacity, and his free though sometimes
misdirected benevolence, made him popular with the people
of the town. In his old age, however, the act of Parliament
against gambling deprived him of the means of subsistence.
The absurd pomp with which, in his character of “ King of
Bath,” he was wont to secure the respect of the frivolous
and the vulgar, could no longer be maintained. The glory
of the old beau faded simultaneously with the gaudy trap¬
pings that decked his ungainly person. Yet with totter in !>■
steps he continued to pursue those vanities which no lono-cl-
afforded him any enjoyment. He died in February 1761
and was honoured with a public funeral. A Life of Richard
Nash, by Goldsmith, was published anonymously, in 8vo,
London, 1762, and has been reprinted in the edition of
Goldsmith’s works by Peter Cunningham, in 4 vols. 8vo
London, 1854. ’
Nash, Thomas, the most brilliant pamphleteer of the
Elizabethan age, was born about 1564, at Lowestoft in Suf-
Nash.
800 NAS
Nashua, folk. He became a student of St John’s College, Cam-
bridge, and in 1584 took the degree of B.A. With this
honour, however, his university career closed. His satirical
faculty began to try its edge upon the college authorities ;
and he was in consequence expelled. The next few years
seem to have been spent in visiting the Continent, and
moving about without any settled employment. At length,
in 1589, he took up his abode in London as a literary ad¬
venturer. His pugnacious propensity hurried him at once
into the contest with the Puritans. He attacked them with
their own favourite weapons of ridicule and invective, and
proved more than a match for them. Pap with a Hatchet,
An Almond for a Parrot, and A Countercujfe to Martin
Junior, following each other in rapid succession, over¬
whelmed his opponents with a shower of humorous sallies
and cutting jibes. Such a clever satirist could scarcely
fail to attract notice. Accordingly he soon became a
reigning wit at supper-tables, and a choice boon companion
among literary men of pleasure. He was also employed in
1590 to assist Kit Marlowe in composing The Tragedy of
Dido ; and in 1592 a comedy of his, entitled Summer’s Last
Will and Testament, was played before Queen Elizabeth.
But the wit and the fancy that were so active and lively amid
the din of controversy were dull and spiritless in the calm
region of the drama. This failure in writing for the stage
cut off Nash from almost the only source from which the
professional authors of that day derived a tolerable pittance.
It is no wonder, then, that we find him in 1592 in the midst
of bare poverty, writing Pierce Penilesse, his Supplication
to the Divell; and, with the graphic strokes of one who was
representing a stern reality, describing himself as “sitting up
late and rising early, contending with the cold, and con¬
versing with scarcitie,” cursing the day of his birth, and
scarcely restraining himself from ending his misery with his
own hand. His Christes Tears over Jerusalem, published
in 1593, is written in the same strain. But this melan¬
choly was soon shaken off, when about this time he got once
more into the congenial region of satire, and began to attack
Dr Gabriel Harvey. That worthy individual, the friend
of Spenser and Sir Philip Sidney, was then the common
butt of some of the most mischievous wits about town.
But “ that restless buffoon Tom Nash,” as old Anthony
Wood calls him, used him worst of all. He twisted the
many foibles of the pedantic doctor into the most ludicrous
and grotesque shapes, and exposed them to ridicule. He
raked up every family scandal, and cast it in his teeth.
He even sketched the appearance of the lank and shrivelled
old scholar with all the vivid fidelity of a portrait-painter,
and held it up before the original to make him mad. In
vain the learned doctor most manfully wielded his stately
invective and cynical humour. These cumbrous weapons
were no guard against the keen and light shafts that came
pouring in upon him. The most pungent of Nash’s pam¬
phlets in this memorable contest were, Strange Newes of
the Intercepting certaine Letters and a Convoy of Verses,
1592, and Have with You to Saffron Walden, 1596. At
length, in 1597, the battle waxed so hot that the Arch¬
bishop of Canterbury interfered, and issued an order that
all the books of both the combatants should be seized. In
the same year Nash was again employed to write for the
stage, and, conscious probably that the faculty of ridicule
was the only power of his that could achieve success, he
produced a satirical play called The Isle of Dogs. The
lash, however, had been plied too vigorously. Scarcely
had the drama been performed, when the author was lodged
in the Fleet prison. He seems to have lain there for seve¬
ral days. This play is his last work on record. His death
took place in 1600 or 1601. (See Disraeli’s Calamities of Au¬
thors ; and Collier’s History of English Dramatic Poetry.)
NASHUA, a town of the United States, North Ame¬
rica, in New Hampshire, situated at the confluence of the
NAS
Nashua and Merrimack rivers, 31 miles S. by E. of Con- NaahviU
cord, and 40 N.N.W. of Boston. It has seven churches, ||
three newspaper offices, and a bank. The River Nashua Na«nith.
affords a great amount of water-power for machinery; it
has a fall of 65 feet in 2 miles, and at the driest season
discharges a volume of 180 cubic feet per second. Its
waters are connected with those of the Merrimack by
means of a canal. Nashua is remarkable for its manufac¬
turing industry. The total value of the capital invested in
various manufactures is about L.80,000, and the number of
hands employed 2300. Cotton is the principal article pro¬
duced. Machinery, iron, &c., are also manufactured here.
The town is connected by railways with the principal towns
of New England. Pop. 5820.
NASHVILLE, a town of the United States, North
America, capital of the state of Tennessee, is situated on
the left bank of the Cumberland River, 230 miles E.N.E. of
Memphis, and 206 S.W. of Lexington. It is built on a
limestone hill, in the midst of a rich and fertile country;
and contains many splendid houses and public buildings.
There is a fine square, in which stand the court-house,
market-house, and other edifices. The capitol, which was
built in 1845, stands on a height called Capitol Hill, 175
feet above the river, and is one of the finest buildings in
the States. It is built of limestone, and is 240 feet in
length, by 135 in breadth. It contains halls for the state
legislature and government offices, and is calculated to
have cost L.200,000. The court-house is also a very fine
building, with a dome, and a colonnade in the Ionic style.
The town has also numerous churches, many of which are
very handsome buildings; a university, founded 1806,
which had in 1856, 7 professors, about 75 students, and a
library of 10,207 volumes ; a medical college in connection
with the university ; several schools ; a penitentiary ; and a
lunatic asylum. Nashville has several manufactories of
different kinds, and is the centre of an extensive trade.
The River Cumberland is navigable up to this place ; and
the amount of tonnage belonging to the town in 1852 was
4083, entirely employed in steam navigation. The town
is rapidly increasing in wealth and prosperity; and is the
centre of several railways, completed or in progress. The
assessed value of taxable property in 1857 was L.2,726,327.
Pop. (1850) 17,502 ; (1853) about 20,000.
NASMITH, David, the founder of city missions, was
born in Glasgow in 1799, and was early placed in a mer¬
cantile house. From the age of fourteen onwards, his life
was devoted to the welfare of his fellow-men. He began
his philanthropic career by imparting religious instruction
to prisoners, and exerting himself to establish schools and
Bible associations. The next undertaking that engaged
his attention was the establishment of young men’s socie¬
ties. So successfully did he execute this project, that be¬
tween 1823 and 1826 he had been the means of instituting
seventy of these associations in Great Britain, France, and
America. He then addressed himself to the great work of
his life, the converting of the irreligious of large towns. The
Glasgow city mission, established in 1826, was the first re¬
sult of his zeal. Stimulated by this success, he resolved
in 1828 to devote himself entirely to his great enterprise,
and accordingly resigned his situation of clerk to the Insti¬
tution House in his native town, an office which he had
held for seven years. On a scanty pittance, supplied by
some friends, Nasmith travelled through Ireland, the United
States, and Canada, founding missions in all the large towns
which he visited. The British capital was the next great
field of his labour. Taking up his abode there in 1835, the
unwearied philanthropist was engaged for the remainder
of his life in establishing the London city missions. Mean¬
while the rest of the country was frequently visited, and
similar institutions were founded in the large towns of
England, and in Edinburgh and the other principal towns
7
Ei
1)£
CO
lai
on
di
lif
fii
A
of
mc|
lat
die
dai
of
sei
stii
aft
SO(
wh
pro
twt
vig
ado
col<
but
and
mil
adi
Ho
pro
rec
opt
fell
Sot
der
in b
rolli
b
is s:
COU)
by^
is c;
sprit
M
bom
the
Frat
disti
and
deta
*n E
has
tour
rang
rivet
to
Part
heigl
tnct,
Vo;
NAS
of Scotland. He was abroad on his great errand when he
died at Guildford in November 1839. Memoirs of Nas¬
mith, by Dr John Campbell, were published in 8vo, Lon¬
don, 1844.
NASMYTH, Alexander, a popular Scottish artist,
was born in Edinburgh in 1758. His first lessons in art
were received in London under Allan Ramsay, and he
completed his studies in historical, landscape, and portrait
painting during a residence of several years at Rome
Then returning to his native country, he settled down in
Edinburgh as a portrait-painter. Among other likenesses
he executed the well-known portrait of Robert Burns. In
course of time, however, his strong taste for sketching
landscapes led him to concentrate his attention exclusively
on this kind of painting. The pictures he began to pro¬
duce were not characterized by vigorous pencilling or
life-like colouring; yet their tasteful simplicity and care¬
ful finish rendered them popular among his countrymen.
At the same time, he was rising into notice as a teacher
of his art. His services in this vocation continued to be
more and more appreciated, until he had acquired, in his
later years, both ample practice and large emoluments. He
died at Edinburgh in 1840. His eldest son and his five
daughters inherited their father’s artistic skill.
Nasmyth, Patrick, &n eminent artist, was the eldest son
of the preceding, and was born in Edinburgh in 1786. Like
several others of his gifted family, he took to the pencil in¬
stinctively at a very early age. His right hand was shortly
afterwards damaged by an accident. But its cunning was
soon acquired by the left. The almost exclusive attention
which he bestowed upon his art speedily rendered him a
proficient. Fixing his abode in London at the age of
twenty, he plied his pencil in landscape-painting with
vigour and success. _ The style of his father, which he had
adopted, was much improved by the greater warmth of his
colouring. His subjects were sometimes Scottish scenery,
but he was more successful in representing the placid brooks
and rich meadow-landscapes of England. The careful
minuteness of detail in some of his pictures was especially
admired, and acquired for him the surname of “the English
Hobbema/’ Stimulated by growing popularity, Nasmyth
prosecuted his art as enthusiastically as ever. With a
reckless ardour he continued to pursue his studies in the
open country, under the most inclement weather, until he
fell into a decline. As he lay dying in his lodgings in
South Lambeth, on the 17th August 1831, a terrific thun¬
der-storm passed over the city. He desired to be raised
in bed that he might look on it. Before the thunder had
rolled away he had expired.
. FVASO, a town of Sicily, in the province of Messina,
is situated on a hill near the coast, in a richly-wooded
country, 43 miles W.S.W. of Messina. It is surrounded
by walls, and contains several good buildings. Some trade
is cairied on at Naso. In the vicinity there are mineral
springs. Pop. 8000.
NASSAU, Duchy of, a small state of Germany,
bounded on the N. by Rhenish Prussia, W. by the same and
the River Rhine, S. by Hesse-Darmstadt, and E. by the
Frankfort district, Hesse-Darmstadt, and the Prussian
district of Wetzlar ; between N. Lat. 49. 56. and 50. 48.,
and E. Long. 7. 30. and 8. 35. There are besides two
detached portions, the one in Hesse-Darmstadt, the other
m Hesse-Cassel; and including these, the entire territory
has an area of 1810 square miles. The surface of the
country is hilly, and in many parts highly picturesque. A
H range of hills, called the Taunus, in the S., between the
I rivers Lahn and Main, attain the height of from 2600
I to 2800 feet ; while another range in the northern
■ part of the duchy, called the Westerwald, rises to the
i height of about 2000 feet. The Rheingau or Rhine dis¬
trict, noted for its fruitfulness and mild climate, is situated
VOL. xv.
NAS
between the Main and the Rhine, to the S. of the Tau¬
nus Hills. 1 he chief rivers are, the Rhine, forming the
west boundary and here about 2500 feet wide ; and its
tributaries the Lahn and Main. The former traverses the
centre portion of the duchy, and the latter constitutes its
southern frontier for part of its course. Several small lakes
occupy the more level parts of the country ; while as many
as lod mineral wells are known to exist here. Agriculture
and mining are the chief branches of industry carried on.
In some parts, especially on the Westerwald, the soil is
mostly devoted to pasturage. Rye is the chief crop in the
higher districts; while excellent wheat is grown in the lower
situations, especially on the banks of the Lahn and Aar.
Spelt is produced to a considerable extent, and barley is*
found almost everywhere, excepting on the Westerwald.
1 he other products are oats and buckwheat, potatoes,
rpPesfe^’ ?ax’ succory> tobacco, garden fruits, and grapes.
Ihe last form one of the staples of the duchy, which pos¬
sesses the most famous vine district on the Rhine. It in¬
cludes, among others, the vineyards of Johannisberg, Rudes-
heim, Markebrunn, and Geisenheim, and that of Hochheim
on the Main. The entire state usually produces wine to
the amount of 1,020,000 gallons, of which about three-
fourths are from the Rhine district alone.
Of a total area of 1,158,143 acres in Nassau, 493 421
^f™der forests> 433,684 under tillage, 121,136 meadows,
66,0ol pasture, 9598 vines, 4612 gardens, 4041 do-
i ^ ^a^es’ ancl 24,831 waste land, roads, &c. In
1852 the crops were 691,072 qrs. potatoes, 148,982 qrs
rye and buckwheat, and 91,144 qrs. wheat and spelt; and
in 185o there were 195,541 cattle, 136,487 sheep, 44 780
swine, _26’794 goats, 12,020 horses, and 15,097 bee-hives.
. Mmmg is the next most important branch of industry
m Nassau. The minerals found include silver, iron, lead
copper, and manganese; but of these, iron is by far the
most abundant. It is worked in the valleys of the Lahn
i ocrv! ’ and the amount produced is, of raw iron, about
12,500 tons annually ; of cast iron, about 3500 tons ; and
of bar iron 3500 tons. The lead mines produce about 170
tons, the copper about 150 tons, and the silver 11,000 oz.
annually. With the exception of those connected with
metals, the manufactures of Nassau are unimportant,
ihey consist of linen and woollen goods, leather, earthen¬
ware, and paper; besides tobacco, oil, spirits, beer, and
potash. 1 he trade of the duchy is carried on by means
of the rivers Rhine, Main, and Lahn ; and by the Frank-
foi t, Castel, and Wiesbaden Railway. The imports in¬
clude, among other articles, colonial products, salt, cottons,
and fancy goods; and the exports, wine, fruit, minerals
cattle, paper, and mineral water. The duchy is a member
of the Germanic confederation, to which it sends two re¬
presentatives, and belongs to the Zollverein, or trade union.
1 he government is a limited monarchy, in the hands of the
duke, assisted by two chambers of administration. The
upper chamber consists of an unlimited number of members
belonging to the royal family, nobility, and upper classes;
while the lower house is formed of twenty-four members
returned from a like number of electoral districts.
All religions are tolerated in Nassau, but the"full rights
of citizenship are only accorded to evangelical Protestants
^°iman Catholics. Ihe former denomination is under
the Bishop of Wiesbaden, and the latter under the Bishop
of Limburg. The military force amounts to 5498 men of
whom 4542 form the contingent to the Germanic confe¬
deration.
Education is imparted to the people by means of ele¬
mentary and real schools. There were in 1854, 703 of the
former, with 992 teachers, and 10 of the latter. In Wies¬
baden^ the capital, a realgymnasium has also been estab-
i i mlconnection with the preparatory and middle burgh
schools, but no university has as yet been founded in the
5 i
801
ffassau.
802 NAT
Natal, duchy. There are several normal schools and seminaries
V—*'' of Evangelical and Catholic theology, and a military
academy. The public library of Wiesbaden contains from
50,000 to 60,000 volumes ; and there is a museum in the
same town devoted to antiquities. Two literary asso¬
ciations have been established, one for history and antiqui¬
ties, the other for natural philosophy. There is also a
stadt theatre in the town. In 1849 thirteen newspapers
were published in Nassau.
The budget for 1857 estimates the revenue of the state
at L.288,397, and the expenditure at L.376,043. The
national debt amounts to L.651,000. Of the revenue,
about L.6800 is raised from the duty on mineral water,
and L.8900 from that on the baths, which are very nume¬
rous here. The mineral wells are chiefly in the possession
of the duke, and form a valuable property. In 1856 the
total population numbered 432,039 persons, of whom
225,681 were Protestants, 198,960 Catholics, 6927 Jews,
341 German Catholics, and 130 Mennonites. Wiesbaden,
the capital, contains 16,000 inhabitants. The duchy de¬
rives its name from the castle of Nassau, built by the counts
of Laurenburg in the beginning of the twelfth century. In
1255 Walram IV. and Otho, the sons of Henry the Rich,
divided the territory between them. The former took the
earldoms of Nassau, Idstein, and Weilburg, and became
the founder of the present family of Nassau. The de¬
scendants of Otho, on the other hand, became the earls of
Dillenburg and Siegen, and the founders of the House
of Nassau-Orange, to which William III. of England be¬
longed. The counts of the older line soon made consi¬
derable additions to their territory by acquiring, among
others, the lordships of Mehrenberg and Gleiberg. In 1605,
after repeated changes, Lewis II., a member of the Nassau-
Weilburg family, became sole master of all the lands in
the possession of the Walram line. At his death, however,
in 1625, the family was divided into the three branches of
NAT
—Is#, Saarbruck, divided in the next generation into two Nassick
branches, called Saarbruck-Sarbruck and Sarbruck-Usin- ||
gen, both of which were again united in 1735, but became Natal,
extinct in 1 <97, and the land devolved on the present line ;
2d, Idstein, which became extinct in 1721; and Zd, Weil¬
burg, on which all the states devolved, and since 1816 have
formed but one principality. During the French revolution
the city of Saarbruck, with its territory upon the left bank
of the Rhine, was seized by the republicans. It then com¬
prehended 430 square miles of land, with 53,000 inhabitants ;
for which, at the pacification in 1803, it received an indemni¬
fication of 750 square miles and 93,000 inhabitants, which
were added to the earldom of Usingen. The Count of
Weilburg had lost on the left bank of the Rhine 170
square miles and 19,000 inhabitants, for which he received
on the other side of that stream a territory of 330 square
miles, with 37,000 inhabitants. At the period when Na¬
poleon instituted the confederation of the Rhine in 1806,
the w'hole of these families had been united in the person
of the existing prince, who then received, in addition to
the former territories which he possessed, a tract of land
of 650 square miles, with 84,500 inhabitants, and at the
same time the title of Duke was conferred upon the reign¬
ing prince.
NASSICK, a town of Hindustan, in the British collec-
torate of Ahmednuggur, within the presidency of Bombay,
situated on the Bombay and Agra trunk road, and regarded
by Brahmins as the peculiar seat of piety and learning. It
contains a great number of ancient Brahminical temples
and establishments, very flourishing under the peishwa’s
sway, and still enjoying great privileges under British rule;
although the government has entirely withdrawn from in¬
terference with the affairs of the native religious institu¬
tions. The population of the town is estimated at 25,000.
Distance from Bombay, N.E., 100 miles. N. Lat. 20.,
E. Long. 73. 47.
NATAL.
Natal, a country on the S.E. coast of Africa, about 300
miles N.E. of British Kaffraria, from which it is separated
by a thinly-inhabited country called Kaffraria Proper. It
lies nearly between 28. and 31. S. Lat., and 29. and 31. E.
Long.; and is bounded on the N. and N.E. by the rivers
Tugela and Umzimyati, which separate it from the kingdom
of the Zulu Kafirs ; on the S.E. by the Indian Ocean ; on the
S. and S.W. by the River Umzimkulu, which divides it from
Kaffraria Proper ; while on the W. and N.W. the Kahlamba
or Drakenberg Mountains wall it off from the territory of
the Orange River republic. Its length is about 200 miles,
and its breadth from the sea to the Kahlamba Mountains
about 100 miles; area about 17,000 square miles.
The country rises from the sea-coast in a series of ter¬
races to an elevation of several thousand feet, and pre¬
sents a rare variety of scenery, soil, and climate. A suffi¬
ciently clear and practical view of the country, however,
may be given by representing it as consisting of three
general divisions,—Is#. Along the Indian Ocean is a belt
of land about 15 miles in breadth, the greater part of the
surface of which rises and falls in a succession of round
swelling hills and small valleys, carpeted with long grass,
over which are scattered clumps of trees, chiefly of mimosa
and euphorbia. In some places the uniformity of the
scenery is relieved by forests and dense jungle, in others
by vast masses of lofty and abrupt hills and deep ravines.
This lovely region favours the vegetation both of the tropics
and of southern Europe. Sugar, coffee, indigo, and almost
every other tropical plant, flourish, along with the mul¬
berry, olive, and vine. Nor is it unfavourable to some of
the productions of a cooler climate ; for oats, beans, and po¬
tatoes thrive well, especially the first two ; maize or Indian
corn grows luxuriantly in this as in every part of the country.
2d. Having crossed this belt, we ascend into a country
where the hills take a longer sweep, something like the
downs of Sussex. They are still covered with long grass,
but the w’ood has disappeared, except in small patches in
the hollows and on the banks of the streams. The char¬
acter of the vegetation has changed; we no longer see
that of the tropics. Good crops of wheat, oats, potatoes,
and other productions of a temperate climate, are produced;
and the district is admirably suited for horses and horned
cattle. Many fruits also flourish in this part, among which
are the orange, pomegranate, peach, apricot, and granadilla.
Zd. Proceeding still farther, and ascending another ter¬
race, we find the hills more massive, with a still longer and
bolder sweep, covered with grass, but generally bare of
wood. They are frequently flat-topped, and sometimes
expand into table-land. At intervals on the crests of the
hills we meet with stony ridges, composed of large boulders,
stretching across the country like huge dykes. In the
distance farther inland we see rugged hills cut by deep
ravines, and beyond them the Kahlamba mountain-range
rising abruptly like a huge wall 8000 feet above the sea,
and nearly 4000 above the country at its base, with here and
there buttresses thrown out like towers and battlements, -
in summer casting a dark, rugged outline against the deep-
blue sky, and in winter radiant in a mantle of snow. Sweep¬
ing round to the N.W., the range sinks into lower hills,
presenting a softer outline, with passes winding over them-
NATAL.
Ktel.
oloj r
°ll, 3
b
r
t
s
i
3
C
803
The long coarse grass of the lower country is here ex¬
changed for a shorter and finer kind; and everything about
him tells the traveller that he has now reached a land
admirably adapted both for horned cattle and for sheep.
acid ; carbonate, sulphate, and muriate of lime; and sulphate Natal,
of magnesia. Their temperature is 128° Fahr. v—
The flora of the country has been but imperfectly in-Botany,
vestigated, but it seems to be remarkably rich and varied.
He finds, too, that the country produces abundant crops of It differs from that of the Cape of Good Hope in several
wheat, oats, and other cereals of England; while he is re¬
freshed by the taste of excellent peaches, apricots, nectar¬
ines, apples, pears, walnuts, and other fruits of a temperate
climate. Scattered at intervals over the whole face of the
country are vast clusters of hills, varying in area from 10
to 20 by 15 to 30 miles. These localities seem to have
been subject to some violent convulsions of nature; for the
respects. Geraniums, heaths, and proteads, so varied and
abundant in that country, are here represented by few
species, and by no means in large numbers. On the other
hand, it has many plants which are either not found, or are
but sparingly distributed at the Cape. The tribes chiefly
worthy of notice are, the Acanthads; the Amaryllids, having
among them the beautiful Natal lily; the Solanads; the
hills, or rather mountains, rear their rugged or scarped Scrophulariads; the Euphorbiads, or spurges; the Papilion-
sides in every fantastic form, overhanging deep and gloomy aceae, which are very abundant; and the Asclepiads. Grapes
glens, the channels of rushing rivers or foaming torrents.
Some of these romantic regions are almost surrounded by
the comparatively tame scenery of long sweeping hills or
table-land.
Throughout his journey from the coast upwards, the
traveller crosses innumerable streams and several consider¬
able rivers. He scarcely descends into a valley which he
does not find traversed by a brook of clear fresh water.
Numerous rivers intersect the country, flowing generally
S.E. into the Indian Ocean. The largest of them, as the
Tugela, the Bushmans, the Mooi, and Umkomanzi, have
their sources in the Kahlamba Mountains; while the others,
as the Umgeni, the Umlazi, and the Umvoti, spring from
the lower ranges of hills. None of the rivers are navigable.
Their sparkling waters flow with great rapidity, now between
banks fringed with brushwood, now past the scarped sides
of mountains which rise abruptly from their stream. Some
of them have fine cataracts, as the Umgeni, near Pieterma¬
ritzburg, the sheer fall of which is 280 feet. All the
rivers partake of the character of mountain streams,—low in
the dry season, filling in a few hours in the rainy weather,
and rushing down like torrents.
The land on the sea-coast is composed of rounded downs
of sand, interrupted by strata of sandstoneand shale, traversed
by masses of erupted rocks. The latter in some places
run out into the sea in the form of dark reefs. Farther in
the interior the high lands are composed of stratified sand¬
stone, almost horizontal, and deficient in organic remains.
A huge vein of granite seems to run from N.E. to S.W.
among these high lands. The Kahlamba Mountains were
considered by the late Dr Stanger as divided in regard to
geological structure into two parts ; one part, forming the
W. boundary of the colony—the bold, rugged outline of
which we have described—he supposed to consist of granite ;
for it is so precipitous, and so guarded by rugged hills and
ravines at its base, as to be almost inaccessible. The part
of the range forming the N.W. limit of the colony exhibits
a softer and rounder outline, and is composed of sandstone,
with beds of shale traversed by basalt and other volcanic
rocks. The soil near the coast seems to be a sandy loam ;
much of it is formed by tbe blending of sandstone, shale,
and erupted rocks. Farther inland it mostly consists of
friable loam, red or brown, resting on clay, ferruginous rocks,
or granite. In parts from which wood has been cleared, the
soil is a rich vegetable mould. Alluvial soil is not abun¬
dant; but at the mouths of some rivers, as well as on parts
of their course, level plains occur several hundreds of acres
in extent. Iron is found in abundance, and said to be of
good quality. Copper has lately been discovered in small
quantities. Coal exists in several places, but most of it is
rather deficient in bituminous matter, though well adapted
for furnaces. In the most remote, and perhaps the coldest
part of the country, however, there is coal fit for burning
in a common fire-place ; but none bas yet been found suf¬
ficiently near the sea to be useful for steam navigation.
There are in the upper part of the country some valuable
mineral waters, the chief ingredients of which are carbonic
are far more abundant than at the Cape. Ferns are also
abundant in some parts. Many indigenous plants grow
within the belt of land along the sea, which are hardly
ever found elsewhere out of the tropics. Among them
may be named three kinds of mangrove, indigo, and the
ground-nut.
The spring commences in September, and the autumn Climate,
about March. These transition seasons are, however,
short; so that the period from September to March may
be considered as summer; that from March to September
as winter. The hottest weather is in December and Jan¬
uary ; the coldest in June and July. In summer rain falls
almost daily, accompanied occasionally by thunder-storms.
In winter there is but little rain, and the sky is clear and
cloudless. In the lower belt of country the average tem¬
perature in the summer is 77° to 85°. In winter it ranges
from 58° to 70°. In the second division of country, at Pieter¬
maritzburg, the capital, the range of the thermometer in
the summer is from 64° to 75°, and in winter from 48° to
60°. The climate, especially for persons taking much out¬
door exercise, may be considered as one of the healthiest in
the world. Travelling in this country, especially in the early
morning, is extremely delightful. The light, elastic, and
transparent atmosphere gives an indescribable freshness and
vigour to mind and body.
This country was discovered by the Portuguese on Christmas-day History.
1498, and named Natal in honour of the day. They found it in¬
habited by a portion of the Kafir race, divided into small tribes,
not unfrequently at war with one another, but kind and hospit¬
able to strangers. The Dutch who, after their settlement at the Cape
in the seventeenth century, sometimes visited this country, gave a
nearly similar account of its condition. Little more is known of
it till 1810, when a remarkable man arose in the neighbouring
country of the Zulu-Kafirs. This was Chaka, originally the chief
of an inconsiderable tribe of Kafirs called Zulus, but who became
the chief of another more powerful tribe. The united tribes under
his rule became a great nation, and conquered and destroyed other
tribes of Kafirs far and wide. Nearly the whole population of
Natal was swept away, being either annihilated or incorporated
with tbe conquerors. Of the few who escaped, some fled into the
country beyond the Kahlamba Mountains, and others to the Cape
frontier, where, under the name of Fingoes, they became the serfs
of the Amarosa Kafirs. In 1824, during the reign of Chaka,
Lieutenant Fanwell and a small party of British emigrants, chiefly
from the Cape, settled in Natal, which they found almost depopu¬
lated. Chaka received them kindly, and ceded to them a con¬
siderable part of the country. In 1828 Chaka was murdered at
the instigation of his brother Dingaan, who assumed the sovereignty.
In 1837 a party of the Dutch boers, who, as mentioned in our
article Cape of Good Hope, had emigrated from that colony,
arrived in Natal; they were welcomed by the British settlers, and
Ketief their leader proceeded to the residence of Dingaan to obtain
from him a cession of some part of the country. That chief con¬
sented to comply with his wish, upon condition of his recovering
for him a large number of cattle stolen from him by a neighbour¬
ing tribe. The cattle were recovered; and Retief, accompanied by
65 Boers, proceeded to the residence of the Zulu chief, by whom he
was received with apparent cordiality. With the aid of an English
missionary, the Rev. Mr Owen, who resided near, a treaty was
drawn up by which the whole of Natal was ceded to the Boers.
Retief was, however, warned by Mr Owen’s servants that the king
meditated treachery, but he treated their warnings with indiffer-
804
NATAL.
Natal.
ence; and so completely did the wily chief, by marks of friendship
j and hospitality, succeed in disarming the suspicion of his guests,
that as they were on the point of leaving him, he induced them to
present themselves without their fire-arms, before himself and an
array of his most trusted warriors, whom he had ordered to he
drawn up to do honour to them on their departure. The warriors
chanted the war-song in honour of their guests. In a short time
the chief himself intoned a song, in the course of which he uttered
the terrible words “ Kill the wizards!” In an instant the lines of
savage warriors closed in on the Boers, and butchered them to a
man in cold blood. Dingaan then despatched a large force to
attack the rest of the Boers, scattered in small encampments over
the country. Some of them were surprised, and men, women, and
children were murdered; others, who had time for defence, re¬
pulsed their assailants. A deadly war ensued between the Boers
and the Zulus, in the course of which was fought a battle memor¬
able in the annals of border warfare. A handful of Boers, not 400
strong, were encamped in a bend of a small river with precipitous
banks, and protected on the outer sides by a barricade formed, in
their usual manner, by their waggons lashed together. In this
position they were, one Sunday morning in 1838, attacked by
Dingaan’s forces, upwards of 12,000 strong. A terrible conflict
ensued. The Zulu warriors marched up in dense columns, and
hour after hour strove in vain to storm the camp. Their close bat¬
talions were one after another shattered to pieces by the terrible
fire of its brave defenders. At length, towards the afternoon, the
attacks of the Zulus became fainter, and their whole army was
observed to waver; then the Boers mounted their horses, opened
their barricade, and charged their assailants, who broke and fled.
The Boers pursued them for many a mile, shooting them down
without mercy. The victors lost but two or three men; while the
loss of the Zulus is said to have exceeded 2000. After this the war
continued with varied success. In the meantime the governor
of the Cape, in consequence, as he stated, “of the disturbed state of
the natives, arising from the unwarranted occupation of the country
by certain emigrants being her Majesty’s subjects,” sent to Natal a
small detachment of troops to prevent further bloodshed, for which
purpose it was utterly useless, and was not long afterwards re¬
called. Towards the close of 1839, a brother of Dingaan, named
Panda, whom he had for some cause resolved to put to death, went
over to the Boers, carrying with him 4000 men. The combined
forces then took the field, but as the Boers did not fully trust their
new allies, they kept during the march some miles apart from
them. Panda fell in with Dingaan’s army and totally routed it,
chiefly owing to several of its regiments going over to him during
the battle. Dingaan fled from the field with a few followers, and
sought refuge with a tribe near Delagoa Bay, by whom he was
murdered. The Boers then proclaimed Panda king of the Zulus,
and declared their own paramount sovereignty to extend not only
over Natal, but over the Zulu country.
They, however, only occupied Natal, where they established a re¬
publican form of government. That country at this period seems
not to have contained more than 12,000 to 15,000 natives, the
broken remnants of tribes who, by hiding in the mountains and
forests, had escaped destruction from the Zulu armies. In a short
time, however, a considerable number of Panda’s subjects flocked
in to put themselves under the protection of the Boers. Alarmed
by this large accumulation of natives in Natal, the Boers resolved
to remove a part of them to a country farther to the south. This
project, and also an attack made by the Boers on a tribe in that
quarter, represented probably with exaggeration to the governor
of the Cape, caused him to resolve to take military possession of
Natal. A detachment of troops under Captain Smith accordingly
arrived at the port, and encamped in the neighbourhood. The
Boers refused to recognise the authority of this officer, annoyed his
force in every way, and demanded that he should quit the country.
Upon this Captain Smith made a night attack on their camp, situ¬
ated at the upper end of the harbour of Port Natal. He was re¬
pulsed with severe loss, and forced to shut himself up in his camp,
which for several weeks he and his little force defended with great
gallantry, being compelled to kill their horses for food. In the
meantime a Mr King, one of the British settlers mentioned above,
started on horseback overland to inform the authorities at the Cape
of the position of the troops; and on the 26th June 1842, Colonel
Cloete, despatched by the governor of the Cape, arrived at the
Port with a detachment of troops on board her Majesty’s ship
Southampton. To this force the Boers made a feeble resistance;
the. port was taken, and the gallant little band under Captain
Smith relieved. Finding further resistance hopeless, the Boers
entered into a negotiation with Colonel Cloete. With few excep¬
tions, a general amnesty was granted to them, and protection pro¬
mised them against the natives. Their private rights to their
lands were guaranteed to them, but the special terms by which
they were to hold them was reserved for the decision of the
government. . Shortly after this, Colonel Cloete left Natal, and the Natal
command again devolved on Captain Smith. On the military occu- W '
pation of Natal by government, the natives from the Zulu country
poured mto it m crowds, and it was then that probably the great
• ^ ,P°P atl0n settledin ^ In 1843 the government
signified its decision m regard to the property inland, by causing
the governor of the Cape to issue a proclamation declaring that
lands were to be held by payment of a small annual quit-rent and
providing for the recognition of claims to particular farms’ but
confirming such recognition to the cases of persons who ’ had
occupied their farms claimed for a year next previous to the
arrival of a commissioner to be appointed to register such claims.
The commissioner, Mr Cloete, was at the same time sent to Natal.
This limitation was scarcely in accordance with the terms of the
convention, and was manifestly unfair, as pointed out by Mr
Cloete. In the disturbed state of Natal during the preceding year
in a great measure the result of the arrival of her Majesty’s troops’
which gave courage to the natives to harass the Boers in every di¬
rection, it was absolutely necessary for the latter to throw them¬
selves together into camps for their protection, and it was thus
impossible for them, in the majority of cases, to occupy their farms.
Mr Cloete seems to have done as well as he could under the circum¬
stances. He registered a number of claims as coming strictly under
the terms of the proclamation, and a number of others as entitled
to favourable consideration. The government, on reference home
would only confirm claims of the first kind; and unfortunately even
these claims, or rather rights, were not long afterwards interfered
with in several ways. This, added to the previous dislike of the
Boers to British rule, caused a large part of them to emigrate from
Natal to countries beyond, where, under their leader Pretori us,
they again measured their strength with her Majesty’s troops.’
Several attempts have since been made to conciliate them by further
and liberal grants of land, but with only partial success; their
confidence once destroyed, could not be restored. The errors of the
government with regard to these in this respect arose from its
attaching too great a value to the grazing land mostly occupied by
the Dutch, and its failing to see that Natal, with the large Kafir
population within and around it, could not be held by the handful
of troops it had there without the presence of the Boers; for, even
if British immigrants could have been at once poured in, they
could not have supplied the place of men inured to the native
warfare. These errors were perceived by Sir Harry Smith, when
governor of the Cape in 1848, and the measures devised by him,
and carried out by the late lieutenant-governor, by retaining a
remnant of the Boers in Natal, contributed largely to the tranquillity
of the country, which has enabled it to assume its present satisfac¬
tory position. In 1845 Natal was constituted a part of the Cape
Colony, and the Roman-Dutch law introduced. But in the same
year it was again made a separate government, to be administered
by a lieutenant-governor, under the general control of the gover¬
nor of the Cape.
On the establishment of the colony, the executive functions of Govem-
government were committed to a lieutenant-governor, assisted byment.
an executive council composed of four chief officials. The legis¬
lature consisted of the lieutenant-governor and a council of only
three principal officers; so the government remained until 1856,
when the crown granted representative institutions. The legisla¬
ture now consists of the lieutenant-governor and a council com¬
posed of four chief officers, who are ex officio members, and of twelve
members elected by the people of the several counties and towns of
the colony. The qualification for voters is the possession of free¬
hold property worth L.50, or the occupation of property at an
annual rental of L.10; all voters are eligible as members. The
executive council is still composed exclusively of permanent officers
of the government. By the new constitution Natal is made wholly
independent of the Cape.
Each of the counties is presided over by an officer, called the
resident magistrate, possessing limited judicial and executive au¬
thority. By a law passed in 1854, each county is entitled to a local
council, consisting of the resident magistrate, the clerk of the
peace, and of persons elected by the inhabitants. The qualifications
of electors and members are the same as those for the general
council. This system, owing to circumstances, has not hitherto
worked well; but we see with regret that proposals are made to
abolish it. It probably requires change, but to do away with it
seems a step backw-ards; we are convinced that the prosperity of
colonies greatly depends upon such local institutions.
The towns possessing 1000 inhabitants, or upwards, are also
entitled to local self-government in the form of corporations.
The governing body consists of councillors elected by the people,
and a mayor chosen from their number. This system is in opera¬
tion in the two towns, and works well.
The Roman-Dutch law is the common law of the colony, consti¬
tuted by ordinances of the local legislature. Trial by jury, both
pa
6U
8t(
ch
fo
HI!
spi
go
na:
tiv
mu
juri
whi
beei
is ft
of 1
trib
T
loca
pre:
Afr
syst
diti
peo;
assi:
mor
abot
latio
imm
and
pop!
gles
beyc
most
soon
from
The
from
T
the i
try a
n.e
Tug
ritzb
namt
Wee
count
tivesj
tonmi
town
] 'ati'
in criminal and civil cases, has been introduced. The courts of
— ^ supreme court, presided over by a single judge
styled the Recorder; 2d, The courts of the resident magistrates
■!hZ el’hW}°lCriminal jurisdiction extends to cases rfot pun-
ishable with death or transportation. They can only punish bv
inflicting three months’ imprisonment and 25 lashes on an o£
fender, and they can only fine to the extent of L.10. In civil cases
?ornjoTSeirLT5,j;T^rcase9 wh“th<!
of Port Dv/banih- k h “cePl‘on of "“‘t of the magistrate
»ll fir U U : h h extends t0 cases involving L.100. From
to the .V”11?8 t !ere,tlleS an appeal t0 the suPreme court. Owin-
to the uncivilized and peculiar state of the natives in the colon'f
they are in some respects placed under a different system of
government from that applicable to the white inhabitants ^
•after the establishment of the colonial government
the natives were in practice governed by their own laws, admTnTs-
tered by Mr Shepstone, under the title of diplomatic agent; a Gen¬
tleman who by his tact, ability, and perfect knowledge of their
anguage, had acquired considerable influence over them This ue
cuhar jurisdiction was legalized in 1848; for Lord Grey then at
°f the,Colonial Office, clearly seeing that it would be im¬
practicable and dangerous to attempt to rule men in a state of
barbansm by hiws framed for a highly-civilized society, advised
Her Majesty to issue letters-patent, retaining and confirming as to
the natives of the colony, their own laws, except so ffir a^’ Ihey
might be repugnant to the general principles of humanity as re^
cognised throughout the civilized world. The lieutenant-governor
is armed, as to the natives, with all the powers of a supreme or
snbnTUnft Chm ’ and rth the riSht t0 delegate his authority to
Buboidinate officers. In this capacity he is assisted by Mr Skep-
Jwr’ rd-eI I110"1! are InaSistratcs distributed over Gie colony
for thfsle of admi.nistration of native law. These magistrates^
for the sake of convenience, are the same persons as the resident
magistrates mentioned above; but their jurisdiction is in this re¬
spect distinct, and in native cases an appeal lies from them to the
governor, and not to the supreme court. It is considered that
titoJ6 ^i18 apPllcable t0 cases civil and criminal between na¬
ves, and also between the government and natives. In cases of
murder and some other crimes, the supreme court has co-ordinate
. The Crime °f cattle-stealing by natives, however
. lch’ not promptly checked, leads to war and bloodshed has
been placed under the exclusive cognisance of native law which
1Sfffhr bSte^ fitted t0 deal With [t than Inore civilized codes.’ Cases
trfibh+ k’ud arltried before two magistrates and the chief of the
tribe to which the accused belongs.
wTi1?!• fflSten■ °fT*1 Vegcvernment, in spite ofsomedefects and some
ocal difficulties, has worked well, and been one of the chief means of
preserving peace m the colony, even when other parts of our South-
African possessions were involved in war. The main object of the
system is to control the natives by laws suited to their present con
dition, to modify and alter those laws from time to time as the
people advance in civilization, and so gradually and silently to
assimilate, or rather to identify them with the laws by which their
more enlightened fellow-subjects are ruled. ^
’ , T1;e^°ntal P°P»|ation is about 125,000 persons, of whom
about 8000 are white, the rest natives. The white popu¬
lation is made up of Dutch Boers, settlers from the Cape
immigrants from the United Kingdom and their children
and a few Germans. The Boers-about a third of the white
population—are the remnant of the people whose strug¬
gles we have described, the bulk of whom have emigrated
jond our boundaries. The colonists from the Cape,
mostly of British origin, settled in the country before P0r
from ^if >°TTti0Ii by ^ g°vernment 5 the colonists
Thpn^ United/^gdom almost all arrived since 1849.
It "heMrcot^1 the
The colony N. of the River Umkomanzi is divided into
t abourZ PX “’-“’Urban comprises tbe coZ-
N F of t . v “ e ‘?wn of tl,e same name:
rteh Abov^ n-HK etChe? al°n" the sea-“ast ‘he
ritzbn t in/ D U:;ban’ 0n tlle h,gher land, is Pieterma-
narno am"# / fP‘tal of the colony of the same
ame, N. and N.E. of which lie the counties of Umvoti
eenen, and Klip River, chiefly inhabited by Boers. The
country b. of the Umkomanzi, being only inhabited by na-
aves, has not been divided into counties. There are two
-owns, Pietermaritzburg, the capital, and D’Urban, the port-
wn, and there are also a number of villages scattered
NATAL.
805
Ratal.
over the colony. Pietermaritzburg contains about 500
houses, with a white population of about 1600. D’Urban v 
I9nnabOTh-4f0 h0uses’, and a white population of about ^
Iziuo. 1ms town stands on the north shore of Port Natal Dmsions-
a arge and nearly circular basin communicating with the sea
by a narrow channel. In this basin vessels drawing from
k ° 25 may 1moored at aH tides. Its mouth is
obstructed by a sandy bar, the average depth of which was
formerly not more than from 8 to 10 feet; but in conse-
quence of works which have of late years been carried on,
its depth has been increased to from 15 to 20 feet • and
there is no doubt that it is capable of being rendered one
ot the safest and best harbours in this part of Africa.
In each of the two towns there is a public school sup- Education
ported by government. The government also assists other
schools, under certain regulations, by granting to each a
sum equal to that raised by private means. The several
missionary bodies have schools in various parts of the
colony; and there are some excellent schools established
under the auspices of the bishop, both for Europeans and
na ives. y the new charter L.5000 has been specially
reserved out of the revenue for the education of the natives,
c, libraries and mechanics’ institutions have been
tounded in Pietermaritzburg and D’Urban.
I he Church of England body, scattered over the colony, Religion
is presided over by a bishop, having under him a consider- S
able number of clergymen. A handsome cathedral has been
elected at the capital, and a very commodious church at
JJ Ci ban. In other places, churches are either built or in
the course of erection. The Dutch Reformed Church
embiaces nearly all the Dutch part of the population. They
have a church at Pietermaritzburg, and several in the upper
countiy inhabited by the Boers. The Presbyterian Church,
t ough embracing members of the several sections of the
th/ri at i'Tc may h,e regarded as the representative of
urch of Scotland. It has a very commodious stone
church at the capital, and small churches at one or two
VCr Places- The Wesleyans have several ministers, two
apels in each of the two towns, one for the natives, the
o her for Europeans, and other chapels in various parts of
tie district. The Independents have small congregations
at the capital and the Port. The Roman Catholics have a
bishop and several clergymen. They have small chapels
at each of the two towns. The American mission is com¬
posed of ministers of several denominations, chiefly, how¬
ever, Presbyterian and Independent. Their object beino-
to convert the natives, they agree to drop all minor differ¬
ences, especially as to church discipline, and to present to
the native mind none but the great points of belief to which
most Christians assent. They have upwards often stations
scattered over the country along the sea-coast.
I he revenue is chiefly derived 1 st, From customs duties; Revenue
From .censes to carry on certain trades, stamps, auction .nd
duties, and spirit licenses; 3d, From a tax of 7s. per annum dHure/
on every native hut; 4th, From fees of courts, fines, post-
age, &c.; 5th, From quit-rents on land.
follows .!lVe"Ue a"d exPenditure in several years were as
1Q,e Hevenue. Expenditure.
 L-3’073 L.6,905
 S1>397  31,474
1855  34,050  33,603
The hut-tax was imposed in 1849, and has yielded an
annual revenue of upwards of L.8000 per annum. At the
same period the expenditure was largely increased in pro-
vi mg the requisite machinery for the government of the
natives, as noticed above.
of theecoW!y ”ld table SlWWS 1116 pr0gress 0f the “moerce Commerce.
NAT
806
NAT
Natal
National
Education.
Exports of
Years. Imports. Colonial Produce.
1846 L.41,958 L.15,409
1848  46,204  10,683
1850  111,015  15,613
1852  103,701  20,164
1854  124,722  37,039
1856  102,513  53,931
In 1853 the value of the chief imports were,—cotton and
other dry goods, L.40,000; food, stores, &c., L.30,000;
spirits, wine, and beer, L.7800; machinery and iron, L.6600.
The exports in 1853 chiefly consisted of,—grain, flour,&c.,
L.2832 ; butter, L.5805 ; bacon and hams, L.1453 ; ivory,
L.l 1,065 ; sheep’s wool, L.3556 ; wood and planks, L.1888.
In 1855 the export of wool had risen to upwards of L.8000 ;
that of ivory to more than L.14,000. The exports of some
other articles have sprung up or been developed since 1853.
In 1856 beef and pork, hides, tallow, and arrow-root became
prominent articles of export. The export of sugar com- Natche*
menced in 1856; and its value was stated at L.483. ||
Agriculture is steadily advancing. In the upper and Nati°nal
cooler parts of the country the cultivation of wheat, oats,Educati™.
and other grains is rapidly increasing; the breeding of^“
cattle and sheep is also making good progress. The manu- Agricul-
facture of sugar is progressing very satisfactorily ; severalture'
mills have been imported and are in operation; and at the
beginning of 1856 it was considered that there were nearly
1000 acres of cane under cultivation. There seems, too,
no doubt that its production will be highly remunerative.
Land is not a tenth of the price it brings in the West Indies
and Mauritius, while labour is cheaper. Natal, moreover,
has a great advantage over these islands in so far as a Euro¬
pean can labour out of doors without danger to health. The
cultivation of indigo has been attempted with success. Cotton
will grow admirably on the coast lands. (b. c. p.)
NATAL, a town of Brazil, capital of the province of
Rio-Grande-do-Norte, on the River Grande, about 4 miles
from its mouth, and 170 miles N. by W. of Pernambuco.
The houses are for the most part built only of earth, and
the streets are narrow, crooked, and unpaved. The har¬
bour, which might be made one of the best in Brazil, is at
present so filled with mud as to be inaccessible to large
vessels. The trade is considerable. Pop. (1851) 12,000.
NATCHEZ, a town of the United States, North Ame¬
rica, state of Mississippi, on the left bank of the Mississippi
River, 279 miles above New Orleans. It is well and
regularly built; and most of the houses are of wood, having
gardens and shrubberies attached to them. It has a court¬
house, jail, hospital, orphan asylum, theatre, and masonic
hall. There are several oil-mills; and an extensive trade
in cotton is carried on. Pop. (1850) 5239.
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
Meaning of The word education is derived from e, out, and duco, to
the word lead 0r draw, and is ordinarily employed to express the
Education, whojg 0f the process by which we draw forth the powers and
capacities of the human mind into free and full activity.
National education signifies the application of this pro¬
cess to any particular country, so that the mass of the
people, in their relative stations, may possess the mental
development suitable for performing the duties and carry¬
ing on the occupations of civilized life.
In treating of the entire subject of national education
there are three inquiries which have to be instituted:—
ls£, What education, individually and nationally considered,
is? 2d, Who is responsible for it? Zd, How is it to be
carried on ? The first of these questions is theoretical, and
requires of us to explain what any one must be taught be¬
fore he can be considered, properly speaking, an educated
man. The second and third of the above questions are
practical, and have to point out, the one the proper agen¬
cies, the other the proper methods of national education.
The influences of nature, however, and the powers of
mind which grasp and interpret them, stand in a very varied
relation to each other. In the infantile state of humanity
nature has the preponderance over mind. Surrounding
circumstances almost wholly mould the man; because the
intellectual power which stands opposed to the phenomena
presented, and re-acts upon it, is crude and undeveloped.
Hence human life rises very little above the direct attempt
at supplying physical wants; and those mental developments
which go to form the whole complex idea of civilization
hardly come into notice, or even existence.
On the other hand, in a more advanced state of humanity
the relative preponderance of mind and nature tends more
and more towards the supremacy of the former. Nature
is gradually combated and subdued; she becomes a ser¬
vant to human wants instead of a governor; and the
arrangements of human life all bear the stamp of a wide¬
spread intellectual activity, in place of mere human instinct,
seeking to supply the most primitive and most pressing of
human necessities.
Now the whole difference between these two conditions
of human life is due to education, in the most extended
sense of the word. It is in proportion as the inward and
originally slumbering powers of the human mind are drawn
out, that man rises above the sphere of a mere physical ex¬
istence, and comes to be guided by his reason, his con¬
science, and his better feelings. ^
A large portion of human education, thus viewed, mustSp0®^
evidently be purely spontaneous. A tribe of people obtain-®.^
ing a fixed settlement in some favourable quarter of the
globe, starts, we will suppose, upon its progress towards
civilization. The habit of living by plunder or by the
chase is first of all exchanged for some settled kind of in¬
dustry of a pastoral or an agricultural character. Industry
gives rise sooner or later to property, and property requires
law and government in some form to assure and protect it.
With the establishment of fixed principles of government,
giving security to life and property, exchange and commerce
soon begin to spring up, wealth is produced, and leisure is
in this way afforded to some to cultivate further the arts of
I. EDUCATION THEORETICALLY CONSIDERED.
The meaning of the word education, as above explained,
conveys in the main the correct idea of the thing itself. It
indicates the fact, that the educating process is not intended
so much to pour a given amount of the material of know¬
ledge into the mind, as to draw forth and develop its
powers and capacities, so that they can act vigorously and
intelligently upon any kind of intellectual material that may
be offered. Man is placed, according to the constitution of
Providence, in the midst of an infinite series of natural
agencies, which act upon him through all the five senses.
The powers of the mind are so framed, and so adapted to
the world in which we are placed, that the phenomena pre¬
sented to it from without are met by a corresponding series
of intellectual activities from within, which receive, mould,
adapt, and, if we may so say, intellectualize the material
thus offered. In this way it is converted into knowledge
and experience; the world without having supplied the
matter, the mind itself having then impressed upon it the
given intellectual form.
Edu
fi
1
i- qi
in
si
in
in
vi
ai
C!
b
IT
q>
m
co
ec
m,
an
. of l
ab
wl
tb
th
tw
in
of
ex
tin
nir
am
of
pn
exi
sor
law
of
ise
wh:
fait
mo
sin
rua
ins
bee
ichnlal
•si a:
.cat a
idc
ti:atii
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
Hatloal life. But when once the rudiments of human knowledge,
science, and literature, are brought into existence, in how-
evei elementary a form, they soon become nurtured and sti¬
mulated, it may be by the desire of gain, or by the sense of
the beautiful, or by the impulse to celebrate in verse the
praises of the good or the great. Parallel with these various
steps of human progress, the religious feelings also become
developed, and rise from the gropings of idolatry to the in¬
telligent worship of a supreme being.
All this indicates the process of what we may term the
spontaneous education of a nation,—an education which,
under favourable circumstances, will always be going on¬
wards, and to which a very large portion of the progress of
every nation must ever be due. History, in fact, is&the re¬
cord of the spontaneous education of nations, together with
the outward events which accompany it; and the philosophy
of history is simply an attempt to comprehend the universal
laws of human development, so far as they may be gathered
from the phenomena of past ages.
It is not our object, however, at present to give any dis¬
quisition on the spontaneous education of nations, as seen
in their history, nor to trace the laws of national growth, as
shown in the philosophy of history. By education, in the
more restricted sense of the term, we mean that process of
instruction purposely and consciously adapted to the indi¬
vidual, by which his faculties are drawn forth into full
activity, and his mind duly developed and informed. Edu¬
cation, viewed in this light, will of course be greatly modified
by the position which each man holds in the process of hu¬
man development generally. The answer accordingly to the
question, Whether any given individual be educated or not?
must depend in a great measure upon the age and the
country in which he lives. In other words, his technical
education presupposes and must spring out of the kind and
amount of spontaneous education to which he is naturally
and necessarily subjected in the course of human life.
A glance at the history of education in different periods
of the world, and amongst different nations, will make this
abundantly evident. Perhaps the earliest historical records
which we have of the methods and details of education are
those which relate to the ancient Persians. Amongst them
the entire education of the youth, from their filth" to their
twentieth year, was confined to three things,—riding, shoot-
ing with the bow, and speaking the truth.1 The two former
of these points do not indicate anything but what might
exist in a state of barbarism; but the third presents to us
the clear indications of an incipient civilization, just begin¬
ning to rise beyond the sphere of mere physical activity,
and to regard the mental as well as the corporeal qualities
of the pupil. Moral education, in this case, is seen to have
preceded intellectual, which in fact does not appear to have
existed at all amongst the Persians, with the exception of
some slight instruction given to the priestly order in the
laws and institutions of their religion.
I he description which Xenophon gives of the education
of Cyrus is not in contradiction to this account, although it
is evident that the Cyropcedia is rather intended as a type of
what the education of such a prince ought to he, than any
faithful delineation of what it actually was. How far this
model education, as described by Xenophon, would fall
shoit of what we now consider necessary even for the very
rudiments of mental culture, it is not necessary for us to
insist upon. And yet, no doubt, the ideal Cyrus must have
been legarded as exhibiting at that time the highest time
of an educated man.
No sooner do we pass from the oriental world into the
active scene of Greek civilization, than we feel at once that
the whole atmosphere of human existence is changed. The
807
great drama of human history has commenced a new act, National
and the elements which form the chief interest in it are Education,
now of an entirely new character. In the Greek we no
longer see humanity under the influence of the senses, nor
guided merely by the feelings; the elements of self-con¬
sciousness there appear from the very first. The Greek
knows that he has a soul and an intellect within him; he
can place himself in bold contrast with nature ; he can look
within as well as without; detect the secret workings of his
own mind; analyze the inward phenomena of his being, and
strip away the fleeting impressions of the moment from the
permanent elements of his more fixed ideas. In a word,
he can not only form within himself ideal representations of
nature, but he knows that they are ideal, and is fully con¬
scious of the part which his own mind has had in con¬
structing them.
In the Greek, accordingly, a higher range of mental facul¬
ties comes into play than was seen in the early oriental world.
1 he ideas which these faculties create are vivid and exube¬
rant ; the memory is inexhaustible ; the imagination fertile
almost beyond conception ; and the power of expression ut¬
ters itself in a tongue the most harmonious, the most plastic,
and the most versatile which mankind has ever produced.
1 his exuberant power of representation, however, not only
manifested itself in their life and language,—it not only
poured itself forth in poetry and song,—it became, still
further, the parent of art. The Greek was not content
with forming ideals in his own mind; he felt impelled to
express them externally. He must paint them out upon
the canvas, hew them into wondrous reality from the
solid marble, and erect them aloft in the form of massive
temples.
With regard to his mode of life, the Greek was essen¬
tially a social being—social not from any sense of authority
due to a superior, but social from the desire of realizing the
utmost degree of elegance and ideal culture in his political
existence. He has no great reverence for humanity as
such he will enslave others if he can, so long as he remains
free himself; nay, all the world may remain either slaves
or barbarians to him so long as his own joyous Greek life
can blossom in all the hues of its native beauty.
The main idea of education, therefore, among the
Greeks was to jit men to he brilliant citizens; to develop
their physical energies; instruct them in music, poetry, and
rhetoric; give them power to impel, to persuade, ’or to
vanquish, and thus turn them out Greek politicians in the
highest sense of the word.
“Just as the child,” says Cramer,2 “when he has made
only a few steps, rejoices in his knowledge, looks down upon
all other, even his own former sports, and begins already
to fix the measure of culture ; so also did the Greek.
Culture, in the broadest sense of the word, bodily as well
as mental, formed the distinction between himself and
the barbarians,—separated the freeman from the slave, dis¬
tinguished the instructed man from the manual labourer
(fSavavo-o?), the rich from the poor, and, finally, the
Athenian from the other Greeks.” It is in accordance with
this whole idea that Plato, in his ideal republic, points out
the different classes which must exist in the state—the
men of valour, the men of business, and the men of
thought; and shows that the state should take up every
child, as something belonging to itself, and cultivate him
for his future functions, whatever they might be, in the
body politic.
This self-conscious power which the Greeks possessed
was sure eventually to lead them beyond the mere cre¬
ations of poetry and art. In the person of Socrates it cre¬
ated Ethics, as the practical science of life ; while in Plato
1 Herod, i. 136; Strabo, xv.
Geschichte der Erziehung im Alterthume, Erster Band, p. 148.
808
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
National and Aristotle the whole of the latent elements of Greek
Education. cuiture were developed fully out into the form of pure
philosophic Idea.
But here the genuine Greek life was already on the
wane. As long as they found free scope for their imagina¬
tion, they presented to the world the most wonderful
spectacle of aesthetic life and culture which has ever been
realized. Their mission on the great arena of human
history had to do primarily with the beautiful, and then (so
far as the fancy could picture them as ideals) with the good
and the true. But it was not a part of their national
character to develop any great and striking manifestation
of the practical understanding. Another great nation was
already formed, and, as it were, set apart for this mission—
a nation which, alike devoid of all high exercise of the
imagination on the one hand, and the speculative reason
on the other, was already giving a perfect embodiment of
a solid practical intelligence, and exhibiting all that strength
of purpose, firmness of character, and accumulation of
power over mankind, which such a mental temperament
naturally and necessarily superinduces. It need hardly be
said that the Roman nationality is here referred to.
Roman The practical sense of the Romans gave a character to
education. the education of their youth altogether different from what
we see amongst the Greeks. In Greece everything was
regarded in reference to the culture of the individual, and
estimated according as it tended to realize some ideal of
excellence and beauty. In Rome, on the contrary, utility
was the main object of all education. The Greek, for ex¬
ample, studied mathematics, but he did so mainly as a
means of mental refinement; while the Roman studied
mathematics and arithmetic solely for practical purposes in
warfare or commerce. Physical education among the
Greeks was intended to give elegance to the person ;
amongst the Romans it was intended to give strength and
endurance for labour. In Rome the chief subjects of in¬
struction accordingly were, as with us, reading, writing,
and reckoning, to which some knowledge of geography and
Roman history was added; for these were the pursuits
which fitted men for their actual duties in human life.
Another thing, too, which caused the Roman education
to approach nearer our own than the Greek did, was the
fact of their having to look for their models of literary ex¬
cellence to a foreign language and literature. The Romans
studied Greek much in the same way as we do Latin, as
being the best basis for a high mental cultivation. The
necessity of doing this gave rise to the science of grammar,
of which the Greeks, being always confined to one lan¬
guage, had no developed idea. The study of grammar in
this way became, under the Roman empire, one of the chief
pursuits in the schools of learning, and was considered
indispensable to a liberal education. Thus, although the
aesthetic culture of the Roman was far inferior to that of
the Greek, yet in practical vigour of understanding, in the
sense of personal right, in all the elements of social morality,
and in everything which goes to make up the citizen of a
great and a free state, the Roman showed himself far superior.
What would have passed for high cultivation amongst the
former people would have been regarded as virtually useless
amongst the latter ; whilst the Greek would have scoffed at
the barbarism of the Latin, from his want of elegance,
genius, and aesthetic development in general. In answer
to the question, therefore, What is to be understood by
an educated man ? the Greek would have pointed to a
man of high physical and mental refinement, while the
Roman would have pointed rather to the man of great
practical efficiency in all the affairs of human life.
The idea has been widely entertained, that the rise and
spread of Christianity throughout Europe made, as it were,
a clean sweep of the old-world civilization, and built up
another state of society, based altogether upon new ideas.
This, however, was in fact far from being the case. That Nation i
Christianity introduced a new element into the West, and Educatil
one of surpassing worth and moral grandeur, every Chris-
tian man can testify ; but there were many other elements
which mingled with it before it formed a new state of
society, a new civilization, a new world. The Greek in¬
tellect was still busily at work in Christian times, as we
find abundantly evinced by the controversies of the early
church. The Roman practical understanding was at work
also, and aided in the reconstruction of society upon the
family as the social, and the Roman law as the political
basis of the whole. The Christian youth, indeed, we know
attended the schools of the grammarians and philosophers,
even though many of them were yet heathens ; and thus, in
their very education, the culture of the old world was
blended with the advancing Christian ideas of the new.
If we come down step by step to the middle ages, we Middle
find all along precisely the same phenomena. The Greek education5*
ideas continued to exist there, for Aristotle reigned almost
supreme in the region of the intellect; and the Roman
sense of personal right and civil privilege was there also,
for absolutism could gain no sure footing in Europe during
the whole of the feudal times. And yet, with all this,
society sank down into a condition bordering well nigh
upon barbarism. This barbarism, however, was more ap¬
parent than real; for although the culture of the middle
ages fell so immeasurably behind that of the classic periods
of human history, yet there were new elements at work
within it, which contained the germs of a still higher moral
and intellectual life than had ever before existed. The
truth is, the whole of the middle ages present to us an im¬
mense transition period; the elements of mental refine¬
ment, which had cast a radiance upon the old world, were
passing away as the basis of a social state, and the sublime
spirituality of the Christian life was struggling to realize it¬
self against a thousand opposing difficulties. It was only
when both these elements had become fully blended that the
light of modern civilization dawned upon us in its full lustre.
Looking, therefore, at the state of education in the
middle ages, it is necessary to make a distinction between
the spontaneous and the technical education of that period.
The spontaneous education, though not marked by a state
of any refinement, yet contained in it elements of unspeak¬
able value. To be a true gentleman in the age of chivalry
implied valour, honour, gentleness and respect towards the
fair sex, truth, humility, and piety; though it implied no
scholastic learning whatever, not even the faculty to read
or write. The technical education of the middle ages, on
the other hand, was poor enough. It was divided into two
branches, called respectively the Trivium and the Qnad-
riyium. The Trivium included grammar, rhetoric, and
dialectics; the Quadrivium comprehended music, arith-
metic, geometry, and astronomy. The former was supposed
to exhaust the study of language, the latter to exhaust the
study of science ; and the man who was master of the whole
was considered to have fairly earned the title of possessing
universal knowledge.
Moreover, poor as was this curriculum, there were very
few, in comparison to the whole population, who attempted
to master even the Trivium alone; while the man who
mastered the Quadrivium also was looked upon as a wonder
of the age, as was the case with Albertus Magnus, of whom
it is recorded to his undying honour, that he taught the
Quadrivium, and knew all that was to be known,—
“ Quadrivium docuit, et totum scibile scivit.”
The revival of letters in Europe was due proximately to
the influence of classical literature, which was brought into
the West by the scholars of Constantinople when that city
fell a prey to the conquering power of the Turks. To this
were added, in rapid succession, the invention of printing,
Natonal
Edu tion
t)rm ion
in ejjsa-
n
II
oi
tc
q>
Ir
pe
or
th
«d
1 in
W(
gr
mi
ive
fri
B;
gr
tif
frc
no
dr;
Ni
ist
ivl
mi
sta
edi
ifl
’ th
Ke-
uca-
ml .
ter
,on.
the discovery of America, and, lastly, the Reformation.
With the Reformation a new era commences in the educa¬
tional history of .Europe. The controversies to which it
gave rise brought to light the great principle so long for¬
gotten, that all human truth must depend ultimately upon
the acknowledged validity of the faculties of the human
mind, and that the responsibility of every man’s faith and
practice must rest in the end upon his own individual judg¬
ment. Hitherto men had been quietly led by authority^—
now they were to be guided by their own convictions; and
consequently it was a matter of supreme moment that those
convictions should be rightly and wisely formed. With the
spread of the Reformation, accordingly, the fact dawned
upon the mind, that the universal exercise of private judg¬
ment must be accompanied by the universal education of
those who were to employ it. Without this it was seen the
work of reformation would be wholly incomplete; for of
"hat use would be the appeal to individual convictions so
long as the people were too benighted to have any ? Of
what avail the right of private judgment, so long as the
masses of mind around them had no judgment at all ?
With the Reformation, then, the imperative necessity of
educating the whole mass of society, from the highest to the
lowest, first grew into a clear conviction. All the great
efforts for accomplishing that end date their origin from this
period. In Germany, the cradle of the Reformation, Luther
proclaimed the education of the people as the crying want
of his times, and wrote a circular letter to the councillors of
all the towns in the country, pressing the subject upon
their attention. In England, private effort set earnestly
about the same business; and if all the funds which were
left for educational purposes by our forefathers of this era
were properly administered and employed, they would even
now go far to place the great majority of our population be¬
yond the reach of ignorance and shameful neglect. In
Scotland the parochial system of education in the same
way dates its rise from the efforts of John Knox and his
coadjutors, who determined that every parish in the king¬
dom should be supplied with a school sufficient for the whole
population, as well as with a church for divine worship.
I he Reformation, then, we may set down as a great era,—
nay, as the great era,—in the history of human education.
It was the age in which the necessity of developing the whole
of the human faculties became apparent; and of doing this,
too, through all classes of the community'. The only
question was, Hoiv was this great end to be accomplished ?
In what way was human nature to be more and more
perfected ? What course should the educator follow in
order to bring about the highest results ? This has been
the real problem of modern civilization, and it is a problem
not yet fully solved.
For some time great trust, as was natural, was put
in ancient methods. All teaching was to be done by
rvords; the old masters were still to be the guides ;
giammar, logic, and rhetoric were to be the great instru¬
ments of human culture ; nay, even the practical sciences
were to derive their light from the relics of the old world—
from Galen, or Celsus, or Aristotle himself. When the
Baconian philosophy, however, became once established, a
great change was introduced into the whole idea of scien¬
tific teaching. Men, it was seen, were no longer to learn
from books only, but from things themselves. They were
no longer to trust to old-established propositions, but to
draw the milk of truth at first hand from the bosom of
Nature. Here, accordingly, the old system of logical verbal¬
ism began to give way to a system of scientific realism, in
which the perceptions and the observing powers were to
mingle their results with the generalizations of the under¬
standing.
One of the chief reformers in the department of popular
education was John Locke. In a work which he wrote on
VOL. xv.
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
809
the principles and methods of education, he condemned the National
exclusive Latin training of the age, and showed how import- Education,
ant it was that a due regard to positive science should be
joined to the more direct culture of the understanding,
through the medium of language ; and how necessary it
was, also, that practical efficiency should ever be kept in
view, if the future man was to become a really useful
member of society.
. Jhe work> however, which had perhaps the most extensive Rousseau,
influence during the last century was Rousseau’s Emile.
Rousseau’s fundamental principle was, that human nature is
essentially good, tending alike towards truth and virtue ;
and that all the evils, sins, and miseries, which afflict it arise
from the anomalies and imperfections of human society.
He pictures, accordingly, an ideal case, in which an infant
is brought up from the very first according to the principles
he has laid down ; shows how he is to be shielded from the
corruptions of society ; how he is to be left open to the
influences of nature and conscience; how the mind, free
from the trammels of conventionalism, is to be allowed to
expand; how the faculties thus become enlightened, the
will strengthened, the passions repressed, until he grows
up a perfect specimen of what a man ought to be in his
intellectual, social, and moral relations.
I his work of Rousseau, though by no means very deep in
its philosophy, nor very profound in its analysis of the
human faculties, yet produced a marked effect upon European
society. It was written just to meet the spirit of the age.
Denouncing, on the one side, the materialistic principles of
the French philosophy, which made man merely the creature
of habit; but yet, starting from a purely psychological and
antitheologic basis on the other, it just supplied the wants
of those who were looking out for a safe path between the
merest naturalism on the one hand and the old-fashioned
methods of verbal authority on the other.
Germany especially felt the effects. A number of men, German
who received the name oi Illuminati^ entered into a bond Illuminati,
of philanthropy to reform the evils of society, and educate
its children on rational and moral principles. And much
was such a reformation needed. The old grammar-school
methods were miserable enough,—mechanical reading,
learning by rote, and a half Latin jargon, which went by the
name of grammar, were driven into the scholars with all due
severity. Everything conspired to make the whole process
dull, uninteresting, and repulsive. Against all this, then,
the philanthropists protested ; and although they ran
into some extremes on the other side, yet, by nurturino- a
kindly spirit towards the young, by studying their wants
and aspirations as well as their duties, and by introducino-
a variety of useful topics hitherto excluded from the very
atmosphere of the school-room, they did much to break
down old abuses and prepare the way for a better system
of things.
I he most remarkable results of this whole movement were Pestalozzi,
finally concentrated in the life and labours of Pestalozzi.
The great merit of Pestalozzi, that for which the world owes
him a lasting debt of gratitude, was his clear demonstration
of the hollowness and futility of mere verbal teaching, unless
it is based upon real mental experiences,/jrmow/y acquired.
Nurtured in the material philosophy of the age, Pestalozzi
held that all human knowledge is based upon the senses ;
that the perceptive powers, therefore, must be cultivated in
the first instance; and that whatever is afterwards taught
by words must be brought back to the testimony of the
senses for its verification. This philosophy led him both
into a truth and an error. The truth into which it led him
was, as I have said, the hollowness of mere verbal instruc¬
tion. It showed him that words have no essential force at
all; that the knowledge of a proposition, therefore, does
not at all involve the knowledge of the thing itself which
it speaks; and that unless the intuitive powers are first
5 K
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
810
National enriched, all your subsequent teaching will be unavailing,
Education, because there is as yet nothing in the mind answering to
's—the terms you make use of.
On the other hand, Pestalozzi’s philosophy was undoubt¬
edly imperfect; it laid too much stress upon the senses as
the foundation of human knowledge, and too little on the
intuitions. His method thus became a constant oscillation
between sense and reasoning. Every principle in arithmetic
was to be proved by an appeal to the ball-frame; every
proposition in geometry demonstrated by presenting the fact
involved in it to the eye; every mechanical power ex¬
plained by showing its actual effect in nature. He did not
seem to comprehend that you may present all these things
to the senses as facts, individually, and yet that the in¬
tellect may thoroughly fail to grasp the principles as mat¬
ters of pure reason. Thus he left the minds of his scholars
with a vast multiplicity of isolated facts, verified as facts by
the senses, but drew forth very little of that superior power
by which the mind comprehends truth in its unity, and
groups individual phenomena under the universal concep¬
tions of science.
Since the days of Pestalozzi very little has been done
towards developing any well-grounded theory of education.
The practical work of popular instruction, indeed, has been
going on rapidly in nearly every country in Europe, par¬
ticularly during the last twenty years; but we are still
waiting for some master intellect which shall combine all the
scattered elements of pedagogic science, and unite them
into one broad generalization. In the meantime, the sub¬
ject almost naturally divides itself into certain main branches,
which are treated often in an isolated manner, but which,
nevertheless, have drawn forth a large amount of useful
observation and remark on the nature and methods of edu¬
cation generally.
Various The most obvious classification, perhaps, which can at
kinds of present be adopted is that which divides the entire subject
education. 0peducati0n into,—1. Physical; 2. Intellectual; 3. Moral;
4. Political; and 5. Religious Training. We mean by this,
that education has to contemplate the future man in all these
five different points of view, and must aim at drawing forth
and confirming those special capacities and aptitudes which
will lead to the efficient performance of the work and duty
of life in all these several respects.
Physical 1. With regard to physical education, this has hitherto
education, been left far too much to nature and chance; and we owe
it mainly to the improved condition of medical science that
public attention has been called to the deficiency. It in¬
cludes, first of all, the essential conditions of health, such
as cleanliness, fresh air, exercise, diet, alternate periods of
labour and recreation; secondly, the strengthening and
proper development of the bodily powers by means of drill¬
ing, marching, and gymnastic exercises; thirdly, the for¬
mation of certain useful habits, which after a time become
almost instinctive. Hand-writing is a habit of this kind,
which can be impressed once and for ever on the nervous
system ; the power of rapid performance on musical instru¬
ments is another faculty dependent on the same kind of
physical training. Easy and graceful deportment, again, is
a trained habit; so also is a clear and correct verbal articu¬
lation. In fact, wherever physical action is required, of such
a nature that it may be transferred by habit from a volun¬
tary act to a reflex one, there the use of physical education
becomes evident; for every good habit which is thus formed
and fixed by early training, whether it be a useful accom¬
plishment, or a graceful deportment, or a facility of correct
expression, or any kind of manual dexterity, is just so much
poiver actually treasured up in the nervous system, which
can be brought forth and applied at any moment, as if it
were a kind of living machinery, and that, too, without any
trouble or any sense of fatigue to the possessor.
2. With regard to intellectual education, the pathway is
longer, and the process more complicated. The following, National
however, appears to be in the main the order in which the Education,
intellectual powers naturally develop, and is consequently v>—vV
the direction which the educator ought to follow in apply- Intellec-
ing the means of intellectual training. The first of the tual educa.
faculties which comes into full activity after the senses and tion'
physical powers have become duly developed, is that of
perception. By perception we mean the instinctive inter¬
pretation the mind makes of all the phenomena which come
to it directly through the senses. It was once remarked by
a man celebrated for his great learning and ability, that he
had learned more in the first three years of his existence
than in all the rest of his life put together. And when we
take a child of three or four years old, and see what it has
already attained,—how it has learned all its first lessons in
time and space,—to how perfect a use of the senses it has ar¬
rived,— how accurately it can measure the relations of form,
of size, and of distance,—how it has advanced in the know¬
ledge of men as well as things,—how readily it judges of
character, reads the human countenance, sides with the
good and gentle, and rejoices in all that is genuine and
beautiful,—we feel that there is almost a literal truth in
the assertion. This faculty of the child, then, by which it
learns all these indispensable elements of human knowledge,
without effort, without instruction, without the aid of schools
or lessons, without anything but nature and life around it,
we call perception. The earliest teaching, accordingly,
should be in accordance with the method which nature her¬
self points out,—namety, perceptive teaching. Everything
should be done to fructify and enrich the primary intuitions;
for it, is only when a store of perceptive knowledge is laid up
in the mind that verbal lessons can prove of any avail.
The next great step in the unfolding of our intellectual
life is the power of reproducing the impressions which have
been made by means of perception upon the mind; of
representing them to ourselves internally, and of occupying
our minds not merely with things themselves, but with
those inward representations of them. Every impression
made on the mind through the nervous system leaves an
indelible trace behind it. Of course these impressions are
not for a time consciously reproduced ; but there arrives a
period in the course of our mental development in which
we not only reproduce our primary mental impressions, but
become conscious of that reproduction, and are fully able
to connect the actual perception of a thing with the after
representation of it. When the power of mental reproduc¬
tion arrives at this stage, it is called memory. Again, if we
employ images within the mind merely as images, without
any further reference to their external source,—if we com¬
bine and expand them, and put them into new forms,—then
we term it imagination ; and lastly, if we attempt to trace
the principles of order and arrangement, by which the con¬
stant flow of images through the consciousness is regulated,
we term these the laws of association. All this group of
phenomena, then, we include under one head, and call it
the representative faculty. The triumph of the represen¬
tative faculty is seen at length in the creation of language ;
for here not only are our perceptions internally represented
and reproduced, but these very inward representations are
projected out of ourselves, and embodied in external signs; j[ora
so that by means of language the mind can place its own educi
work before it, as the object of its own contemplation.
Now, observation shows us, that the period of boyhood is
chiefly remarkable for the intense activity of the represen¬
tative powers. The memory at this time of life is remark¬
ably active; the power of seizing vivid ideas of things, of
recalling them again and again, of combining them, asso¬
ciating them, and connecting them with the appropriate
words or signs, is in the highest state of intensity. This is
seen in the wonderful facility with which languages are
acquired through the ear at this early period,—a facility
al
S(cat
which gradually dies away as the reasoning faculties become
moie advanced and mature. Nature herself, therefore,
thia,t un ed,Ication our principal aim at this
time of life should be to furnish nutriment for the growth
foXpJnsl0fn of ,the. P°wers of inward representation;
] f- 1 »i °-' S renSthening dle memory, training and regu¬
lating the imagination, giving full play to the laws of asso¬
ciation, and producing the capacity of expressing ideas in
cleai, luminous, correct, and copious language. All these
at^thi 0p mmd can generally be acquired with great facility
at this time of life ; but if neglected now, so difficult does
the process of their education afterwards become, that it is
a thousand chances to one whether they will ever be ac-
quired to any degree of perfection at all.
.. fr^mation of signs for our ideas, and the construc-
tion of them into a complete language, paves the way for
that higher exercise of mind which we call thought
which is mainly concerned with abstract and generalized
conceptions. This faculty, which deals with the general
and the abstract, which separates our knowledge into definite
parts, arranges it, classifies it, embodies it in accurate terms
expands it into formal propositions, and draws conclusions
from one proposition to another, we term the understanding.
1 he importance of training the mind to accurate logical
t linking can hardly be over-estimated; for although the
og!cal faculty is not the highest faculty of our nature, yet
it is of all others the most practical, and that which has the
closest bearing upon the occupations and duties of life.
Ihe illogical mind may be deep, reflective, and suggestive
of many new ideas, but its knowledge is held loosely
together, the connection between one idea and another is
haidly perceived, and there is no system or order in the
way in which truth is apprehended and retained. The
mam portion of our intellectual education, as the mental
powers become somewhat mature, should accordingly be
directed to the regulation and the development of the
understanding; and this, according to universal experience
is best done by means of linguistic studies on the one hand’
an^]rnat lema^lca and scientific studies on the other
Ihe goal and summit of our intellectual life is at’length
attained in the full and free development of the reason.
By reason we mean that power which is concerned in the
formation of our last and deepest convictions,—it is that
image of the Divine thought which descends to the very
bas!s of human truth calls all earthly authority before its
and Tn 116 ng,ht and the true> object to no power,
and amenable to no laws, but those of the infinite and
eternal reason itself, of which it is an emanation. By means
unward"ern°> ^ ? n0t 0nIy arranSed> but traced
upwards to its highest and most general conclusions; the
laws by which the worlds, both of nature and mind, are
^ bfre’and in the midst of the immense
and bewildering mult.p icity of phenomena around us, a
hidden unity is grasped that connects the whole as the
woik of one great Author, and as conspiring to one bene-
ficent end To nurture up this power of insight into full
ron^n ‘V16 Hhest P[°blem of education, intellectually
srientifi?* ? re,SU ’ When attained’ is what we ter^
scientific and philosophic genius*
itself imn /°™e-neXJ t0 ^ra/ educatidn, which all resolves
the WlU t0r actfi™ly ™ accordance with
in' whh °fconscien!*- Just as the intellect, commenc-
series of SensatI0r] ai]d perception, rises through a
also the will ?eS UP t0- the .h,Ighest exercise of reason, so
m nebn ’ commencing with a mere instinctive tendency
controD ’ Up steP by step to perfect freedom and self-
, and just as intellectual training aims at perfecting
he powers of reason, so does moral training aim at perfect?
mg the self-control of the will. The child in the percep-
oftl,»gw-nK1UTf eS!’eCial ,Care !n rekti»" 'o regulation
Of the Will. The rise and development of self-conscious-
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
811
ie child is always accompanied with a sense of National
inwardpotver in relation to the world without. The mean- Education,
mg of play at this early period is the instinctive exercise of
this new-found power in our nature; and its real value lies
in the nurturing of our self-consciousness, and the realiza-
lon of our nascent ability to conquer the material world
around us and bend it to our service. The very same
tendency leads to the desire of tyrannizing over others.
Ihe young child is naturally a tyrant, and will reduce all
around him, if possible, to be the slaves of his desires. The
problem of moral education, accordingly, here is to reduce
this lawlessness with which self rises up to assert its power
into a willing obedience to order and discipline,—an obe¬
dience which shall not arise from the crushing effects of
sternness and severity, hut from the feeling, steadily inspired
ot the absolute power of a command. Willing obedience
to a categorical imperative is the first great lesson in our
vhole moral life, and unmurmuring deference to the will
of a parent or teacher is the natural preparation for our
subsequent unwavering deference to the moral Jaw of God.
nil"S the,m'fd Srows> the tone of authority \xi the teacher
must gratlually re/aar, aml justify itself by an appeal to the
telhgence and moral sense of the pupil. In this way the
respect for authority is increased by associating it with what
, Ieasonable and just. Moreover, when the understanding
becomes mature, even then a great deal must still be in¬
culcated on the authority of the teacher, inasmuch as the
og,ca faculty does not give us the power of penetrating
to the grounds of human conviction. But respect must
now be paid to the personality of the pupil, so far that the
self-consistency of truth must always be made apparent
and nothing inculcated that could in any way militate
against the moral intuitions. By this process the habit of
self-control may be nurtured into a fixed principle; the
power of acting according to established maxims of right
may be strengthened; so that when the man becomes
mature, and is thrown entirely upon his own guidance, the
i responds to the moral convictions which have been
;nlmeu and exPresses in outward action what the conscience
au y affirms to be good. This self-control of the will
becomes, of course, so much the greater in proportion as
C-0nrV!ry!,°nS,0 conscience are shown to rest on a Divine
and infallible foundation ; and it is just here that moral
education connects itself with religious training, which is
indispensable as giving a firm and immovable basis to the
whole. We have now glanced at the three main branches
of human education—the physical, intellectual, and moral.
Iheie are yet two other branches, which grow out of those
aheady treated of, and which regard the man not so much
in relation to the development of his inward powers, as in
relation to the circumstances by which he is surrounded
and the destiny to which he is tending.
4. Ihe first of these is what we have already noted as Political
political education. Much of the political education of a education,
people is of course spontaneous. It is only gradually, and
by the training of long experience, that nations acquire the
power of self-government, and that the individual finds his
own position, politically speaking, in the community. There
are, hovvever, many things of great importance to the
citizen ot a free country which can and ought to be taught
—the want of which, moreover, is fraught with serious e^vils
both to the individual and the state. These are, the nature
and functions ot government, the dbligation every man is
under to yield a portion of his personal liberty to the public
good the duty or obeying all the just laws of the com¬
munity, the nature and rights of property, the relation of
capital to labour and of the employer to the employed,
the laws of the production of wealth, and the ethics of com-
merce. I he want of some elementary knowledge on these
matters naturally gives rise to sedition, conspiracy, and
revolution on the one hand, or to misery, pauperism, an
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
812
National consequent vice and degeneracy, on the other. Every child,
Education, therefore, should be trained to know and act upon the
v—fundamental ideas of social economy and the primary duties
of citizenship.
Religious 5. Lastly, religious education must give the crown and
education, glory to the whole,—its great object being to supply a
Divine sanction to all the dictates and requirements of our
moral nature. Religious education, properly so called,
begins in the development of the sense of the Infinite and
the Divine,—deepening the consciousness of an ever-pre¬
sent and an almighty Being, who sees, rules, and guides all,
and takes cognisance of human actions, whether they be
good or evil. It next goes on to explain what means we
have of knowing the will of God, whether manifested in
nature, or, more directly, in revelation. And, finally, it
should sum up the whole of the truths or principles thus
elicited into a compendium of religious faith and practice
which may serve the purpose of a succinct system of theo¬
logy. The first of these processes is adapted to the child,
the second to the youth, the third to the human mind in its
full maturity. To teach the Catechism to a child is be¬
ginning at the wrong end, and holding up the truths of
theology to him in their most abstract form before the
power of abstract thinking is at all consolidated. Religion
must be inculcated first in the intuitions and feelings; then
it must occupy the memory and imagination ; and, lastly, it
must live in the understanding and the reason.
Regarding the present state of European society, it can
hardly be affirmed that any individual is regarded as an
educated man who has not experienced some amount of
training in each of the departments above described. Every
educated man must at least have gone through so much
physical training, either consciously or unconsciously, as to
give him a deportment proper to society, and a power of
articulation sufficient to express his thoughts with intelli¬
gence and propriety. He must have had his perceptive
powers so far cultivated as to observe what passes around
him intelligently. He must have acquired some strength
of memory, some power of conception, and the correct use
of his native language, whether in writing or speaking.
Further, the understanding must have been so far developed
that the mind can generalize to some extent,—see the re¬
lation of one truth with another, and draw correct conclu¬
sions wherever the data are plain and obvious. With
regard to moral training, the will of every educated man
must be under some control, so that it can hold in check
the lower passions and propensities; for the want of this is
one of the chief features of barbarism. Politically speak¬
ing, education must enable every man to fill his place
honestly and creditably in the station which he occupies in
society, whether it be higher or lower. And, finally, it
must have made him so far acquainted with the ideas, sanc¬
tions, and duties of religion, that he knows and appreciates
its obligations as they are held and enforced in that par¬
ticular community to which he may chance to belong.
This, perhaps, we may regard as the minimum of what
is requisite to form ati education in the present sense of the
word. It may seem, perhaps, to include a great deal,
especially when we consider how much actual instruction
must be employed in order to bring the mind even into a
moderate state of discipline upon all these points ; and yet
a decided failure in any one would inevitably cause any
man among us to sink below the level of what are termed
the educated classes of society. No system of national
education, accordingly, could possibly contemplate less than
we have now stated as essential to the present idea of an
educated man. Every citizen, at least, in a free country,
should have the means of mental development so far put
into his hands. The expansion of the idea of education into
its higher aims and purposes belongs, of course, to the higher
spheres of instruction, and will always be determined in its
amount and its character by the progress of knowledge and National
civilization through every succeeding era of human history. Education.
We come now to the more practical aspects of the sub- 'S—v^
ject, and have to inquire,—
II. WHO ARE THE PERSONS AND WHAT THE AGENCIES BY
WHICH NATIONAL EDUCATION IS TO BE CARRIED ON ?
There are a thousand agencies that really bear upon the
education of a people, which cannot be distinctly enu¬
merated or calculated. Human life itself is an educating pro¬
cess, and much more so in some countries than in others. The
active life of commercial towns has a more stimulating effect
upon the minds of the people at large than the quiet routine
of agricultural pursuits. In countries, too, which possess
free institutions like those of England or America, the in¬
tercourse of daily life presents far more to stimulate the
energies and educate the whole man than the monotonous
political atmosphere of absolute governments. Hence we
sometimes find that a country with very complete educa¬
tional institutions does not produce nearly as much mental
vigour, practical energy, and bold enterprise as another
country where the actual institutions are perhaps far less com¬
plete, but where the stimulus of daily life is much greater.
(I.) The question which we have now to discuss, however, Theories
does not relate at all to this spontaneous education, which of educa-
lies, in fact, beyond the direct control of human agencies. t'onal
What we mean by the problem now before our considera-aSenc^
tion is, who is to frame, superintend, and carry on the actual
educational institutions of a country ? On this point various
theories have been propounded, the principal of which must
be now briefly considered.
1. It is urged that education should be left to its owrn na- Supply and
tural development; that the demand for teaching will ofd®mand
itself create a supply ; and that the result of this natural systera’
supply will, in the end, be superior to any kind of educa¬
tion which is more artificially constructed.
Now, there can of course be no doubt but that, amongst
many different peoples, education will make considerable
advancement when left to its own natural course of develop¬
ment ; but it would be taking a very narrow view of the
laws of human progress to elevate this into a principle which
could not be deviated from without danger and detriment.
In all the different spheres of human activity the impulse
afforded from time to time by some great master-mind ap¬
pears to be one of the most natural and universal agencies
by which human progress is secured. And this is not only
true respecting the advancement of science, literature, or
philosophy ; it is equally true in regard to political develop¬
ment and social reformation. Take the case of Alfred the
Great in our own country. Here is an enlightened sove¬
reign, with knowledge and foresight far beyond his times,
who is called to rule over a people only just emerging from
semi-barbarism. Applying his superior abilities to the wants
of his people, he not only makes wise laws, and lays the
basis of useful institutions, but seeks to promote education
by founding colleges and schools of learning similar to those
of which he had himself had experience on the continent of
Europe. It certainly could not be said that this was of no
benefit to the country; that the people should have been
left to find their own way out of the surrounding ignorance;
and that everything done for them by the legislator, except
what related to physical order and security, was an error
and a mistake. Or take the case of Peter the Great, when
he had the design of raising Russia into the sphere of civil¬
ized nations. To have affirmed in this case the principle,
that because Peter was emperor, and invested with govern¬
mental authority, therefore he should not, on principle, in¬
terfere with the ignorance of his people, or move a single
step in the pathway of their education, would assuredly be
narrowing down the functions of great rulers and great
ation
to
th
su
ch
th,
of
of
cla
Bu
to
lan
fac
of l
ttia;
thn
furl
anJ
the
stai
orit
fori
pro
eve
no
igni
brol
the
is e(
Uni
Ed
onaUegisJators to a very subordinate degree of importance in
the march of human progress,—a degree not at all cor¬
responding with their natural and providential position as
great reformers. If these and similar instances, then, be
admitted as cases in which the interference of legislators in
the educational institutions of their country was good use¬
ful, and even necessary, then the principle of supply and
demand, as a universal law, breaks down in its application.
Many nations, as we see at this moment, left to the work"
ing of this principle, have failed to elevate themselves at
all out of the ranks of barbarism or semi-barbarism; the
demand for education in their case never appears, and thus
there is a total lack of the supply. If there be any truth
in history, an enlightened governor or government can as¬
suredly do much to bring some useful agency to bear upon
a people living or vegetating in this unsatisfactory and un¬
developed condition.
Suppose, however, that a nation has already been raised
into a civilized state, the question is, can we not then safely
leave its further educational progress to the principle of
supply and demand? The term civilization, it may be re¬
plied, is a relative one. It is difficult to say when a na-
tion, viewed as a whole, is really civilized, and consequently
difficult to draw the line where educational progress can be
safely and properly left, if at all, to self-development.
Civilization does not equally pervade all ranks of the com
munitv : Ann    • .1 1
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
- '    .wocwij, mat even in me DOSOm Ol
the most advanced countries there is a large class of semi-
barbarians who prey upon all the rest. Here, then, we
have a case m which the demand for education is lea«t
where the want is the greatest. The principle of supply
and demand does nothing therefore directly to elevate
them; and the question comes, whether society is to wait
patiently, and bear all the social ills resulting from these
seething beds of ignorance and vice, uncertain whether the
desire of reformation will ever manifest itself, or whether a
wise form of legislation may not do much for their reforma¬
tion, and thus aid in preserving others from the moral con¬
tamination. Whatever principle be adopted, government
cannot hold itself disconnected from these lower strata of
society. It is obliged to watch them, to intimidate them,
to repress them, often to imprison, prosecute, and punish
them; and the idea naturally suggests itself; whether in
such a case it would not be wiser and better, as well as
cheaper to attempt some educational means of reformation
than to be ever engaged in a perpetually renewed struggle
o orce against force. Of all the countries of Europe and
of the woild, Great Britain can lay, perhaps, as valid a
c aim as any to the merit of being in a state of civilization.
But no one can deny, that education, so long as it was left
to the principle of supply and demand, continued in Eng¬
land to be in a lamentably weak, insufficient, and unsatis¬
factory state. The first extended efforts to amend this state
of things, moreover, did not arise from any outcry or de¬
mand from the people themselves, but from the philan¬
thropic efforts of individuals and societies ; and these efforts,
further, only began to rise into large proportions, or to meet
any considerable amount of the acknowledged want, when
they were seconded and upheld by governmental agency.
bcotland, again, which has always maintained a superior
standing ,n respect to popular education, owes this sliperi-
onty mainly to legislative enactments at the time of thePRe-
forma ion (followed up by the Act of William III.) which
p ovided the means for keeping up one school at least in
eveiy parish throughout the country; while Ireland, where
no such enartmpnfa ^  • , . ’
have not sprung up, or if they have done so, have never at- National
tamed any large proportions, when left to the natural opera- Education,
tion of supply and demand. For although many of them rest W-'
on private foundations, yet it is only when they attain the
character of national institutions that they seem to combine
the advantages requisite to produce seats of learning, in which
leisure and opportunity are afforded for the due cultivation
of the higher walks of literature and science. Individuals
of course there will always be, whose genius breaks through
every obstacle and urges them forward to eminence, even
from the very lowest ranks of the people. But the higher
culture of a country could not be left to depend upon the
irrepressible genius of the favoured few. What is wanted to
make it tell upon the progress and welfare of the whole
community is a steady maintenance of institutions in which
learning may be cherished on a large scale, and its in¬
fluence then diffused throughout the whole community,
n this point of view national universities, even though
often fraught with abuses, have played the most important
part in the history and development of every country in
Europe With these facts before us, we conclude that it
can hardly be the course of wisdom and prudence to leave
tne social evils arising from ignorance untouched, and trust
:fi.mfr^rfle0,ry’,that at some distant Period society will
F onu!- and education become spontaneous.
f,, ,is,!fads usJt0 a second theory, namely, that the state ™ ..
ould hold the education of tho Education
munity ; and we K foe blTof should h lift ^ & ^ ^ "a"*1y, that the state Educaj
the most advanced countries there is a large class of semi own Lh If °f tlC ent,re com™nity in its by “he
WWiar,*     „ go Class or semi- own hands, as beim? the natural m.arrhar,  ? tne
own hands, as being the natur^^ oTihe weCofr.';'
the community. I his theory may be regarded as the op¬
posite extreme to the former one ; and if that is open to
objections, this in its turn is no less open to them also.
irst of all it may reasonably be objected, that when edu¬
cation is wholly in the hands of the government, it may be
employed for state purposes, instead of being adapted solely
to the benefit of the community. This objection is not a
mere speculation, but is one which may be largely borne
out by facts. If we take any of the more despotic countries
of Europe as examples, it is hardly to be denied that the
pub ic instruction of the people is so arranged, or so
limited in its material, as to favour the interests of the
monarchy rather than the free development of the mind
of the people. 1 he Metternich policy in Austria may be
quoted as a well-known and universally-acknowledged ex¬
ample of this. Everything was done during its prevalence
to enhance the material comfort of the people, and to nurse
them m the lap of physical enjoyment, while the most
rigid care was taken to exclude the entrance of progressive
ideas, and to prevent the popular mind from ranging beyond
the wants and enjoyments of the hour. In countries like
Prussia, where the force of public opinion is strong enough
to control the acts of the government, education naturally
attains more freedom and strength ; but even here it is
conformed pretty closely to the state policy of the time
being, and scarcely attains the elasticity which it would do
under a more popular system. This is especially visible in
the middle and higher education of the country. In spite
of all the admirable organization which the Prussian edu¬
cational system affords, from the people’s schools up to the
university, yet the fact of all the places being virtually in
the hands of the crown, which thus holds in its keeping the
destiny of the entire mass of gymnasial teachers and uni¬
versity professors, exercises insensibly an influence upon
the minds and opinions of the great body of the learned
men of the country, and biases them towards the views and
! .e.„g!ne_ralA0,]'Cy °f the government. Even the current
no such enactments were LTha^'remained In a stlteof svstem^f 1°]^ °/ ^ S0Vernment* ^ current
^uany„,,e of the^her educ^ rfthT/ coSn'S ""l
Universities ,n these, as most other countries of Europe, is“obviatei by ilfe
814 NATIONAL
National constitutional, and free. This introduces, no doubt, another
Education, phagg }nto t]ie wh0]e aspect of the subject, but does not
altogether render it free from the same difficulty. In a
country like England society is divided into various large
communities, distinguished from each other by their reli¬
gious peculiarities, or by their social habits, or by their po¬
litical sympathies. All these will have their own special
views respecting the nature and machinery of popular or
other education, and will exercise a pressure upon the
government upon this as well as upon all other questions.
Now, a constitutional government, we well know, can only
maintain its position at the head of affairs by enjoying a
certain amount of popular sympathy and support. Hence,
instead of taking up the question of education simply as a
question of national advancement, it is inevitably regarded
also as an element in the state policy. To go contrary to
the views of this or that large community might endanger
the majority at the next election ; and so a course must be
steered between conflicting objections which shall satisfy
the largest number and give the least offence. Thus a
question like national education, which ought to rest
simply and solely on the higher ground of the good of the
people, irrespective of all political tendencies, when once
it is centralized in the hands even of a constitutional go¬
vernment, becomes inevitably mixed up more or less with
party struggles, and is treated with a view to majorities and
minorities like any other question of state polity. Whether,
therefore, we regard education as centralized in the power
of the crown, as in the case of a despotic country, or as
centralized in the bureau of a government, as in the case of
a free and constitutional country, in both cases alike there
are obstacles which stand in the way of a purely beneficent
system, altogether removed from political or party interests.
Of course the evils may be greater in one place and less in
another; but, theoretically speaking, the centralization of
all education in the hands of a government, whether con¬
stitutional or not, can hardly be separated from a certain
amount of concomitant evil or imperfection.
Education 3. A third theory of national education is, that the church
by the should educate the people. This is one of those theories
church. which is rarely taken up upon universal grounds either of
right or expediency, but is usually advocated by those whose
views and sympathies are confined to some peculiar form
of religion or of church polity. Moreover, those who
advocate it as regards themselves would very rarely admit
the soundness of the principle as applied to countries of a
different faith and pi-actice. In some Catholic countries,
where there is nearly an entire uniformity of faith amongst
the mass of the people, the principle that the church is the
proper educator of the community has been oft-times
affirmed, and to a large extent acted upon, under the sanc¬
tion of the governments. But in other countries where
a Protestant church establishment exists, the Catholics are
very far from admitting the principle that this said Pro¬
testant established church should be entrusted with the
whole work of national education whenever it becomes
predominant. Neither do the Protestants, in their turn,
who advocate the principle of church education in regard
to themselves, show any greater disposition to carry out
the principle when it would throw all education into the
hands of hostile communities. The idea, therefore, that
the dominant church should be the sole educator of the
people, however simple it may appear as a theory, yet en¬
tirely breaks down in practice. There was no doubt a
time in the history of Europe in which this theory might
have been actualized—the time, I mean, when there was
one complete uniformity of faith, when the church stood
virtually on a level with the state, when the whole of society
was based as much upon ecclesiastical institutions as upon
civil government, when the see of Rome affirmed for itself
a universal spiritual sovereignty over the human mind, and
EDUCATION.
the clergy were the only depositaries of knowledge, small National
as it then was. But these times have long passed away; Educatioo
and it is only the lingering memory of such a state of
things in the minds ot those who live more in sympathy
with the past than in the realities of the present, that could
possibly keep up the illusion that this principle is in the
slightest degree applicable to the time in which we now live.
In the present day learning and science have become quite
independent of religion, or at least of religious institutions.
Each sphere of human activity, the religious and the secular,
pursues its own way and reaches after its own results.
Society, too, has at the same time become removed from an
ecclesiastical to a secular and politico-economic basis.
However faithfully the individual may cultivate his religious
life, society as a whole is bound together by civil law and
social customs, and can only act as one personality upon
these general principles. Hence to speak of society as
placing its own education in the hands of the church, would
be simply giving up to those who represent the religious
principle a function from which that principle is already
virtually divorced. The church is not in any way scientific
in its basis; it does not represent the learning, the science,
the philosophy, the progressive ideas of the age. The
general tendency of it in this point of view is frequently
retrogressive rather than not; it has to be urged on by the
spirit of the age more frequently than to guide and correct
it; and whenever it has the control of educational establish¬
ments, it is not unfrequently engaged in a struggle to keep
them to their ancient forms and spirit; while the age is
equally struggling to develop them into new and more pro¬
gressive institutions.
Hence the church is, in fact, educated by the people
far more than the people by the church; so that to affirm
the principle of church education uninfluenced, except
permissively, by the state, would simply be to put one
series of institutions and agencies in constant conflict with
another. The church has its own sphere. It represents
the religious interests of mankind ; it has to keep alive our
faith in the spiritual and eternal amidst the hurry and bustle
of human life ; it has to bring the aids, the motives, the
consolations, the impulses of religion to the mind of a
people too much immersed in secular concerns ; but it can
no longer seat itself on the throne of learning, or science,
or of popular education ; for the whole tendencies of the
age are to make the separation of these things, already
sufficiently wide, more and more absolute. The term
church, however, is indefinite. In no countries where any
amount of independent thinking has sprung up, does the
religious life assume one uniform aspect. In England, ac¬
cording to the last census, fully one-half of the whole
church-going population of the country was found to attend
places of worship belonging to the various unestablished
religious denominations ; and in Scotland and Ireland the
established churches are both greatly in the minority.
Under such circumstances, of course, the theory that the
church should educate the people could only be for a mo¬
ment entertained in the broader sense, that the education
of the country should be left in the hands of the religious
bodies, to carry it on by their own voluntary activity. That
a certain amount of healthy philanthropic effort may and
does develop itself in connection with religious bodies in
relation to the education of the people, facts abundantly
prove ; but it is one thing to allow this activity its free
scope, and another to leave to it the entire education of the
community. As far as our present experience goes, the
voluntary efforts of religious communities, though they
have effected much good in their own immediate circle,
yet have totally tailed, when left to themselves, to assume
anything approaching national proportions. The very
nature, too, of voluntary effort in matters of this kind is
fluctuating and spasmodic. It can do much under sudden
I
W
s
Educat
ty chui
sod sta
conjoin
£iTati
vduci
afl
di
th
irn
fr<
all
its
th
vi
an
th
co
in
on
sed
to
bac
car
Sh(
tire
sep
pul
cor
woi
WO!
whi
UP,
add
thei
shot
spre
seco
flucl
exts
inte
com
edui
the
Peoj
tage
stats
of a
who!
once
agen
duct
cour<
hes ]
educj
a *ci
denci
ml
ion
arc
;ate
.ntl
excitement; but it always diminishes and grows feeble
when excitement dies away. Thus in matters which re¬
quire one steady unwavering flow of support, quite inde¬
pendent of any kind of public incentive, voluntary effort
always shows itself incompetent. Such imcompetence may
be of little moment in some branches of philanthropy :
but when we consider the vastness of the scale on which
national education must be carried on in order to be effect¬
ive; when we consider the immense amount both of money
and machinery which is requisite to keep it going steadily
forward, reaching all the farthest recesses of the country •
when we consider, moreover, the tremendous stake which
a country must always run in deciding the manner in which
the masses of the people are enlightened and trained in
early youth, it cannot assuredly be wise to leave the whole
to what have hitherto proved, in every country in the world
uncertain, fluctuating, and wholly incompetent resources. ’
Moreover, religious bodies are themselves exposed to
revolutions New ideas spring up, new forms of doctrine
appear, wide-spread disputes prevail, vast schisms and
disruptions disturb from time to time the working even of
those bodies which are apparently the most firm and un-
movable, and draw away public attention and public effort
Irom all the details of denominational life. In the midst of
a this, however, the people, with its wants, its ignorance,
i s need of proper training and enlightenment, whether in
the purlieus of the city or the remotest nooks of the country
vi lage, is a standing fact, which cannot be abandoned with
any security to the mercy of these fluctuations. So far
then there is an objection to the principle we are novv
considering in point of fact, but there is also an objection
m point of theory It will hardly be maintained by any
one that the rivalry and social separations of contendino-
sects is a hene/it to the community. Even when confined
to religious differences, it produces ill-will, unhappy feeling,
bad neighbourhood, and want of unity amongst citizens in
carrying out social changes or much-needed reformations,
ohould the education of the country, however, be left en¬
tirely in the hands of the religious denominations, this
separation, which was before confined to acts and forms of
public worship, must gradually sink down lower into the
core and heart of society. Denominational distinctions
would begin with the child in the school; his sympathies
would be confined to his sect from his youth up; and the
whole country, as far as it was educated at all, would grow
up stamped with certain intellectual types, which would
add tenfold intensity to the religious ones. To sum up
then in a few words, the objections to the whole theory we
should say that it must, first of all, fail in reaching the far-
spreading wants of what we mean by national education ;
secondly, that it must prove defective in yielding steady un¬
fluctuating support; and thirdly, that, so far as it does
extend, it has the undesirable effect of perpetuating and
intensifying the spirit of sect throughout the country.
4. A fourth theory of national education, which is simply a
combination of the second and third, is, that the state should
educate with and through the church. In countries where
the established church represents the uniform faith of the
En’1 S 'Pn nCi,i,le work in many respects advan¬
tageously. 1 he church being here co-extensive with the
state, and possessing already a complete territorial system
of airangements, adapted to and sympathized in by the
whole population, it seems at first sight to be a matter at
C0T:!,en1t’ am! econoraical ^ employ the church
agency through the length and breadth of the land to con-
uct and superintend the educational agency; though of
Kourse under state control. The same objection, however,
If heie as we before urged in relation to a purely church
Education ; namely, that the church is not constituted upon
i scientific basis, and from its naturally conservative ten-
pencies is apt, in some cases, to come into collision with
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
815
the advancing educational tendencies of the age. The National
uaTfunction nfTmeS tbatthe church has a spirit- Education
ual function of i s own, the less will society be disposed to W"-'
encumber it with social duties which will hinder its own
eptimate activity, and only be imperfectly performed after
. This theory, however, can only be entertained at all
n countries where the religious faith is uniform: in countries
hke our own where this is not the case, the only application
of it would be one in which the government cooperated
with all the religious bodies and assisted them equally !o carry
on the work of popular education. This system, however!
l as the double disadvantage,—!^, Of investing spiritual
bodies with a civil and political function; and 2dlv Of
putting into their hands additional means of maintaining
their own denominational peculiarities through the popular
Sc1!°? " 1S. a matter not at all denied or concealed, that
religious bodies who take up the cause of popular educa¬
tion do so not simply and solely for the benefit of the com¬
munity, but equally for the benefit of their own denomina¬
tion, and to spread its influence more largely throughout the
to'thpT’l ^ence.tbe .sch°o1 becomes a kind of appendage
o the church; education is viewed with respect to church
!!n i’n Se|S’ anr -a Syf?mof antagonisms which has grown
up in the religious life of the people becomes doubled, by
whirbgd?n edKCat‘0nal1as vve11 as an ecclesiastical arena on
Inch the combat may be carried on. All this is of course
much modified and softened by state control, but by no
ans obviated, as ive shall have occasion to observe in
the case of our own country.
We are now reduced to a last and fifth theory of educa¬
tion, viz., that the state should undertake \t through the
^ccorckng to this plan, the government provides
that the country shall be divided into certain districts, that
each district a competent board shall be elected to
manage the educational affairs; that a sufficient rate shall
be raised to support the necessary schools, and that the
local authorities shall thus co-operate with the central go¬
vernment m giving vigour and efficiency to all the institu¬
tions which may be originated for the instruction of the
country Of course the details of such a system will be
eiy different in different countries. In some, the central
government will have a greater preponderance; in others
the local board will exercise the principal functions; in
others, again, the principle of voluntary effort may coml
in as a portion of the whole plan; but in each case the
fundamental idea is the same—that of the union of the peo-
p e, in their capacity as free citizens, with government! in
Whltf Affianf-SUp?r-mte1ndence of P°Pular education,
hatevei difficulties this plan may in special cases have
to encounter in its course to a practical realization, yet as
a theory, it stands pre-eminently above all the rest It
has none of the partial character about it which is” inse¬
parable from the idea of leaving education to fight its own
way, but goes directly to the root of the question, and
aims at comp ete measures for meeting the wants of the
case. It equally avoids the opposite evil of centralization,
and, by creating a local authority, places the educational
institutions of a country in a position where they cannot
be made part and parcel of the machinery of government
Again, it contemplates the wants of the people, not through
tie pecuhai ities of any particular religious system, but by
the light of reason and common-sense, as expressed by the
spirit of the times; and as it stands apart from religious
dissension, it can adapt itself to all the circumstances which
the future history of a country may bring into existence.
/?S a tb^ory> moreover, this has already received the stamp
of practicability both m America and in some of the Bri?
tish colonies; and in no new country probably, where free
institutions exist, would any other system now be eve?
maintained or even attempted. In old countries like our
wn, the pathway to such a system is not so clear or so
816
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
National
Education.
Educa*
tional
agencies
actually
existing.
Prussian
education.
feasible; but all the changes which are introduced naturally
tend to this as the final result.
Looking to the relation which the parent holds to the
teacher in the above-mentioned system, this, of course,
will be different in each. In the case of education be¬
ing a question of supply and demand, the parent stands
simply in the position of a purchaser, who gives a certain
price in the market for value received on the part of his
child. The whole is simply an ordinary commercial trans¬
action. 2dly, When the government provides education and
takes any means to enforce it, then the parent stands to
the teacher in the relation of a subject of the realm to one
who administers and carries on a national institution, and
has no power of complaint or appeal so long as he admin¬
isters it according to principles laid down by superior
authority. 3rf/y, Where the church provides education, the
relation of the parent to the teacher is that of a member of
a religious community to the government of the church to
which he belongs, and his appeal, in case of dissatisfaction,
must be simply to the church authorities. Lastly, When
the people provide education in their capacity as citizens,
the parent stands to the teacher in the relation of a unit
in the local community to any municipal officer who car¬
ries out the will of the whole. The first relation is a
commercial ^ne, the second a civil, the third an ecclesi¬
astical, the fourth a municipal. In the last case the teacher
is a citizen who is entrusted by his fellow-citizens w ith a
certain duty, which he is able to perform more satisfactorily
than themselves. In other words, a portion of parental
duty is given up to one who devotes his whole time to do
well what the parents individually would do very imper¬
fectly, or not at all.
(2.) Having gone through the various theories which have
been propounded as to the proper agencies to be employed
in carrying on the work of national education, let us now
view the question as a matter of fact; and inquire who
actually do educate the people in the most civilized countries
of the world, and what are the agencies which really are
employed for this purpose. A clear statement of the
actual facts of the case may tend to throw considerable
light on the working of the different theories already ex¬
plained.
The country which has usually been held up as having
the most complete and thorough-going system of national
education is Prussia. It may be as w'ell, therefore, to be¬
gin by giving a brief statement of the principles and some
of the details of the Prussian educational system. And,
first of all, I should premise that the question of national
education has been viewed in Prussia not in relation to one
portion, but in relation to the whole extent, of the com¬
munity ; not in relation either to elementary education
alone, but in relation to superior and university education
as well,—the whole forming one graduated system adapted
to all classes of the people. The basis of this system is
purely governmental; the centre from which it all emanates
being a minister of instruction immediately dependent on
the crown.
The entire instruction of the country is divided into
three main departments:—The universities; 2d,
The high schools or gymnasia; and, 3t/, The primary
schools, including those adapted to the village, and the
somewhat superior ones which are intended for the towns.
For conducting and superintending these different classes
of educational establishments a considerable machinery is
put into operation, of which we must next give some
general idea.
The kingdom of Prussia is divided into ten provinces,
vlz->—Eastern Prussia, Western Prussia, Posen, Pomerania,
Brandenburg, Silesia, Prussian Saxony, Westphalia, Cleves,
and Lower Rhine. Each of these provinces again is divid¬
ed into districts (Regierungs-Bezirke); each district is
divided into circles {Kreise) ; and each circle into communes National
(Gemeinde). These divisions, which subserve the general Education
purposes of government, are also taken as educational di-
visions, and form the geographical basis of the whole super¬
intendence.
First, with regard to the provinces. Most of these possess
a university. The superior direction of the university is in
the hands of a commissioner who belongs strictly and solely
to the government, so that the entire administration of the
universities is governmental, not being interfered with in
any way by local authorities, either civil or ecclesiastic.
All the laws and regulations affecting them, as well as all
the appointments of professors, emanate directly from the
crown.
Next, in regard to the high schools or gymnasia. The
direction of these is placed in the hands of the provincial
authorities. Each province posesses a consistorium, which
is charged with the affairs of the church, the school, and
the public health. That portion of the consistorium to
which the affairs of public instruction are committed is
termed the Schul-collegium, each member of it being
appointed and salaried from the crown. The members of
the consistory who administer ecclesiastical affairs are all
clergymen ; those who administer the educational affairs of
the province are all laymen, so that the educational and the
ecclesiastical elements are kept quite distinct in high
quarters, and can there never come into collision. The
basis of the Prussian system of education, it will be seen
from the above explanations, is wholly civil; its connection
with the church being only seen in those minor details to
which we shall have soon to refer. Just as the adminis¬
tration of the universities emanates from the central govern¬
ment of the country, so does that of the high schools or
gymnasia emanate from the provincial government, which
makes all the appointments, and keeps a board of ex¬
aminers sitting in perpetuity, at once to test the capacity of
the teachers, and the proficiency of the students previous to
their being drafted off to the universities.
Thirdly, with regard to the primary schools. The direction
of these is made over to the smaller divisions of the country ;
that is, to the departments, the circles, and the communes.
Every commune is bound to have at least one primary in
or near it; and every child of that commune within a
certain age, whose parents cannot show that he is otherwise
efficiently instructed, is bound under certain pains and
penalties to attend it. Accordingly, both the means of
education and the obligation to use them are carried out
strictly throughout the entire length and breadth of the
land. In order to maintain these schools, care is taken first
of all to manage and properly appropriate all the old school
funds and charities, of whatever kind, and put them to their
proper use. Next, all the land proprietors and fathers of
families in the village form a school constituency (Land-
schulverein), upon whom it is incumbent to raise sufficient
funds, by means of an equitable tax, for keeping the school
in an efficient state after all the school endowments and
school fees have been taken into account. If in any case
the poverty of the commune renders this impossible, then
the additional funds required must be made chargeable upon
the whole department. In larger parishes and in towns
schools of a higher order {Burgerschulen) must be main¬
tained, according to the wants of the population, which are
supported virtually in the same way as the small country
schools.
The management of these institutions is organized in the
following manner :—In every village a committee is formed,
consisting of the patron of the church (if any), the clergy¬
man, the local magistrate, and some two or three of the
principal inhabitants. These are called the school-presi¬
dency {Schul-vorstand). In towns or places where there
are churches of different communions, the clergyman of
T’l
ci
cl
m
o.t
an
m
Pi
T
wi
cc
stl
ma
pu/
adc
agf
25
abc
bet
'vei
40(
ant
the
thr
ins
me
ant
got
act
diff
bee
and
this
bur
cost
and
at! al each communion is to be on the committee; and in larger
ueijon. places still, where several schools exist, there is a school
commission appointed to manage the whole.
A complete system of inspection also exists. The
clergyman of the commune (or clergymen of each com¬
munion, where more than one exists) ist nominated ex
officio the local visitor. In every circle, however, there is
an official inspector appointed by the provincial govern¬
ment, who is generally an ecclesiastic, either Catholic or
Protestant, according to the preponderance of the population.
Ums, the two authorities which come nearest into contact
with the children are the ministers of religion ; and this is
considered to be the best guarantee for keeping up the
strictly religious character of primary education. After
this, however, all clerical influence ceases, and is never ad¬
mitted in any way into the higher administration.
The next higher authority, after the district inspectors
above alluded to, is the Schulrath, who is, in fact, the
minister of instruction for each department (Bezii'ke), and
forms the link between the local school committees and the
provincial government. Very little of the direction of the
schools, and none of the legislation, is left in the hands of
the local managers. All they have to do is to carry out
the orders of the superior authorities, and find the neces¬
sary funds. They retain, however, a voice in the appoint¬
ment of teachers, but must not interfere with them as to
the manner in which they discharge their duties, or the
methods of instruction they follow. The government takes
care that all the teachers shall have a sufficient normal
school training, and obliges them to pass an examination,
and hold a certificate of competence, before they can be
chosen as teachers at all. When, therefore, their appoint¬
ment is once made, it is presumed that they understand
the details of school organization and method better than
those who have not been trained for the purpose. Accord-
ingly, although the Prussian primary teacher is but poorly
paid, yet his position is independent, and his superior educa¬
tion always entitles him to hold a respectable rank in the
society amongst which he is placed. Every appointment
of a teacher, moreover, as well as every dismission, must be
known and ratified by the provincial government.
In the year 1846 the number of educational institutions
in Prussia, according to the official tables, was as follows
Elementary schools  23 030
Burger schools   1 202
Higher town schools   100
making a total of 24,332 ‘primary schools, with 2,540,775
pupils between the ages of 6 and 14. To these must be
added 117 gymnasia, with 29,474 pupils, all enjoying
a sound classical training ; and 382 infant schools, with
25,000 pupils. The population of Prussia in 1848 was
about 16,000,000, comprehending about 3,000,000 children
between the ages of 7 and 14. Of these, about 2,600,000
were actually in the governmental schools, leaving only
400,000 to be accounted for by private education, sickness,
and other unavoidable causes. There can be no doubt,
therefore, that the I russian people are really educated
throughout the whole community, and educated, too, accord¬
ing to their relative stations in life, with decided efficiency.
From the above sketch we can easily see that the depart¬
ment of public education in Prussia forms a most complete
and all-embiacing system, emanating entirely from the
government, and responsible to the government for all its
acts. All the questions which form stumbling-blocks and
difficulties in our own country are summarily disposed of,
because the idea of the state dominates over every other,
and all private interests or opinions are made to bend to
this as the governing principle of society. Much of the
burden is borne directly by the government, such as the
cost of the universities, and partly also that of the gymnasia
and normal schools ; but no difficulty is felt in making all
VOL. XV.
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
817
property rateable, and imposing it as a duty upon every National
parish to see that sufficient education is provided for the Education,
children of the commune. 1 he advantage, indeed, of sound
education being brought within the reach of all for so
trifling a fee, makes any disposition, which there might
otherwise be, to complain of the burden wholly unreason¬
able.
Again, education being provided for all, the law compels
that it should be embraced by all; and thus all the apparatus
of motives for inducing attendance is obviated, and the
whole question of early removal from school settled by an
authority from which there is no appeal.
The religious question is settled with the same ease.
Respect is had for differences of faith. The master is
usually appointed in accordance with the religion of the
majority of the people; and if there be any considerable
number of inhabitants of different communions, separate
schools for each are rather encouraged than not. Where
this cannot be the case, it is usual to appoint the second
master from the communion of the minority. No religious
instruction is ever given to any of the scholars except by a
teacher belonging to their own denomination ; and parents
have absolute permission to withdraw any of them from
religious teaching which is opposed to their professed con¬
victions.
Mhether this formal and governmental religious teaching
has had much real effect in cherishing the religious faith of
the people is much to be doubted, if we may judge by the
results ; but no one can doubt the vast effect of the system
as a whole in encouraging learning, and raising up an
immense body of highly-educated men.
We ought, however, here to make a distinction between
learned men and men who have the power of applying their
learning to practical objects. With all its vast amount of
learning, Prussia does not take the lead in enterprise and
civilization generally. “ It is sometimes asked,” says Horace
Mann, “ why the Prussians, with such a vast and powerful
machinery for popular instruction, do not as a nation advance
more rapidly in the path of civilization ; why the useful and
mechanical arts among them are still in a half-barbarous
condition; why the people are so little enterprising; and
finally, why certain national vices have not yet been eradi¬
cated. . . . The chief cause,” he concludes, “of the help¬
lessness and incapacity of the Prussians is this. When the
children once leave school they have very few opportuni¬
ties of applying the knowledge, or exercising the capacities,
which have been acquired and developed there. Their
mental resources are not drawn upon, their capacities are
not quickened or strengthened by practice. Phrases such as
“ the active duties of life,” “ the responsibility of citizens,”
“ the stage or career of action,” “ obligations to posterity,”
which are in common use amongst us, would have a foreign
sound in the ears of a Prussian. In Prussia the government
takes about the same care of the citizen as the citizen takes
of his cattle. The citizen does not elect functionaries, is not
called upon to inquire into the character or eligibility of
candidates for office, has no vote to give. He neither
makes nor repeals laws. He is not called upon t< discuss
or decide questions of peace or war, of finance, customs,
taxes, or postal and internal arrangements. Hi is not
asked where a road is to be opened or a bridge to be built,
although in the one case he has to furnish the labour, and
in the other the materials. His sovereign is born to him.
The laws are made for him. If there be question of war,
he is not called upon to account for it or to end it; he has
merely to fight, to be shot, and to be paid. The tax-
gatherer tells him how much he has to pay in taxes ; the
ecclesiastical authorities draw the plan of a church which
he is made to build; and his spiritual guides, who have
been appointed by others, prepare a creed to which he has
only to subscribe. He is told in the same way how to
5 L
818 NATIONAL EDUCATION.
National obey his king, and how to worship God. But although an
Education, ocean slumbers in the mind of every child that is born,
's—V-*"' what will prevent its eternally remaining in a state of
gloomy stagnation, if no refreshing, quickening breeze be
allowed to stir over its surface.”
This is probably a correct account of the fundamental
weakness of the whole Prussian system. Education does
everything for the people that could be expected, but
education alone is insufficient to produce practical energy.
Ibis can only be done through the influence exerted by
political liberty and popular institutions, which open an
independent course of action for every citizen of the country.
In giving the above sketch of the state of national edu¬
cation in Prussia, we have in fact before us, with minor
modifications, a general idea of what exists throughout all
the different states of Germany. German education, there¬
fore, as a whole, may be pronounced purely governmental,
complete in its organization, and productive of a vast
amount of intellectual culture. It is open, however, to
grave doubts whether it produces fruits equally good in
relation to the practical energy of the people, to their moral
habits, and to their religious faith. These last results
appear to depend upon causes operating in the national
mind, in the social habits, and in the religious life of the
people, quite distinct from anything which can be secured
by a governmental system of education, however complete
both in theory and practice.
Dutch Holland is in many respects different from Germany.
education. It has been more under the influence of popular institutions,
and had some apprenticeship to the art of self-government.
The general features of the national education of Holland
bear the stamp of this. They are less minutely defined and
regulated by the central authority than those of Germany,
—less under the direct influence of the state,—and are
thrown more into the hands of local managers. The only
officer of the state who has anything directly to do with
public education is the minister of the interior, together
with a referendaire and one head inspector. This forms, in
fact, the whole amount of centralization which exists in the
system. All the other functionaries are quite distinct from
either the civil or municipal authorities. They consist chiefly
of district inspectors, appointed by the government, who have
almost the absolute direction of the educational affairs in
their hands, each being a kind of educational plenipotentiary
in his own district. These inspectors, moreover, hold a con¬
vention from time to time, and thus form a kind of educa¬
tional parliament, in which all the affairs of the country relat¬
ing to public instruction are duly discussed. In addition to
the inspectors, there is a committee of management in each
town or school district, who act in concert with them, but
are quite distinct from the municipal officers of the country.
All the details of primary education, in fact, are left in
the hands of the inspectors ; neither is any precise mode of
rating imposed upon the townships in support of the schools,
except that they must confer with the inspectors, and raise
sufficient funds in any way that appears most suitable, in
order to keep up the institutions in an efficient state.
Another peculiarity of the Dutch system is the mode in
which the religious question is solved. As Holland con¬
tains a considerable number of religious sects, it was con¬
sidered undesirable to provide religious instruction in each
school, according to the denomination of the children.
Instead of this, it was determined not to introduce any
catechism, or distinct dogmatical teaching at all. They
reasoned very judiciously, that children are unable to dis¬
tinguish between different dogmatic systems; that the in¬
culcation of them during their daily lessons is not only
unnecessary, but unadvisable; that it is much more suitable,
in fact, for children in the day-school to have a good know¬
ledge of holy Scripture given them, together with an ear¬
nest inculcation of Christian duty, accompanied with simple
devotional exercises, than anymore direct dogmatic teaching. Teaj.:nn,
As other agencies exist in the country for the direct teaching Education
of theology, it was thought that the children might be safely ^  
i elievecl of this during the ordinary hours of daily instruo
tion; so that the difficulties connected with variations of doc¬
trine in connection with the primary school might be avoided
ab initio. Hitherto no inconvenience is believed to have
resulted from this principle, nor are the children anv less
inclined to Christian doctrine in after life from its not havino-
formed any part of the daily routine of the primary schooh
1 aking it altogether, the public education of Holland may
be regarded as fully equal in efficiency to that of Germany,
in some respects, indeed, superior,—and the number of
children actually found in the schools shows that although
the attendance is not compulsory, yet almost the entire
population is really educated.
We come next to France. Here, as in Germany and French
Holland, the plan of public education is threefold, compre- education,
bending, 1^, The universities; 2c/, The colleges; and 3c/,
The primary schools. The universities are divided into
five faculties,—namely, theology, law, medicine, science,
and literature. Each of these faculties can exist apart from
any of the rest. 1 hus there are altogether in the whole of
France, 7 faculties of theology, 9 of law, 3 of medicine,
9 of science, and 7 of literature. ■ ‘ All these are under
the direct control of the government, as represented by
the minister of instruction. The colleges of France, which
answer to the gymnasia of Germany, are twofold,—D/, The
royal colleges, which are wholly dependent on the govern¬
ment ; and 2c/, The communal colleges, which are supported
partly by the government and partly by the municipal cor¬
porations and departments; but still are under the entire
control of the state.
With regard, thirdly, to primary instruction. This has
always been, until recent times, in a lamentably defective
state. Freedom of instruction existed; the principle of
supply and demand had ample scope for operation; the
church, too, as well in the Catholic as in the Protestant
portions of the country, had the crying deficiency constantly
before its eyes, but comparatively little was done to remedy
the evil until the subject was taken up warmly by the
government. In the year 1831, under the enlightened
regime of M. Guizot, M. Cousin was sent on a mission into
Holland and Germany, to report on the system of popular
education as there organized and carried out. The well-
known and elaborate reports which he compiled as the result
of this tour of examination, formed the basis for a new law,
which was first carried into effect in the year 1833.
This law provides, first of all, for the complete liberty of
education; that is, it allowTs any one, under certain defined
conditions, to assume the office of a teacher, and to open a
private school. Moreover, it admits of denominational
schools being enrolled on the government list of educa¬
tional institutions, and awards them stipends on the same
principle as the rest. The chief object of the law, however,
is to provide for the establishment and proper regulation of
communal schools throughout the whole country. To give
any idea of the principles on which the law is founded, the
sources of the pecuniary supplies, and the general mode of
superintendence, I subjoin the following excerpts from the
text of the law as then brought into operation. After ex¬
plaining the difference between primary and secondary
education, and defining the conditions under which persons
are authorized to become public teachers, the law proceeds
as follows:—
“ Art. 8.—The public primary schools are those which
are maintained in part or entirely by the communes, the
departments, or the state.
“ Art. 9.—Every commune is boun<j, either by itself or
united to one or more neighbouring communes, to maintain
at least one elementary primary school.
tional
icatiM
te;
be
co
as
nn
ce
de
mi
un
COl
mi]
Poi
or
nor
(i
and
national education. 81q
-zzr/ZoT^9’^1 --
".a —a; s£-j
rellg,„uS denominations recognised by the state ‘^Tfs “ 1’“.of .tlle committee.
“ 1A rr'  61 ’ • 6 18—If every district of the under-prefecture a
ill rl O /-\ a 7    _ • 11 7 -• _
nJlint10i~The conimunes, ciueftowns" of departments,
and those whose population exceeds 6000 souls, must have,
in audition, one superior primary school.
“Art. 11.-—Every department is bound to maintain a
normal school, either alone or in union with one or several
neighbouring departments.
o - ".-.I upon
securing the support of the normal schools. They will
elaborate also upon the union of several departments for
the support of a single normal school. This union must be
authorized by royal ordinance.
teacher—2'~There WiI1 be Provi(Ietl for every communal
,. “ L A conveniently situated residence, equally to serve
nim as a habitation as to receive pupils.
“2. A fixed salary, which must no‘t be less than 200
bancs lor a primary elementary school, and 400 francs for
a primary superior school.
. J3 —In default of endowments, donations, or Wa-
cies, which assure a residence and a salary conformable”to
the preceding article, the municipal council will deliberate
on he means of providing for it. In case of any deficiency
of the ordinary revenues for the establishment of the primary
communal, elementary, and superior schools, they will be
provided by means of a special tax, voted by the municipal
council; or in default of the vote of this council, established
by royal ordinance. This tax, which must be authorized
each year by the financial law, must not exceed three cen-
11 Tw,11 addltlon t0 the other taxes upon persons or property.
When communes are not able, either alone or in union
with several, to procure a locality and to secure a salary by
means of this contribution of three centimes, the recognised
necessary expenses of primary instruction shall be provided
tor, if the funds of the department are insufficient, by an
especial tax voted by the council-general of the department;
or in default of the vote of this council, it shall be estab¬
lished by royal order. This tax, which must be authorized
each yeai by the financial law, shall not exceed two cen¬
times.
rlnM the, centimes thu® imposed on the communes and
departments are not sufficient for the wants of primary
instiucbon, the minister of public instruction must provide
for them by means of a supply, which shall be carried over
annually for primary instruction to the budget of the state.
Each year there shall be annexed to the proposition of the
udget a detailed account of the manner in which the funds
were employed which were granted for the preceding year.
. j ,ld: In addlt!on to the fixed salary, the communal
teachei shall receive a monthly fee, the rate of which shall
rniwfll llby 116 “uniciPaI counciI> and which shall be
c lected in the same form, and according to the same rules,
rnnib Lire ^ contributions. This sum shall be drawn
month by month, in accordance with a register of the pupils,
certified by the teacher, examined by the mayor, and ren¬
dered valid by the under-prefect.
“ 1 hose pupils of the commune or of the united com-
munes whom the municipal councils have designated as
unable to pay any recompense, shall be admitted into the
communal elementary school gratuitously.
rminni o" J ^ere, ^ b<:in connection with each com-
j nftJ100 a °Ca £omrnittee superintendence, com-
posed of the mayor or his assistant, the president, the rector
norffin^n aD °f °ne .°r m°re of the chief inhabitants,
nominated by the committee of the district.
„,Se.V,eral schooIs of the same commune can be united
under the management of the same committee. When, in
committee shall be formed, especially charg'ed whh'the
supenntendence and encouragement of primary instruction.
. * J -i lie following are members of the district
committees:—
“The mayor of the chief town, or the oldest of the
^ ]ief of.the. ^strict. The justice of the
The general councils ^ill deliberate upon the means of ZYrTn/th6 Tfv °f the. distri't' The justice of the
ring the support of the normal schools. They will Let ’ TliA?!!?1 of dle Jastices nfthe Peace of the dis-
tiict. The priest, or the eldest of the priests of the dis¬
trict. A minister of each of the other creeds recognised by
the law, who officiate in the district, and who have been
nominated according to the second paragraph of article 17
A head-master, principal of a college, professor, rector,
head of an institution, or master of a school, nominated by
t ie minister of public instruction, when there are schools,
institutions, or colleges in the district of the committee.
A primary instructor, residing in the district of the com¬
mittee, and nominated by the minister of public instruction,
i hiee members of the council of the district, or of the
chief inhabitants, nominated by the said council. The
members of the general council of the department, whose
eal place of residence is in the district of the committee.
ie prefect by right presides over all the committees of
the department, and the under-prefect by right presides
over all those of the district; the king’s procurer by right
is a member of all the committees of the district. The
committee chooses its vice-president and secretary every
numhpL6 WIter may be take1-1 fr°m amonSst their own
number. When a secretary is appointed who is not a
membei of the committee, he becomes one by his nomi¬
nation. J
‘ Art. 21. The communal committee inspects the rmb-
hc^and private schools of the commune.
“It watches over the salubrity of the schools and the
maintenance of discipline, without any detriment to the
pierogative of the mayor in matters of municipal police.
. It finds out if everything has been provided for the
gicituitous education of poor children.
It prepares a list of children who do not receive nri-
neit',er at h0me n0r “ “"y Private
.It causes the committees of the district to be made ac¬
quainted with the different wants of the corporation, with
regard to primary instruction.
Art. 22.— I he committee of the district inspects, or
causes to be inspected by delegates taken from amongst its
members or from its own body, all the primary schools in
t ie district. W hen the delegates have been chosen out of
the committee, they have a right to be present at the meet-
]ngs, and to nave a deliberative voice.
“ When the committee judges it’ necessary, it unites
several schools of the same commune under the inspection
of the same board, as it has been prescribed in article 17
Every year it sends to the prefect, and to the minister
of public instruction, an account of the condition of all the
primary schools of the district.
‘ It gives its opinion on the assistance and the encour¬
agements to be granted to primary instruction. It urces
necessary reforms and improvements. °
It nominates the communal teachers upon the presen¬
tation of the municipal council, proceeds to their installa¬
tion, and receives their oath.
“ Ihe communal teachers are to be appointed by the
minister of public instruction. y
“Art. 25.—There shall be in each department one or
more commissioners of primary instruction, charged to ex¬
amine all those who are candidates for certificates of capl
820
National
Education,
American
education.
United
States.
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
city, whether for elementary primary instruction, or for
superior primary instruction; and they shall deliver the
said certificates under the authority of the minister. These
commissioners shall also be charged to examine pupils of the
normal school at their entrance and on their departure from
the institution.
“ The'members of these commissions shall be nominated
by the minister of public instruction.
“ The examinations shall take place in public at times
appointed by the minister of public instruction.”
The law, of which the above are some of the principal
provisions, was carried into effect in the year 1833. That
it did not remain a dead letter, but was applied with vigour
and success, may be seen from the fact, that in ten years
from its first establishment, i.e., in the year 1843, the follow¬
ing items appear amongst the statistics published by the
Board of Education : —
Number of communes in France  37,038
Number provided with schools  34,578
Number not yet provided  2,460
Total number of primary schools  69,828
Number of inspectors  87
Number of sub-inspectors  113
Evening classes for labourers  6,434
Total number of children attending primary
schools  3,164,297
Number admitted gratuitously  763,820
Number of normal schools  78
Number of professors in the same    495
Number of colleges  358
Number of scholars in them  31,316
It could hardly be expected that this vast mass of educa¬
tional machinery could in ten years be brought into a high
state of efficiency; still, there can be no doubt but that
a noble effort was made, which, if steadily carried out, in
process of time will elevate the peasantry and people of
France to the highest rank amongst the educated nations of
Europe.
Having now gone through the system of national educa¬
tion followed in some of the principal countries of Europe,
we pass over to America, where a totally different kind of
political life prevails, and where the school system is based
upon more popular principles. In most of the United States
(in which a very complete institution for popular education
exists) we find a system characterized by the extreme
minimum of centralization. The last of the theories we
before noticed is here almost perfectly realized,—that,
namely, in which the government indeed provides for edu¬
cation, but does so entirely through the people. The
question of education is not even mooted in the central
Congress of the States; it is left wholly for the authorities of
each state to determine whether they will have any system
of education or not, and if so, how it shall be carried on.
Some of the states, accordingly, have no public education
at all; the greater part, however, have established a system
of education by law, though the details of the act appear
very different as we pass from one state to another.
We turn first to the state of Massachusetts, the original
core and centre of the American people. The practice of
having schools legally maintained according to the wants
of the population is one which, in New England, came
down from the time of the first Puritan settlers. As the
population advanced, however, as immigration increased
from year to year, and the country became involved in
various political struggles, popular education fell into the
background, so that it became totally insufficient in quan¬
tity for the wants of the people. It is only within the last
twenty or thirty years, indeed, that any large and well-
directed efforts have been made for its improvement; but
these efforts have certainly been upon a scale which can-
e.ot but excite admiration and approval.
Every township in the state, comprising 150 families, is
bound to maintain two schools during nine months of the National
year, or three schools during six months. If it contain 500 Education,
families it must maintain two schools throughout the year,
or three schools during eight months. In these schools
reading, spelling, writing, arithmetic, English grammar, and
geography, must be taught.
Every township containing 500 families must also main¬
tain a superior kind of school, called an English high-
school, in which geometry, algebra, surveying, and history
are taught, besides the other usual branches. Townships
containing 4000 souls must maintain, in addition, a classical
high school; and the whole of these schools must be open
to the entire population, within the given age, without any
distinction whatever. Each township can divide itself into
districts for the better carrying out of the government of
the schools. Should any township neglect to provide school
accommodation at this rate, it is liable to pay a fine of
double the average cost of the schools themselves, out of
which the proper schools are provided by the state. Any
child unlawfully excluded from such schools may, through
the parent or guardian, prefer a claim before the legal tri¬
bunals for compensation.
So far the provision of the government extends, but no
farther. All the other details are entirely in the hands of
the township itself, which holds a yearly meeting for voting
in supplies and appointing officers, to whom the manage¬
ment of the school affairs are to be entrusted. Every
male inhabitant, twenty-one years of age, is empowered to
vote at this meeting. There are two committees usually
appointed,—one to manage the business affairs, the other to
overlook and inspect the schools. These committees are
bound to perform their duties punctually and efficiently,
and receive a pecuniary compensation from the township
for every day they are employed in the school business.
Of late years some important additions have been made
to this system. It was agreed that the monies procured by
the sale of the state lands should be consolidated into a
pennanent fund for the benefit of the education of the
people. A board of education was instituted also in 1837,
which was not intended, indeed, to exercise any authority
over the townships, but to recommend improvements, and
to distribute the money from the fund equally through all
the townships. A normal school was also founded at the
public expense. This small attempt at centralization has
been productive of much benefit. To it we owe the labours
of Horace Mann and others in the cause of public educa¬
tion, as well as many of the more important improvements
which have gradually sprung up.
To give some idea of the kind of differences which exist
in the school laws of the several states, I quote the follow¬
ing passage from a little work entitled A Digest of the
Common-School System of the State of Neio York, by Mr
Randall, the general deputy-superintendent, in which the
principal points of the school laws in that state are suc¬
cinctly laid down:—
“ The affairs of each district are managed, under the
general direction of the inhabitants entitled to vote therein,
by three trustees (one of whom is annually elected, and who
hold their offices for three years), a district clerk, collector,
and librarian. These trustees are required annually, be¬
tween the 1st and 15th of January, to report to the town-
superintendent the length of time a school has been taught
in their district during the preceding year by qualified
teachers, the amount of public money received and ex¬
pended, the number of children taught, the number be¬
tween five and sixteen residing in the district, together
wuth such other information as may from time to time be
required of them by the superintendent of common schools.
They have power also, and are required, to call annual and
special meetings of the inhabitants to make out tax-lists of
all taxes voted for district purposes, and annex their war-
th
ai
P1
(1
tl
rr
ai
al
a
tli
in:
su
su
cl)
CO
hi:
te
qn
co|
te
ni
as
th
tin
ani
to
the
of
ml
tin:
pm
anc
tioi
his
SU]
tio
for
un
tov
adi
tioi
cal
of i
the
gar
win
tea<
the
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
rant for the collection of the same; to purchase on lease
• sites for the school-house, when designated by the in¬
habitants, and to build, hire, or purchase, keep in repair, and
furnish such school-house, with necessary fuel and append-
ages, out of the funds collected and paid to them for that
purpose; they have the custody and safe keeping of the
district school-house, contract with and employ teachers,
and make out the necessary rate-bill for so much of their
wages as is not paid from the public funds applicable to
that purpose, exempting indigent persons either wholly or
in part, and levying such exemption upon the taxable pro¬
perty of the district. The town superintendent is annually
elected by the people at town meetings, and has the general
supervision of the interests of common schools in his town ;
visits and inspects each school within his jurisdiction as
often at least as once in each quarter ; advises and directs as
to the government, discipline, and course of instruction
therein ; examines and licenses teachers annually ; receives
and apportions the school-money belonging to his town
among the several districts, according to the number of
children between the ages of five and sixteen residing in
each at the date of its annual report; forms, regulates, and
alters school districts, in conjunction (when required by
the trustees of any district interested) with the supervisor
and town-clerk; prosecutes for and collects all fines and
penalties imposed by the school act upon the officers of
districts ; and annually reports to the county superintendent
the number of districts in his town, the amount of public
money received and expended, from what sources received
and how expended, together with a condensed abstract of
all the reports of the trustees of districts made to him, and
a variety of other information relative to the condition of
the several schools under his charge. The county super¬
intendent is appointed once in two years by the board of
supervisors, and is removable by them, and by the state
superintendent, for neglect of duty or mal-conduet. He is
charged with the general supervision of the schools of the
country; hears and determines all appeals arising within
his jurisdiction, subject to the review of the state superin¬
tendent examines and grants permanent certificates of
qualification to teachers, which are available throughout the
country; may, with the concurrence of any town superin¬
tendent, annul any certificate granted by the latter; an¬
nually visits and inspects the several schools of the county
as often as practicable ; inquires into all matters relating to
their government, course of instruction, the condition of
the school-houses, and of the districts generally; advises
and counsels with the trustees and other officers in relation
to their duties, and with the several teachers in relation to
their modes of teaching, government, and discipline, course
of studies, text-books, &c.; and generally, subject to such
rules and regulations as the state superintendent may from
time to time prescribe, is directed ‘ by all the means in his
power to promote sound education, elevate the character
and qualifications of teachers, improve the means of instruc¬
tion, and advance the interest of the schools committed to
his charge.’ He is required annually to report to the state
superintendent the result of his examinations and inspec¬
tions, together with a great variety of useful statistical in-
foimation relating to the condition of the several schools
under his charge; an abstract of all the reports of the
town superintendents; and such other suggestions for the
a vanccment and improvement of the interests of educa¬
tion generally as he may deem advisable. These officers
call periodical meetings of the tow n superintendents, teachers
of common schools, officers and inhabitants of districts, for
the purpose of mutual consultation and advancement; or¬
ganize teachers institutes preparatory to the summer and
winter terms, with the view of instructing the several
teachers and preparing them for the efficient discharge of
the duties devolving upon them, and deliver familiar lec-
821
tures in each district at each visitation. The ability, National
fidelity, and success with which their duties have thus far Education,
been discharged have exerted a highly beneficial influence
on the interests of education.”
In Canada we have a country lying, politically speaking, Canada,
midway between England and the United States, being
loyally devoted to the British crown on the one side, but
partaking largely of the spirit of American institutions on
the other. In Canada, accordingly, a system of national edu¬
cation has been adopted and legalized similar in its main fea¬
tures to that of the state of New York, but containing some
peculiar details of its own. Here, as in several of the states
of America, the religious question has presented some diffi¬
culties ; but it has in each case been solved virtually in the
same way, namely, by showing that the school is, properly
speaking, a national institution,—that it must hold an
equally impartial position towards all classes of the commu¬
nity who support it; and that, in consequence, only those
elements of Christianity which are common to all can be
introduced into the plan of public instruction. I cannot
give a better view of the grounds on which this point is
argued than by quoting the words of Dr Ryerson, the chief
superintendent of the Canadian schools. “ To require the
teacher,” he says, “ in any common day-school to teach the
catechism of any religious persuasion, is not only a work of
supererogation, but a direct interference with the disciplin¬
ary order of each religious persuasion ; and instead of pro¬
viding by law for the extension of religious instruction,
and the promotion of Christian morality, it is providing by
law for the neglect of pastoral and parental duty, by trans¬
ferring to the common-school teacher the duties which
their church enjoins upon them, and thus sanctioning im¬
moralities in pastors and parents, which must in a hio-h
degree be injurious to the interests of public morals, no
less than to the interests of children and of the common
schools. The demand to make the teacher do the canoni¬
cal work of the clergyman is as impolitic as it is selfish.
Economy, as well as patriotism, requires that the schools
established for all should be open to all upon equal terms,
and upon principles common to all, leaving to each re¬
ligious persuasion the performance of its own recognised
and appropriate duties in the teaching of its own catechism
to its own children. Surely it is not the province of go¬
vernment to usurp the functions of the religious persuasions
of the country; but it should recognise their existence, and
therefore not provide for denominational teaching to the
pupils in the day-schools, any more than it should provide
such pupils with daily food and raiment, or weekly preach¬
ing, or places of worship. As the state recognises the
existence of parents, and the performance of parental duties,
by not providing children with what should be provided by
their parents, namely, clothing and food, so should it re¬
cognise the existence of the religious persuasions, and the
performance of their duties, by not providing for the teach¬
ing in the schools of that which each religious persuasion
declares should be taught by its own ministers and the
parents of its children. But it may be asked, Ought not
religious instruction to be given in day-schools, and ought
not government to require this in every school ? I answer
what may or ought to be done in regard to religious in¬
struction, and what the government ought to require, are
two different things. Who doubts that public worship
should be attended and family duties performed? But
does it therefore follow that government is to compel at¬
tendance upon the one or the performance of the other l
If our government were a despotism, and if there were no
law or no liberty, civil or religious, but the absolute will of
the sovereign, then government would of course compel
such religious and other instruction as it pleased, as is the
case under despotisms in Europe. But as our government
is a constitutional and a popular government, it is to com-
322
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
Education
in the
British
Isles.
Lancaste-
rian
schools.
Bell’s
schools.
pel no farther in matters of religious instruction than it is
■ itself the expression of the mind of the country, and than it
is authorized by law to do. Therefore, in the General Re¬
gulations on the Constitution and Government of Schools
respecting Religious Instruction, it is made the duty of
every teacher to inculcate those principles and duties of
piety and virtue which form the basis of morality and order
in a state ; while parents and school teachers, or school
managers, are left to provide for and give such further re¬
ligious instruction as they shall desire and deem expedient.”
By this it will be seen that in Canada the state does not
ignore religious instruction, nay, rather sanctions it; but it
says,—“ Religion in the denominational sense is not our
province. So far as we are concerned with the schools, we
can only recognise what is common to all; and whatever
religious instruction is demanded over and above this must
be left either to the supplementary education of the family
and the church, or must be a personal arrangement between
the school managers and the parents of the scholars.”
The system of secondary education in Canada is not as
yet so far developed as in some of the United States, but
the question is in progress, and will no doubt end in the
establishment of grammar schools for a higher and classical
culture in all the larger towns or parishes. With regard
to university education, this, both in Canada and the States,
rests at present mainly upon private foundations.
It is time, now, that we come to our own country, which,
so far as England at least is concerned, has proved the
most backward of any of the more progressive nations in
adopting any system of national education. Those who can
look back upon the state of education in England some
twenty or thirty years ago, can well remember what a blank
this whole department of our national life presented. The
educational zeal, indeed, which the Reformation called into
play provided an extraordinary number of charities and
bequests to be appropriated to this purpose. Some of these
were devoted to those usually very useless institutions
called grammar schools, and some others more directly to
clothe and teach a limited number of poor children in the
parish. It is believed, indeed, that if the whole of the pro¬
perty accruing from such charities were consolidated and
properly applied, it would prove a most important element in
carrying forward the entire education of the country. In
spite of all this, however, the mass of the people remained in
gross ignorance down to the early part of the present century.
About the year 1808 Joseph Lancaster, a member of the
Society of Friends, began his labours in London on the
site now occupied by the British and Foreign School So¬
ciety, and not only gathered a vast number of children
around him, but imbued a number of young men and women
with his principles and methods, who were sent out into
various parts of the country to carry on the same work
there. This was the germ of the present normal school
in the Borough Road, Southwark.
Lancaster, as a teacher, admitted no catechism or form
of denominational doctrine into the schools, but gave daily
religious instruction from the Bible, avoiding all points of
difference or dispute. Nearly at the same time Andrew
Bell, who had been previously engaged in the instruction
of the Orphan School at Madras, returned to England, and
was employed to use his experience in organizing schools
very similar to those of Joseph Lancaster, in connection
with the National Society of the Church of England. The
starting-point of popular education in England, therefore,
was the institution of the British and Foreign, and of the
National School societies, under whose patronage a num¬
ber of so-called British and National schools were gradually
spread throughout the country. It need not be added,
that the quantity of education thus provided could bear no
sort of relation to the actual wants of the country. Neither
was the quality of the instruction for a time much better.
The funds of the schools were usually small,—the teachers National
ill educated. No normal schools, in the proper sense of the Education
word, existed, and the monitorial or mutual system of in- v'—
struction alone prevailed.
This state of things went on till about the year 1833, Privy
when the lords of the Privy Council, seeing the great des-Council
titution of the country, began to give small grants from the grants
Treasury in aid of school buildings, through the British
and Foreign and the National School Societies respectively.
In .1839, when the demands for such grants began to in¬
crease, a Committee of Council on Education was formed in
order the better to regulate and extend them. Aid was
also afforded to normal schools; and the resolution was
passed, that every government grant should henceforth
carry with it the right of government inspection. With
reference to the inspectors, however, the archbishops were
to have the right of veto upon their appointment on behalf
of the National schools, and the British and Foreign School
Committee to have the same right on behalf of the British
schools. This state of things continued till the year 1846,
when Sir James Shuttleworth, who had been acting from
the first as the secretary of the Education Committee,
brought forward a series of minutes for apprenticing pupil
teachers in schools; for granting augmentation to teachers’
stipends, on their submitting to an examination and receiv¬
ing a certificate of competency; and for making grants of
books, maps, and apparatus.
These minutes of 1846 were only the commencement of
a series of developments which have been going on to the
present time. The grants have since then been thrown
open virtually to all religious denominations, and indeed to
all private individuals or commercial companies who choose
to take the initiative in providing education for the people;
the only stipulation in regard to religious teaching being,
that some portion of the authorized version of the Scriptures
be daily read in all the Protestant schools receiving grants.
To give some idea of the extent to which popular educa¬
tion, as aided by the state, has now been developed, the
following statistical facts, taken from the minutes of the
Committee of Council on Education for 1856-57, will be
sufficient, without going into minor details. It should be
observed, however, that the grants to schools in Scotland
are here included :—
1. Money expended by Government in England and Scot¬
land for Educational purposes between December 31,
1855, and December 31, 1856.
In building and enlarging elementary schools L.74,470 11 1
Do. normal schools   9,586 18 11
In providing books and maps  3,199 5 7
Do. scientific apparatus  757 10 11
In aiding the salaries of certificated teachers  52,088 6 10
In stipends to assistant teachers  5,050 3 5
In stipends to pupil teachers  158,228 16 2
In capitation grants  20,079 15 0
In grants to training schools  45,785 6 8
Reformatory and industrial schools   8,158 15 10
Pensions to teachers      393 13 0
Inspection    30,829 15 10
Expenses of administration in London   15,004 3 1
Total    L.423,633 2 4
2. The above amount has been divided amongst the dif¬
ferent classes of schools as follows:—
Church of England schools L.268,230 2 1
British and foreign schools  39,474 4 7
Wesleyan schools   22,789 16 1
Roman Catholic schools  19,185 1 0
Parochial Union schools  5,509 11 8
Church of Scotland schools     28,534 14 8
Free Church schools    23,520 3 11
Episcopal Church schools   3,308 9 4
Administration    13,080 19 0
L.423,633 2 4
Total.
N'atl
duci
^ V—^
tlO
kii
mi
thi
A
wl
be
int
su!
the
oth
to
ven
sch
All
tun
sch
tow
me:
me<
still
an
latic
prin
very
This
ofth
by tl
all k
only
of E
Whi
midi
greg
only
adve
the
the
childi
Le
mentje
thosi
fn
direc
The
]uisit
do w
md a
>uper
:each
nstiti
■fom
hegt
»n thf
'elon;
choo
oes i
lent
Sorts
If VI
rincij;
h,
leiiie-
tl^u [
ll
es
red
NATIONAL
3. Miscellaneous Facts.
r ^um}>er of certificated teachers paid by government  4 373
dumber of assistant teachers paid by government  "* ’oon
Number of pupil teachers    Irtoi'V
Number of training schools aided by government  ' ’"or,
Number of schools under inspection  y
Number of children provided for in the same  ' fiyy’yno
Number of masters and mistresses annually supplied" bv ’
the training schools, about    ^ j 300
education.
823
1"dhara’rter ta be SC,Wols of Ellcl> »<! ^ch N.MonT
itself responsible for seeinf “tbaril/on'"^"’ ^ '’0!dS,
out. Hptp hnworr.,. el... tllls ?bllgation is carried
It would give a totally false estimate of popular educa¬
tion m England and Scotland to regard this as being any
kind ot approximation to its whole extent. The Govern¬
ment grants are merely offered to those who wish to’accent
them, under condition of being inspected and reported on
A large number of schools of all denominations still exist
which have made no application for government aid: some
rmt 1 : & LUclc ll>is oDligation is car:
pervision, the amount of school fees and tl p Jl?i
tus of instruction. ’ and the whole aPPara-
The English method stands alike apart from both the
continental and American schemes. Perhaps the best idea
we can give of the system is this,-That the religious deno
mmations undertake to educate the people, but that the o-0
vernment comes to the aid of all alike, so far as they cho^
 1-,—B^vciumciu am- somp av’ai1 themselves of its assistance.
because they disagree altogether with the principle of state lish sv^nf™ acJvantages> perhaps, attached to the Eng- Advan-
mterference, some because the teachers are unwilling to in thf otbpr pP°PU which could hardly exist tages of
submit to inspection or examination, and some because amount ofW 1 l6- f10? obvious of these is the theEnglish
the managers are not prepared to fulfil the pecuniary or goveramP^S ^ ^ they gather round them- A 8ystem-
other conditions on which the grants are awarded. Added fome kTnd nf "ffi lnstltution is ordinarily put under
to this there is yet a vast number of schools of private ad- bv thn nl f.0ffifCia ,ma"agement> and is carried forward
venture, each of which manages to gather together sufficient doubt hm-hhf1 °f fUt l°nty ®nly- Sucb authority is no
scholars to yield some kinil of mmntenance to the teachers which it” " useful, an(J tends to keep the institutions to
All ,h„ put together furnishes a tolerable idea of Xe Z r^emberTw? ‘n r?6-116? Work“S We must
ture and amount of primary instruction in the elementary classes somd'V V ™ CaSe of the more ignorant
schools of the country. A large portion of the smaller le"^? TX r°m’t Sch°o1 wor,Ieti by autho-
towns and rnnnt™      duer ^ity is desnable. The children, and their parents as well need
wbnrngn nd Sfeni.n«- They to come into contact
t , ?. ? ’0™ !'Cm 111 tl,e ““t*1 scale> aIKl regard them in
JelfZ °Theer I eSirr t0el?ke a P™™' -terest in thdr
• i r" .f 1^a va^ue °ftbe voluntary principle accord-
mgly lies in the healthy impulses, the dadyencoiragemen
and the moral aids that are afforded both to the teacher
and scholai by the presence and personal interest of those
w 10 occupy stations of influence in the several localities
where the schools are situated. However possible it mi^ht
be to have schools formally as complete, and educatTon
“- — X! laige portion ot tile smaller
towns and country parishes are now well supplied with the
means of instruction and great efforts have been made to
meet he wants of the large and populous towns also; bu°
t , if we are to judge by what presents itself to the eye of
an attentive observer, as also by the statistics of the popu¬
lation of the country, placed side by side with those of the
primary school, we must come to the conclusion that a
ery great deficiency of school accommodation yet exists
Tins conclusion is fully borne out by the education returns
the last census. The total number of scholars returned
al ilZe?Xl;?fn;!r?1Aie!"5.an ave.raS? attendance
all kinds of schools in March llCwaXSrS is EdfnT^ by the toa‘™-emaiity of ” i3
only a centesimal proportion of 43-8 of the whole population supply the L/ f U° /T u instrumentalby could wholly
of England and Wa p? hptwoora fi. n/- 1 i' auon supply the Joss of that dai v nprsond — v- i. ■
only a centesimal proportion of 43-8 of the whole pCktion
of England and Wales between the ages of five aL/fifteen
When we consider, moreover, that the children of the
middle and upper classes are nearly all included in this ao--
gtegate, and that of the rest a large number of children are
only m dame schools,_ or other similar schools of private
adventure, where the instruction is hardly worth the name
the result must appear anything but flattering in regard to
the amount and character of the education gained "by the
children of the labouring classes in primary schools
i.et us next compare the agencies by which the ele-
°f this COUntry is administered with
.hose which we have already noticed in Europe and America
lirecrionofall^o111!168 f EuWpe tbe initiative and the
Erection of al popular education lie with the governments
The people, indeed, are called upon to find Urn Ws re-'
juisite foi supporting the schools, but they have nothino- to
Jo with what is tau.o-hf. mr fl-» tlx*   r* . ^
JS.X LT fthat ,daiIy
exerted so krgely on the present system by those who
them simoZnX fZT °f,'be p00rer classes arouni1
fflrp ’ i™Ply and Wltb a desire to promote their wel-
fare. This is certainly an element in our present national
education which may be well guarded with some degree
of jealousy, and which must not be lightly swept away by
the“Sing tld® of any universal national system.1 "
icn we have said this, however, we have said nerrlu rucoa
d sadvlf" UrgeK 1" &V0Ur °f the Present astern. Ik t.gra Zhe
disadvantages are obvious at first sightItf, As a system English
pi ima! y education it entirely fails in completeness. ^ The system-
supply of school accommodation through the country is
entirely left to chance. If persons happen to be interested
in a given locality they may originate schools in it; but
there is no guarantee for any such schools being set on
ZZ have.m.ore scl“°l accom.
lo with what is taught, nor with ’the manner oftenrh^ ° f °!i .AcC0^dingly’ some districts have more school accom-
md very little with'tlm appointment of the te°l ‘ .P m°datl0n ^ h at a11 ^cessary ; while others perhans
lupermtendence of the schools. It is true that liberty of ^ P°]pU OUf 0nf ’ are entirely destitute. Nay,’the more
caching exists under certain conditions and that tWcU/ P? PP needy a locallty Is, the less likely is it to be sup-
nstitutions scattered here and there which hate sprung up abkand^willh ^ ^ ^ residents of a class who are
rom private adventure or from religious benevolence "hm n “ P g t0. d<? anything to supply the want. This is
he great mass of the schools are governmental In Encrland Zl nf'tT 4 leor^tlcal «bJection based on the natural tenden-
n the contrary (if we excent thlZZ u i ,gad’ cies of the PIan> but a fact of actual experience Tn
'elonging Zal, reXstbtwm'’X Populous,ownSTCfindaXP?eschrolaScommof
chools whatever are initiLd b/the government neithe? hi thedenf I more^v0^ localities, but a vast destitution
oes it reserve for itself any voice whatever in the manage! ™iSd M tK dlst™.ts> where ^ most of all re-
mnt of them. It simply comes to the aid of nrivnL* P i-V 16 Plan has nothing national about it. The
(forts, and proffers grants, on certain conditions. ' nothin^ todo ’the T ’ Z n?lbinS ,0 do schools,_
If we turn to America, another and a wholly different are ell to the ! f X k‘ t.hcir 0,Tn education. They
I ' FeVa"S- Here ^ ~ doe/ take S
824
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
National reformation and improvement. If individuals or religious
Education, congregations choose to busy themselves about these mat-
^ ters they can,—and fortunately for the country many do;
but the few are really undertaking the work of the many ;
that which ought to be a matter of national importance, in
the burden of which every one ought to take his share—
I mean the education of the whole community—is left to
the comparatively feeble efforts of a small philanthropic
minority, little able to cope with the magnitude of the
question, though aided liberally from the public purse.
2>d, The plan is by for too sectarian in its whole char¬
acter. Had the government taken a perfectly uniform at¬
titude towards all classes of schools; had it simply agreed
to aid the secular and moral education in which the whole
country is equally interested, appointed inspectors to re¬
port on all schools alike, and left the religious element to
each party to supply for themselves, as in Canada, there
would have been at least one central point of unit!/ around
which the whole education of the country might eventually
have gathered, so as to form some approach to nationality;
but in place of this, sectarian trust-deeds, even more strin¬
gent than they were before, have been sanctioned; the
system of sectarian inspectors has been admitted; the reli¬
gious element has been included in the government reports
in the case of the national schools, thus severing them
in their relation to government from the rest; and the
denominational system has accordingly been rendered
complete. In this way, the government aid and inspection,
which might have gradually softened down the sectarian
spirit and formed a rallying-point of national unity, has
really legalized it and made it permanent; and schools are
now seen rising up in rivalry one over against the other,
both of which are equally paid for from the national funds.
Ath, The present plan is not to be recommended on the score
of economy. Were the country divided into districts, and
the educational wants of each district taken into account
and properly supplied, the school question would assume
an economic form. At present the partial distribution of
school accommodation, assuming as it does a denomina¬
tional form, goes directly contrary to all principles of
economy. Large sums are spent in districts where schools
are not all required. One denomination planting a school
in a given locality excites the envy and jealousy of another;
and straightway a rival establishment must appear, both of
which languish for want of scholars, and perhaps of funds
also, just because the neighbourhood is only sufficient to sup¬
port one good school. Double the school accommodation
that is requisite will have to be supplied on the present
principles before the wants of the whole country are met.
The same want of economy exists in all the details of the
government administration. Instead of the inspectors being
purely governmental officers, which they were first intended
to be; instead of each having a limited district within which
he reports upon all classes of schools; there are no less than
seven different classes of inspectors roaming the country,
and crossing each other’s orbits in every direction, in order
to suit some particular denominational type of schools.
Thus there are National school inspectors, British school
inspectors, poor-law inspectors, Church of Scotland in-,
specters, Free Church inspectors,and an Episcopal Church'
of Scotland inspector. All the official doeume^ts. and’
books at the office of administration, moreov
kept separately, for each of these differentcl
efe;
ms. ar
^eNxTbe
schools,
so that the whole work is complicated in efefc possible way.
The consequence of possessing a system At eduqjAon so
partial in its extent, and incomplete in its scheme of opera¬
tion, is that a great number of spontaneous institutions have
sprung up to supply the deficiency. The number of dame
schools, and schools of private adventure held by wholly
incompetent persons, is still incredibly great in all the more
populous towns of the country.
Again, with regard to middle education, this is thrown National
almost entirely upon the principle of supply and demand. Education,
The grammar-school charities which exist throughout the
country are so inconsiderable, as compared to the whole of
the middle classes, and those which do exist are for the
most part so imperfectly administered, that they can hardly
be taken into account as any valid element in the higher
education of the country. Nearly the whole of the middle
classes in England are virtually shut up to the principle of
boarding-schools, in which we find of course every possible
variety both of matter and of method. A few well-endowed
grammar schools, and a few other proprietary day schools, form
the only exceptions to this general statement. This may cer¬
tainly add somewhat to the individuality of the English peo¬
ple ; but as a system of national education for the middle
classes it is, as a whole, the least efficient and the most ex¬
pensive of any that could possibly be devised. A good rating
system like that of America, which should supply higher as
well as primary schools in every district throughout the coun¬
try, would be an enormous saving to the whole of the middle
classes of the community, and give them as well a guarantee
of efficiency such as they cannot now possibly possess.
Another and very important mode in which private
effort has sought spontaneously to supply the deficiency of
popular education, is by putting the means of improvement
into the hands of the adult population. I refer now to the
rise of mechanics’ institutes, mutual improvement societies,
and other institutions of a similar nature.
The rise of these institutes and societies may be traced Adult edo-
to the efforts of Dr Birkbeck in Glasgow, in the year 1800, catl0n in
to form a class of mechanics in connection with the Ander-
sonian Institution, to whom he proposed giving instruction
in the rudiments of natural and mechanical philosophy.
Their further development, however, amongst the larger
towns of the country generally dates no earlier than about
the year 1823. Their primary intention was to impart
instruction to working men in the rules and principles of
the various arts with which they were already practically
acquainted. Hence, for a considerable time after their
first rise the prevailing tone and tendency of their operation
was scientific. Lectures were given on the elements of
natural philosophy, on chemistry, on mechanics, on geo¬
metric drawing, and on a variety of other topics bearing
more directly upon the occupations of the artisans. In ad¬
dition to this, libraries were collected, and the books lent
out to the members at a very low rate ; evening classes
were also formed in some placeafor regular courses of in¬
struction in the various arts andj|ci\nces.
In the course of some years, hdv^ver, the general fea¬
tures of these institutions began to change. Scientific
lectures lost their novelty ; the expenses attendant upon
the regular engageme^J of scientific men were found to
be too great a di^in 'ujjon the institutions ; a large num¬
ber of the ^rtlfcribers preferred to hear something more
light and amusing ; and thus the scientific element began
to make way for music, poetry, and light literature.
The following table gives a fajr jASi the process of
this change, as seen BT^tlie^lVlJG^^&Atnstitution at Man-
Britain,
Chester:—
* i li
Vi
Science.
Mental Philosophy 
Literature and Education...
Fine Arts and Drama 
Total.
1835 ro 1839. 1840 to 1844. 1845 to 1849.
235
8
53
99
395
127
16
80
55
278
88
2
84
55
229
If a similar list were continued down to the present time,
the same two results would be still visible,—namely, first
al a
on.g
J li
ati
UCJ
al a gradual falling off of the aggregate number of lectures
on.given; and secondly, a pretty steady tendency toward
light and literary subjects, in place of philosophy and
science.
At the same time, it is but just to say that many im¬
provements have been introduced. Day and evening
classes for boys and girls, as well as adults, have in many
instances been added to the ordinary programme; and in
some instances, as in Liverpool, a flourishing middle school
of a very superior character has been gradually developed.
The statistics of mechanics’ institutes for the United
Kingdom, in the year 1853, were as follows:—
vei
ad<
aP|
cat
est
rig
pro
obt
of
and
in
Thi
whf
cult
cla«
for
tent
oft]
. v
ish
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
825
England 
Wales 
Scotland 
Ireland.  
Total..
Number
of In.
stitutes.
610
12
55
25
702
Mem¬
bers.
102,050
1,472
12,554
4,005
120,031
691,500
6,855
59,661
57,500
815,516
Issues of
Books,
1850.
1,820,748
16,800
154,747
33,800
2,026,095 18,120
Number of
persons
attending
Evening
Classes.
16,020
280
1,638
182
Number of
Lectures
delivered
in 1850.
5,034
115
481
310
5,940
This table shows that there is at least a very lar^e
amount of machinery at work, which if not a# of the most
improving character, yet cannot fail, as a whole, to exert a
very considerable .influence upon the population of our
large towns. The great drawback to their further effi¬
ciency lies in the want of early school training amongst the
working classes. This want renders it extremely difficult
to interest them in useful objects of study, and tends, con¬
sequently, to divert the very purposes of the institutions
raised for their benefit, from what is solid and useful, to
subjects which are harmlessly amusing. We may hope,
however, that this is only a passing phase of the question!
Education is now advancing amongst the juvenile population;
a large amount of mind is being called out by the improve!
ments made in the primary schools ; and this will, ere long,
produce a corresponding call for mental food amongst adults!
In addition to this, the union now formed amongst me¬
chanics’ institutes in the different counties is tending greatly
to their improvement and their more complete organization,
and it appears likely that they may yet, ere long, become
a more powerful engine than ever in the education of the
people. Indeed, there are already symptoms of the co¬
operation of the government with popular institutions of
this character, which, if properly carried out, cannot fail
to give them a still wider range and more abidino- in¬
fluence.
In the view which has been given of the state of public
education in England, it is not intended to include the
case either of Scotland or Ireland ; in both which countries
peculiar institutions exist that greatly modify the whole
complexion of the subject.
Scotland started on the pathway of education from the
very time of the Reformation. The early Reformers, in
adopting the parochial divisions of the country, did not
apply them simply to an ecclesiastical, but also to an edu¬
cational purpose. In every parish they procured the
establishment of a school as well as a church, with the
right of presbyterial inspection, and endowed it with landed
property. These schools were the centres of much un¬
obtrusive educational activity throughout those long years
of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when England
and Ireland were almost in a state of Egyptian darkness
in legald to the education of the masses of the people.
I he parish schools of Scotland having originated at a time
when Latin was the almost universal medium of mental
culture, have always retained more or less of a higher and
classical element; and by so doing have nurtured the taste
for a middle-class day-school education to a much larger ex¬
tent than what has ever existed in England. The preference
of the day to the boarding school, indeed, is one of the
VOL. xv.
educational features in which Scotland differs most ob- National
viously from England in relation to the training of the Education,
middle classes. ij
As the population of Scotland increased, it was found
that the original parochial endowments proved wholly in¬
sufficient to meet the growing wants of the people. This
has led to a series of voluntary efforts, for the most part
denominational, intended either to supplement the defi¬
ciency, or to give its proper weight to each sect in the edu¬
cational concerns of the country. So early as the year
1701 the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge was
formed with the especial design of supplying the wants of
districts where the parochial education was not sufficient.
Early in the present century the Inverness Society
for the Education of the Poor, and the Ladies’ Gaelic
School Association, were formed chiefly to aid the cause
of education in the Northern and Western Highlands.
About the year 1812 the Sessional School was formed
in Edinburgh, which gave a great impetus to education in
the right direction, by the adoption of more modern and
approved plans. In 1824 the General Assembly education
scheme was carried into execution, which has now 180
schools under its jurisdiction ; and in 1843 the disrup¬
tion of the Church of Scotland led to a new series of
efforts on the part of the seceding body, which has ended
in the establishment of between seven and eight hundred
schools throughout the country. All these different bodies
have now availed themselves of the aid held out by the
Committee of Council on Education; so that the denomi¬
national principle has now come into play precisely in the
same manner as we have shown it in regard to England,
and has attempted to supply its own deficiency by means
of the government grants now held out for acceptance.
The net result of all these efforts is, that Scotland is
now supplied with schools, numerically considered, per¬
haps equivalent, or nearly so, to the wants of the whole po¬
pulation. “ What is now required,” savs one of the go¬
vernment inspectors in the report of 1856, “ seems to be not
so much any great accession to the number of the schools, as
a more real, vital, availing character in the instruction which
many of the existing schools afford.” This does not at all
imply that the defect pointed out attaches to the Scottish
primary education generally; for it is in fact quite the
reverse; but that a considerable number of the schools are
languishing from insufficient funds, which tends to paralyze
the efforts of the teacher and render the whole school dull
and ineffective.
We must refer, lastly, to Ireland, which contains many Irish
peculiar features of its own. Grants of public money began education.
to be voted for Irish education from the commencement of
the last century, but they were given almost exclusively for
the benefit of the Protestant population. The sreat mass
of the people, who consisted of Roman Catholics, remained
wholly uneducated. A number of schools thus sprung up
through the country, patronized chiefly by different socie¬
ties and aided by the state. Amongst these were the
Protestant charter schools, the Protestant English schools,
schools of the Society for Discountenancing Vice, and the
schools of the Kildare Society. In 1806 a crown commission
was appointed to inquire into the state of schools on public
or charitable foundations in Ireland. In 1824 another
commission was appointed, whose object was “ to discover
a mode in which the combined education of Protestants
and Catholics might be carried on, resting on religious in¬
struction, but free from the suspicion of proselytism.”
These efforts ended by the appointment in 1831 of a board
of commissioners for national education, whose efforts during
the last twenty years in introducing popular education into
Ireland have been crowned with the most marked success.
The Irish school plan comes far nearer to the idea of a
real system of national education than what we have shown
5 M
826
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
National to exist either in England or Scotland. It is true there is
Education, no educational division of the country, no legal obligation to
erect a school in every parish, no public tax for school
purposes; but a plan of operation has been laid down which
compels the schools aided by government to be open to
all, without distinction of religious creed, and which con¬
fines the religious instruction to specific periods, in which the
children can receive it from their own pastors or teachers.
Under the liberal patronage of government primary
schools have been now largely extended, model and normal
schools erected, evening schools, industrial schools, agricul¬
tural schools, set on foot, and a general stimulus given to
social improvement. A vigorous system of inspection is
also kept up by the government commissioners. In addi¬
tion to three head inspectors there are no less than thirty-
four district inspectors, who visit each school at least three
times every year, and report its progress or deficiencies to
the central office in Dublin.
The following statistical details are taken from the re¬
ports of the commissioners for the year 1855 :—
Number of schools under inspection   5124.
Number of children in attendance  538,246
Number of teachers in training   288
Number of workhouse schools   139
Number of model-farm schools   37
Total expenditure by government during the year, L.212,017,4s.9d.
Hints for We have now shown, in regard to our own country,
the im- ^ wi10 are ^jle educators, what are the principal agencies
of British'" employed, and to what extent those agencies are operative,
education. -^ie whole subject presents certainly a very heterogeneous
aspect. While on the continent of Europe and in America
we have systems of primary education, which carry in¬
struction by force of law into every village and every dis¬
trict ; while we see this system of primary instruction still
further supplemented by high schools adapted to the com¬
mercial and middle classes generally, and these, again,
crowned by universities, accessible to all at a very moderate
rate of expenditure, England presents nothing whatever of
the same kind. We have denominational schools, adven¬
ture schools, schools supported by individuals and by com¬
mercial companies, schools aided by government and schools
not aided, endowed schools, subscription schools, with du¬
plicate variations of every class, in Scotland and Ireland.
Similar diversities are also to be seen in the character as
well as the constitution of the schools. Some are excellent,
some miserably bad; some teach religion and theology to
the utmost extent, some limit it to a verse or two from the
Bible, and some are wholly secular. In relation to method,
some are monitorial, some collective, some sectional, and
some have no system whatever; while, in relation to locality,
some places are overdone with school accommodation, and
others have no accommodation at all. The question there¬
fore comes, Whether it is possible to adjust these facts so as
to bring out of them a theory and a practice of education
that shall be sound in itself, and suited to the wants of the
country at large ?
This question no doubt presents many difficulties;
neither is it possible to say how many unforeseen obstacles
may arise before any plan, however simple and apparently
unobjectionable, could be realized. First of all, it is not
possible in a country like this to begin virtually de novo,
as in France and Prussia. The ground is already to a
large extent occupied. Charities exist all over the country
which have been left expressly for educational purposes.
The state church has begun to work the parochial division
of the country into an educational as well as an ecclesiastical
system, and claims the schools thus originated as an ap¬
pendage to the church, with which the nation, as such, has
no right to interfere. Denominational schools have been
planted all over the country in common with almost every
sect, who are equally jealous of any foreign interposition.
T. he Committee of Council on Education have recognised all ^ e
these classes of schools, have aided all alike, and have EducatS
pledged themselves to a certain extent to the denomina-
tional system. Ihe stimulus given by the government
system of aid and inspection has been, it is true, almost in¬
calculable; and the improvement in elementary schools
within the last ten years unprecedented. And yet, with all
this, the step which the government has taken, when viewed
in relation to a future complete system of national educa¬
tion, has been obviously a step in the wrong direction. No
truly national system can by any possibility grow out of the
present minutes of council, unless they are greatly modified
in their whole structure and tendency. This is virtually-
acknowledged by all practical men; and the very attempts
which have been made in the House of Commons within
the two or three last sessions of Parliament to introduce an
education bill, show that some totally new principle must
be introduced before any broad or satisfactory system for
the country can be realized. In what way, then, can these
improvements be introduced so as to co-operate with the
agencies already in existence ? This is the great practical
question of the present moment in regard to national edu¬
cation. To build up any complete theory would be vision¬
ary. We shall merely give a few hints to show the direction
which we conceive the development of education must take
in order to have any chance of present success.
1. First of all, the country should be divided into educa¬
tional districts. The present parochial divisions of the
country are on many grounds objectionable. Not only are
they extremely unequal in population and extent, but it
is extremely difficult to dispossess the present functionaries,
both ecclesiastical and municipal, of the idea that they have
some especial claim to precedence in any matters which
assume a parochial character. Such claims applied to
education would at once prove fatal to any really national
system, as it would set the different parties now engaged in
it in direct opposition to each other.
2. Having divided the country into districts, the next
thing would be to find out, not by local but by govern¬
mental authorities, what is the educational supply, and what
are the educational wants of each. To determine this,
note must be taken of all the existing schools, of whatever
denomination, distinguishing those which are already under
the inspection of the Committee of Council from those which
are not. Care should be especially taken to look into the
amount and the application of all charitable trusts for
education, and to report definitely upon them.
3. A third step of great importance would be, to pass an
act of Parliament empowering a board of charitable trust
commissioners to take these trusts for a time into their own
hands, to find out what they will realize by proper manage¬
ment, and to appropriate the amount (according to the
spirit, if not to the letter, of the founder’s will) to the gene¬
ral education of the district in which the property is situated.
4. The next point would be for a school-rate to be levied
on actual property in each district, according to its require¬
ments. This school-rate might take the place of the grants
now made to teachers, pupil-teachers, and managers, from
the Committee of Council on Education, as well as the
voluntary contributions of managers, and would also be
employed to plant new schools in the district, wherever the
present provisions arising from existing schools and chari¬
table endowments were found to be insufficient.
5. The rate-payers in each district would elect a com¬
mittee of management totally distinct from any existing
parochial authorities, into whose hands the rate funds would
be paid, and who would be responsible for its partition to
every school, fulfilling certain conditions, according to the
number of children in average attendance. They would
also carry out the provisions of this act in ^regard to new
schools to be erected in destitute localities.
>
Ed
V.
liorm
‘chool
Nat
8 dm
n
v:
n
t(
tl
P:
tr
tl
S(
V
a
a
S
tl
g>
ta
m
A
loi
th
so
w
it
sc
m
pi
di
CO
sy<
thi
fal
thi
an
m
ex
th
W(
su
ve
wi
tai
shi
ins
G<
ani
nr,
ial
nal
jls.
NATIONAL EDUCATION.
6. All schools applying for the rate should be examined
ion. and reported on by inspectors appointed by government,
L—who should have power to determine whether a school was
deserving of support from public funds or not.
7. The /oca/ management of existing schools should not
be interfered with ; only provision should be made that the
religious instruction should be given at a specified time (as
in the Irish schools), that parents should have the power to
withdraw the child from any kind of religious teaching to
which they object, and that the day-school should involve
no conditions in regard to attendance at any particular
place of worship on the Sunday.
8. The government’should not interfere with the religious
element of the schools beyond the above stipulations^and
demand no reports on it, but should leave it in each case
to the local managers to provide for as they think best.
Ibis is of course only a rough sketch of the direction
in which education might move forward. All the existing
machinery on this plan would remain untouched; all the pro¬
visions of the Committee of Council on Education respecting
normal schools, examinations for certificates of merit, pupil-
teachers, inspection, &c., could be still carried out as before ;
the only new elements would be the education districts, the
principle of a rate, and a school committee in each dis¬
trict, not to manage the institutions, but to apportion
the funds according to the details of the measure. All
schools, of course, as far as the government is concerned,
would lose their denominational character, and be inspected
and reported on by one general class of inspectors, simply
as e/ementary schoo/s. In this way, without doing any
great violence to the present organized state of things in
the country, a system of national education might be
gradually consolidated which would combine the advan¬
tages of local management and local support with the
numerous benefits derived from governmental inspection.
Already strong indications have been given that we may
look for a union of all political parties in some measure of
this kind. For the system of government aid has now gone
so far, that it can neither recede nor fully develop itself
without certain organic changes.
lo make the plan above sketched out comp/ete, of course
it must comprehend the establishment of middle or high
schools, as well as schools for the working-classes. This
might at first sight seem to involve an outlay which would
pi ess too heavily to be endured upon the rate-payers of each
distiict. But, in point of fact, the mere circumstance of
comprehending a plan of midd/e-c/ass schools in the general
system of national education would be an actual relief to
the great majority of the persons upon whom the rate must
fall. I he middle classes in this country are now educating
their children in boarding-schools at a very great expense,
and are usually getting a very inferior article for their
money. By paying a moderate rate, they might have
excellent grammar schools brought to their very doors, and
thus secure a superior education for their own families, as
ive/l as adequate instruction for the labouring classes, for a
sum far less than what they are now usually paying for the
veiy desultory training which they are obliged to put up
with in the boarding-schools of the country. There cer-
tamly is no valid reason why a series of higher institutions
should not flourish under government patronage and
inspection in England, as well as the “ gymnasia” do in
Creimany, the £ colleges ” in France, and the higher English
and classical schools in America.
827
m. HOW A SYSTEM OF NATIONAL EDUCATION SHOULD BE
PRACTICALLY ARRANGED AND CARRIED FORWARD.
1 he first, and perhaps most important point, in a practical
system of national education, is to have efficient normal
schools for the proper training of teachers. Without these,
no effective instruction is likely to be realized throughout National
the country at large. It is not enough that a teacher be a Education,
man of sufficient learning ; his learning must be ready for V>***‘v *
use. He must understand the character of childhood, and
know how to interest it; he must be able to exercise strict
discipline without severity ; he must comprehend the best
methods of school organization, and adapt his plans to the
pi ecise wants of his scholars ; he must be able to anticipate
their difficulties, smooth their path, encourage their efforts,
chide their indolence, excite their emulation, and lead them
on from one step of mental development to another. All
this can only be accomplished by a special training for the
purpose, and such a training it is the office of the normal
school to afford. Study and practice must there go together,
so that when the student goes forth to his labour, he may
at once know what to teach and understand how to teach
it. All the countries where education is successfully carried
on have laid the foundation for that success in the normal
schools ; and the best earnest we now have for continued
progress in the department of public instruction in our
own country lies in those thirty or more normal schools
which are forming the minds of more than 2000 pupils for
future efficiency as public teachers throughout the country.
The next thing that claims attention is the organization Organiza-
of the primary school, and the method of instruction, tion and
School methods may, by a broad classification, be reduced method,
to three principal types,—these are, 1st, The monitorial or
mutual system ; 2d, The collective or simultaneous system ;
and 3d, I he sectional system. The monitorial system con¬
sists in the employment for a certain period every day of
some of the elder boys to assist in the instruction of “the
younger. The method of Lancaster, who chiefly introduced
this system, was to form a monitors’ class from the more
advanced scholars, to give them special instruction, and
then to employ them in giving hach the lessons they had
leceived to the other children in small groups or drafts.
I he extiavagant expectations which were at first entertained
of the efficiency of this method have not been by any means
realized. A certain amount of mechanical work can be
peifoimed by monitors with good effect, and a large amount
of drudgery thus taken out of the hands of the teacher; but
here their utility ceases. That which the child most needs
(and which is the principal educating element in every good
school) is, to come into close contact with some superior
mind, who knows how to foster and stimulate the germs of
thought, to instil sound principles, to correct false or
vicious habits, and to insinuate knowledge into the youn0-
mind through every avenue by which he can reach it. The
idea of committing the education of children, either wholly
oi principally, to monitors, could only be entertained where
the standard aimed at is extremely low and imperfect,
neither can the mutual system itself be ever regarded in
any other light than a mere substitute for better leachino-
where that better teaching cannot be procured.
The collective or simultaneous method errs on the oppo¬
site extreme. It collects the whole school together upon a
stage or gallery adapted for the purpose, and attempts to con¬
struct a system of lessons such that the whole of the scholars
may be taught at once by a single master. That this method
may serve well for a certain amount of moral training is
not to be denied; but as an intfellectual instrument it
proves extiemely defective. Children of different decrees
of mental development cannot possibly profit by the same
lessons. If those lessons are adapted to the elder scholars
the younger ones are wholly unable to follow them • if
they are adapted to the younger scholars, then they are
useless to the rest. The simultaneous school is good for
making a display, and often surprises those who do not
look beneath the surface ; but it almost inevitably fosters
superficial knowledge, and leaves the child helpless when
tluown alone upon his own individual resources.
828 NATIONAL
National The sectional method is a via media between the two
Education, extremes I have just described. It goes on the principle
that children ought to be classified according to their age
and attainments, and a suitable teacher employed for
every section. In Prussia the almost universal plan is to
make each school-house consist of a number of class-rooms,
each class-room being adapted to a single section under
one teacher. The same method is followed in the schools
of the Christian Brothers in France. When sufficient,
and at the same time efficient teachers can be procured,
there can be little doubt that this is the best possible or¬
ganization for a school, whether primary or secondary. It
combines in it every requisite for complete training,
whether moral or intellectual. The difficulty of carrying
out this system properly, however, becomes great, just in
proportion as the number of scholars becomes large. Both
in the Prussian schools and those of the Christian Brothers
in France, the sections are apt to swell amidst dense popu¬
lations, to such proportions, that the task becomes too great
for a single teacher, and imperfection naturally results.
Various plans have been formed to obviate this difficulty.
Amongst others, it was arranged in some of the larger pri¬
mary schools of Holland that a few of the elder and more
advanced scholars should be taken as apprentices in the
schools, and employed to teach the lower classes. It was
a development of this idea which led to the organization
of the pupil-teacher system in England under the Committee
of Council on Education.
According to this plan, candidates are examined by the
inspectors and reported on to the council-office. If their
qualifications are found satisfactory, an indenture is made
out, and they are apprenticed to the school for five years;
the master being made responsible for their proper training,
and their progress being tested by yearly examinations on
the ordinary visit of the inspector. The advantages of this
plan have proved great. It has enabled every school to
adopt a sectional classification ; it secures the services con¬
tinuously, from year to year, of under-teachers, who ordi¬
narily increase every year ^in intelligence and efficiency;
and what is more, it fills the normal schools, not, as was
previously the case, with crude, unformed material, but with
young men and women who have been well disciplined in
the art of teaching, and have had already five years’ train¬
ing in those branches which are most necessary for a teacher
thoroughly to understand. Thus, by one and the same ar¬
rangement, the schools have been re-organized on sounder
principles, and provision has been made for a constant suc¬
cession of well-trained and well-qualified teachers.
Gradation A third important point is the proper gradation of public
of public schools. In Prussia there are three principal grades,—
schools. viz.? 1st, The country school, in which only elementary in¬
struction is given; 2d, The town school, in which some
amount of mathematical and scientific teaching, as well as
modern languages, are introduced; and 3d, The high
school or gymnasium, which is throughout constructed on
a classical and professional basis.
In Flolland there are five grades,—ls£, The poor schools,
which are wholly gratuitous ; 2d, The intermediate schools,
in which a very small fee is paid ; 3c?, Town schools, in which
there is a higher fee and a higher range of instruction;
4tfi, The French schools, which prepare for active and
commercial life ; and 5t/t, The grammar schools, which pre¬
pare for the learned professions antecedently to the uni¬
versities. The subject of the gradation of schools is now
becoming one of the prominent questions in the educational
system of America, and will have to become so ere long in
our own country.
Bchools ne- 1 he simplest classification that can be made for a country
ces8ary in hke England, where the gradations in society are so marked,
.ng a,j . Vyj]j probably be found to be a classification into four dis¬
tinct grades,—First, we want in all the large towns a series
EDUCATION.
oi" free schools for the lowest strata of society, to occupy National Vat
thoroughly the whole ground that is now very inadequately Education La
taken by the ragged school. Next to this come those schools
which are at present being so largely established through j Nat
the country, in which both the nature of the instruction ^
and the entrance-fee are adapted to the wants and resources
of the working-classes. Thirdly, we should require a
series of town schools, adapted more peculiarly for the
mercantile classes, including, in addition to all that is
taught in the primary school, the departments of mathe¬
matics, science, and modern languages. Fourthly, we
should need a proper number of grammar schools, answer¬
ing to the gymnasia of Germany and the royal or municipal
colleges in France, and united to those who intend to em¬
brace a professional life. If such a plan were carried out,
every father of a family upon whom a portion of the rates
fell would, whatever his sphere in life, get a return far more
than equivalent to what he is required to pay. Lastly, with
regard to the teachers themselves, if we expect to keep up
an efficient staff, two conditions are necessary:—ls£, That
they be adequately remunerated; and 2d, That their po¬
sition be made sufficiently independent. The remunera¬
tion of teachers must of course depend upon the average
rate of payment for men in a similar position of life through¬
out the country. It must, at any rate, be such that the
teacher can live and bring up his family according to his
station, without seeking extraneous help from other sources.
Anything less than this will be sure to deteriorate the
profession, by presenting too little inducement for the more
energetic minds to continue within its ranks.
The teacher, however, must not only have sufficient re- ■
muneration, but his position must be secure and independ¬
ent so long as he labours with zeal and efficiency. For
this purpose, his salary should not depend upon voluntary
contributions, which are always fluctuating, and likewise
place the teacher too much in the power of the donor;
neither should it depend mainly on school-fees, which leads
him to pander to the prejudices of parents in order to in¬
crease the number of the scholars. The teacher is undoubt¬
edly in the best position when his salary depends on public
funds, whether local or governmental, and is responsible,
not to any individual, but to a regularly-constituted autho¬
rity. Where this is the case, he can labour alone for the
good of his pupils, and be sure of approbation and support so
long as he labours earnestly and intelligently in his sphere.
In conclusion, let us not forget that the whole subject Conclusion,
we have been discussing is one of supreme importance to
every country. There is no part of the surface of our globe
but bears traces of nations who were once flourishing and
progressive, but who have now disappeared, or nearly so,
from the rank of civilized communities. The fortunes of
every country lie in the spirit of the citizens. Where this
is vigorous, enlightened, and moral, the country must stand,
—nay, must even advance on the road towards a still higher
and more developed state of society. But where the public
mind becomes a prey to ignorance, superstition, and vice,
a retrograde movement sets in which leads gradually to
disorganization, and finally to absolute dissolution. The
history of Germany and of Spain since the time of Charles V.
may be taken as an illustration of these two tendencies,
presented to us, moreover, in modern times, and in con¬
nection with two of the principal nations of Europe. There
can be no doubt but that the future of every nation now
existing is equally bound up with the cause of popular en¬
lightenment. Whether we regard ourselves, therefore, as
philanthropists or as patriots, it is equally incumbent upon us
to take a personal interest in the national education of our
country; for it is the sum of personal interest which in
every free country forms and moulds the character of public
opinion; and then it is public opinion which ordains the
statutes and shapes the institutions of the realm, (j. d.m.)
ratif
[jaw
II
fatu
itio
iw
bi
to
wh
res
ma
raa
am
coi
im
kn
ob
pri
tlx
am
Co
po:
all
mi
est
dif
de
be
tlx
se<
wl
wl
rel
vei
(&
Na
at t
bet
kin
GK.
as
of
ter
T1
viz
am
El<
all
alp
con
Urn
or
am
dit
the
me
tio;
fen
the
ass
wh
ref
ply
9en
t'Xi;
live
dist
2.1
ors
gen
e itui
NAT
NATIONS, Law of. See Law of Nations.
NATOLIA. See Asia Minor.
NATURAL HISTORY. The objects of nature may
be considered under two points of view ; first, with respect
to their form, structure, habits, and individual properties,
when viewed in a state of inactivity; and secondly, with
respect to the mutual changes which they produce when
made to act upon each other. Hence the study of nature
may be divided into two parts, namely, Natural History
and Natural Science,—the former considering bodies in a
comparatively inactive state, and the latter in a state of
mutual action. Natural history, then, is that part of natural
knowledge which teaches us to distinguish and describe the
objects of nature—to examine their appearance, structure,
properties, and uses—and to collect, preserve, and arrange
them. Some writers divide natural history into general
and •particular, which have been accurately defined by
Cuvier. General natural history considers, under a single
point of view, all natural bodies, and the common result of
all their actions in the great whole of nature. It deter¬
mines the laws of the co-existence of their properties; it
establishes the degrees of resemblance which exist between
different bodies; and it classes them according to these
degrees. The particular natural history of any body, to
be perfect, should comprehend, first, the description of all
the sensible properties of that body, and of all its parts;
secondly, the mutual gelations of these parts, the motions
which they produce, and the changes which they undergo
whilst they remain united; thirdly, the active and passive
relations of this body with every other body in the uni¬
verse ; and fourthly, the explanation of all these phenomena.
(See Tableau Elementaire d’Histoire Naturelle.)
(Detailed information respecting the various branches of
Natural History will be found under Animal Kingdom,
at the end of which will be found the systematic and alpha¬
betical arrangement of the different sections of the animal
kingdom; also under Meteorology, Physical Geo¬
graphy, Mineralogical Science, and Botany.)
NATURAL PHILOSOPHY is commonly described
as that branch of knowledge which treats of the properties
of natural bodies, and their actions on one another. This
term serves to indicate not one but a cluster of sciences.
Those generally comprehended under it are the following,
viz.,—Mechanics, theoretical and practical; Hydrostatics
and Hydrodynamics ; Optics ; Astronomy ; Magnetism ;
Electricity. There are, in this work, distinct treatises on
all these different branches, introduced in the order of the
alphabet; whilst the history of the whole is traced, in a
connected method, in the Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Pre¬
liminary Dissertations.
NATURALIZATION, the act of naturalizing an alien,
or putting him into the condition of a natural-born subject,
and entitling him to the rights and privileges of that con¬
dition. Previous to the new act (7 and 8 Viet., c. 66)
there could be no naturalization except by act of Parlia¬
ment ; but this statute has materially facilitated naturaliza¬
tion, and has made important alterations in the law re¬
ferring to aliens. (See Alien.)
NATURE (natura, cjivcrL';) signifies by its etymology
the origin and production of existences. But usage has
assigned to the term a great number of significations,
which are not always clearly distinguished. They are all
referable to two classes, however, according as they ap¬
ply to the nature of some particular thing, or to nature in
general. I. W hen the word is applied to some particular
existence, it is used in three distinct senses:—1. As descrip¬
tive of the essential qualities of any concrete existence, as
distinguished from those qualities which are accidental.
2. As descriptive of the essential qualities of a given genus
or species, and by which it is distinguished from every other
genus or species. 3. As descriptive of the essence and at-
N A U
829
tributes of the absolute, or of the essence of abstract exist- Naude.
ences,—as when we speak of the nature of Deity, the nature
of the Divine wisdom, the nature of duty, the nature of
such and such a law. II. When the word is applied to
nature in general, it is employed in four distinct significa¬
tions:-—1. As a collective name for all the forces exerted
by man beyond the region of reflective intelligence and
will. It is in this sense that nature is distinguished from
art in the development of the human faculties, and in the
power put forth by man on the animal, vegetable, and in¬
organic kingdoms. 2. As a collective term for all corporeal
existences as distinguished from incorporeal. It is in this
sense that those sciences which deal with material pheno¬
mena are termed natural sciences. 3. As a term used to
designate the permanent but inexplicable fact of the con¬
stant production, destruction, and general variability of the
phenomena of the universe. Sometimes this fact has been
personified and metaphorically endowed with intelligence,
volition, desire, and even moral qualities; and philosophers
have not unfrequently been the dupes of this figure of
speech. Nature, which in this sense was the expression of
a fact to be explained, thus became, in the hands of not a
few, the general explanation of all the special phenomena
connected with this universal fact. 4. As the name given
to that productive, destructive, or modifying force, which,
whether considered as one or many, created or uncreated,
possessing self-intelligence or the blind work of a creating
intelligence, is the cause of all the changes which take place
in the universe beyond the sphere of the volition of men
and animals. The laws of this force are the principal ob¬
jects of the physical sciences ; the objects of natural history
are the results of the operations of those laws.
NAUDIll, Gabriel, an eminent French bibliographer,
Mas born in Paris in 1600. His love of learning was dis¬
played at an early age, and procured for him the post of
librarian to President de Mesmes. But his taste for the
science of medicine induced him to remove to Padua in
1626; and there he began that course of medical studies
which he afterwards returned to complete in 1633. The
death of his father obliged him to repair abruptly to Paris.
He lived in the capital till 1631, when he was invited to
Rome to become librarian to Cardinal de Baqui. It was
while he held this office that the Benedictines and the re¬
gular canons of St Genevieve, both zealous for the honour
of their respective orders, began their famous controversy
concerning the authorship of De Imitatione Christi. The
former claimed the honour for John Gerson, and the latter
for Thomas a Kempis. (See Kempis.) Naude was em¬
ployed by his master to examine into the dispute, and to
give a decision. He decided in favour of a Kempis. This
produced a controversy between him and the Benedictines,
which passed from a mere literary quarrel into a law-suit,
but was ended without a decision in 1652. By this time
Cardinal de Baqui had died, and Naude, after remaining a
few months in the service of Cardinal Barberini, had re¬
turned to Paris in 1642, and, becoming librarian to Car¬
dinal Mazarin, had enriched with many valuable books and
MSS. the library of his master. However, Mazarin was
forced to retire from office, and his splendid collection of
books was sold by an act of the Parliament of Paris. Naude
accordingly did not hesitate in the same year to accept of
the office of librarian to Queen Christina of Sweden ; but
not long after his arrival at Stockholm his health began
rapidly to decline. He set out for his native city, but died
by the way, at Abbeville, in July 1653.
The principal of Naude’s numerous works are,—Apologie
pour les Grandes Personnages faussement accuses de
Magie, 8vo, Paris, 1625 ; Bibliographia Politica, Leyden,
1642; Avis pour Dresser une Bibliotheque, 8vo, 1644;
Syntagma de Studio Liberali, 4to, 1632 ; Considerations
Politiques sur les Coups dlEtat, 1639; Instruction d la
830
N A U
fallen France sur la Verite de VHistoire des Freres de la Rose-
II Croix, 8vo, Palis, 1623 ; and Jugement de tout ce gui a
v aun imprime contre le Cardinal Mazarin, 4to, 1650. A
book entitled Naudeana was published at Paris in 1701.
NAUEN, a town of Prussia, province of Brandenburg,
and government of Potsdam, on the Havelbach, 23 miles
W.N.W. of Berlin. It contains a church, town-house, and
hospital; and has manufactures of linen, beer, and brandy.
Ihe greater part of the town was burnt down in 1830.
Pop. 4220.
NAUMACHIA, an ancient Roman spectacle represent¬
ing a sea-fight. It was sometimes exhibited in a circus or
amphitheatre filled with water for the occasion; but more
generally naval theatres, surrounded with seats and porticoes,
and named after the spectacle itself naumachice, were con¬
structed. The most celebrated of these were that of Julius
Caesar in the Campus Martius, that of Augustus near the
Tiber, and that of Domitian surrounded with an erection
of stone. Claudius preferred to exhibit his naval shows on
the Lake Fucinus. The naumachiarii, as the combatants
were called, were usually captives or condemned malefac¬
tors. They were drawn up in two great opposing squad¬
rons, distinguished by the names of any two maritime
nations, and were doomed to fight until the one party had
exterminated the other, unless the emperor, or the private
person who had given the entertainment, put a stop to the
engagement. The naumachiae, like other Roman games,
were often celebrated with the most extravagant pomp and
magnificence. Artificial nereids and sea-monsters were
sometimes seen swimming among the ships; and the sight
of two large fleets grappling with each other in deadly
combat, to amuse a crowd of idle spectators, was no uncom¬
mon occurrence.
NAUMBURG, a town of Prussia, province of Saxony,
pleasantly situated in the midst of vine-covered hills in the
N A U
bridge. It was there that his learning introduced him to
the notice and patronage of James I. After passing through |
several political offices he was appointed secretary of state
in 1618. Sir Robert Naunton died in 1635. His chief
vvoik, Fragment a ^ Regalia, or Observations on the late
Queen Ehzabeth her Times and Favourites, was published
s 4 ™(r1L ,HVS a.S° the author of Arcan« Aulica
?wmJ694; and Mem0lrS °f Robert Cary, Earl of Mon-
NAUPACTUS. See I jEPANTO.
. NAUPLIA, or Napoli-di-Romania, a town of Greece
in the Morea, at the head of the gulf formerly called the
Argolic, but which now bears the name of the town; in N
Lat. 37. 34., E. Long. 22. 48. It stands on the N.E. side
ot a flat-topped hill, on the summit of which is a castle
5a
5av
Palamidhi, one of the strongest places in Europe,
ibis hill stands on a peninsula, to the N. of which is the
valley of the Saale, 18 miles S.S.W. of Merseburg. The
town consists of a walled portion and three suburbs. It
is well built,^ and contains some fine streets and public
buildings. Ihe cathedral, which is partly in the Gothic
and partly in the Romanesque style, was completed in
1249 ; but several additions have since been made. It has
a choir at each end, and of these the western is the more
ancient. The interior contains many curious monuments,
sculptures, and specimens of painted glass. There are
several other churches in the town, one of which, that
of St W enzel, contains a fine painting by L. Cranach.
Naumburg has also a citadel, town-hall, arsenal, a high
school, an industrial school, and several hospitals. Manu¬
factures of carriages, woollen cloth, hosiery, shoes, chemi¬
cals, &c., are carried on. 4 his is one of the most northerly
places in Europe where the vine is cultivated, but the
wine produced is little better than vinegar. Some trade
is carried on in the articles of manufacture, as well as
in oil, wine, wool, &c.; and two fairs are annually held.
Naumburg was besieged in 1482 by the Hussites under
Procopius ; but they were induced to raise the siege by the
entreaties of the children of the town. This event has
been dramatized by Kotzebue, and is still celebrated by
an annual children’s festival on the 28th of July. Naum¬
burg was a place of importance in the Thirty Years’
War, as well as in the campaigns of 1806 and 1813. Pop.
13,802.
NAUNTON, Sir Robert, secretary of state to James
E, was born in 1563 in Suffolk, and was educated at
linity College, Cambridge. His public life was begun
by an embassy to Scotland in 1589. The Earl of Essex
afterwards employed him to reside in France under the
guise of tutor to a young gentleman named Yernon, but
in reality as a spy on the French government. On the
irm liS Patron’ ^ems to have returned home ; and in
1601 was elected public orator in the university of Cam-
harbour of the town, large and well sheltered, but not deep
enough to admit large vessels. The most of the streets of
Naupha are narrow, though straight; but several wide and
handsome streets have been recently built; while the whole
town, instead of the wretched and dirty appearance which
it formerly presented, has now a neat and clean appearance
like that of a second-rate Italian seaport. There are two
squares, which are connected by the main street running
through the middle of the town ; and the principal public
buildings, besides the churches, are the royal palace, the
court-house, and the barracks. Nauplia has a military
academy, a school for the middle classes, a circulating
library, and other literary establishments. The town is
surrounded by Venetian fortifications, and is defended by
a battery and by another fortress besides the one which
stands on the top of the hill. A considerable trade was
formerly carried on here by Greek vessels in corn, wine,
oil, silk, fruits, &c.; but this has considerably declined, and
the only ai tides in which there is now any commerce are
the necessaries of life. The climate is unhealthy, and the
town has been frequently exposed to the ravages of pesti¬
lence. In ancient times the site was occupied by a town
of the same name. It was of great antiquity, and is said
by Pausanias to have been founded by the colony of
Egyptians whom Danaus brought with him. That it was
a town of foreign origin may be inferred with probability
fiOm the conti ast between its situation, on a promontory of
the coast, and those of the other ancient Greek towns among
the mountains and glens of the interior. It was at first an
independent town, but in the seventh century b.c. was con-
quered by the Argives, and Nauplia then became merely
the seaport of Argos. In the second century it is described
by I ausanias as deserted, and as having some remains
of a temple of Neptune. About the time of the Crusades,
it rose to be a town of some importance, under the name of
Anaphon or Anaplia, which has since been changed by
the restoration of the ancient appellation. It was occupied
in the thirteenth century by the Venetians, and made by
them the chief ot their settlements in the Morea. Taken
by the Sultan Solyman in 1537, but soon afterwards re¬
taken, it was not finally added to the dominions of the Porte
till 1718. The Turks again lost it on the outbreak of the
Greek insurrection, and it was the seat of the new govern¬
ment from 1829 till 1834, when that honour was transferred
to Athens. It is peopled to a large extent by foreigners
from France, Germany, and Italy. Pop. estimated at
15,000.
NAUVOO, a towm of the United States, North America,
state of Illinois, on the left bank of the Mississippi, 52 miles
above Quincy, and 220 above St Louis. It was founded
by the Mormons in 1840, and laid out with great regular¬
ity on a tract of ground gradually sloping upwards from the
river’s edge. The principal building was the Mormon tem¬
ple, a large limestone edifice, containing a stone baptistry
pie:
Bo;
tow
the
the
anc
Th
the
a c
racl
Rot
tion
by
trad
The
a ta
unif
men
attl
of J
E.
higi
By
stee
buili
Tho
The
SOUK
the
the
by 5
It is
of S
the
tom
ther
islan
now
the s
whor
hash
by f
artic
tory
those
1827
an at
the c
estab
popu
N
41. j
hour
Zara
it is
and
of th
tainc
renei
barri
The
knon
NAY
supported by twelve large oxen. This building was burned
down in 1848 ; when the Mormons were forcibly expelled
from the state and obliged to emigrate to Utah. A com¬
pany of French socialists have recently established them¬
selves here. The population while the Mormons occu¬
pied the town was from 15,000 to 18,000, but in 1850 it
was only 1130.
NAVAN, a market-town of Ireland, county of Meath,
pleasantly situated on a hill at the confluence of the rivers
Boyne and Blackwater, 28 miles N.W. of Dublin. The
town is not well built; and the principal streets, of which
there are four, though straight, are not clean. A bridge over
the Boyne connects it with the suburb of Athlumney, and
another over the Blackwater with that of Donaghmore.
The parish church is a neat building, erected in 1818; and
there is also a fine Roman Catholic chapel. There are also
a court-house and market-house, bridewell, cavalry bar¬
racks, infirmary, dispensary, fever hospital, union workhouse,
Roman Catholic convent and diocesan seminary, and na¬
tional and other schools. It is connected with Drogheda
by a railway and canal, by means of which it carries on some
trade, chiefly in corn and other agricultural produce.
There are in the town several flour, flax, and paper mills,
a tannery, brewery, and two distilleries. Previous to the
union, Navan returned two members to the Irish Parlia¬
ment. Pop. 3626.
NAVARINO, a town of Greece in the Morea, stands
at the south end of a bay of the same name, 136 miles S.W.
of Athens, and 92. S. by W. of Patras; N. Lat. 36. 54.,
E. Long. 21. 41. It consists of a citadel, situated on a
high rock, and a lower town ; the whole being surrounded
by walls, but having no ditch. The streets are narrow,
steep, and dirty, and the houses meanly and irregularly
built, many of them being also in a ruinous condition.
Those near the sea, however, are of a somewhat better sort.
The town contains the remains of an old aqueduct and
some ancient marble pillars, which now adorn the front of
the principal mosque. The Bay of Navarino forms one of
the best harbours in Greece. It is about 4 miles in length
by 2 in breadth, and the depth varies from 12 to 26 fathoms.
It is protected towards the W. by the long and narrow island
of Sphagia (anciently Sphacteria), to the S.E. of which lies
the entrance, which is nearly a mile wide. The ancient
town of Pylos stood at the northern end of the bay ; and
there was formerly a navigable channel to the north of the
island, though narrower than that to the south; but it is
now so shallow as not to admit of the passage of ships. In
the sixth century a colony of the Avars settled here, from
whom probably the place got the name of Avarino, which
has been changed, like many other modern names in Greece,
by prefixing the terminal letter of the accusative of the
article. Navarino is famous in modern history for the vic¬
tory gained here over the Turkish and Egyptian fleets by
those of Great Britain, France, and Russia, October 20,
1827. _ This engagement was occasioned by the breach of
an armistice on the part of the Turks, and the result was
the destruction of nearly the whole Ottoman fleet, and the
establishment of the independence of the Greeks. The
population of the town at present does not exceed 2000.
NAVARRA, a province of Spain, in the N.E., between
41. 55. 34. and 43. 18. 36. N. Lat., with the following
boundaries: N., Trance and the province ofGuipuzcoa; E.,
Zaragoza; S., Zaragoza and Logrono; W., Alava. In shape
it is an irregular square, 80 miles long and about 70 broad,
and has an area of about 2450 square miles. Three-fourths
of the surface (its northern and eastern districts) are moun¬
tainous and rugged, broken by ramifications of the Py¬
renees, which present on the N.E. an almost impassable
barrier, and inclose numberless secluded pastoral valleys.
Ihe northern frontier is pierced by several defiles, well-
known passes,^—as Roncesvalles, Bastan, and Roncal,—
N A V
thoroughfares of war and commerce between France and
the Peninsula. The highest summits in Navarra are those
of Altoviscar and Adi,—the former 5380, the latter 5220 feet
above the sea. South of a line from Sanguesa by Tafalla to
Estella, the country presents a series of descending terraces,
extending towards Zaragoza, Soria, and Logrono. The
principal rivers of the province are the Bidasoa and the Ebro;
the former in the N.W., formed by the confluence of the
Baztan and the Ezcurra; the latter in the S. The rivers
which, according to the proverb, “ make a man of the
Ebro,” are the Aragon, which enters Navarra on the E.
from Aragon, and has a course in the province of about 80
miles ; the Ega, which enters from Guipuzcoa, and falls
into the Ebro near Uzagre, after a course of about 100
miles; and the Arga, which descends from the Pyrenees,
and has a course of 120 miles before its confluence with
the Aragon. The mountainous region contains numerous
quarries of gypsum, limestone of various kinds, and free¬
stone. Granite, slate, jasper, black and other marbles,
frequently occur. There are also numerous mines of iron,
lead, and copper, the most important of which have been
found in the argillaceous slate; as of copper in the neigh¬
bourhood of Leiza, of lead near Vera and Leiza, of iron in
many places, as near Goizueta, Vera, and in the valley of
Aezcoa. These mines employ a considerable population;
but for want of capital and enterprise, and good communi¬
cation, have never been very flourishing, and mining indus¬
try has now much decayed. There are two large mines of
rock-salt at Funes and Valtierra; and salt is also obtained
in various places by atmospheric and artificial evaporation.
Agriculture, properly speaking, is confined to the plain,
much of which is rich, well cultivated, and fertile, pro¬
ducing wheat, maize, hemp, flax, oil, and wine. The wines
of Tudela and Peralta are celebrated. Were full advantage
taken of the numerous streams for irrigation, the hilly dis¬
trict might be extensively cultivated; as it is, it is almost
exclusively appropriated to forests and pasture. The oak,
beech, and pine are grown for wood; and the chestnut
affords an article of home consumption. The cultivation of
the mulberry for the silk-worm is not unknown. Great
quantities of horned cattle, sheep, goats, pigs, and mules are
reared. Game of all kinds is abundant in the mountains ;
and the streams abound with trout and other fish.
The manufactures of Navarra are insignificant. Linen
cloth is made in Pamplona; paper in Villaba; in various
places, silk, woollens, pottery, soap, chocolate, liquorice, and
some other articles. Iron is exported to America by San
Sebastian and Bilbao ; the exports to France are wool, iron,
salt, hides, and liquorice, in exchange for silks, linens, wool¬
lens, and hardware. To Aragon and Castile are exported
wheat, beans, iron, articles in boxwood, brandy, fruit, and
vegetables; and to the Basque provinces, wheat, oil, brandy,
cattle, salt, and wine. For the internal trade, there are the
fairs of Tafalla, Tudela, Sanguesa, and Pamplona, in Feb¬
ruary, March, and June, respectively. There are two in¬
stitutions of secondary instruction in Pamplona and Tu¬
dela, and 508 schools of different kinds in the province,
mostly elementary, and ill supported. Education is in a
very backward state. The two great districts of the pro¬
vince, hill and plain, are inhabited by distinct races, of dif¬
ferent language, dress, and customs; the prevailing language
in the north being Basque, in the south Castilian. The
population of the plain are rude, addicted to drunken¬
ness and crime; those of the mountains are hospitable, polite,
and honest. The Navarrese are noted in the Peninsula for
integrity, sagacity, and enterprise. During the war of in¬
dependence and the civil war, the province produced bands
of formidable guerilleros ; and it still produces, owing to the
position and nature of the frontier, daring and formidable
contrabandistas. Large numbers emigrate to other parts
of the I eninsula, and recently to America. The ancient
831
Navarra.
832 N A V
Navarrete. kingdom of Navarra included the French or Lower Na-
varre, and was a separate Spanish monarchy from a.d. 1114.
Jean d’Albert, to whom it came by marriage, was despoiled
by Ferdinand the Catholic of the Spanish portion in 1512.
Till lately that portion had a much wider boundary, and
was governed by its own laws as a vice-royalty. Navarra
suffered severely in the French and civil wars. The united
population of the five partidos, Aviz, Estella, Pamplona,
Tafalla, and Tudela, amounted in 1849 to 235,874.
NAVARRETE, Domingo Fernandez, a Spanish mis¬
sionary, was born at Penafiel in the first half of the seven¬
teenth century, and was educated at Valladolid as a Domi¬
nican. In 1647 he set sail on a mission to the Philippine
Islands. There his learning soon recommended him to
the post of first professor of theology in the college of
Manilla. He repaired, however, in 1659 to China, and
» was busily engaged in the interior of the country studying
the Chinese language, manners, and customs, when the
jealous natives raised a persecution against the Christian
missionaries. Navarrete, along with some of his brethren,
was sent a prisoner to Canton ; but contriving to escape
to Macao, he set sail homewards, and arrived in Europe in
1673. In the same year he paid a visit to Rome, and had
an interview with the Pope. His account before the
Supreme Pontiff of the state of the Chinese mission was
accompanied with a strong protest against the temporizing
policy which the Jesuit missionaries used in dealing with
the superstitions of the natives. After his return to Spain,
Navarrete published his principal work, entitled Tratados,
historicos, politicos, ethicos, y religiosos de la Monarchia
de China, fob, Madrid, 1676. At length, in 1678, he was
rewarded for his eminent services by being appointed arch¬
bishop of San Domingo in the West Indies. His death
happened there in 1689. The sixth book of the above-
mentioned work of Navarrete was translated into English
under the title of A Collection of Voyages and Travels, fob,
Lond. 1704.
Navarrete, Juan Fernandez, surnamed ElMudo (“the
Mute”), an eminent Spanish painter, was born at Logrono
in Castile in 1526. In early infancy an attack of disease
quenched entirely his sense of hearing, and consequently
left him without the faculty of acquiring speech. But the
quick and intelligent boy soon contrived to express his
wants by sketching objects with a piece of charcoal. The
practice thus begun as a necessity was soon prosecuted as
an art. He was placed under the tuition of Fray Vicente
de Santo Domingo, a monkish painter, at Estrella. Mean¬
while the rest of his training wtis not neglected. He learned
to read and write, became well versed in history, both sacred
and profane, and acquired a remarkable skill in expressing
his ideas by signs. His ready talents also soon exhausted
all the lessons in art that his master could give him, and he
repaired to Italy to finish his studies there. He visited
Florence, Rome, Naples, and Milan ; and, according to the
ordinary account, sat for a considerable time in the school
of Titian at Venice. But it was long before the labours of
the poor dumb artist attracted much notice. At length, in
1568, the Spanish king, Philip II., summoned him to
Madrid, conferred upon him the title of royal painter and a
salary of 200 ducats a year, and employed him to execute
N A V
pictures for the Escuriah The peculiar style of El Mudo Navar
now developed itself. His pencil exhibited a striking bold-
ness and freedom in design, and his rich, warm colouring 1
acquired for him the surname of “the Spanish Titian.”
These qualities were well exemplified in “ The Assump¬
tion,” “ The Martyrdom of St James the Great,” “ St
Philip,” and a “ Repenting St Jerome,” all of which he had
executed by 1571. During the next four years he was
engaged in painting “ The Nativity,” “ The Scourging of
Christ,” and “ The Holy Family.” A life-like yet some¬
what incongruous feature in the last of these was the repre¬
sentation of a cat and a dog in the foreground showing fio-ht
oyer a bone. His great work, “Abraham receiving the
Three Angels,” followed in 1576. The two remaining
years of his life were spent in painting for the chapel of the
Escurial eight altar-pieces, which still excite the admiration
of visitors by their noble figures and their full and warmly-
coloured draperies. El Mudo died at Toledo in February
1579. (See Stirling’s Annals of the Artists of Spain, in
3 vols., London, 1848.)
Navarrete, Martin Fernandez de, a Spanish historian,
was born at Abalos in Old Castile in 1765. After receiv¬
ing his education at Vergara, he entered the navy as a
midshipman in 1780. His ship was engaged in the unsuc¬
cessful siege of Gibraltar in 1782, and afterwards in the
cruisings against the Algerines and other pirates that in¬
fested the Mediterranean. Declining health, however, forced
him to retire from active service in 1789. Meanwhile, in
addition to his professional knowledge, he had been steadily
acquiring an accurate acquaintance with history. The
Spanish king, Charles IV., therefore fixed upon him as
the proper person for compiling a collection of documents
touching the maritime history of the country; and Navarrete
set himself perseveringly to search the national archives.
But new duties and other causes of interruption repeatedly
retarded his great undertaking. The war, first against the
French and subsequently against the British, kept him at
his post on board the fleet from 1793 to 1797. Then he
received an appointment in the office of the minister of
marine. The invasion of the French happened in 1808,
and forced him to remove to Seville. Other tasks occu¬
pied his attention after the restoration of Ferdinand VII.
At length, in 1825, the first and second volumes of his
gigantic work appeared under the title of Coleccion de
los Viages y Descubrimientos que hicieron por mar los
Espaholes desde fines del siglo XV. The third followed
in 1829, and the fourth and fifth in 1837. Before the sixth
and seventh could be published the author died in 1844.
I he work of Navarrete, already mentioned, has been de¬
scribed by Humboldt as “ one of the most important his¬
torical monuments of modern times.” The industrious com¬
piler was also assistingat the time of his death in the publishing
of the Coleccion de Documentos Ineditos para la Historia
de Espaha. A Life of Cervantes by Navarrete, printed in
8vo, Madrid, 1819, is said by Ticknor to be “one of the
most judicious and best-arranged biographical works that
have been published in any country.” It furnished the
materials for Thomas Roscoe’s Life of the same author,
published in 18mo, London, 1839. Navarrete was also the
author of several lesser historical and biographical works.
END OE VOLUME FIFTEENTH.
hii.'id the
d by it*
n
nils-
>f tin j>«vtn-
as ftJPfbmi-
to the Philippine
•mended hirn . to
»«' ' . ;us I
l6<51> k) C'btna, an- • scorn; • \
tewor of the copo^y sty dying
.
persecution against the. Christian
; e, alopg^vith eoaie oi his brethren,
< ■ 'to Cantcyu; hut ee. • .; g to esc.: •
2j
!‘hese qualities were well exenani ■;
lion, ' The Martyrdom of St dan
hilip and aRepenting St Jen nie.” all e-
executed by 1571. During the next, four
i: Holy Family.” A hk-
dog ii 'the foreground
.oilowed in 1576. The tv/o . , ?
m spent in painting for th ; ch.'i
* pi ces, which stijl excite tie c
oble figures and their ful and
J Mudo died at Tokib in • *
in - A nnals of the Artixjs tf .Sp*
engaged |
Christ” and 1
what n coj
st .nation o? ,i-
coloured dnu
1579. (Sis
..
was 1
-fa
•opg protest'against
<h" •iperstition. oi'the ^tivc ‘Alt' Isis urn to 2-r .
Navarrete pulhohod bis pi-.peipal v.orb entitled 7'..n.-h'
historicos, pt.ethidos. 1/ rely ofop tie la Mq^in,f.xa
de China, foil, Jladfid, li>76, A. length. H IGt^, Ire ve*
happened theefc L» 1689, . The ixthlUopt-nf'tiie abpA-l
.8 IVAIiKKIi. • > V n ' UWliBtoed Ec .
Mute”), an btplHend £ parish, pain- -r, we.-. Wp-at, ,Leuro«'
quenched crrirdly iv sense pf hearing,-and coos^quenti
1 V acuity o. a- • v- 1 a. ' ii i - ■ ,
' c.-i ■ f-oy soon.-ojirtriyeti tO^xcrcirest
n : idez de, a Sj ankh He
Old f. a-itile in 176 Aft
he entered th na- y w
as engaged in Iht-
rui- ugs against the Algerines and other pirate; tfat.
■
,-v idicuvn to his professiopal Jcnowledge, he had
.tciphring an- aownrate 'acquaintance v h hist M j
l^'- ■ ' i a collection of doci :■ j
t ol ject-' dith a piece
epaired t *
Florence. bU
m*
die poor dumb -ir; -c
156?, the Spanish 1
tfidnd, conferred itei
alary of 200 ducats
his s i
,d Vo!
• i
1 ' • C .11 Of' I j
1 hi?, gn . « e- : ig. The vLv, ■ . yb
.
i t veu an appointment in the • oflic of the mini*!
cod him- to remove to Scvill- Other tasks
v U-ntion after the restore .« of Fepdinami
in 1825, die first and s*: .fond *o .in:-;.*- .
■
Vi by 1 - ambpldt ti? “one :>f i j
mi il monuments of mpdert times, v ;i
H. i vu a! -. . - - • ie,':c tls s i. ifl
ct 'hi ■< ■ ur,t< nto >
dt Esjpaha,. A I ife of.Cemmtc
loved him to execi e
-o, Madrid, 1819, is said by Tu!
.'t jfudii iu.iS and hest-arru* n. H
save been publisher in any eou- v
naterials for 9 hqmas Roscoc'. I. |.
• -iblished in 18mo, Londmc 1889. I
d »r of several ie'" it IF tcc ; - | -
:E FT PTEEJfjfB.
Puilislied. Ijjt' A. &. C. Black, Bdinbur^li.
«
£
'SJA.
iUUiLaai
rablialied- "by A.& C. Black, Eimlrnxg
i
{
olxv:
M U S 1 C.
PLATE TV
N? ).
N? >.
D? q,?
D?
&eo.Aibruuz, Sculpt
Published by A&-C Black. Edinburgh.
1
i
MUSIC.
PLATE Y.
vol u )L n :
N? I ! 19
ILLUSTRATION OF RHYTHM AND STRUCTURE OF MELODY.
ANDANTE, by PAES1ELL0.
Perfect Cad?
Published by AX-C Blach. tiduibur^h
{
.. i
t
N
N
MUSI C.
PLATE VI
/
V
'